#voice like honey and lips like petals || interactions

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 7: Complications Abound

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.7K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions.

** Warning ** This chapter contains implied/attempted sexual assault. Please be careful and read at your own risk.

The Sussur Bloom’s glow pours like a phosphorescent waterfall over the delicate blue petals. You can taste the honey-sweet aroma of the flower suspended in the air.

You observe it acutely, trying to figure out where the boundary of its effect terminates.

Aldous grins deplorably, “You would not believe how much this cost to procure.”

Does he think that will impress me?

Drawing in a deep breath, you calm your rampaging heart and swallow the terror balled in your throat.

Adorning your face with an overtly sweet, innocent smile, you summon every snippet of charisma you possess, “A beautiful flower indeed.”

“Not half as beautiful as my current company,” Aldous winks.

Ew.

“Where is your father?” your eyes flash around, assessing the surroundings for advantages you may be able to exploit, “I believe he should join us.”

“Father is away on business. He will not be participating in this discussion tonight.”

Convenient.

“Perhaps we should postpone this little discourse until your father returns.”

Aldous ignores you, “Did you know that the Sussur Bloom nullifies all magic in its vicinity? A useful item against an ornery sorceress.”

“Aldous…”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he sneers, wagging his finger at you, “You will give me the respect I am due.”

HA! A ludicrous notion.

You clench your teeth so hard that the nerves sing, “Saer, I’d like to-”

“Where is the man who was with you?” Aldous cuts you off, “The Elf.”

The door lock clicks, and you nearly wince, but you keep your illusion of poise intact. A grin slinks across Aldous’s lips as he stalks toward you.

“There was no other Elf. You were roaring drunk.”

He chuckles sinisterly, “You may have been able to pull the wool over my father's eyes, but I am not so easily fooled.”

The distance between you and Aldous recedes as he continues his menacing approach. You take wary steps backward, striving to retain as much space as possible.

The poorly lit gloom only deepens as you’re pressured further to the rear of the shop.

Glancing at the door behind Aldous, you concentrate on the stained-glass window. Daylight is fading fast. You silently rejoice and then scold yourself harshly for it.

I shouldn’t be counting on Astarion to save me.

You soak your voice in your most persuasive, candied inflection, “We can sort this little mishap out. There’s no need to involve anyone else.”

“Who is he?!” Aldous rasps.

Anger. A weakness I can exploit.

“No one.”

“Don’t play dull, Sorceress. I will pry it out of you one way or another.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” you smirk patronizingly, “It seems you’re seeing ghosts. Perhaps a visit to a healer is in order?”

Aldous growls threateningly at your taunting. His teeth scour together harshly, sending shivers rushing up your spine, making your stomach reel and pitch.

“He means much to you,” he sneers, “You protect him by putting yourself in harm’s way,” Aldous’s finger taps his chin, “I can’t help but wonder why he would let you come alone. Perhaps you don’t mean as much to him as he does to you.”

“Perhaps,” you shrug, “I don’t."

“You shouldn’t settle for that, Sorceress.”

This little shit dares scold me?  

“As if I care what you think.”

“You deserve someone like me,” his hand comes to his puffed-up chest arrogantly, “prestigiously bred of noble blood, wealthy, handsome, and influential. Someone who can provide you with a life of luxury.”

“Gods, you sicken me.”

Aldous places the Sussur Bloom on a table behind him, but close enough that you are within the negating influence.

His face burns red, brows pinched in a nightmarish scowl, “You’re going to have a very miserable night then.”

“If you fucking touch me, I will kill you.”

Not a threat, a fucking promise.

“You’re all bark and no bite without your magic. I will take my apology in whatever form I choose.”

Your stomach warps nauseatingly, and you swallow the bile that soars into your throat.

Grabbing the hidden dagger in your boot, you swipe at Aldous frantically, grazing a weeping cut across his pudgy stomach.

Aldous lunges at you with a howl, grabbing your arm and twisting it, slamming it hard against the corner of a towering bookcase. The dagger rattles to the floor, and Aldous kicks it away swiftly.

“You miserable swine!” he barks, eyes savage and enraged.

Aldous pins you to the bookcase with a bruising grip. His chest puts so much pressure on yours that the air you inhale whines when drawn into your constricted lungs.

Gods, please, just a little longer.

Aldous wrenches at the high collar of your robe, and a snarling shriek tears from your throat. His forehead slams into your face, cutting off your scream.

Pain causes a disorienting parade of light to erupt behind your eyes, and your lip swells and aches furiously. The sharp, ferrous tang of blood coats your tongue.

You spit, and red-tinged droplets splatter across Aldous’s face, “I should have killed you.”

“My, my, what's this on your neck?” he snickers while eyeing the bite mark marring your flesh, “If you like to be bitten, all you had to do was ask nicely. I would have happily obliged.”

Your stomach churns with the insinuation. You yearn to see the little worm beg and plead for you to spare his life."

Pale hands rip Aldous backward.

Astarion’s voice resounds in the dark, “I hear you like to bite, but do you like to be bitten?”

Aldous shrieks as sharp fangs sink into the supple flesh of his neck. You stand, a wicked smile on your face, watching the life slowly drain from Aldous’s eyes.

You could ask Astarion to stop. You could spare the feeble runt his life. You could, but you don’t.

I was never a hero.

Astarion releases him when his eyes are dull and listless, and Aldous’s body crumbles to the floor.

The door creaks unexpectedly, making you jump, and you grasp at the intrinsic magic usually ever-present, only to find a yawning void.

Right. Where is that godsdamned flower?

Gale jogs in, huffing harshly out of breath. Eyeing the Sussur Bloom sitting innocently on the table, you throw it down and grind it to nothing but a blue paste smeared across the floor with your boot.

Astarion and Gale study you with apprehension as if worried you may buckle and break apart. You cross your arms and frown at them.

How soft do they think I am? 

“I don’t need mollycoddling like a spoon-fed babe,” you tut, clearly vexed, “What are we going to do about him?”

