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is-the-sky-blue · 3 months ago

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OVERWHELMED: GOJO SATORU & GETO SUGURU

Fluff, satosugu x reader, reader is called mom, papa satoru, dad suguru

You were overwhelmed.

The warm steam from the pot below you wafted up to your face, the obnoxious low rumble of the range hood sucking up the air as to not let your smoke alarm go off, yet again. The curry bubbled and you stirred the mixture of carrots and potatoes, leisurely. "Mom," it was a troubled call, you turned, facing the long haired child perched in a chair at the table behind you, her brown eyes glassy as she stared at the textbook in front of her.

You were quick to lower the heat, tapping the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot before settling it down on the handles, placing the glass lid atop the stainless steel before shuffling over to her, fluffy socks adorned with a strawberry pattern, given to you as a little surprise from an ordinary grocery run, protecting your feet from the cool tile. "Tsumiki honey, what's wrong," you coo, taking a seat in the chair next to her, the girl's lips pouted in frustration as she pinched her brows.

"I dunno how to do this," she points, pencil led prodding at the textbook pages scrawled in graphite, loitered with jokes and absurd comments that your dear girl would never do, knowing that this, probably twelfth generation textbook's drawings, were presents from students past. It was a math question, simple algebra that she was only introduced to yesterday in class, and your ever keen student was quick to do her homework on Saturday as to not stress out tomorrow, as her Papa promised to take them all out on a fun day trip.

"Let me take a look," you murmur gently, offering a smile to try and quell her irritation as you stared at the notebook pages, neat handwriting full of numbers interrupted as she tried to answer question 6c, smudges of pencil rubbed away by eraser staining the paper and you reevaluate the problem, carefully repeating it onto the sheet. "This one is quite tough," you nod, hoping to show that her struggle was valid, "but basically you have to-" you start, ready to walk her through the steps to find an answer when yet another call drew your attention away.

"Mom!" this time it was a wail.

"Just a second baby," you pat the girl's hair, "I'll be right back," you promise, getting up from the cushioned seat to step towards the living room, crying children hidden behind the couch, as the open concept layout usually allowed you to see all your kids at once.

You spot the two twins, eyes glassy as Mimiko held a doll tight in her grasp, body shifted away from her sister as Nanako crossed her pudgy arms over her chest, tearful glare directed towards the former.

"What's wrong," you murmur, sore muscles slightly protesting as you pulled into a crouch assessing the situation. Your usually two well behaved girls who generally got along with one another were fighting for the nth time today. They were having a rough time, both irritated, grumpy and getting on each other's nerves consistently on this somber Saturday

"Mimiko won't share," Nanako cries, rubbing harshly at her puffy cheeks as salt rivers stain her face, falling in large droplets. You are quick to tenderly grasp her hands, careful touches wiping away the dew. You turn to face Mimiko, knuckles turning pale with the death drip she had on the pink haired doll.

"You two have loads of dolls though," you try to reason, plucking up a different toy, presenting it to the red faced girl.

"But I want that one," she sobs, hiccupping and you tried not to sigh too loud.

"Mimiko," you call, the child pursing her lips as she turned her body away in defiance.

"I want a turn," she huffs when you don't retract your scolding gaze, "Nanako's been playin all day wif her," she shakes the pink haired toy, glittery strands catching light and you don't know what to do. Nanako was crying because Mimiko had stolen the toy, and you knew the girl had been politely asking all day just to be denied.

It wasn't right that she took it, you know that, but it also wasn't right that Nanako hasn't been sharing. You didn't want to just take the doll away completely, even if a nagging voice said that a mere threat wouldn't hurt, but the high percentage that it'd leave both girls' crying already gave you a headache.

They were just tired. Bad dreams plaguing them last night, preventing them from sleep, they needed a nap but wouldn't settle down for one, not even after being cradled and read to. No matter how many picture books you pulled out, or if you just tucked them into their beds, neither agreed to your plan and now it was too late, settling for a nap now would only result in the inability to rest when it was actually bed time.

You bit your lip, their lack of sleep also resulting in your lack of sleep, achy limbs tired as you shut your heavy fatigue ridden eye lids as bawling tears continued to drip, "Nana-" you were about to start only to be interrupted yet again.

"Mom," it was raspy this time and you heed the call, facing a sleepy Megumi, his face florid as sweat beaded on his forehead, duvet you wrapped him in trailing along the hardwood floors as he pulled it onto his shoulders. His spiky hair was slightly matted, eyes a little red, nose running.

"Megumi" you coo, your sick boy padding to walk into your arms, falling into your embrace eagerly as he nuzzled into your neck, his cold nose making you slightly cringe as he burned up in your grasp, fever overheating his tiny figure.

"m'sorry," he begins and you don't want to question what happened as you wrapped the blanket tighter around his little form, "I missed the bucket," he confessed, his fingers timidly grabbing at your sleeve, toying with the fabric and you knew what he meant, the little stomach bug beating up his organs had made you gift him a plastic container for all his vomit. "I didn't mean too," his voice wavers, you could feel your shirt begin to grow damp but all you could do was hold him tighter.

"It's okay," you try to keep the irritation ebbing away at you from your tone.

"Mom."

They all needed you, tears falling down fast as different anxieties permeated your house, home full of grief as they each battled with different problems. Tsumiki struggling with her homework, Mimiko and Nanako bickering yet again over something trivial but huge in their little world, while Megumi tried to fight off a sickness but was currently losing, and you trying to grapple every thing, your sanity quickly slipping as their sadness poured into you, the tired little smiles you kept up slowly fading away as you could feel your own anxieties claw up your throat.

All your children were crying, frustrated wails, and you were barely keeping it together, clutching your son tightly as you tried not to fall into a pit of tears yourself.

You were overwhelmed.

Overloaded with tasks and duties, you had to help Tsumiki finish her school work, settle this doll dilemma, clean up the little mess Megumi made and still finish up dinner. Your list was all consuming, trying to drown you as your house shook, trembled.

Your family was having a rough day.

Everyone was troubled and you-

You couldn't do it all.

You barely registered it, chaos consuming your leaden muscles as you did your best to organize your frantic thoughts, but when a gentle hand is placed on your shoulder the tension in your chest, weighing down on you eased. "Let us handle it from here love," a sweet murmur, his dark hair was messy, result of a tough day at work but he was quick to roll up his sleeves, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, soothing your berating mind and you could only nod, brain refusing to process an argument as he turned to the two twins.

"C'mere Megumi," your white haired counterpart now next to you, reaching out for the duvet coddled boy who merely nuzzled further into your grasp at the call and you can't help but keep him close, quicksand sinking limbs finding their way to cuddle him even further.

"It's okay Toru," your voice is laced with a slow molasses, tired dribbles as you mumble, blinking your stinging eyes, retreating tears falling back from your waterline, "can you just," and you bite your tongue, feeling a strange quiver form in your throat as an inexplicable lump formed, but he's cupping your face, squishing the fat of your cheek with his easy going toothy grin, pink lips parting to let an ever loving smile shine affectionately at your drained visage.

"Can do!" and he's popping to his feet, knowing your sentence without your words, upbeat aura exterminating the lingering gloom that held heavy in a foggy cloud from the ceiling. His call of Tsumiki's name is kind before he's taking the seat next to her, getting to work and slowly your growing checklist of tasks melted, shredding into tiny little strips as they rips apart the paper, taking a chunk to handle by themselves.

Your knees audibly crack as you stand, his warm cheek in the cove of your neck as he put up no fight to slump in your hold. "Let's get you a bath, yeah Gumi," you hum, body gently rocking as you pad down the hallway and towards the bathroom, light flickering on with a warm glow to paint the white tiles.

"M'sorry," he's murmuring again as you set him down, guilt ridden eyes swathed with remorse as you slowly began to fill the tub, squirting out some of the soap from a half-empty bottle of bubble bath, watching as white foam slowly floated to the surface, "I-I'll do better," he sniffles.

"You don't need to be sorry baby," you brush the strands of hair sticking to his forehead away, heat emanating from the slick sweat of his skin, dampening your fingertips as you gingerly peel the blanket off his body, pang of pity hitting your heart as he shuddered, "you didn't do it on purpose," you hum, "and all you need to do for me is drink lots of water, get tons of rest and get back to your strong and healthy self, okay my Gumi bear," you smile, watching the boy cringe at your little nickname.

"Don't call me that," he whines, voice nasally as you help him take off his clothes before settling him inside the water filled tub.

"Why not," you tease, turning off the tap but he could only puff out his chest, no reason coming to mind as he submerged his body into the water, steam slowly relieving his congested pathways.

"I- It's embarrassing," he tries and you coo with a sly little smile.

"Are you embarrassed of me," you purse your lips in faux pain.

"That's not what I said," he rasps out, crossing his arms over his chest as he slumps his back against the porcelain, defeated.

"Mhm I see how it is," you sigh dramatically, snickering at his pout before you lean to boop his nose. "Will you be okay on your own," you ask the boy, observing as he picked up a cloud of soap and squashed it between his palms.

"Mhm," he nodded and you grin, giving him an affectionate rustle of the hair before grabbing the slightly soiled clothing, lingering smell of vomit and sweat clinging to the fabric of his pajamas as you stepped outside the bathroom, leaving the door open just a smidge as you padded towards Megumi's bedroom, the door wide open, readying yourself to untuck his bedsheets only to find his mattress already bare.

"It's in the wash," he murmured against the shell of your ear and you lean into his warmth, resting your head on Suguru's lowered shoulder, "do you need me to take that too," and his hands are quick to take the clothing from your grasp.

You simply shut your eyes for a moment, listening to his breathing, "thank you," you hum out when you blink open, whirling around on your toes to face him.

"It's no problem baby," and he's pressing yet another calming kiss to your forehead, easing the worries that had begun to clamber up your chest, "you should go take a break, I can finish giving Megumi a bath," he murmurs against your skin but you shake your head as he pulls away.

"No, I can do it," you affirmed, the worried look in his gaze doing little to force your hand, "I want to do it," you reiterated and his shoulder's slumped as he acquiesced, letting you have your way yet again.

"If you say so," he's sighing, "but let me know if you need anything, alright, you've already done a lot today, don't push yourself pretty," and he's kissing your cheek this time, flashing you an understanding smile but you are quick to peck at grinning lips, withdrawing much too early for his liking.

"I won't," you reassure, patting his arm, urging him to go and he chuckles, retreating back to the laundry room as you go to grab another set of pajamas for Megumi to wear.

Your heart felt a little lighter, the happy sounds of an understanding Tsumuki echoing down the hallway before she was sharing a high-five with Satoru, a resounding, elating smack reverberating as you take a small peek down the hall, her once pinched brows no longer furrowed with stress as your white haired partner thoroughly explained the topic in a way she could understand, patiently answering all her questions and kindly nudging her along the right path whenever she made a mistake. The sight had you smiling, there were no tears, no yelling, the image much unlike your childhood, her ability to even ask for help showing you that you must be doing something right, after all you didn't want her to face the same struggle you had when it came for asking your parents for any kind of assistance.

Turning back to the bathroom you nudge the door ajar with your hip, spotting your little spiky haired boy with a rubber duck in his hand, pushing it along the water and he's quick to stare at you, meeting your gaze as you plop the fresh clothing onto the counter. "Mom," he calls and the word no longer burdened you with such despair as it had moments ago, of course you loved your title, the very words being attached to you giving you an indescribably joy as your little found family discovered comfort in you as a mother figure, but you couldn't deny that a few moments ago the very call of that label had you broiling with stress.

"Yes love," you hum, quick to pull the stool over, sitting near the edge as Megumi glanced up at you, bubbles staining his fingertips.

"Will Papa still take me on the trip tomorrow," he sniffles, dry eyes blinking up at you with worry.

"Of course he will Gumi," you reach a hand out, petting his hair before cupping his warm face between your palms.

"W-What happens if I don't feel good tomorrow too," he whimpers, eyes going glassy as his lips pull into a pout and you could feel a little tremor shake your heart, small fracture nicking away at it as you pressed a tender kiss to his scalp.

"Then we'll reschedule it baby, okay," you murmur, staring into his heartbroken gaze, "it'll be alright."

"But I don't wanna ruin it," he mumbles so quietly, guilt ebbing away.

"Honey you won't ruin anything," you assure, "no one is leaving you behind, and no one will be sad if we can't go tomorrow, besides it wouldn't be fun if you weren't there."

"Promise."

"I promise my love," and you interlock your pinky with his, rubbing away a stray tear that managed to fall, "now how about we get you dressed and back to bed," you offer, a gentle smile accompanying your words and he grins, nodding.