Gale’s fingers his chin, “This will certainly complicate things.”

“I will handle this,” Astarion concludes.

“No,” you stammer, “I can help.”

Astarion shakes his head, “You and Gale go for a lovely, very long, relaxing night stroll. Greet, chat, mingle with everyone you see, stop at a pub and drink; I care not, just make sure you are seen far from here.”

Gale nods, “We must set the lanceboard in our favour, so to speak. Astarion can handle this. This is hardly the first body he’s had to make disappear.”

Astarion smirks, “Far from it.”

“I could simply set this whole place ablaze,” you muse.

An excuse, more than anything, to see this place eradicated from existence.

Gale pales, “Burn all these books?”

Astarion snickers and sighs dramatically, “Truly, darling, did you not consider the books?!”

You roll your eyes, “They would make for fine kindling.”

Gale mumbles, mouth agape, “How unseemly.”

Astarion giggles at the ill-humoured scowl darkening Gale’s face before looking at you, “Still that twitchy palm of yours. Nothing screams guilty like a raging, fiery inferno.”

“I suppose you are the expert in these matters, Astarion.”

“Oh,” he grins, “Please do continue showering me with your praises.”

“Good Gods,” Gale grumbles, “We should not linger, my friend.”

“Fine,” you throw your hands up, exasperated, “I will spare the damn books.”

Astarion snaps his fingers, “Gale, the scroll, if you please.”

The scroll?

You cock your brow at him. Astarion unrolls the scroll, recites the incantation, and it vanishes.

The swell and tender ache in your lower lip dissipates. Astarion pulls a handkerchief out and wipes the leftover drops of blood from your chin that had dribbled down from the split in your lip.

“Good as new,” he purrs, but there is concern laden in his eyes.

“Your incantations need work,” you tease to relieve Astarion’s anxiety.

He grins but clicks his tongue in disapproval, “As do your manners, it seems.”

Gale weaves you through small, dim alleys and paths while avoiding the populace until you’re far from the shop.

Once you can return to the main thoroughfare, Gale skillfully greets passersby, striking up mundane conversations to ensure you’re noticed and seen.

Neither Gale nor you speak of what happened until you’re safely back in the manor.

“Fuck,” your fingers wrack through your hair, “I’m so sorry, Gale.”

“You need not be,” Gale squeezes your shoulder, “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“We need a plan.”

Run. Run. Run. Take Astarion and run - your mind chants.

Hells. My inclination toward avoidance has gotten out of hand.

Gale pats your arm, “What have we always done?”

“Outflank. Outsmart,” you echo his words.

“Spot on,” he grins, “We can delve further into the particulars come morning.”

“You’re right,” you take a calming breath, “I think that’s about enough excitement for today.”

“You have a strange notion of excitement, my friend,” Gale chuckles, “Now if you will excuse me, I am in dire need of a bath. Hells. That vampiric bastard can move swiftly. Perhaps I have gotten indolent in retirement.” 

After bathing and changing, you sit on your bed and stare at the unfilled space beside you. Just this morning, you had awoken in Astarion’s room, and your eyes overindulged on the sight of him still peacefully at rest.

Can I go back to resting and waking up alone again? Moreover, do I want to?

No.

Your heart whimpers in your chest at the concept, sinking into your stomach with a quiver. The battle between your fearfulness and what you want continues to war on. Everything you crave is situated on the other side of your doubt.

Why do you keep yourself seated in the dark abyss you retreated to when he left when the light is right in front of you, and all you have to do is walk into it?

I’m still running.

Coward.

Reprimanding yourself for being so spineless, you leave the emptiness of your bed behind and make yourself some tea. Sinking into the chair on the terrace, your legs curl up under you.

The waves flourish and flaunt in the inlet, making the boats dance in concert and the tangy brine of the sea wafts in the air. Coasting clouds cause the pastel glow of the new moon to wax and wane.

The fluttering beat of wings alerts you to Tara’s approach before you see her soar and land on the terrace with a grace only she and Astarion could muster.

The pitter-patter of her little paws on the wood boards makes you smile as she draws near.

Tara stretches her wings before settling, “Would you like some company while you await the vampire’s return?”

“Tara, do you know the vampire’s name?”

“Of course,” she scowls, “You’ve been calling out to him in your sleep for months.”

Oh… 

Right.

“Why do you keep calling him vampire then?”

“He calls me cat or cat with wings, does he not?” she huffs exasperatedly, “It does not vex him as I hoped, though.”

You giggle at her, “You must try much harder if you wish to aggravate him.”

She nods curly as if she’s taken that into advisement, “I have not seen you out here recently. What is troubling you this night?”

Patting your lap, you invite her up, “It’s hard to find enough peace to rest when your heart is at war with your mind.”

Tara jumps up and lays down with a soft purr, “Have you always been so meek?”

Meek? Not a word I would have ever described myself with.

“No,” you stare off into the distance blankly.

Her round eyes reflect what little light the moon provides, “You have been lonely here, yes?”

How does she know these things?

The unmistakable glint of unshed tears brims in your eyes, “Is there a cure for loneliness?”

She cocks her head, confused, “You do not seem lonely when he is near.”

“I-” your brows pinch together, she’s right again, you think, “I suppose I’m not.”

“Then he is the cure you seek.” Tara concludes, “May I speak bluntly?”

She’s never asked before. This should be good.

“Please do.”

“You are being an idiot,” she says factually.

You laugh, almost spewing your tea at Tara’s curtness, “I’m sorry. Care to elaborate?”

“The longer you keep yourself tethered to this unhappiness, the longer you will live a life not meant for you.”

I hate how right she is.

Your fingers tap the mug fretfully as tears tiptoe out of the corners of your eyes, “What if I can’t get over my fear, Tara?”

Tara puts her paws on your chest, levelling her green eyes with yours with a stern yet empathetic glower, “Then you must do it afraid, Sorceress.”

She makes it sound so simple.

But it is really that simple, isn't it?