You were quick, drying the boy before pulling the dog themed shirt on his head, helping his arms through the fabric before tugging it down. "Cozy," you muse, fingers lightly tying the drawstrings of his fuzzy pants.

"Mhm," he hums, fast to find solace in your embrace as you carefully adjust him to settle on your hip, standing up. You survey the bathroom, empty tub still slightly foamy along the edges, drain covered in bubbles that you didn't focus on, preoccupied with dressing the sickly boy, the blanket he had dragged around, abandoned on the floor, crumpled in a corner, the floor slightly imprinted with wet footsteps.

You purse your lips, rubbing small circles onto his back as his face burrowed into the crook of your neck, dark hair tickling the skin but you pay no mind, occupied with your disinterest on cleaning the space, you had left a slight mess.

Shutting your eyes you sighed, maybe you could just pretend it wasn't there for a moment, you tried to offer yourself, turning to head towards Megumi's bedroom only to spot that his bed was still bare and you were soon painfully aware that both pairs of bedsheets you had used for his bed were now soiled and in the wash, the first set vomited upon in the morning when he had felt the brunt of his ailment clawing at his stomach.

You could feel irritation clamber up your limbs, leaving an unsettling itch in your bones as you push your weight onto your toes before rocking back onto your heels, uncertainty bubbling beneath your skin as your frazzled brain wracked for a solution. "He can sleep in our room for a little while," and the bubbles faded into nothing, heat of the element reduced to zero in an instant as your unsettled waters no longer even simmered.

His hand is on Megumi's forehead, checking the little boy's temperature while the other lay relaxed on your hip, leaving an assuring squeeze, "do you want me to take you Megs," Satoru offers, knowing full well he'd be denied, and rejected he was, the boy merely clinging to you tighter with a pout.

"It's fine Toru," you hum, his hands slightly fixing your hair before pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck.

"Alrighty then," he snickers, and you barely have to turn your head to know he and Megumi were sticking their tongues out at each other, "I'll go clean up the washroom then," and he shifts his focus to you.

"No that's alright, you should go rela-"

"I should be saying that to you pretty," he quirks a grin, cutting you off, "now go on," and he's shooing you away, hands on your shoulders before lightly ushering you out, "let me work," he tsks, opening the door, letting you walk into your shared bedroom before quickly scampering off with a cartoony whistled song.

You can't fight off your smile before shuffling towards the messily made bed, the rumple of sheets a painful reminder of your inability to focus this morning, waking up to sobs, the idea of making the bed no longer at the forefront of your brain, and it still wasn't. You collapse onto the mattress, lightly tackling Megumi beneath your body.

"Get off me," he giggles, squirming, fists pushing at your shoulders.

"What, you don't want my love," you gasp dramatically, peppering kisses over his face until he's shoving you away, hoarse voice laughing as he wriggles, crawling towards the head of the bed but you grab his ankle, "don't make me fight you," you tease, pulling him back, his happy little shriek of, 'let me go,' making you grin before you lift him into your arms, wrapping around him tight before squeezing him, planting one last firm peck to his cheek, his happy face lessening all your lingering unease before pulling the both of you beneath the covers.

"You're silly mom," he's snickering.

"Oh really," you laugh, resting his head upon the pillow, laying on your side as he puts his hand onto your face, pudgy fingers squeezing at your cheek, contorting your facial expressions, "I think you're pretty silly," you muse, reaching out to smush his face, his lips puckering as you forced him to look like a fish.

"Nuh uh," he huffs pulling away from your grasp before using both his hands to try and force your face the same way, and he's giggling.

"Nuh uh," you mock, "what do you mean nuh uh," you tease lightly tickling at his sides.

"Nuh uh," he shrieks again, squirming before burrowing into your embrace, putting an end to your attack as he cuddled close and you couldn't help but reciprocate. "Mom," he's calling again.

"Yes," you coo, running your fingers through his hair.

"Can we go see a T-rex."

"Hmm," you raise a brow, "where'd that come from," you ask, slightly perturbed by his out of the blue question.

"Yuji told me at school that his papa took him to see T-rex bones."

"Oh, is that so," you coo, rhythmically patting his back, "we can go to the museum and see dinosaurs together when you're all better."

"With Tsumiki and Mimiko and Nanako."

"Of course, we'll take Tsumiki, Mimiko, Nanako, Dad and Papa," you grin, "so make sure to get lots of sleep and drink lots of water, okay."

"Okay," he's murmuring and despite his prior burst of energy his eyes were closing.

"Goodnight," your kiss his scalp, gently rocking his body and even though he drifted off you continued to lay there, weary limbs finally relaxing.

"Wake up love," you don't even remember falling asleep.

You blink your eyes open, "You need to eat."

"Hmm," you groan as you stirred, staring at both their figures and you suddenly realize your arm's no longer hold the weight of a child, "where'd Megumi go."

"Asleep in his own room," Suguru coos, helping you sit up, thumb running over the apple of your cheek.

"What time is it," you ask eyes trying to adjust to the bright light of the digital clock on the bedside table.

"9:30ish," Satoru grins, taking a seat next to you, "the kids are already in bed."

"Why didn't you wake me up," you yawn, leaning your weight onto Satoru, "I could've helped."

"You've already done so much today," Suguru sighs and you hum into his touch, "wanted to let you rest."

"M'sorry," you murmur, suddenly feeling ashamed.

"Why are you apologizing love, we are the ones who should say sorry," and Suguru is settling down onto your other side.

"We left you home alone to take care of all of them, it must've been tiring," Satoru is holding your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles.

"You had to go to work, it's fine."

"Regardless," Suguru tacks on, "but you did a good job today," he praises and you find yourself melting, lip wobbling.

"No I didn't," and a surge of sadness washes over you, your emotions taking over, "y-you came home and everyone was crying, I was going to cry too, and, and I didn't know what to do."

"That's okay my love," and Suguru is pulling you into his arms, "you did your best."

"But still."

"Baby it's hard looking after four kids by yourself, you did amazing, it was just a rough day," and Satoru is kissing your forehead, "we should've come home earlier but even without us you did great."

"I should've been able to handle it."

"You did handle it."

"I got overwhelmed."

"And that's okay," Suguru assures once more, "it's a lot of work and it's normal to feel that way, that's why we're here, okay baby, it's not your job to look after all of them on your own, we're a team, you can depend on us," he continues, soothing your anxieties, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

"My pretty girl had a long day," Satoru coos, lightly pinching your cheek, cracking a coy smile, "let's go eat yeah, I'll warm dinner up again," he grins, reaching for you, carefully picking you up.

"I can walk," you protest, your arms snaking around his neck as he slid his arms beneath your bottom.

"And I can carry you," he sing songs, padding towards the door while Suguru quietly shushes him.

You were overwhelmed but Satoru and Suguru were quick to help you out.

#jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #satosugu x reader #satosugu x y/n #satosugu x you #gojo x reader x geto #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #satoru x reader x suguru #jjk fluff

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clairdelunelove · 10 months ago

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itadori "pay more attention to me" yuuji

itadori “pay more attention to me” yuuji who insistently demands your undivided attention. the two of you were lounging in his dorm room– basking in the presence of each other, a rarity that desperately needed to be celebrated. a break from the mundane cycle of school, extracurriculars, and life. you’re curled up in his bed, flipping through a small novel while he’s scrolling through his phone. he’s not on any of his social media accounts, however. no, yuuji was spellbound by how informative having a phone could be. he’s never had one (didn’t have a reason to buy a phone) so when the academy placed it into his hands– he’s taken advantage of it for your benefit. his fingers persistently scroll through a website that’s titled ‘list of potential date spots that your significant other might like.’ nose upturned as he raises the screen closer to his face to read the small print. it’s cute and you notice how his voice rises in excitement. “look at this place,” yuuji’s mouth opens in awe as he continues reading straight from the article, “it’s a cafe that also has a gaming room in the back!” he tilts his phone so you’re able to view his screen but you’re snugly pressed against the plush, maroon pillows that are piled at the head of his bed. your eyes dart to what he’s showing you before going back to your book, “it looks fun, yuu. you always pick the best places.” immediately, his lips pull into a frown at your nonchalance and he presses his forearms against the side of the bed to lean closer to you.

he tries again, however.

“or there’s this hiking trail we can do,” he underlines it with his finger, “you know how you said you wanted to get out more? we could do this!” and he’s so precious. wide, beseeching eyes that inquisitively follow you to be aware of your likes/dislikes. you’re almost finished with your book though and the story’s resolution eases into the final moments with your favorite character. so you wave a hand at yuuji’s suggestion, “sounds good to me.” and it’s not how you’d typically react to his words. you’re generally keen about the topics he talks about, a warm glint in your gaze as he rambles about the latest movie he’s watched or how his science class is kicking his ass. he heaves. runs an exasperated hand down his face to maintain his composure. is compelled to sort this out. gritting his teeth, he shuts off his phone and tosses it on the carpeted floor.

then, he moves all at once. knee wedged beside you, yuuji’s strong arms are thrown around you as his face dips into the slot near your neck. his fingertips maneuver to press against the sliver of uncovered skin beneath your shirt. a delicate spot that manages to pull a gasp from your glossy lips when he touches you there. “yuu, what are you doing?” you mumble, all too aware of how the both of you are sprawled on his small dorm bed. surprisingly, he draws gentle patterns against the small strip of your bare skin when he hears your candied voice. he’s quick, precise, and uncannily quiet. before long, his lips are pressed against your jaw and his warm breath caresses your skin. he reaches out to close the book in your hand; made sure to bookmark and place it on his desk. this’ll take a while. “oh,” his dark brows drew together as he chuckled, “so now you wanna talk to me.” his voice borders a lighthearted taunt, a tone you would’ve scolded if he didn’t nip at the dip of your collarbones. feverishly, his lips find yours– the safe haven that he desperately chases. “pay more attention to me,” he murmurs into your mouth before tugging you closer to him, “will ya?”

#jujutsu itadori #jujutsu kaisen #yuji itadori #itadori x reader #yuuji itadori #yuuji fluff #itadori x y/n #itadori yuuji x reader #jjk x reader

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childrenofcain-if · 4 days ago

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How would W react to an MC who is obsessed with them? Like they need help with a small thing? MC drop everything and run to the rescue. W doesn’t take care of themselves? Why bother when MC takes care of them.

W’s presence wasn’t always loud, but it was startling, an emotional thunderhead that you could feel rumbling in your ribs before it even fully cracked.

when the call came, their voice tried to sound casual but failed miserably. “i, uh, could use a hand with something.”

it didn’t matter what it was—something about a deadline they’d forgotten or a lamp they’d broken while pacing in frustration. you didn’t even ask. you dropped your coffee cup on the kitchenette counter, grabbed your jacket, and bolted out the door without thinking twice.

the quick walk to their suite was a blur and when you arrived, W was sitting cross-legged on the couch, their thin frame curled in on itself. they were wearing a mismatched pair of socks, one of them being yours—the blue one with the tiny stars that you’d lost weeks ago—and it was enough to make your heart ache.

“what’s wrong?” you asked, dropping your jacket at the door and crossing the room in three long strides.

W didn’t answer right away. their fingers were busy tracing invisible patterns on the edge of their sweater, which was so oversized it might as well have been a blanket. their silence stretched like a taut wire, and then, finally, they said, “i forgot to eat again.”

your chest tightened. not with anger, not even with frustration, but with the unbearable weight of love for someone who couldn’t always love themself. you didn’t say anything. you just walked into their kitchenette and started rummaging through cabinets and the refridgerator.

there wasn’t much to work with—a box of crackers, a bruised apple, a carton of almond milk. it didn’t matter. you threw together something small and easy and brought it back to W, sitting beside them on the couch.

they looked at the plate like it was a challenge, their fingers twitching toward it but never quite making contact.

“i’m sorry,” they murmured, their voice barely above a whisper.

“don’t,” you said, shaking your head. “you don’t have to apologize.”

“i do,” they insisted, their voice cracking. “you shouldn’t have to—”

“W,” you interrupted, your tone firmer than before. “i’m here because i want to be. because i love you. that’s it. that’s all there is to it.”

they looked at you then, their sapphire blue eyes watery and wide, and for a moment, you thought they might cry. instead, they reached for the plate and took a small bite of the apple. it wasn’t much, but it was definitely a start.

that night, after they’d eaten what they could and you’d cleaned up the remnants, you found yourself sitting together on the couch. W was curled against your side, their head resting on your shoulder, their fingers absently tracing shapes on your arm.

“you’re warm,” they murmured, their voice soft and sleepy. “and you smell nice. like fresh laundry.”

you smiled, pressing a kiss to their temple. “and you’re wearing my missing sock.”

“it’s a good sock,” they said with a tired chuckle, tugging at the hem of it. “better than the pairs i own.”

“you could’ve just asked for it,” you said.

they tilted their head to look up at you, their expression caught somewhere between a smirk and a fond smile. “and where’s the fun in that?”

***

later, as the night deepened, W began to fidget. their fingers, which had been drawing lazy circles on your arm, began to scratch at their own thigh, leaving faint red marks in their wake.

“stop,” you said gently, catching their hand in yours.

they flinched but didn’t pull away. “sorry.”

“don’t apologize,” you said, your voice kind. “just… tell me what’s wrong.”

they hesitated, their gaze fixed on the floor.

“i don’t know how to stop feeling like this,” they admitted. “like i’m… too much. or not enough. or both at the same time.”

your heart broke for the hundredth time that day. you pulled them closer, wrapping your arms around them like you could shield them from the weight of their own thoughts.

“you’re not too much,” you said. “and you’re not not enough. you’re exactly who you’re supposed to be.”

they didn’t respond, but their body relaxed slightly against yours. after a moment, they said, “i love you so much, i can’t bear the pain.”

the words were so quiet you almost missed them, but when they sank in, they hit you like a freight train. you tightened your hold on them, pressing a kiss to the crown of their head.

“i love you so much, i’ll bear it for you,” you whispered.

W looked up at you then, their eyes soft and full of something you couldn’t quite name.

“you mean that?” they asked tentatively.

“every word,” you replied, leaving no room for doubt. W said nothing but their smile was brighter than the lights in the room.

after a while, W whispered in latin, “te amabo aeternum.”

you recognized the words instantly, even though W’s accent was softer, less confident. i will love you forever.

“amabo te in aeternum,” you corrected gently, your voice warm and teasing. the structure mattered less than the sentiment, but you couldn’t help it. W’s latin was too endearing to leave unpolished.

“of course you’d fix that,” they muttered with a faint smile, their tone holding no actual irritation. “you always seem to know everything, don’t you?”

“not everything,” you said, smiling softly as you ran your thumb along the back of their hand. “just the important parts. like how much you mean to me.”

W looked up at you then, their blue eyes catching the light and you leaned in closer, your nose brushing against theirs.

“et ego te amo.” and i love you, you said, soft but firm, as if the words themselves could shield them from everything clawing at their mind.

they sighed, a sound that carried equal parts relief and exhaustion, and melted against you. “thank you for everything, mein stern.”

***

as the night wore on, W continued murmuring fragments of latin into the quiet—“es somnium meum,” they said at one point, and it took you a moment to piece it together. you are my dream.

you tightened your hold on them. “tibi in somniis et re in aeternum pertinebo,” you whispered back. i will belong to you in your dreams and reality forever.

that earned a smile from W, small but real, and when they finally closed their eyes, you stayed awake, holding them close. you whispered one final phrase into the night, one you weren’t even sure they’d catch:

“in saecula saeculorum.” forever and ever.

they didn’t respond, but their breathing slowed, steady and even, their body curled against yours with all the trust and affection that they could ever afford to give back.

#my sweet blonde summer child #excuse my rusty latin translations #trying my best with dictionaries and whatnot #but this is pretty good practice ngl #if: the ballad of the young gods #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #twine wip #ro: w ostendorf #ro scenarios #tw: eating disorder

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me-writes-prompts · 1 year ago

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-:“I will always be here for you” Loving reassurance gesture prompts:-

By @me-writes-prompts

Giving them gentle smiles and long hugs

Making them little notes full of love and comfort

Buying them gifts that they know will cheer the other one up

Movie nights and preparing the bed with snuggly blankets and their favorite plushies

Playing with their hair and they just melt and lean into your touch

“You can rest, love. You don’t have to be so hard on yourself, it hurts me to see that.”

“You’re okay and you will be okay. I’m here for you and will always be.”

“I’m just so scared that I’ll ruin this. That I’ll ruin us, I-.” “You won’t. You wouldn’t ever do that, you’re the most caring person I know. And you could never ruin anything.”

^^The hand squeezes and silent nods with a small smile

Holding them in your arms and humming a lullaby song because they’ve had a rough day and can’t fall asleep

When they are having hard time they deserve anything and you just kiss them deeply before saying, “You deserve everything, you deserve me, you deserve love and appreciation. And I love you so so much. Please don’t ever think that.”

Cooking for them and decorating their house on their anniversary

Long walks while they hold hands and talk about their life deeply

^^Couple therapy

Kissing them good night with a ‘I love you and will always do’

Forehead kisses

Mindlessly drawing patterns on the other’s arms

^^OR OR paining together silly things and making fun of each other’s poor artist skills “We both suck at this, don’t we?” “Yeah, but I’m glad we tried!”

Neck kisses

Back hugs I REPEAT back hugs and then spinning them around in their arms

Laughing together on little things because it’s been so long since they’ve had these moments

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brewstersbru · 10 months ago

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Hey folks have some huskerdust !! 🕷️♥️

“I know, I know Legs. I just need to ask you something.” Angel’s eyes scrunch closed and the rest of his expression crumples as he whines out, short and low. Husk hovers his hands over the mottling of bruises and cuts that litter his torso, some still sluggishly bleeding. He itches to bandage them up, but stays himself with the sobering thought that Angel is used to guys touching him when he’s unconscious.

“Angel.” He tries again. Angel shakes his head minutely. “-on’t wanna.” He whines.

“Look at me please? I just want to check that it’s okay that I touch you. You know it’s important to me.”

Angel, with a long, juddering sigh, pulls himself from the cusp of sleep and blinks his eyes open. He frowns, glaring a little as he yawns into his hand. Husk waits patiently at his side, knees beginning to ache with being pressed against the hard wooden floor for so long.

“I told ya I don’t care what you do when I come back doped out like this, Whiskers. Not like I’ll remember it. Hah!” His laugh comes out rough, like it hurts to push from his lips. Husk shakes his head.

“And I told you it doesn’t matter if you’ll remember it or not. I’m not going to be another man who takes advantage of you.” He says, carefully enunciating each word so the message gets through.

Angel curses and flops over onto his side which draws his face infinitely closer to Husk’s own. He meets his eyes with a burning, lidded gaze. Husk keeps his posture relaxed, but his tail puffs at the sudden movement.

“Yer a softie, Husk. I don’t think ya could take advantage of me if you wanted to.” The words are coupled with a rickety, slapped on grin. Husk desperately wants to just shake him until he gets it through his big thick head that that’s not the point. It doesn’t matter what he thinks, it matters what he wants. Does he want Husk touching him after an abusive, grueling shoot? That’s what Husk’s asking, not if he ‘trusts’ him. He sighs.

“You didn’t answer my question. Can I touch you? Just give me an answer and then you can go back to sleep. God knows you’ll be needing it.” And it’s true. Who knows what Val has in store for him tomorrow? He’s better off getting all the rest he can get, while he can.

Angel appraises him with a long, considering look. There’s a lot going on behind his eyes and though Husk is aware of the fact of it, he can’t begin to try to fathom what exactly his thoughts are in this moment. He simply sits back on his heels and awaits his verdict. Every so often his eyes are drawn down to the mess of Angel’s torso. It’s not an intentional thing, but he can feel his hackles rising with the need to Fix It. Husk crushes the feeling down.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity but in reality couldn’t have been longer than five minutes, Angel closes his eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah Husk, you can.” He says, voice as small as Husk thinks he’s ever heard it. It’s strange to hear him so soft when usually he overtakes rooms with booming confidence; he even looks small, now, tucked into himself and using all of his arms to hug himself close as he hunches over.

He doesn’t- maybe he can’t- look at Husk when he speaks. Husk takes the words for the olive branch that they are and nods.

“Okay. Thank you, Angel. S’ all I needed.”

Angel just nods, curling further into himself for a moment before abruptly turning onto his back and feigning sleep. They both know he’s awake- he’s not snoring as loudly or as endearingly as he would if he truly was asleep- but Husk doesn’t call him on it, just reaches down to the first aid kit he’d dragged over in his initial protective rage and starts unpacking the necessary materials. Alcohol (not the fun kind), gauze, tape, and Angel’s preferred- though he’d never tell you it- heart-patterned bandages.

Another glance at Angel’s stiffly unmoving form reminds him that he hadn’t even had time to remove his makeup before passing out from exhaustion. Smears of glittery pink decorate his eye sockets, smudged from what Husk can only assume were punishing bouts of sweat and exercise. Husk pushes down the surge of indignation this thought elicits and smooths Angel’s hair back, thumbing for a moment near his hairline, before standing.

“Be back in a sec. Forgot something.” He keeps his voice low, tries for soothing but probably achieves something more like a dying wood chipper. Angel- who had up until that point been tightly coiled, as if expecting a blow- eases into the cushions at the sound. He hums, “Mmk. Thanks.”

Husk doesn’t respond lest Angel figure out from the cadence of his voice that Husk doesn’t need to be thanked. That he wants to do this. That he likes it.

It’s just- Angel always looks so at peace in these moments. The usual tension in his body melts away leaving nothing but the rawest and purest version of him. Husk loves that version of him, and he loves that Angel trusts him enough to show him it.

Husk returns after a minute or two with a pack of makeup wipes, Angel’s preferred brand, that he’d bought not too long ago precisely for moments like this. Angel was always complaining about glitter getting into his eyes when he forgot to take his makeup off and Husk saw an opportunity to Fix It. There’s not a lot in Angel’s life that Husk is able to help with, but this is something. And he jumped at the chance.

Angel is snoring lightly, right back at the cusp of oblivion that Husk had so heartlessly torn him from before. He sniffs and turns toward Husk when he settles back at his side, curling slightly into his warmth. Husk can’t help the smile that infects his features at the movement.

With careful, callused fingers, Husk begins to dab at the cuts on Angel’s torso. He’s not sure how to feel about the fact that Angel only flinches at the initial sting, not the rest of the painful swipes. It speaks to a depth of experience with this kind of thing that Husk vehemently dislikes the thought of Angel having to go through. Sure, in theory he knows Angel’s been subjected to this bullshit for decades, but to see it spelt out like this? So clearly and heartbreakingly? Husk has to take a moment between cleaning and bandaging the wounds to collect himself.

Angel whines when he takes his hands away.

“Easy. Easy, Legs.” He wants to call him ‘baby’ but isn’t convinced enough of Angel’s unconsciousness to chance it. Angel huffs.

The rest of the bandages go on easily enough, with minimal protests from Angel- which, somehow only seem to occur when Husk pulls away- and Husk smooths a healthy amount of bruise cream on each of Angel’s visible bruises. He’s almost certain there are more hidden beneath the- admittedly skimpy- clothing Angel is wearing, but is unwilling to undress him like this.

Pulling the surprisingly fluffy throw blanket from the back of the couch, Husk drapes it over Angel’s form, smoothing the sides down and tucking his arms beneath its warmth so he doesn’t wake up cold.

Husk is methodical in his cleanup of the first aid supplies, drawing each movement out so that he has more of a reason to stay in the room. To look at the rare smooth openness of Angel’s expression.

Once finished, he sets the kit to the side and picks up the makeup wipes, pulling one from the pack and pinching it between his pointer and thumb as he leans over Angel’s face. He moves one hand to cup his cheek, and the other to begin swiping lightly across Angel’s left eyelid.

Angel flinches a little at the unexpected contact, eyelids fluttering as his expression scrunches, disrupting the smooth peace Husk had so adored. It strikes something sore within Husk to watch.

“Hey. Hey, you’re okay, Baby. I’m not gonna hurt you. Go back to sleep.” The ‘baby’ slips out, Husk just can’t filter his words as carefully when Angel is so close, and so clearly hurting.

Angel’s expression smooths at the sound of his voice, at first fractionally, then all at once. It’s a gift to witness.

He leans his cheek further into Husk’s hand and Husk, unable to curb the small chuckle that bursts from his chest at the sight, smooths his thumb underneath Angel’s newly cleaned eye.

This is perfect. If life was fair and they were free this could be their normal, their everyday intimacies, indulged in unrestrained bliss. Husk allows himself to live in the thought for a moment before moving to clean Angel’s other eye.

He doesn’t flinch this time, simply sinks into Husk’s hand as it cradles his face and tips his right side towards him. Husk lets his fingertips linger against smooth, cool skin as he works. Swiping tenderly with each pass, as if Angel were something worth treating carefully.

Husk finishes his work without fanfare and, with an indulgent, lingering press of his lips to Angel’s warm forehead, he stands.

Only to nearly keel over when he meets Angel’s own, lidded- but OPEN- eyes.

“FUCK!”

Angel laughs, but it’s small and syrupy. Real.