You stifle back a sniffle and scratch behind her ear, “Stop being so smart and wise.”

“Perhaps when you stop being an idiot.”

Another strangled laugh escapes your throat as you stroke her silky fur, making her purr loudly. Resting your head on the high-backed chair, your eyes flutter shut.

“You must do it afraid.”

I will.

I just need a little more time.  

Tara leaps off your lap, and your eyes open sleepily to see Astarion standing before you. Dirt streaks the pale skin of his face and hands, and trails, where sweat rolled down his temples and forehead, are evident.

“Wake up, sweetheart.”

You scan the sky as the haze clouding your vision disperses slowly. It must be only hours from dawn.

Your nose crinkles, “You smell like dirt.”

“I thought I would try something new; groundskeeper with a hint of grave robber,” his brow cocks seductively, “Is it working for you?”

You giggle, “Absolutely not.”

“Well,” he pouts with a dramatic sigh, “don’t be afraid to tell me what you really think.”

“I think you really need a bath.”

“I do love it when you sass me,” he tuts, “Naughty thing. What are you doing resting out there? You’re shivering fiercely.”

“I was talking to Tara,” your teeth chatter together, “I must have drifted off.”

He kisses your forehead, “Come on. Let’s get you warmed up inside,” Walking through the kitchen, Astarion turns to you, “Are you gracing my bed with your delicious self again tonight, friend?”

Hells. I was heading to his room without even thinking about it.

“Do you want me to?”

“It’s up to you,” Astarion shrugs as if it doesn’t matter, but there’s a hint of hope reflected in the scarlet of his irises.

Gods, tell me we belong together. Please.

“Tell me what you want, Astarion.”

“You, my love. Always and forevermore, you,” he purrs, taking your hand, “My bed it is.”

Astarion’s room is a chasm of blackness when you enter. With a flick of your wrist, you light the candles instantly with a smug smile.

He chuckles, “I forgot how handy you are to have around.”

“Truly indispensable,” you chime back in jest.

“Better set that ablaze as well,” Astarion points to the fireplace, “You get grouchy when you’re cold.”

You gasp, hand coming to your mouth theatrically, “I’m never grouchy!”

“Oh, don’t fret, my dear,” he glowers at you playfully, “You’re adorable when you're grouchy.”

“Go bathe, you smell.”

He giggles with a shallow bow, “As the lady wishes.”

You sit on the edge of Astarion’s bed, and a smile trails across your lips. These moments with him feel so familiar, so right, and they quiet the clashing present inside you.

Why are you making things so complicated for yourself? It could be as simple as telling him you want to be with him, so why don’t you?

He would finally stop calling me “friend,” at least.

Astarion returns with only a towel hanging loosely around his waist. He nudges your legs apart with his knee and leans in close. His hands slip up the bed by your sides, forcing you to lean back until you’re propped up on your forearms. Your heart parades in your chest, seemingly skipping beats the closer he leans into you.

“Well, you’re not wrinkling your cute little nose at me anymore,” Astarion taps the tip of your nose softly, “A good sign.”

Leaning in close, you kiss his shoulder while making a dramatic show of inhaling deeply, “You stink… less.”

He giggles and gives you a gentle shove, “Less?! Darling, I’m hurt,” he imitates shock with a sulky flair, “I smell excellent.”

Hells, does he ever.

“How do you know?”

Astarion taps your chest over your heart in rhythm with the quickened pace with a sly, boyishly handsome smile, “Your body tells me everything I need to know.”

“Pleased with yourself, are you?”

“Indeed,” he coos, “Now, to bed with you, sleepy love.”

Yes, rest. Gods, I’m tired.

Astarion’s thumb sweeps lazily back and forth over your arm, and you lay your head on his chest. Your eyes feel heavy and sag closed.

Lifting your hand, you draw all the flames from the candles into an orb floating above your palm, extinguishing them. The flaming sphere winks out, bathing the room in darkness except for the glow from the ebbing embers in the fireplace.

Astarion kisses your forehead, “Braggart.”

You giggle, but your voice sounds distant to your ears as the current of your trance pulls you under. Astarion starts to hum while running his fingers through your hair.

“I love you,” you say in a whispering sigh.

Wait… did I say that out loud?

Astarion’s crooning hum cuts off, and his fingers come to your chin, guiding your face up.

The silky skin of his lips caresses yours tenderly, “I love you too. Rest, my only one.” 

Gale rubs his eyes, “Where was Mr. Blackwell?”

“Aldous said he was away on business,” your leg bounces nervously, “He didn’t elaborate further.”

Astarion’s hand slips over your thigh under the table, stilling the ferocity of its jostling.

“We have some time then,” Gale concludes, “I have business in the city today. I could make some inquiries.”

“Bloody Hells, you are terrible at this,” Astarion groans, clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes, “Gale, if you go making odd inquiries, you’ll implicate yourself.”

Gale scoffs, “Oh, my deepest apologies if I am not proficient in the matters of covering up a murder.”

“Apology accepted,” Astarion drawls, “We could always kill Mr. Blackwell. What’s one more murder?”

“Mr. Blackwell has a wife,” Gale scowls, “Aldous’s mother.”

“You say that as if it’s a problem, Gale,” Astarion shrugs, “The wife as well then.”

Gale’s skin goes a deathly white as his mouth drops open, eyes round, “You cannot seriously be suggesting we murder an entire family!”

You cut them both off, “Astarion is trying to get under your skin, Gale. Don’t let him.”

“You’re no fun,” Astarion’s lips purse into a pout, “I had the wizard going.”

Gale’s body unknots with relief, “Very funny, my sharp-toothed friend.”

You rub your temples to stifle the headache brewing, “How well connected is Mr. Blackwell, Gale?”

Gale’s fingers tap his chin, “Connected would be an understatement. The man is friends with every high-ranking official in the city.”

Certainly a complication.

Astarion’s fingers drum on the table, “Could we not convince him that his son ran off with some trollop?”