“Thanks, Babycakes.” He offers, reaching his arms above his head in a stretch before settling back, deeper under the covers. “You sure know how to treat a guy. Careful what you offer, though, okay? Might end up with a junkie on your ass if it's too sweet.”

Husk understands what he’s really trying to say and shakes his head.

“Any time, Angel.”

#huskerdust #husker hazbin hotel #angel dust #hazbin hotel #GAY PEOPLE #ive been thinking about husk taking angels makeup off for so long #brainrot #needed to write a little blurb and this helped pull me from my slump a little #please enjoy #sry i havent been writing my car got wrecked on jan 1 and the year has not gotten significantly better from there #hopefully this is the start of me writing more blurbs again #brublurbs #cross posted on ao3 as always bc i crave attention

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musetheapothecary · 4 months ago

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and I don't smoke (except for when I'm missing you)

matsukawa issei x fem!reader (nsfw)

Fog curls damp fingers up around her jaw, tracing paths of condensation across her pink cheeks. A bead of sweat tickles behind her ear, dripping down to pool in the cup of her clavicle. The air burns her nose, hot and sticky and laced with artificial sweetness. The water swirls around her bent knees, a muted shade of pink, cut through with (what the clerk had assured her was eco-friendly and biodegradable) glitter. Clumps of it stick to her shin, smears of silver refracting the weak overhead light.

The blunt sags from the tips of her fingers, and smoke dances out from her mouth and around the fog. She watches it billow towards the ceiling through heavy lidded eyes.

Someone outside is playing something loud and fast with too much bass. Makki, probably. Hajime has the decency to use headphones. The holds the blunt aloft and dips her head under for a moment, sighing out a stream of bubbles. The world pauses, muted, blissfully quiet. She rises and spits out a mouthful of pink. It certainly doesn't taste like bubblegum.

The bath had sounded like a good idea when she'd arrived home, bedraggled and aching from a too-long day, but the angle she's had to fold herself at to fit in their sad excuse for a tub is doing little for the stiffness of her spine. Her ass is bloodless from how long she's spent sitting against the ceramic and there's a numb divot at the back of her neck from where she's draped it over the lip.

She had other, better, stress-relievers. Ones that left her with much sweeter aches and pains.

But they were still at work.

In the fogged up mirror there's a slew of faded finger-drawn hearts, along with a smattering of toothpaste. She tries to read patterns in the flecks of white, drawing constellations with her eyes.

Finding meaning in the mundane, that's what it's all about. That's what her mother always liked to say.

“It means I need to clean,” she says through a mouthful of smoke, dragging sharp nails over her sweat-slick scalp.

Having four roommates was mostly only fun on paper.

Nails tangle in her hair, which has been melting its way out of a bun for the past hour.

The doorhandles jiggles twice, then swings open. Most of the men of the house would've heard the crooning voice of Mitski through her battered phone speaker (abandoned in the sink, for better acoustics) and left her well enough alone. Which means its either Shittykawa trying to nab her chapstick or—

“Issei,” she breathes out, the last syllable—along with her breath and a heavy lungful of weed—are lost to his lips.

Without speaking he tugs his shirt up and over his head with one hand, the other working at the tie in her hair. It spills down over her shoulders and he gives it a gentle tug.

“Care to share?”

She's not sure whether he means the tub or the blunt, so she scooches forwards, knees knocking against the sides, and hands the dwindling dart over to him.

Issei makes quick work of his belt and pants and both of his hole-strewn socks before sinking down beside her. She can feel the smoke he exhales against the back of her neck before he presses a dozen light kisses there.

If the bath seemed cramped before it is now practically non-existent, smothered beneath his abnormally tall build. She doesn't mind it, not when she can feel the drag of his skin against her own and the plush of his muscles cradling her head. He smells good, too. Better than the too-sweet bubblegum of her bath.

His voice is rough when he speaks, hoarse in a way that she'd expect from shouting or screaming, but this is Issei she's talking about and he's never once raised his voice for anything. “Shit day?”

“Better now,” she says lightly, and is surprised to find that she means it.

He rewards her with a slow, wet kiss to the nape of her neck and a hand tucked into the cradle of her thighs. She sort of wishes she could see him, this big dark-eyed man crowded into her pink and glittery bath, but the thought vanishes as her eyes slide shut in a drawn out moan.

The hand that is not currently sunk into her heat hovers in front of her face, offering her the last puff of her joint.

“All—shit—y-yours,” she manages, slipping further into the bath as she just about liquifies in his grasp.

He takes his time with it, like he does with everything. Working her up in a way that borders on lazy. But it's so good. Exactly what she needed. Especially when he curls his fingers right there and—

He huffs out a smoke-laced laugh. “Thanks, baby.”

—Oh. She'd been babbling, hadn't she? It really had been a long day.

#matsukawa issei #matsukawa x reader #mattsun #mattsun x reader #seijoh 4 #haikyu x reader #haikyuu!!#mentioned:#oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime #hanamaki takahiro #matsukawa smut #hq matsukawa

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starillusion13 · 1 year ago

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Our Party (Preview)

▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️

Coming to face them after years at a club where you went to enjoy with your friends to relieve stress on a weekend is unfortunate for you.Really though? You had parted your ways back then and now they don’t matter to you. But is that same for them?

▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️

Pairing: ot8 x f!reader (poly!ateez x reader)

Genre: Fluff, Smut, Mature, Yandere

Warnings: possessiveness, controlling act and obsession. ( The main plot will contain some more warnings for smut, suggestive scenes and other controlling behaviors of the members).

W.C: not yet.

Note: @justhere4kpop my dear friend has requested me for poly ateez (the one in the event post) and I can’t just ignore it so bear with this ‘don’t know what to do’ fic.

Come on everybody. Slow it down, make it bouncy.

——————————————————————————

Network: @cultofdionysusnet

Taglist: @mymoodwriting @justhere4kpop @vvshere @yeoobin @anyamaris (open)

If you want to be in the taglist: (send ask/reply/dm)

Taglist Closed

——————————————————————————

*under the cut*

“Look who is here.” Nice. Tell everyone that a special guest is here. Each one of them quickly followed Yeosang’s eyes and they saw you standing beside Mingi and glaring at him.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“I told him to.” Hongjoong swirling the liquid in the glass said with a smile rather looks like a smirk. His attention is towards the glass and the liquid movement and your eyes focusing on it as well.

“Why?”

“We want you here away from those hungry eyes and those boys?” Yunho spoke from the end of the sofa and sit himself comfortably in a crossed leg position.

“Huh? What are you even saying, just shut up. I was here with my best friends and they just went for their sudden work and now I was just going to have fun with the other friends who are just upstairs.” You are getting annoyed and tried to turn around but the grip on your hand didn’t let that happen rather pulled you towards the glass table in front of them.

“Did we tell you to leave?” Seonghwa said placing the wine glass on the table.

“Why will I listen to you?”

“You actually never listened to us and always acted on your own.” Jongho looked up at your standing figure and eyes scanning the body.

“Don’t act like we know each other. Just let me enjoy my day and you guys carry on yourselves with whatever you were doing.”

“Why are you out in these clothes?” San spoke, he is no more laughing like before but glaring at you. You jerked your hands from Mingi’s grip and brushed your hairs before tugging them behind your ears.

“Oh gosh. First Mingi and now you, what is the problem of me wearing anything. This is my day to enjoy myself and you all let me do it.” Wooyoung laughed at your annoyed plead. He stands up and comes in front of you. Hands tracing your face slowly and then he gripped your jaw tightly.

“Follow what we are telling you to do or else you have to regret more.”

You parted your lips to argue back with him when Yunho comes beside you where Mingi was standing before. Where is he? Looking around, you can’t spot him anywhere. Yunho holds your hand and kiss it softly, “We missed you.” He smiles at you.

“What?” Your confused eyes staring at both the males standing near you. Seeing them after years is really telling you how much you have missed them but this is not right. You can’t be with them again. They don’t trust you or love you like once they had.

San came up to you and pulled you towards the sofa and made you sit between his thighs with Yeosang on his side. Your short dress riding up made all the males eyes focusing on your thigh. Your attempt to pull the dress down earned a slap on your thigh from him.

“Ahh…..”

“Oh love, how much I missed this sound?” Hongjoong spoke up, his eyes covered with some hairs falling in front looking directly at you. He nears to your frame and sat himself down on his knees in front of you. Putting his two hands on your bare thighs, he starts to draw patterns and this is giving you some sensation which you don’t want to feel right now. Yeosang is playing with your hairs. San is holding you tightly on the place. You were looking at Seonghwa who was busy telling a man about something and when he caught you staring at him, he spoke up, audible to his brothers.

“I got the room we asked for, let’s go there before someone becomes impatient.”

You felt a kiss on one of your thighs and when you look down, the man sitting in front of you is smiling innocently. He speaks softly, “that’s good then.”

“I can’t wait for that.” Wooyoung said excitedly while putting a hand around Yunho. The latter agreed nodding his head.

You heard someone whispered in your ears beside you, “me too.” His breath fanning over your ears. When you look that way, you see Yeosang smirking at you.

Let’s interact with each others till then.🤭

OUT NOW!

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader #ateez poly #ateez au #ateez smut #poly ateez x reader #ateez fic #ateez scenarios #cultofdionysusnet

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unnamed-axolotl · 4 months ago

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HAAANDSS I've always prided myself on being able to draw them so HERES A FUN LITTLE THINGY I DID!!! Tried to get a good variety of hands here. With the humans, ranging from young child to older child to adult, plus a couple of skin tones and features. Then with the animatronics, what the difference is between a harshly-put-together robot vs. an actually well-put-together animatronic.

(AND AS A BONUS their handwriting and how I think they'd draw smilies!!!!)

HEADCANONS UNDER THE CUT, written in the order I drew them in, not the order they appear.

I started with Michael. I was originally going to make him a lot more worn out, but just kept it simple probably for the sake of my sanity. A good few scars from the stuff he's went through. He probably has rather good handwriting because he's had a lot of practice both with legal documents and probably journaling. (Not really taking into account the Logbook here. It totally wasn't because I don't know what his handwriting looks like off the top of my head and was too lazy to get out of bed and get the book to reference.) He does a pretty generic smiley face, too.

Cassie was next. I don't really draw human hands with fingernails a lot so that was a challenge. The idea here was to make a hand that was that of an older kid, but obviously not as big or with fingers as long as Michael's are, for example. I played with her skin tone for a little bit, and I'm not too experienced with working in color, so please do let me know if there's anything I can improve upon when I do darker skin tones in the future! I was trying to get that lighter tone on her underhand but wasn't too positive about it. I also gave her some funky little bracelets, one of which is a direct copy of a bracelet that my lovely friend (@masquayla-the-splendid) for me. Cassie probably has fairly decent handwriting and definitely dots her i's with hearts when she writes her name. She tries to make the smiley faces look cute.

Evan's turn! I headcanon Evan to be much younger, so I made his hands smaller and stubbier. He's pretty pale because of the whole dying thing, and he's got some freckles and moles, sort of inspired by my own hand in a way! I've got little moles everywhere so I figured I'd incorporate that into his design, partly as a way to add more flair to an otherwise plain base. Other than that, not much going on here. He's got messier handwriting because he's a kid, and in my AU he didn't really get to go to school for all that long, so his siblings probably taught him how to write before he died. The brain damage probably doesn't help much either. He's trying his best.

For Sun and Moon, initially I couldn't decide which one of the two to color. As I was making the base I was thinking pretty hard about it, but ultimately figured out that I could probably just split it down the middle, and it worked! I've been trying to give the Daycare Attendants longer fingers to reflect how their hands look in the games. I couldn't make their hands too big because it either looked stupid to me or took up too much space, so I settled with this. I also gave them little scratches on their fingerpads. Sun and Moon have different signatures, with Moon's being a little more neat while Sun's is more fun and just a tad messier. He also overdecorates a bit. Moon stays simple with his smiley faces and Sun loves to express Big Happiness in his.

Ennard's hands (particularly their wrists where their wires tangle together like that) never look the same twice when I draw them, but I like to think the placement of their wires probably changes fairly frequently too, like a Double Rex Rat who has a new coat pattern every few days. Their wires have tarnished over time, but they try to maintain just a little bit of glint, despite the rusting, which is particularly noticeable in the spots where their fingertips brush against things most often. They've also got those little stray wires that poke out of each fingertip. Of course, holding any kind of writing utensil with those Big Meaty Claws has gotta be difficult, so even if they try their hardest, it's not gonna turn out great. Same with their smiley faces. They're doing their best.