“I could try,” you nod, “but Mr. Blackwell is already suspicious of me. He will not make an easy target.”

“You do have a very delicious silver tongue,” Astarion’s hand slips up your thigh and between your legs, “I have no doubt you could persuade him.”

You sit stiffly, trying not to expose the crudeness happening below the wood tabletop as Astarion’s fingers sweep over your crotch.

“I could try,” you choke out as you clench involuntarily at the sensation, “but it’s not foolproof.”

Astarion scoffs, “If you want foolproof, my dear, we better circle back to the murder option.”

“Do you not feel any remorse for what you’ve done!” Gale explodes out of his chair, irritation creasing his forehead.

Astarion stands with bared teeth, leaning threateningly close to Gale’s face, “I feel only pristine satisfaction. You have NO idea what he was about to do to her, Gale.”

“Stop it! Both of you,” you roar, slamming your hands on the table to get their attention, “I could have stopped Astarion, and I didn’t. If you must hold someone responsible for this, the blame is mine, Gale.”

“Enough!” Astarion’s crimson eyes send shivers down your spine, “You are not accountable for my actions!”

This is about more than just this event.

“Gale,” you sigh with a forced smile, “Go make your inquiries, but be discreet.”

Gale bows shallowly and excuses himself, glancing between you and Astarion. There is a grim tension in the air.

Astarion’s finger taps rhythmically on the table, a telltale sign he’s upset with you.

“Spit it out, Astarion. What is really troubling you because it isn’t this.”

Astarion’s forehead creases as his brows pull down low, and he shouts, “You must stop holding yourself at fault for what I’ve done!”

“Aren’t I?” you scream back at him, coming to your feet abruptly, “The night you left, I made you uncomfortable, and what happened? You fucking ran from me, from our life, from us!”

He left. Gods, he left, and it nearly killed me.

“It-” Astarion’s eyes dart around, “It wasn’t because of something you did.”

“My fault or not, I paid dearly for it.”

You ran and took my heart with you.

You rush to your room, locking the door. It’s too much. It’s all too much at once, and you cannot process it quickly enough.

It was my fault Astarion left in the first place, wasn’t it?

I pushed him too hard, didn’t I?

Gods, you don’t know. You’ve been punishing yourself for all of your missteps since he disappeared, and you can’t relinquish your guilt no matter how hard you try.

Why will I not allow myself to let this go?

Astarion’s soft knock resonates on the door, and your head plummets into your hands.

You cannot do this right now, and your voice rumbles, “Go away, Astarion.”

Astarion plunks down on the floor outside your door, “I will wait until you are ready to speak to me.”

He used to do this when you lived with him, giving you space but ultimately staying close by.

Wrenching the door open, you seethe, “Go. Away.”

Astarion rights himself and pushes into your room as if nothing is amiss. Despite your fiery temper, Astarion was never easily goaded into a fight with you.

“Astarion,” you leer at him in a warning.

“You’re angry with me,” he retorts, “I’m well aware and well acquainted with your ire.”

“Then you know you should be leaving me alone,” you admonish him.

“You never used to retreat from arguments with me.”

Fuck. He’s right. I ran.

Again.

You groan, slamming your door and drop to the floor. The headache you had felt starting is now throbbing in your temples like a battering ram. Pressing your eyes shut, you kneed at your head with your fingers.

Astarion sinks to the ground opposite you, and his hand settles on your forehead, “Darling, are you alright?”

The chill of his skin eases some of your discomfort, and you push into his touch with a relieved sigh, “Just a headache.”

“You did not get much rest last night,” his fingers massage your temples, “I’m sorry. I should not have shouted at you.”

“I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“You do not have to talk, but you will listen, and listen closely,” Astarion tilts your head up, and you open your eyes to meet his, “You must stop blaming yourself for what I’ve done. The guilt is not yours to endure.”

“But…” you swallow the lump in your throat, wrench your eyes down and fidget with your fingers, “But I made you uncomfortable the night you left.”

“My leaving was not due to anything you did or did not do. I’m-” he sits back, running his fingers through his hair, tousling it, “I’m a coward,” he shrugs, “I’ve always been a coward.”

“You have never been a coward, Astarion,” you shake your head, “What’s changed? What will stop you from leaving again?”

“I am no longer afraid,” his fingers sweep across your cheek before rubbing your temples again, “Well, perhaps that’s not entirely true. I am afraid of losing you again.”

How did he get over his fear?

“Astarion,” you sigh as his fingers skillfully knead the throbbing ache, “you could never lose me.”

“I did,” the corners of Astarion’s mouth creep downward mournfully, “did I not, friend?”

This word haunts me.

“May I ask you something?”

You nod, “Anything.”

“Ever since I returned, you have been exceedingly gentle with me, far beyond customary, even for you. Why?”

“You mean,” your voice trembles slightly, “when it comes to being intimate with you?”

“Yes.”

Fuck, I don’t want to tell him this, but I must stop trying to escape from the truth.

“I-” you inhale a long, slow breath to calm your pounding heart, “You left me the night I made you uncomfortable. I suppose,” you pause, trying to gather yourself, “I suppose I have been worried that if I make that same mistake, I will scare you away again.”

Astarion takes your hands, “I promise you do not have to be afraid. I am here to stay. You need not be so gentle with me.”

Don’t I though?

“Can I trust you to tell me when it’s too much?”

“I will always tell you,” he says conclusively, “Could we please get off this floor now, beautiful?”

Right…

“Sorry. Where would you like to sit?”

“The bed,” he says, helping you to your feet, “Does your head still hurt?”

“Yes,” you groan.

Your brain is bashing against your skull, trying to escape your head.

“Sit. I will rub it for you like I used to.”

Sitting on the bed, Astarion pulls you between his legs, your back against his chest, and you let yourself sink into him. His fingers work the achy spots perfectly.

“What happened yesterday,” Astarion says in a low timbre, “with the boy. Are you alright?”

Am I?  

“It’s not the first time I’ve been attacked.”