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fettuccinealfred0 · 11 months ago

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Til Death Do Us Part | Part 4

Series Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 7.6k

(CW: general vampirism, very light descriptions of injury)

Summary:

Astarion’s cold hand reaches out to catch your own as you move to drop it back to your side and he presses your palm against his cheek. His skin is like silk and you can hardly stop yourself from softly running your thumb over his beautiful cheekbone.

He leans in closer, lips just a breath away from yours. You hope he will lean down and kiss you. That he will wrap you in his arms and never let you go. You close your eyes and tilt your head up in anticipation.

Instead, you feel him pull away, your hand dropping limply back to your side. It stings your heart.

“Sleep well, wife,” Astarion says, before he’s turning on his heel and walking swiftly down the hallway.

Read on ao3 here

“What are you reading?” Astarion asks, flopping himself onto the settee next to you.

You lift the book up so he can see the cover. Bram Stroker’s Dracula. “I’m doing research on vampires.”

“Very funny,” Astarion says with a sour face. It makes you giggle as you turn back to your book.

Astarion watches you for a moment before he lets out a frustrated huff that you know is meant to draw your attention back to him.

“Why are you spending all your time surrounded by dusty old books when you could ask me, a real vampire?” He does a self-important flourish with his hand that causes you to snort out another laugh.

It seems too harsh to say ‘because I still don’t know if I can trust a word that comes out of your mouth.’ And really, you do mostly trust him now. You just can’t shake the feeling that there’s something bigger going on around here.

You see Astarion whispering with Shadowheart and Gale in dark corners. You see the weird visitors- the giant, friendly woman, the stern looking warrior-woman, and the man with two different colored eyes- that Astarion always immediately rushes into his study. You had tried listening at the door the last time they came, but you still couldn’t hear anything.

Astarion couldn’t necessarily be called paranoid because, yeah, you were listening at the door. But to be fair, his actions were definitely suspicious. And what were you supposed to do- not try to solve this puzzle which had so wonderfully presented itself to you?

“Come, little flower, ask me anything. I promise there’s plenty of juicy details that are far too scandalous for your books to mention,” Astarion lightly pulls your attention back to him when he notices you chewing on your lip as you think.

He’s hooked you there and he knows it- you never could resist the opportunity to indulge your curiosity. You curl up your feet so Astarion can settle more comfortably next to you and he slings his arm over the back of the settee. Perhaps you imagined it, but you could swear you caught his eyes darting down to your bare calf when you shifted, before you could adjust your skirts to cover yourself.

“What happens if you come into contact with garlic?”

“Aside from bad breath?” Astarion wrinkles his nose. “It’s not deadly or anything, it just reeks. No sane vampire would ever go near the stuff.”

“What about silver?”

“A very pretty metal, though I’m partial to gold,” He answers, gesturing down to his waistcoat, which is made of a shimmery golden silk with swirling floral patterns. Your husband never was one for minimalism.

“What about running water?” You ask, practically having to rip your eyes away from his waistcoat. For under his waistcoat, lay his chest. And the idea of that lovely expanse of alabaster skin had quickly become an image which plagued you in the dark of night.

“Should I be growing concerned about this line of questioning? You seem to only want to know about things that can harm me. I thought your questions would be much more fun.”

You smirk at him. “Please. If I wanted to hurt you, I already would have.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that at all, you feisty little devil,” Astarion says with a wicked grin. His red eyes flicker dangerously, like fire. “As for running water- I do love a bath. Though, it would be all the more delightful if you decided to join me. I could make it… very worth your while.”

His eyes rake over you and you struggle in vain to ignore the familiar flames of heat licking at your cheeks. You can’t decide if the cause is embarrassment or arousal, or both.

“Do you remember what color your eyes were?” You ask, figuring you’ve teased him enough with your initial questions.. Astarion looks genuinely shocked for a moment before his forehead creases a bit. “You know, I’m not sure I do. It’s been so long.”

“How long?” you ask cautiously, like you’re approaching a wild animal. You expect him to skitter away at this line of questioning. Astarion doesn’t like deeply personal questions. He likes wordplay and teasing and, occasionally, dropping the odd fact about himself if you listened closely enough.

“A couple hundred years,” he answers. It breaks your heart to hear that. To know he’s spent so long like this. He couldn’t have been older than his thirties when he was turned, which means he had been a vampire many lifetimes longer than he was alive. Does he even remember what it was like?

“I think they were gray. Or maybe green?” Astarion is still thinking, lost in his own little world. He sits for another moment. “Whatever. You have to admit that the red suits me, doesn’t it, darling?”

He shoots you a wink, said red eyes glinting playfully. You almost have whiplash from how quickly he was able to fall back into his flirtatious performance. By now, you have spent enough time with Astarion to know this act is what he reverts back to when he wants to reestablish control in a conversation, when he wants to stop himself from settling into uncomfortable emotions.

“Your eyes were blue,” you tell him and he looks at you warily. “I ran across the portrait of your family one day. You looked so much like your mother.”

You don’t tell him of all the hours you had spent studying the painting, turning the image over and over in your mind trying to figure out how this piece fit into the puzzle.

“Why would you tell me that?”

And to your surprise, he’s angry at your words. You note this reaction in your mind- that bringing up his past will warrant anger and leave you without any useful information.

“So you could reclaim a part of yourself that was either stolen from you or that you forgot,” you say softly. Astarion’s eyebrows bunch together and he looks deep in thought. It’s making the room too heavy, his thoughts seem too dark.

“How were you turned?” You ask, trying to distract him while also trying to get more of your questions answered.

When he speaks, his tone seems too measured, too rehearsed. “Someone is turned when a vampire drains them dry and buries their body. It’s a rite of passage to dig yourself out of your grave. Of course, the body has to be buried almost immediately or the ritual won’t work and the person will just be dead. It’s a… delicate balance.”

He technically did answer your question, but the story of his turning is noticeably missing.

“Have you ever turned someone?”

“No, I didn’t have that ability for a long time. And now, I don’t really care to.” He’s trying to feign nonchalance, but you see the way his fist is clenched so tightly in his lap that his nails are digging painfully into his palms. He’s hiding something.

“But you’re a vampire?” Your own brow furrows in confusion, because it doesn’t make sense that he would be a vampire but not be able to turn someone.

“Am I?” Astarion asks sarcastically, examining his skin. “I hadn’t noticed. Thank you for that astute observation.”

You nudge him with your foot. “You know what I meant.”

“Yes, but it’s just so fun to tease you, pet. I simply can’t resist.”

He’s trying to get himself out of this line of questioning by baiting you with teasing. But the way he’s still holding his shoulders so tightly, you know there’s still valuable information to be gained.

“So, you’re not a ‘real’ vampire?” you ask again, trying to coax him back on track.

“Now I am.” Astarion takes a deep breath in and out. “For a long time, I was just a vampire spawn.”

“How’s that any different?” You had read a bit about vampires and vampire spawn while doing your vampire research in the library, but the accounts were so varied that it was hard to discern what was true or false. From what you could gather, a vampire spawn serves a vampire lord. And it is rather strange that Astarion doesn’t seem to have any running around the manor.

Astarion is still quiet, so you rephrase the question. “What’s the story behind how you were turned, then?”

“I’m not going to answer that,” Astarion finally snaps, shooting you a glare.

“You said I could ask you anything.” You remind him, sure to keep your tone calm and measured.

“I said you could ask, I didn’t say that I would answer,” he says through gritted teeth. He’s so tense, jaw tight and shoulders nearly up to his ears.

You pout and he softens a bit, lowering his arm from the back of the settee to graze his fingertips gently over the back of your hand.

“There are some stories that only serve to harm when they are told, little flower,” he says quietly and the pained look on his face sends a twinge to your heart that makes you drop the subject entirely.

In moments like this, you must remind yourself that his beauty is a shield- a defense mechanism meant to amplify his pain and provoke a response from you. Even though you are aware of this, the way Astarion looks when he’s in pain has you nearly falling to your knees and begging forgiveness for ever daring to hurt him..

“What happens if you drink the blood of someone who’s drunk?” you ask, trying to lighten the mood after the heavy turn.

You know he’ll welcome a silly question like that. And the radiant smile that lights up Astarion’s face is worth dropping your real line of question. You could ask another time. Right now, you would do just about anything to keep him smiling like this in front of you.

“Darling, I thought you’d never ask! You can get drunk from them, but you have to drink a lot and the effects fade far too quickly. I much prefer wine for a quick buzz.”

“Makes sense with that cellar I found downstairs,” you tease. Though, cellar was a bit of an understatement. Grand network of caverns filled with more wine than you could ever conceive of existing was a more apt description.

“Darling, you should know by now that I collect and cherish the things I enjoy,” Astarion says in a deep, husky voice, eyes looking up at you sinfully from underneath his pale lashes.

The image of him cherishing you fills your mind and sets your face aflame. It would be so easy for his hand to reach out, to tilt your chin up and present your face to his. All he would have to do is lean over, just a little bit closer, and his pretty pink lips would press against yours. They would be soft and cool against your burning skin.

No. Stay focused. This was the time for getting some much needed answers out of Astarion, not the time for silly romantic fantasies.

“Do you like being a vampire?” you ask after clearing your throat. You take great care to keep your voice as calm as possible, afraid you might again be leading Astarion into tumultuous waters.

Astarion takes a moment before he speaks and you can watch his thoughts play out on his face. The slight frown when he first processes your question, the way his eyes dart around the room as if he will think up some witty response to distract you, the gentle furrow in his brow as he tries to think of a genuine response.

“I honestly don’t know how to answer that.” He’s trying hard to keep his own voice measured and controlled when he speaks. “It’s… complicated. I certainly don’t regret being turned. Not anymore, at least.”

Not anymore. So, he did regret being turned at some point. But why? What horrors has he witnessed that were so unspeakable? Was his turning really that traumatic?

Perhaps he had been in a war? You had read many stories that portrayed war as the worst of what humanity could do to one another. But no, that’s ridiculous. Astarion is nobility, he practiced law. And Astarion isn’t the type to involve himself in other’s petty squabbles, anyway.

But the faraway, pained look in Astarion’s eye has you thinking that whatever he had suffered must have been akin to the worst of war.

“Would you ever want to be a vampire?” He surprises you by turning the question back on you. You curl your arms around your knees, pulling them closer to your chest. Your reaction isn’t an immediate no, which surprises you a bit.

“I don’t know. Depends on the circumstances, I think,” you tell him.

What you really mean is that it depends on if eternity would look like this. If eternity would involve reading in the gardens or Astarion and you sitting next to each other on a settee and talking. Those might be terms you could agree to.

“I think I would really miss the sunlight,” you give Astarion a sad smile.

No sunlight means no gardens during the day, no talking strolls in the forest, no swimming in a river and sunbathing on a rock to dry yourself off. The life of a vampire is cold and dark and lonely. Only, maybe it wouldn’t be quite so lonely for you?

“A small price to pay for eternal life,” Astarion says with what you have come to understand is his hollow performance voice. Meant to dazzle an audience and distract people from the fact that his real feelings contradict what he is saying.

You watch him carefully as he settles deeper into the couch, crossing his arms over his chest and attempting to tamper whatever melancholy had been brewing inside him.

“Come on then, darling, read to me,” he says, giving you a wicked grin, “I can tell you what they got wrong in your little book.”

You read aloud and Astarion chimes in with little quips like ‘that’s not right,’ and ‘what do you think about me taking two more brides like this Dracula fellow, pet?’ and ‘good gods, just skip over the parts about Renfield, he’s a disgusting, pathetic character.’

But as you continue to read, Astarion slowly lets his head rest against the back of the couch and his eyes grow heavy before they eventually fall closed. The frequency of his interruptions slows until he’s just giving little hums of acknowledgement when you read something especially shocking or profound.

When you make it over two pages without a single interruption, you pause to look over at him. His deep, even breaths lead you to think he might have fallen asleep. With a smile, you turn back to the book and keep reading, perfectly content to never let this moment end, even if the number of remaining pages was starting to dwindle.

—---------

The longer you spent around Astarion, the more you realize that he did occasionally sprinkle the truth into his words- for even the best charlatans use truth to make their facades seem more real. Astarion wasn’t unique in that regard.

As such, you were determined to find the flakes of truth in Astarion’s story, determined to piece together the puzzle of the man you called your husband. It would be your most challenging and most rewarding prize yet.

So, you study him. You watch and you learn every tiny expression on his face. Astarion might be a masterful performer, but there were involuntary reactions even he could not control- a slight furrow of the brow, an inhale, a twitch at the corner of his mouth. And sometimes, there were flashes of something in his eyes- joy, wonder, terror, despair- so quick that a lesser trained eye might have missed them completely.

You notice these details because they are important to your cause. And yet, they stick around in your head for hours, repeating like some terribly wonderful time loop.