“Yes,” Astarion looks around anxiously, “but there is a difference between being attacked and being,” he pauses, searching for a way to put it delicately.

“I know what you’re getting at,” you sigh, “I’ve lived a hard life, Astarion. This is just another one of those things that’s better forgotten."

“I understand,” Astarion kisses the top of your head, “But if you cannot forget, I am here if you need me.”

I always need you.

“Thank you.”

“You will tell me more about your life someday, yes?” Astarion’s voice is hopeful, “I wish to know everything.”

My past - another thing I run from.

“Will you tell me more about yours?”

“For you, my love, I am an open book,” Astarion murmurs, “Ask, and I will tell you to the best of my ability, but there are things I cannot recall.”

“Like your face?”

He smiles sadly, “Yes, like my face.”

You and Gale have been practicing magic together, and you asked him to teach you Mirror Image. The incantation was straightforward to learn, but Illusionary magic is not your realm of expertise and mastering the hand movements was tricky.

Mirror Image was meant to be used on yourself, but you and Gale often try to find new ways to use or cast various spells.

After many trials and failures, you’ve figured out how to use Mirror Image to mirror someone other than the caster.

Should I?

“Do you-” you trail off, wondering if this is a good idea, “I could try something - if you want. If I can pull it off, you will be able to see yourself.”

“What?” Astarion jolts off the bed, eyes round with astonishment, “How?”

You turn to look at him, “Do you remember that night in camp when Gale was inspecting a magical copy of himself?”

His red eyes shift around, crazed, and you wonder if you’ve made a mistake and stepped too far.

“Of course,” he groans, “How could I forget his incessant preening?”

Astarion looks anxious, and unease blooms in your stomach, “Are you okay? Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Please,” he pleads, his scarlet eyes wide and wild, “If you can, would you please?”

“This may feel odd at first,” you warn, “like countless fingers running over your skin. Don’t be alarmed.”

I can do this. I will do this.

Grasping the Weave, you wrap it around you and Astarion with the finesse of an archmage. Reciting the incantation is as easy as breathing, and it rolls off your tongue poetically.

The hand movements are far more complicated, but you’ve practiced this, and your fingers dance the perfectly choreographed pattern.

Astarion’s eyes stay locked on you.

You pull the threads, and the Weave unravels, only for you to stitch it back together in the image of Astarion.

“It’s done,” you smile, “All you need to do is turn around.”

Astarion takes a deep, shuddering breath but doesn’t turn, “What should I expect?”

You cock a brow at him. You’re not entirely sure how you expected him to react, but hesitancy didn’t even cross your mind.

Is he scared he won’t like what he sees?

“You will see yourself as the world sees you,” you say, calm and encouraging, “You don’t have to, Astarion. If it’s too much, I can always recast this when you’re ready.”

“No, I want to. Gods. It’s been so long, and I just… I just do not know,” he swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, “Will you hold my hand? I do not think I can do this without you.”

“I’ve got you,” you interlace your fingers with his, “When you’re ready, love.”

He smiles, “That’s the first time you’ve called me that since I’ve been back.”

No… No, I couldn’t be. Is it? 

“I- Uh…I-”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he giggles, “I won’t get my hopes up, friend.”

Astarion takes another slow, shaky breath and turns around slowly. The image of Astarion faces him, but its eyes are closed. For a moment, you think you didn’t cast the spell correctly, but when you look at Astarion, the figure mirrors him as it should.

Giving him this moment, you lean your head on his shoulder and wait patiently.

Astarion recoils slightly when his eyes open, and he sees the image standing there. The figures stare at each other, awestruck.

Astarion takes a step closer to the image and touches his face, running his fingers along his jaw, down the bridge of his nose, and over his cheekbones. He racks his fingers through his hair. Leaning in closer, he inspects his eyes and fangs, utterly captivated.

“Good Gods,” he pants breathlessly, “That’s me?”

“It’s you, Astarion,” you can’t help but smile, “in all your earth-shatteringly, realm-ending handsome beauty.”

“I am positively magnificent, aren’t I?” he muses agog, “Now, all your fiery jealousy makes perfect sense.”

You nearly chastise him, but when you look at him to shoot back some witty retort your mind hasn’t yet formulated, he’s staring at you with tears shining down his cheeks.

Shit. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“Fuck, Astarion,” you wipe the tears spilling from his eyes with your thumb, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He looks at the image of himself again, “I- I don’t believe I’ve ever cried happy tears before,” he chuckles low, his eyes downcast, “Not that I can remember, at least.”

Happy tears?

Before you can process his words, he sweeps you up in a cradling embrace, pulling you off your feet, “Thank you, my love.”

The spell wanes, and the figures form flickers before fading away. Astarion lowers you to the floor and looks at the empty area woefully.

“Astarion,” you guide his eyes back to you, still shiny with unshed tears, “I can recast that spell whenever you want. You only have to ask. This need not be the last time you get to see yourself.”

“Gods, don’t tell me that,” he sighs dramatically, with a striking crooked smile, “I’m likely to overindulge."

“Fine,” you giggle, “You will have to earn your overindulgence.”

“Oh,” Astarion smiles devilishly, eyeing you through thick lashes and hooded eyes, “How would you have me earn it?”

“Oh,” you tap your lips, “I’m sure I can think of something like warming Tara her milk,” you taunt.

Astarion scoffs, “The cat can wait for her milk. I was thinking more along the lines of depraved carnal lust?”

“Now?”

“Well,” Astarion smirks, “Now is as good a time as any, but I need to ask something of you.”

“What?”

Astarion sweeps your hair back and looks deeply into your eyes, “Stop being excessively gentle with me. I’m not as fragile as you presume me to be.”

Isn’t he?

“I-” you stammer with worry in your voice, “I will try.”

“Good girl.”

“Lock the door,” you tug at this shirt, “and lose this.”

“Demanding thing,” he chuckles, sliding the lock into place, “As you wish.”

Astarion pulls his shirt off and stands so close that your breasts graze his chest with the rise and fall of your breath.