And you find yourself craving his company. You tell yourself that it’s not because you particularly enjoy his presence, but because every interaction gives you more information, gets you one step closer to discovering the truth beneath the mask. And yes, he was beautiful and wonderful to look at, but you only gazed upon him so often because you were collecting valuable data.

Though… it was remarkable how he seemingly had no bad angles. How the candlelight bent to his whim, following him around and dancing against his skin.

And gods damn him, Astarion can be funny, when he wants to be. He’s well-read and full of little tales and salacious secrets about the other nobles and their ancestors. In another life, you would have thought the gods crafted him especially for you- your perfect conversation partner.

Although Astarion will never love you, never desire you in the way that you secretly know you will always want him, you think he has come to find some enjoyment in your companionship, too. Some of his smiles seem a bit too real, some of his laughs a little too wild to be rehearsed. You imagine he regards you as a sort of… pet. Or, if you really dare to dream, perhaps a friend.

You must constantly remind yourself that his flirtations are empty, practiced phrases that are meant to disarm you. They do not show you he cares for you or that he wants you. You try to ignore that deep, viscous part of you that calls out to him, that wants him to think of you fondly, that hopes that you are driving him as mad with your presence as he drives you.

Over the past month, you’ve become semi-nocturnal. You find Astarion is much more active once the sun has gone down and the later you stay awake, the more time you get to spend with him. It’s unsettling how naturally your life seems to shift to accommodate him.

When you do make your way out to the garden in the late afternoons, Halsin happily congratulates you in his friendly, over-the-top way on the state of your marriage and how you and Astarion have managed to grow together despite your initial difficulties. You know he means it sincerely, but the words leave you a stuttering, embarrassed mess. You didn’t think you were being so obvious about your growing… affection for Astarion.

So, you start reading in the library more often than the garden, now that the air has started to turn crisp in the autumn nights.

Or at least, you’ve convinced yourself that’s the reason why and not because you secretly hope that Astarion will come join you.

And he does join you, some days. He’ll stride in with a book or some papers and take up residence on the couch across from you. On the really good days, he’ll sit on the couch beside you and ask you to read aloud and you get to lean against him while you read to him.

Tonight, he decided to accompany you to the library after dinner. He’s sitting in a chair across from your favorite settee and he’s only wearing a flowing white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You keep sneaking peeks up at him, mesmerized by the blue veins in his arms and how the lean muscles move when he turns a page. You’re trying really hard to be subtle- only letting yourself glance up for a moment every couple of minutes.

But, gods, it’s so difficult to focus on the words in front of you with that expanse of skin teasing you.

“You haven’t turned a page in a very long time, darling,” Astarion says without even looking up from his own book.

“And how attentive are you to your own reading if you’ve been listening for me to turn the page?” You shoot back.

“Oh, I’ve been finished for ages. I just couldn’t stand to leave you.” He gives you that devilish, tantalizing grin where one corner of his mouth curves up more than the other. It sends your heart fluttering like a hummingbird in your chest.

“Well,” you sigh, shutting your book and attempting to act casual, as if your formerly self-declared enemy hadn’t just caught you gawking at his forearms. “I suppose I’m not going to get any more of this finished tonight.”

“I apologize, I know my presence is entirely too distracting,” Astarion says, and the arrogant look on his face makes you roll your eyes. He’s not wrong, but he'd be entirely too pleased with himself the rest of the evening if you admitted it out loud.

“Yes, how does anyone get anything done with you around?” you say sarcastically instead.

“I haven’t the faintest idea how,” Astarion lets out a suffering sigh, as if his beauty is too much for the world to handle (it is). You can’t let yourself think about it too long or you’ll devolve in idle fantasies about what it might feel like to trace those beautiful veins in his arms all the way up to his chest.

You snap your book shut, “Want to join me on a walk around the gardens?”

You need to get out of here, where the stifling air and Astarion’s flowy white shirt are clouding your mind. But you don’t want this night to end yet. Not just yet. In truth, you gladly and greedily take as much time as Astarion’s willing to give you.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be in the world.”

He says it with that easy, flirtatious tone and you know he probably doesn’t really mean it. But that deep part of you that feeds on Astarion’s praise still preens.

The cool air is refreshing when you step outside and your head finally begins to clear. Astarion holds his arm out for you and you let your fingers brush against the skin of his forearm as you tuck yourself into his side.

When you turn to look at him, he’s practically luminescent. The moonlight was made for him, bouncing off his white curls and casting a gentle glow over his pale skin. As the moon reflected the sun’s light, Astarion seemed to reflect the moon’s. You were simply lucky to bask in his presence.

Arm in arm, you wander through the garden, pointing out your favorite flowers to Astarion and checking in on the blooms. It’s reached that part of autumn where some perennials have started to sleep, ready to reawaken in the spring. The sunflowers, always one of your favorites, are drooping for the night, waiting to chase after the sun again tomorrow, and you frown a bit when you see them.

“It’s a shame you never get to see the gardens during the day. The colors, the blooming flowers. It’s truly one of the most remarkable things I’ve ever seen in my life,” you say, as you and Astarion move into the rose garden. Everything new you find out about vampirism makes it sound like an isolating, dreary existence. You make a mental note that Astarion could use some cut flowers in his study every now and then, though it feels like a poor substitute for the splendor of the full gardens.

Because it is your mission to study Astarion, you don’t miss the fleeting, pained look that passes over his face, the look he always gets when you dig a bit too close to a truth he’d rather keep buried.

You used to push him on these, but you quickly found that got you nowhere. No, Astarion responded far better to a gentle touch rather than provocation and name calling. You were coming to realize that he would tell you in time, in his own way. And you had started to find that you didn’t mind waiting for answers if it kept you in his company that much longer.

And oh, how rewarding those answers were when he gifted them to you in the dark of the night, offering up little pieces of himself like Tara delivering you a dead mouse.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be prattling on- '' you try to backtrack, to apologize for the sadness that you have caused to enter his eyes.

You sometimes wonder what his eyes would look like if they were still blue- would they be pale blue like soft ocean waves or rich and deep like the blue flowers in the garden?

With his red eyes in front of you, his sadness is akin to pain, all blood and gore and unspoken horrors. No, you decide, if Astarion had blue eyes they must look like dark rain clouds when he is sad. For if Astarion weeped, would the heavens themselves not cry for him?

“Nonsense,” Astarion cuts you off and you’re acutely aware of how your husband has been studying you just as intently as you were watching him. Admittedly, the two of you were remarkably similar underneath it all. All sharp teeth and claws masking scared and fragile hearts.

He gives your hand a little squeeze where it rests on his forearm. “It’s wonderful to see the world through your eyes.”

He says it so casually, like he hasn’t caused your knees to buckle and your soul to leave your body. Occasionally, he slips in sentiments like that, with no regard for your poor heart. You’re dangerously close to having hope that he actually means them.

But no, you remind yourself. There was no way Astarion’s words could be trusted. He said things, he did things to get a reaction out of you because he grew bored and because he knew how badly you wanted him, how badly everyone wanted him. There was no reason to hope. He had entertained you at the ball because he was hungry, he had married you to tie up loose ends, and he spent time with you now because he had very little other company up here in his lonely manor.

You do not mean as much to him as he does to you.

You distract yourself from that thought spiral by talking, amazed at how easy and willing you are to offer up information to him now, “I used to have a book with flowers drawn in it as a little girl that I would stare at all day. There were so many that I’d never thought I’d get to see in real life, until I came here. And there were some flowers that I didn’t even know existed until I saw them here for the first time. These gardens are everything I could have ever dreamed of.”

Astarion gives you a smile that lights up his whole face and he seems so proud, like the whole purpose of his life is to make you happy. Your heart sings again and you shush her immediately.

Astarion’s beauty was not something you would ever grow used to. And in the lighting tonight, his profile sent a cold shock through your body. You had never felt so alive. You had never yearned for death more.

“My mother used to love the gardens here. She used to always try to get me to help her plant things. I wish…” He trails off, reaching out to stroke a delicate rose petal with his fingers. “Well, I wish I would have appreciated that more when I was younger. You never realize as a child how precious those memories will one day become.”

“And I wish you could have seen it then,” he says, letting out a wistful sigh. “You would have loved it. The gardens were even grander and more vast than what they are now. When I returned, they were in such disrepair that it pained me to look at them for ages. I hired Halsin to help restore them and he did a wonderful job, of course, but it’s just…”

He continues to stare at the flower he holds in his hand, unable to find the words to finish his sentence.

“Not the same?” you complete the thought for him and he nods.

And although his words fill you with a deep sadness, you rejoice for a moment. Astarion offers up information about himself so rarely that his words tonight are practically a feast. You tuck away that little piece of his backstory in your mind to analyze later. Though, as usual, he leaves you with more questions than answers.

Where had he returned from? Where was it that he had spent most of his vampiric life? And you still don’t know the circumstances of how he was turned into a vampire or how that plays into creating the man standing before you.

You let your fingers rub in circles against his forearm as you think.

Astarion’s rests his hand over yours. “Your hands are cold, little flower. And we both know a pretty thing like you blooms better in the daytime. I think it’s time to get you back inside.”

You try to protest but a yawn escapes you and Astarion gives you a knowing look that forces you to roll your eyes and allow him to start guiding you back toward the manor. His footsteps are slow, as if he’s trying to prolong your time together.

“Thank you, Astarion,” you say quietly, when you reach your room.

Facing him, the low, flowing neckline on his shirt has the lines of his collarbone perfectly in your sight and you’re scared you won’t be able to resist reaching out and touching them if you have to look at that for much longer.

Astarion seems unable to resist touching you, either, and his hand reaches out to tug on the chain of your necklace which holds your wedding ring. It must have snaked its way out from under the collar of your dress at some point during the night. He rolls the gold band between his fingers, his expression unreadable.

“You’re wearing your ring,” Astarion states the obvious, his voice low and husky with some emotion you can’t decipher.

“Yes,” you whisper. It’s not embarrassing, per say, but it does feel a bit like Astarion has broken his way past your ribcage and is staring directly at your beating heart.

“When did you start doing that?”

He tilts his head and one, single white curl dislodges itself from his meticulously styled hair. You watch it fall gently, like a feather floating through the air.

“About a week after…” you trail off. It was still weird to admit it out loud. About a week after you were married. It had been a couple months since that day and everything after has felt like a feverish dream.

You can’t focus when Astarion is looking at you like this- eyes all warm and rich and red like the fading embers of a fire. And the loose curl that caresses the skin of his ear is just taunting you so sweetly. Your hand moves almost of its own accord, reaching out to brush it back into place and ghosting over the shell of Astarion’s ear. You catch his slight shiver.

Instead, you feel him pull away, your hand dropping limply back to your side. It stings your heart.

“Sleep well, wife,” Astarion says, before he’s turning on his heel and walking swiftly down the hallway.

Wife.

He called you that so rarely and combined with the rosemary and bergamot lingering in the air after him, you feel a bit dizzy.

Oh, it’s the first time he’s called you that without a hint of teasing or sarcasm. No, tonight he said it almost with reverence- as if you were a gift to him. He had said it like a true husband might. That silly sense of hope thrums again in your veins.

But hope for what? That this marriage built on deception and hatred might turn itself around into something based in love? You chastise yourself for feeding into girlish fantasies. You needed to stop reading so many romance books.

No, you were just relieved that Astarion and you had managed to grow into something that could be considered a friendship. That he respected you enough to give you back the control that so many husbands wielded viciously over their wives. You were content since you were safe, and never pressured into uncomfortable circumstances, and spent your days doing whatever you wished.

You did not really want Astarion to kiss you.

It is the baser, lonely part of you that wants him to kiss you, that wants to hold him, that cries out for his touch. You would want to kiss anyone after taking a midnight stroll in a romantic garden. Astarion just happened to make it especially confusing by being the most beautiful man in the world.

And yet, you still yearn for his attention, you long for his smiles like a flower chases after the sun. And was his smile not capable of rivaling the sun? The pure joy, the pure energy surging beneath the surface.

No, when Astarion smiled, the sun itself bowed her head in surrender to his beauty.

—------------------

Gale might have been right, though you were loath to admit it.

You really did have a hard time sitting still for your portrait. It was only a couple hours each day in the afternoon, but all the sitting and doing nothing felt like torture. You could have done it if you had been allowed a book, but the stupid artist needed to be able to see your stupid face.

On the second afternoon, Astarion wanders in, inspecting the painting critically, eyes narrowed and a hand held up to his chin as he scrutinizes it.

“The shade of her eyes is all wrong,” he finally says with a displeased frown.

“I’m sorry, my lord, the painting isn’t finished yet.” The artist attempts to defend himself but you can tell he quickly sets to work correcting the ‘mistake.’