Astarion’s fingers curl under the hem of your top, “May I?”

You nod, and Astarion lets his cool fingers caress the warmth of your skin as he strips you. The temperature contract makes your skin prickle, and desire flushes your complexion red.

Your nipples skim across the chilled skin of Astarion’s chest, making them harden into peaks instantly, and you shudder at the sensation.

The pad of Astarion’s thumb teases your sensitive peak, “You have no idea how perfect you are, do you?”

His teasing causes a breathy whimper to escape your lips, and heat pools as your nerves are set alight. Astarion takes your lips in his. The kiss quickly becomes primal, urgent, and all-consuming.

He nips your lower lip gently, forcing your lips to part, and his tongue traverses your mouth. Bolts of electricity ripple down your spine, awakening the achy need in your centre.

Astarion grabs your hips and rolls them against his throbbing erection with an urging grunt. The swell between your thighs sings with the decadent banquet of friction, and you moan low, ghosting your lips over his ear as you melt into him.

“You have no idea how much I miss being inside you,” Astarion growls with a voice soaked in burning want.

Gods. I miss it too.

The walls of your core clench uncontrollably as depraved thoughts and memories of him stretching you, claiming you, swim through your head.

Astarion shoves you hard, and you fall onto the bed with a giggle. Pushing your legs apart, he crawls up, kissing your stomach before swirling his tongue around your nipple, making your back arch and body twitch.

Gods. He could undo me with that alone.

Your splayed fingers slip us his chest, sweeping across his nipple, eliciting a pleasant rumbling groan deep in his chest. His lips meet yours urgently, and he bucks his hips into you, pushing the throbbing bulge in his trousers against your swell.

His presence is intoxicating, and you can’t control your body. Hells, you don’t want to control your body, and you writhe against him greedily, needy for relief.

Astarion’s hand slides up your thigh and his fingers ghost over the pulsating flesh, “How wet are you?”

Embarrassingly so. Nigh on soaked.

You groan as the flush of embarrassment courses through you and cover your face with your arms.

Astarion gently moves one of your arms away from your face, “Do not hide from me. You never have to hide from me.”

He rocks his hips against you, and you convulse and tremble against him with whimpering, sputtered murmurs.

“You’re soaked, aren’t you?” he teases, “May I, friend?”

“Gods, yes.”

Astarion slips his fingers into your waistband in an agonizingly slow descent that makes you wonder if you might combust before his fingers find their target.

He parts your folds while expertly avoiding that pulsing bundle of nerves that is craving his stroke.

“Hells, you are positively soaked,” he drawls, “You’re making quite a mess. We should get these off, yes?”

Astarion hooks his fingers into your waistband. You lift your hips in silent consent, and he slips your pants off you.

You squeeze your thighs together, feeling far too vulnerable under those piercing hooded crimson eyes studying you.

“I wish to look upon you, friend,” Astarion glides his hand between your thighs, “Will you let me?”

He uses gradual force to encourage your legs to part, and you allow your legs to spread for him.

Those cardinal red eyes devour the sight of you, full of unwavering adoration, “You’re beautiful.”

His fingers roam down your thigh to your folds, slick with desire. Breathy, sputtering moans escape your lips as your hips lurch at his touch.

His fingers trace the swollen border of your achy clit, “Do all your friends make you drip with need?

“Astarion,” you gasp.

“Yes, love?”

“Please,” you beg, “For the love of all the Gods. Please.”

“How many fingers?” he growls.

What?

Your mind can’t focus enough to string together what he’s asking. You squirm, trying to motivate his fingers to move faster, but he stills and waits for you to stop your writhing.

“When was the last time you were filled?” Astarion says firmly as he eases the contact of his fingers to nothing more than a light tease.

Do I admit this?

“You.”

Astarion’s brows pop up, eyes round with surprise, “Me? You haven’t been with anyone since I left?”

You stare at him, confused by his shock, “You are all I want, Astarion.”

Wait, does his shock mean he’s been with others since he left?

Don’t be so blind and naive. Of course, he has.

He has...

Under the overwhelming realization, your heart warps and bursts, violently rocketing the razor-edged shards you’ve been cutting yourself with, trying to glue them together. You clutch your chest as they tear you asunder anew.

The world feels like it’s crumbling down around you and drowning you in it.

Your cheeks feel wet. Are you crying?

Astarion’s hand cradles your cheek, and you leap off the bed to your hands and knees on the floor, recoiling from his touch.

How many others has he touched with that hand? 

Stop.

But Hells, how many since you?

No. Stop.

Astarion is coming toward you, distress twisting his brows and shining vividly in those beautiful crimson eyes.

How many people have looked into those eyes since you while he drove them to their release?

Stop. Stop. Stop.

Fuck. How many?!

His mouth is moving, but Gods you hear nothing over the stampede of your heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

Run. Run. Run. Run and never stop , your mind wails.

You can’t breathe. Hells, you’re suffocating in this room as it caves in around you.

You can’t take anymore. You must escape. Picking yourself up off the floor, you throw on your clothes in a panicked scurry.

Astarion’s cool hand grazes the skin of your arm, and you shrink away, gritting your teeth.

How many? Fuck. How many?!

Astarion backs away from you, alarmed.

Run. Run. Run.

You’ve barely finished dressing before you find yourself sprinting through the manor.

You need to get away from this place, get away from him, get away from yourself.

Swinging the door open, the sunlight floods in. Someone cries out, but you barely register Astarion’s pained yelp. You launch out the door, slamming into a startled Gale, eyes wide with confusion.

Gale tries to halt you, but you push him away with a hard shove that nearly sends him toppling over.

You don’t stop. You can’t stop.

You run. 

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I hope you're enjoying reading this! Let me know what you think :)

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes: - Well, the noble is dead (yay), but how will they deal with the consequences? - Poor Tav :(

[mqriuss]

Underneath the Cherry Blossoms

ZEN's birthday special — zen x fem!reader

"Honey, I'm home!"