Astarion comes in the next day, and the next, and the next and just watches over the artist’s shoulder. The poor man is sweating so bad he’s creating a small puddle on the floor. It’s rather amusing. You have to refrain from laughing the whole time.

The man can’t seem to be able to paint a single detail without Astarion critiquing his choices and giving corrections. It’s a flurry of ‘see how her mouth moves up in the corner when she smiles,’ and ‘no, look again at how the candlelight moves against her skin,’ and ‘her hair doesn’t curl around her face like that, you’ve made her look like a poodle.’

You’ve come to think that Gale was wrong and perhaps Astarion is the worst kind of fine art snob who believes they could do everything better than the actual artists. And granted, he probably could- Astarion was also the annoying type of person who was preternaturally gifted at everything they tried.

When Astarion finally deigns the painting satisfactory after many, many days of nit-picking, you’re allowed to see the final product. It truly is a marvelous piece. You are sure you have never looked more beautiful- not even at the ball where you met Astarion or on your wedding night. No, in this painting, you can only be described as ethereal, a small scrap of the heavens that created Astarion.

It feels as if you are seeing yourself anew, through the eyes of someone who loves you.

“I expect nothing less than perfection when it comes to you, my love,” Astarion says, a gentle hand on your waist as he stands behind you and keenly observes your reaction.

But the painting is not what has pulled the air from your lungs.

My Love.

That's new. In your time as a married woman, you had grown accustomed to the endearments that Astarion loved to dole out and had deciphered his uses for each. He seemed to have a personal vendetta against calling you by your name.

Darling was for emphasis and dramatic effect. Dearest was a bit sarcastic and typically saved for use around others. Pet was for when he really wanted to be a condescending asshole or a teasing little shit.

Little flower was perhaps the closest thing to a real endearment that Astarion had in his vocabulary, saved for the soft moments when the mood between the two of you could perhaps be considered friendly.

But my love was unprecedented, uncharted territory.

And with the way Astarion is looking at you, with eyes so open that his soul is practically bleeding out of them, you wonder if for the first time he actually means what he is saying. That maybe some part of his heart does hold affection for you. It seems impossible.

He spends the rest of the evening peppering darlings and my dears in nearly every sentence, like he’s overcompensating for the slip up earlier.

Your portrait is hung next to his in the gallery. And you do have to admit that the two of you look wonderful together.

—----------------------

You don’t like when Astarion leaves on trips. Especially since he never wants to take you with him. Apparently, you had annoyed Astarion so much about the issue that he now resorted to not even telling you when he was going to leave.

Instead, you awoke one afternoon to Shadowheart informing you that he was away on business for the next few days. You’re fairly certain he’s lying- that whatever he’s out doing involved those maps and papers you found on his desk when you had broken into his study.

You’re a bit peeved that he didn’t even bother to leave you a goodbye note but mostly, you want him to come back.

You know he will arrive home with a flourish and an extravagant gift. His last trips had awarded you with a lovely new silk dress, a newly released book, and a tiara, of all things. Out of the three, the book was the only item that was really useful and you had spent a few nights reading it to Astarion while his head rested in your lap. Though, you did wear the dress and tiara to dinner after you had received each and the pleased mood it put Astarion in was worth dressing up for no reason.

This time, Astarion has been gone for two days and you feel as if you are going to lose your mind with how desperately you need him to come back.

You’re pacing the length of the drawing room, working your lip between your teeth and focusing on how you want Astarion back so you can yell at him for leaving without telling you and not because you miss the little grins he gives you when you see him in the hallway. Or the way he’s started tracing patterns on the inside of your palm when you sit together after you read. Or how he sometimes stares at you with such awe you feel as though he is looking at your very soul.

You do not miss Astarion. It just… feels wrong when he isn’t around.

You’re still pacing and deeply rationalizing how much you definitely do not miss him when you hear the front door open. Your body begins moving before your brain could even register what you were doing.

The sight before you is a nightmare. Astarion’s arm is wrapped around a woman’s shoulder and she’s supporting most of his weight as she drags him through the door. You recognize her instantly due to her imposing frame. You had seen her around the manor from time to time when she would visit for those secret meetings that she, and the mean-looking woman, and two-color eyed man had with Astarion.

She had always been kind to you when you had seen her around, always quick to offer up a smile. But not now. Her forehead is creased deeply with worry and you faintly register her yelling for help over the ringing in your ears.

Astarion looks bad, which is a word you never thought could be used to describe him. His skin is already so pale, but now, he looks nearly white and there’s blood splattered across his face. His free hand is clutching at his side in a way that implies he’s been badly wounded.

You’re frozen in fear. What could you possibly do to help?

Shadowheart, who must have been on her way to bring you tea as you paced, immediately shoves the tray onto the first surface she can find.

“What happened?” Her voice is grim and she’s rushing forward, helping to support Astarion’s weight on the other side. He lets out a pitiful groan of pain as they settle him on a couch.

“Got ambushed on the way back. Too many of them, we couldn’t fight them off,” the tall woman answers.

But her explanation seems… off. Astarion’s carriage is grand, sure, and robbers like to target the wealthy, especially in the dead of night. But you had a hard time believing this woman would be incapable of fighting off a couple street thugs. An attack that would warrant this level of injury seems much more organized.

No. Something else is going on. What sort of business was Astarion tangled up in?

Shadowheart is a blur as she bustles around, collecting herbs, cloth bandages, and a needle and thread. You never knew she was a healer. Was everyone around here keeping secrets from you?

And you’re just standing there, uselessly, incapable of doing anything other than watch as your own heart bleeds out in front of you.

Your feet do manage to carry you to Astarion’s side and you try to stay out of Shadowheart’s way as she works, but all you want right now is to pull him into your arms and soothe the pain on his face.

“Astarion?” you call his name, your shaky hand reaching out to move a stray curl away from his face. It looks all wrong- his white hair drenched with red blood. His eyes crack open and a dreamy smile spreads across his face when he sees you.

“Come to grace your dying husband with a kiss, sweet wife?” Astarion’s eyes are hazy, but you can still detect a teasing sparkle in them. You’re relieved for a moment, because his condition surely can’t be that bad if he’s still managing to tease you.

You let out a laugh. “Leave it to you to be flirting on your deathbed.”

Shadowheart’s worried voice breaks you out of your momentary comfort. “He needs blood, desperately.”

“We need to get someone from the village,” you say, making a motion to get up and go call for someone, but Astarion’s hand is wrapping gently around your wrist. His grip is worryingly loose and you can tell it’s all the strength he’s able to muster right now.

“Not enough time,” Shadowheart shakes her head. Her voice is fraught with anxiety and it sends a needle of ice through you. Shadowheart didn’t scare easily. “He needs blood now.”

“Can you?” you ask and she shakes her head again.

“My blood’s no good and neither is Karlach’s,” Shadowheart nods her chin up at the tall woman.

“Is there anyone here who can give him blood?” You cry out. Someone had to be able to help- Gale, Halsin, another servant.

“Just you.”

When you look down at Astarion, there’s a cold hand squeezing at your heart and you realize that you don’t have a choice. You grab the dagger that’s strapped to Astarion’s belt- which, why did he have a dagger if he was going on a normal business trip? You glide the sharp edge along your palm, ignoring the sting of pain as you cut it open.

His eyes are closed as you squeeze your palm shut to help the blood pool and drip onto his lips. Almost immediately, his eyes are shooting open and he’s dragging your palm to his mouth.

It’s obscene to watch him- he lets out a groan as his soft tongue swirls and sucks against your skin. In another time, in another circumstance, there would be that familiar desire pooling deep within you as you watched him.

Suddenly, the idea of Astarion drinking anyone else’s blood ever again fills you with a jealousy so deep that you’re scared of what you might do if you get your hands on that unlucky soul.

A bit of color returns to his face and he presses a gentle kiss to the inside of your wrist, seemingly as thanks. Later that night, as you sit at his bedside as he recovers, you’ll be pressing your own lips to the same spot, as if that silly act could imitate the feel of his lips against your own.

Astarion’s eyes are still hazy and unfocused as he purrs, “Delicious, of course. I can only think of one other way I could devour you that would be better than that.”

The fact that he loses consciousness immediately after saying that probably has the opposite effect than he intended. You’ll have to tease him about that after he wakes up. And he will wake up. Because you can’t bear with the thought of a life without him.

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

Notes:

Okay, I fully recognize that Dracula didn't come out until 1897 and I did say this was a regency AU, but we are simply ignoring inconvenient facts for the sake of a bad joke. Sorry, I get make to the rules around here!

This chapter was so much fun to write because I'm a slut for yearning but I can't even describe how excited I am to share chapter 5 next week!!!!!! It's a doozy! We finally get a peak into Astarion's smooth little brain and well… I did promise eventual smut. I hope you all know how much I appreciate everyone who reads this little story and I hope everyone is having as much fun with this as I am!

As always, thanks to AliensNSuch on ao3 for beta-reading! She is my live studio audience cheering in the comments of the absurdly long google doc where I keep this fic and, for that, I love her.

Taglist: @idkbrodontaskme @ayselluna @maruichio @fanfic-share

Just let me know in the comments or by shooting me a message if you would like to be added/removed from the taglist!

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

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sequinsmile-x · 5 months ago

Text

Daybreak

Two early mornings that Aaron and Emily spend together.

-x-

Hi friends!

It's been a hot minute since I wrote some smut, so I thought it was time to do some! This all came from a very tiny little bit of dialogue that I thought of whilst driving to work one day this week.

As ever, please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 3.6k

Warnings: Smut, 18+

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

When Aaron first wakes up, it takes a moment for him to realise he’s not in his bed.

He smiles as he opens his eyes, overwhelmed by the presence of her. The smell of her pressed into the sheets covering him, her back against his chest, their legs tangled together, the warmth of her soft skin against his more than he could have ever imagined. Any fleeting thought that this could be a dream disappears, gone with the acknowledgement that his subconscious had never done her justice, that it had never lived up to the reality of being with her.

Emily had been the one to ask him out. A huff escaping her lungs as she rolled her eyes at him, her hands tight in the lapels of his jacket after too close a call on a case, a smile spreading across her face, her dimples carved deep into her cheeks as their eyes met.

“Are you ever going to take me on a date?”

The ridiculous thing was, he’d been trying to.

They’d been closer since she came back from Paris, spending almost all their spare time together ever since she’d agreed to tell him about her bad days. He’d known he was in love with her for a long time, for longer than he cared to admit, and he wasn’t an idiot. He knew she felt the same way, could see it in her eyes whenever she thought he wasn’t looking, in the way she would look after him and Jack. Joy and love and everything in between shining in her eyes when she would read Jack a bedtime story, none of the fear he’d seen when they’d sat opposite each other on the jet on the day that started to change things between them.

He wanted to ask her out but would choke on it every time. The invite stuck in his throat as he worried maybe he was imagining things, letting himself see things that weren’t there because he wanted to be with her so much. The relief he’d felt when she asked was palpable, washing over him as he nodded in response, something that made her smile impossibly wider and more beautiful.

The date had been perfect. Dinner and wine in a restaurant she’d recommended. Conversation had been easy, none of the nerves that both of them were feeling showing themselves until he walked her to her front door. She’d smiled at him, her hand wrapped around the tie she’d made fun of him for wearing as she tugged him into a kiss and then into her apartment. They’d spent hours exploring each other, learning peaks and valleys they’d imagined for years, before eventually falling asleep tangled together.

He trails his hand up and down her back, her skin impossibly soft against his. He draws patterns over her shoulders, unable to stop himself from smiling as she grumbles, shifting against him as she arches her back before she turns to look at him.

“Should have known you’d be allergic to lay-ins,” she says, blinking sleepily at him, her smile contradicting the grumpiness in her tone. She leans up to kiss him, her lips soft against his as he pulls her closer.

It would be lying to say she’d never imagined this. That she’d never let her mind wander and think about what it would be like to be with him, to wake up pressed up against him, to fall apart as she was aware of nothing but him. At first, she thought it was because he was unavailable. Married and seemingly unable to be in the same room as her, something close to irritation in his eyes every time he looked at her. It was inappropriate, but she’d always had a thing for inappropriate men. Nothing she tried had scratched the itch. Her own fingers and toys and other men never enough to come close to what she wanted from him. What she knew she would get from him.

It was only when he was almost killed by Foyet, their relationship something closer to friendship by that point, that she realised it was because she was in love with him. It felt ridiculous. Stereotypical. And after she left him at the hospital, the last to leave after Haley and Jack had gone into hiding, she’d gone home and cried - so sure that she’d never get a ch

Things kept getting in their way. Including them. Both of them so damaged, so fractured by what they’d been through that it left them unsure. Gun shy in a way that was out of character, making them lose even more time that made her furious now they were on the other side of it. Now that she knew what it was like to be with him.