Your face lights up at the sound of the voice you know all too well. You rush out of bed—even painfully bumping your hip against the bedside table in the process—and dash towards the entrance of your boyfriend's cozy home.

"Zen!" You exclaim as you launch yourself at him, he catches you and picks you up off the ground. "Welcome home," you greet him softly, breathing in his sweet scent.

"Ah, I missed you so much!" Zen joins you in a fit of laughter, peppering kisses all over your face, the only face he likes besides his own. "I didn't forget about our date tomorrow!"

"Of course you wouldn't, it's your birthday," you chuckle, pulling away from him to admire him. Even though he comes home to you every day, you rarely get to see him with just how busy he is with his upcoming musical promotions.

"Mm, I may be a busy man but I'm never too busy for my baby!" Zen gives you a peck on the lips and flashes you a stupid grin, one so sweet that you could get a cavity just by looking at it.

Although your loving boyfriend knows about the date you planned tomorrow, he doesn't know about the little gift you had prepared for him.

—

"Ooh! Zen, lemme get a picture of you with the cherry blossoms. You can upload it to your instagram for your fans!" You say as you grab his phone, opening the camera. Zen sighs and looks at you lovingly, you were so cute whenever you got excited.

"How should I pose? You decide, babe," he smiles as you ponder for a while.

"Hmm, do a finger heart and then a peace sign! And then just do what you want."

"Okay!"

Everyday Zen looks at you and believes that he can think of three different reasons on why he loves you. Yep, different reasons for each day. Today is just another day.

First, he loves how supportive you are! Even in the smallest ways. Ever since you started dating, most of his instagram posts were taken by you. He doesn't even have to ask you, maybe you just want an excuse to take a million photos of him. But you're always suggesting new ways on how to interact with his fans more. "Post more pictures! Your fans would love it, I certainly would." You'd say.

"How does it look?" Zen stops posing to walk over to you, snaking an arm around your waist.

"It looks pretty," you smile proudly as the both of you walk along the path, surrounded by cherry blossom trees.

"Let's get something to eat, there should be some stands nearby," you suggest, pointing in the direction in front of you.

Second, he loves how thoughtful and genuine you are. Thanks to his busy schedule, he hasn't been eating too well. But you always make it a point that he should just eat when he's hungry, and you don't care if he gains a little weight. You wouldn't love him any less, you wouldn't find him any less attractive than before, and you always make that clear to him.

"Mm! This is so good, babe. Try it," Zen's eyes light up as he feeds you a bite of his meal.

As you're eating, a flower petal sticks to your hair and it doesn't go unnoticed by Zen. Now he wouldn't be your boyfriend if he didn't act like a cliché male lead in a romance drama every time you guys went on a date.

"Oh, you have a petal in your hair," he inches unnecessarily close to your face just to brush the petal off. Seeing you become flustered, he smirks. "What's this? I think there's something else here~," he closes in, kissing you on the corner of your lips to tease you.

Third—and boy, he wishes he could go on, but he has to save some for tomorrow—, even though you can get shy sometimes, you're not any different and can catch him by surprise too!

"Zen, let's go somewhere with less people. I have a surprise for you," you grin, tugging lightly at his sleeve. Your boyfriend smirks, slipping his hand into yours.

"Oh? What surprise could that possibly be?" He asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Pervert," you mutter, snorting as he bends and bursts into laughter. "I just wanna give you something, come on!"

"Okay, okay. Lead the way, baby!"

You drag him to a quieter and less crowded area, stopping in your tracks to stand in front of him. "I want you to close your eyes!"

"Hm? Okay..." Zen is curious now as he hesitantly does as he's told. He hears a few sounds as if you were looking for something. Finally, after what felt like eternity, you spoke.

"Alright, open your eyes!"

As Zen opens them, his eyes are met with an odd looking necklace. For a moment he's confused, until the realization hits him.

"You did not..." Zen gapes at you in disbelief.

"Mhm!" You flash him a smile. "I remember you talking about how cute these couple necklaces were, so I thought I'd surprise you with it."

Zen carefully brings his hand up to hold it, you bring your hand up to your neck, revealing the matching necklace hidden beneath your clothes.

"You're wearing it already!" His face is glowing at this point, like a kid that just got the toy of their dreams.

You help Zen put on the necklace. The second it was on him, he pulls it towards yours to connect them. The two pieces create a pink heart when put together.

"I'm never taking this off," he declares. "I don't care if it doesn't match some of my outfits, this is a part of me now."

You chuckle and secretly, you feel relieved. For the past few days you were just thinking about how you could make his gift better, but he seemed so genuinely happy about silly matching necklaces, you couldn't help but pull him into a hug.

"I'm so glad you like it."

"Are you kidding? I love it, baby! Anything from you is a precious gift."

Zen pulls away from you, cupping your face in his hands. "You seriously don't know how happy you make me, you don't even need to try."

Closing the distance between the two of you, you press your lips tenderly against his. It catches him off-guard for a second, but he melts into the kiss immediately after. He's a pile of goo in your arms, he couldn't ask for a better gift. There is simply nothing, and no one quite like you.

"Happy birthday, Zen," you say as you pull away from each other, fondly looking into his crimson eyes.

Zen sighs, caressing your cheek. "Gosh, I love you... I love you so much, darling."

[suuuupernovaaa]

Summary: Lucian has been waiting for his love to come around. She fears he has grown tired of waiting.

The easy spring winds pick up, blowing the flowers about. Their petals tickle the exposed skin on my arms and face, as if in greeting.

He’s here, they whisper to me. He’s coming.

I squeeze my eyes shut tight, repeating the words in my head that I’ve been practicing for weeks. The I’m sorry, and the declaration, the terrible explanation. It’s all pieced together in my mind in a way that makes sense to me, but I fear it will come out jumbled.

These fae around me, high lords and inner circles, are eloquent, well spoken, and regal.

I am not.

The sound reaches me then, footsteps in the meadow, and a wave of longing washes over me. It always does, when he’s near. It always leaves me feeling painfully empty when he goes.