Any irritation is temporary, a flash of a thing that is lost as she melts into his arms, sighing into the kiss as she chases his touch, his palm landing on the small of her back as he pulls her closer. She moves close enough to share his pillow, their chests pressed together as the kiss eventually comes to an end, her forehead pressed against his as she heaves in a breath.

“Morning,” he mumbles, smiling when she rubs her nose against his, the rumble of his voice making her stomach flip.

“Morning,” she replies, kissing him again, humming into it, “What time do you have to get home to Jack?”

“I don’t have to,” he says simply, smiling when she frowns at him, confusion knitting her brows together. He chuckles and kisses the tip of her nose, and then the space between her brows, “Jack is with Haley’s dad this weekend,” he kisses her cheek, “So I don’t have to be home until tomorrow evening.”

She smiles, hope and want sparking in her gut as she sinks her teeth into her lower lip, “So…”

He grins as she trails off, pulling her closer and pressing his lips against hers as she hooks a leg over his waist, her hand tangled in his hair. His hand shifts from her lower back and hooks around her thigh as he moves them, trapping her between him and the mattress, “I’m yours all weekend,” he says, his hand drifting to her waist, “If you want me.”

She chuckles, the question itself ridiculous as she rocks her hips against his, tasting the groan he lets out, pressed against her lips as she wraps her leg around his back.

“I could take you or leave you,” she jokes, nipping at his lower lip, “You might have to prove you’d be useful if you stayed though-” he moves so quickly that she squeals, a sound she’d later deny, lost to laughter as he hovers over her, his hands on either side of her head, his grin wide, “What are you doing?”

He kisses her, fierce and overpowering as he licks through her mouth, letting her settle into it for only a second before he pulls away, stealing away her breath as he dares to wink at her, “Proving my usefulness.”

He kisses her once before he starts his journey downward, his lips, teeth and tongue working in tandem to draw noises from her he’d only heard the night before for the first time. A new addiction of his, something he knew he wanted to hear as often as possible for the rest of his life. He pauses to lick over the hickey he’d left on her left breast next to Doyle’s brand, his claim over her new and fresh, blooming and beautiful against her pale skin. He soothes the mark with his tongue, smiling against her skin as she moans, arching her back as she presses her chest closer to him.

“Aaron.”

“I’ll never get enough of this,” he mutters, shifting downwards again, kissing the scar that bloomed under her ribcage. Raised, silver skin that showed where she’d been torn apart and put back together. She was nervous about his reaction to it last night. He’d seen the uncertainty in her hands, how they paused for the first time as she pulled her dress up over hips, her fingers twitching as her brain caught up with the rest of her. He’d taken over, told her every inch of her was beautiful and he’d kissed her until she believed him, “Never get enough of you.”

She chuckles breathlessly as she rests her head back on her pillow, her eyes drifting closed as he kisses her pubic bone. She hadn’t expected him to be so talkative. He was reflective usually. Quiet. Everything he said throughout and purposeful but this was different. A stream of consciousness that never stopped, praise and something close to love pressed against her skin as he learnt everything about her, about what brought her over the edge.

He pushes her thighs apart, smiling as he presses his thumbs into bruises he’d left there, flashes of how he’d gripped her skin the night before making him groan, his hips pressed against the bed, “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

She tenses, her breath caught in her chest as she waits for him to move, waits for him to do something. But he stops, teasing touches to her thighs, so close to where she wants him but so far. She groans in frustration and sits up just slightly, her elbows on the mattress as she looks at him.

“Aaron, I swear to God-” Her threat is cut off as he licks through her, his tongue insistent on her clit as he pushes two fingers inside of her, “Fuck.”

He smiles against her, turns his head to nip at her thigh before he buries his face in her again, his tongue and fingers working together in tandem to take her apart, words she can’t hear but can feel instead, slowly bringing her towards the edge. She hooks her leg around his back, her heel digging into his shoulder as she rolls her hips against his face, her thighs getting tighter around his head.

“I’m so close,” she mutters, her hips stuttering, her cheeks warm as she grips the sheet beneath her, wondering how he has her this close already after only one night together, “Fuck I’m close.”

“I know, baby,” he says, pulling back just enough to speak, “I can feel how tight you’re getting around my fingers,” he curls them inside of her, hitting just the right spot, and a noise she could only describe as guttural escapes her, “Come for me.”

She screams his name, not thinking about her neighbours, or the fact it was still so early, the morning light only just filtering in through her curtains. He doesn’t stop even as she shudders against her. Instead, he carries on, gentle touches of his tongue and fingers as he drags her orgasm out. She eventually chuckles, her thighs twitching on either side of his head. She moves her foot just enough to kick at his shoulder.

“Jesus, fuck,” she laughs breathlessly, “okay,” she breathes out, laughing as she shakes her head, “Very useful,” she smiles widely at him, her lips pressed together as she forces herself to stop herself from saying the three words it felt far too early to say, settling instead on three others, “You can stay.”

He climbs back up her, burying his face in her neck, the smell of herself pressed against her skin, “Oh sweetheart,” he drawls, kissing his way up her neck, “We have two whole days,” he kisses her, “I’m only just getting started.”

___

She wakes up slowly, a rarity in her life these days - slow, sleepy mornings a thing of the past.

She groans as she stretches, blinking against the low light in the room, the first signs of a new day pushing themselves through the gaps in the curtains. She sighs when she checks the time on the clock on her nightstand.

5.30 am.

Emily flops onto her back and huffs, aware that no matter how tired she is she won’t fall back asleep. Early mornings were hardwired into her now, a part of her routine even on her days off. Brought on by her sons and her husband, and their apparent genetic inability to sleep much past dawn. She looks at the baby monitor on her nightstand and smiles softly at the sight of Oscar still fast asleep, the 6-month-old happy and content for now - something she knew wouldn’t last long.

The house was quiet for once. Jack was away with Roy and Jessica for the weekend, and Elliot was worn out from spending the day before with the team. He’d fought sleep every second until he finally succumbed to it, the 3-year-old’s face pressed against Emily’s neck as she paced his bedroom with him in her arms, his favourite place to sleep since he’d been a newborn, her lips against his temple as she sang him to sleep.

He’d be awake soon. His tiny feet thundering against the hardwood floor of the hallway, inevitably waking up his little brother as he ran past his nursery and into Emily and Aaron’s bedroom. He loved snuggling in the big bed, and would often sleep in it too. She knew she shouldn’t encourage it, but one day that would come far too soon for her liking this time of her life would be gone. The boys would grow up and suddenly be too cool for their parents and as excited as she was to see who they were becoming, she wanted it like this for as long as possible.

She may miss her lay-ins, the lazy weekend starts that had always been rare anyway, but she wouldn’t trade them for anything.

She turns to look at Aaron and smiles. He was still asleep, lying on his back with one hand next to his head and the other on his chest. She smiles and shifts towards him, pressing herself against his warm body, her face buried in his neck as she breathes him in. He smells like home. The remnants of his cologne still hanging on from the day before, mixed in with sleep and him and something she can never name.

He moans sleepily, the arm that had been near his head shifting, wrapping around her as he pulls her into him, “Morning.”

“Morning,” she replies, kissing the juncture of his throat and he pulls her closer, his fingers skimming the hem of her pyjama shorts, drawing idle patterns just under the curve of her ass. She smirks against his skin, nipping lightly at his pulse. She feels the rumble of his laugh more than she hears it, his happiness passing from his chest to hers.

“What’s got into you?” He asks, his voice delightfully rough, his throat thick with sleep and misuse.

She hums, pulling her face away from his neck as she looks up at him, her hand on his cheek as she drags him in for a kiss, “Hopefully you.”

He laughs again, the taste of it against her lips as she kisses him again, her leg hooking over his waist. His hand travels up from her thigh, squeezing her ass as it passes, before sneaking under her shirt. The press of his palm is warm on her back, his hand almost wide enough to span the back of it, his fingers ghosting both sides of her waist, chasing the shiver he creates as he makes them chest to chest.

“Oscar is asleep,” she says, glancing back at the baby monitor on her nightstand, smiling at the video feed of her son still fast asleep in his crib, one of his tiny hands above his head and the other on his chest just like Aaron’s had been just before he woke up. She turns back to her husband and tugs him towards her so she ends up partially underneath him, “We don’t have a toddler in our bed,” she kisses him, his smile pressed against her lips as he sneaks a hand under her, his palm pressing against her lower back, “And Jack is on his annual camping trip with Roy,” she sinks her teeth into his lower lip for a second, soothing the slight sting with a kiss, “This is a rare opportunity.”

He hums and rests more of his weight on her, the hard length of him pressing against the juncture of her thighs. He smiles when she groans, taking a moment to roll his hips, to taste the sigh that escapes her lips.

“Sweetheart,” he says, grasping her thigh, hiking it higher around his hip, “You don’t ever have to convince me to have sex with you,” he kisses her throat, the beat of her pulse against his lips an addiction he knew he’d never be rid of, “If you ever find yourself having to, kill me - I’m already dead.”

She laughs, the sound swallowed by his lips against hers. She rakes her fingers through his hair, blunt scratching against his scalp in a way that never failed to make him moan. She pulls away from the kiss, her forehead against his, “We need to hurry, you know what Eli is like.”

He smirks, a glint in his eyes that he only ever got when they were doing this. A part of him that was just hers, something she never took for granted.

“Well it’s good you wore these cute little shorts to bed then isn’t it,” he says, trailing his fingers over the hem again, smiling when her thighs twitch when he passes over the slick of her as he pushes the shorts aside, “Easy access.”

She hums, pushing his sweatpants down with her foot just enough to let him spring free, her laugh catching in her throat when he notches against her, “Why do you think I wore them?”

He groans as he pushes forward, his forehead resting against hers. The warm, tight heat of her always enough to make him moan, the punched-out noise muffled against her collarbone as he stops when he’s fully seated inside of her.

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” he mumbles, kissing everywhere he can reach, thrusting against her when she clenches around him.

“You too,” she replies, grasping for purchase at the back of his t-shirt, her nails scratching at the soft material as she rolls her hips, wordlessly encouraging him to move, “You feel so good.”

When their new life settled down around them, when the roaring fire of their relationship settled from the exciting newness into something calmer, a flickering flame that always remained in the background, she worried about it. She loved him, their life together, but as they moved from boyfriend and girlfriend, to being engaged, to getting married, to having more children, she worried this part of their life would change. That they wouldn’t have time for each other.

Things had changed, but not in the way she’d feared. Their endless need for each other hadn’t faded, it had just adapted with them as their life did. The days of laying next to each other naked all day, only stopping to eat in between rounds to get their energy up, were behind them. But somehow this, slow, lazy, morning sex with her husband had become her favourite. A moment in time when they could just be Emily and Aaron, not Mom and Dad or Agent Prentiss and Agent Hotchner. Just two married people in love with each other, and showing it in the most basic of ways.

“It’s like you were made for me,” he says, kissing up her throat to capture her lips, “Fucking made for me.”

“Made for you,” she replies, her breath skipping over his face, her hips stuttering as she gets closer to the edge. She doesn’t have to say it, doesn’t have to tell him that she’s close. He reaches between them and draws circles over her clit, slow and purposeful as he draws her closer to orgasm, “Aaron…”

“Come for me, baby,” he says, the strain in his voice clear, “Let me feel it.”

She tips over the edge and drags him with her, the hot pulse of him inside of her makes her groan, something he swallows with a kiss, his hand on her cheek as he holds her in place. He smiles when he pulls back from the kiss, his love for her written all over his face.

“Happy ‘first date’ Anniversary, Em.”

Her smile widens and she pushes his hair from his forehead, smiling at the salt and pepper flashes she can see shining in amongst the dark brown, “You remembered.”

He stamps his lips against hers, “I remember everything about you.”

She holds him in place, her leg still hooked around his hip, her lips insistent on his, “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he replies, cut off as they hear a cry from down the hall. They both look at the baby monitor and see Oscar wide awake, tears streaming down his face as he demands attention, “Duty calls,” Aaron says, kissing her one last time before he climbs off of her, pulling his sweatpants back up as he goes, “I’ll go get him.”

She nods and watches him go, stretching as she stands up, grimacing as she feels the mix of them drip down her thigh. She smiles to herself as she walks to the bathroom, the sound of a door opening and Elliot’s excited voice as he spots his father travelling down the hall. She gets in the shower and makes quick work of cleaning herself up, wanting nothing more than to go downstairs to join her family and start another day in the life she never thought she’d have.

-x-

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