He calls my name, and I sit up from among the flowers, and raise my arm to wave to him.

Lucien.

He is as resplendent as ever. Tall and strong, his long red hair creating such a beautiful contrast with his honey gold skin. His sharp nose pointing to full lips. I sigh at the sight of him, and my heart races.

Lucien.

“There you are,” he says with a nervous smile. I can feel it between us, the nervous and sad energy of unrequited mates.

I tire of it.

He extends a hand to me and instead of taking it, I scoot over, the flowers pushing into me, and pat the spot next to me in the grass. He looks surprised, but chuckles and takes a seat next to me.

A few inches apart, but I can feel his warmth, smell his cinnamon scent, and I close my eyes and breathe it in deep.

The guilt of what I’ve done to him settles in my chest. He has been nothing but gracious, allowing me space to grow and adjust to this new life. Other males, I am sure, would not have granted me the same courtesy.

“How long are you back for this time?” I ask. My knees are pulled to my chest, and I wrap my arms around them, as if to protect myself from this interaction that I’ve dreaded and dreamt of in equal measure.

“A few days.”

I turn my head to the side and glance at him. He is already looking at me intently.

“Can you stay longer?”

Of all the things I could have said, this has taken him the most by surprise. His eyebrows raise up, and his lips part.

“Yes,” is all he says for a long pause, and then, “but why?”

Letting go of my legs, I sit up straight, angling my body to him and trying to summon any confidence I may have.

“I have been unfair to you, Lucien, and you have been patient and kind with me. I have… watched you, on your visits. Observed your careful way of moving through the world. I have asked Feyre to tell me everything she knows of you, all the kindnesses you’ve done her. I have thought of you endlessly, but I’ve been too afraid… that maybe it’s too late. Maybe you’ve grown tired of waiting for a mate who could not make up her mind.” I pause, taking in a deep and shaky breath. “I think you are kind and clever. I think you are funny, more witty than anyone in this court. I think you are the most beautiful male I have ever set eyes on. If you can forgive me, for making you wait, I should like to begin again. As if, as if we met today. As if we did not know until this moment, who we are to each other.”

He stares at me while I talk with a guarded expression. I can sense the tension, see it in his neck and shoulders, and tears threaten the corners of my eyes.

He stands then, and my shoulders slump forward. I’m too late. He’ll reject the bond now. I’ve made him wait too long.

Turning, he begins to walk away from me, and just as I am beginning to cry, he turns around.

He looks startled.

“Oh, I’m sorry, my lady. I had no idea anyone else was here!” he says, mock surprise in his voice. He kneels down, his dancing eye meeting mine. “I’m Lucian, and I think you’re my mate.”

The bond tugs on my heart then, and I lean forward, taking the hand he offers so I might stand up and face him.

I cannot wipe the wide grin from my face. “It’s so lovely to meet you, Lucian. I think you’re right.”

We laugh together then, the sounds joining and spreading through the meadow, beckoning flowers to open and spread their petals to the bright afternoon sun.

Lucien holds my hand tightly in his, and leans forward to whisper in my ear. “I would have waited hundreds of years for you. You are worth it.”

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

"What a cute little pet you have with you." He's taken notice of the ferret, looking it over. What devious little devils they were. His gaze stays locked on the animal for a long beat before crimson flick to focus on the man with similarly locks of snow. "Does it have a name?"

═══ UNPROMPTED INTERACTIONS ═══ BG3 VERSE

The sweet sighing melodies from his lute were quickly stopped when he was approached, his brow raising up at the sudden appearance of a man... No. Not with that bright gaze and those shadowed eyes, something about him is ever so slightly off but... What is it? He's left little time to ponder on the idea before their eyes meet, luminescent crimson reflecting and pooling in the bard's iris, painted with lush fields of spring. Wintry lashes fell halfway as the compliment sank in and the question bubbled up,

"My my, you're rather bold aren't you, my fellow knife-earred friend? Approaching me so suddenly without even a hello, mmm~ But I suppose..." his lips curled up in a playful grin, tapping his lute's neck with a graceful tilt of his head, allowing cascade's of pale waves to pour past his shoulder, "...I can satiate your curiosities." Robin purred. He kicked his leg up to push himself forward from where he lay, rolling his shoulder with a tut that brought the small fitchet's head from its hiding spot, within his sleeve. Two round ears fluttered as the ferret lifted its stare to the vampire, its black eyes drinking in all that he was...pouring it back to him.

"Her name is Bel, I picked her up when she was just a kit - poor thing was starving and abandoned - I suppose some noble thought it funny to throw her away. What a disgusting thought. EIther way, she has traveled at my side since." Robin's low gaze flicked back to the vampire's, the petals of his lips quirking as he allowed Bel to scurry across his shoulders and raise her nose towards Astarion. Her whiskers twitched with an almost sentient intrigue, as though she could understand the words being spoken between the two.

The song weaver shuffled and shifted into a more comfortable position in order to give this stranger his full attention, "And what of you, my friend? It would only be proper to introduce yourself after asking for the lady's name. Wouldn't you think so?" His words are honeyed and sweet like ripe nectarines although his voice does not betray the sparkling fascination and intelligence twinkling in his mind as he took in more of the handsome fellow before him. His fingers move on their own to begin plucking at the lute's strings, blessed notes caressing the air like that of a warm summer breeze - the notes seeming to follow the curve of the vampire's features as Robin traced over each one with his stare. "I imagine it to be quite a handsome name, maybe a bit odd - I simply cannot fathom you to have some...boring name like..." His hand waved as he held the note, trying to gather his thoughts, "...George. Or...Paul. Surely its more musical than that."

[highgardcnrose-blog]

The arrival of the rest of her family had provided the youngest rose with an amount of comfort that she doubted she would ever be able to quantify. Her heart had been buoyed despite the loss of her father and between their company and her hands and mind being kept occupied in the grief at bay for the most part. Still as much as her composure and sweet smile might seem to claim otherwise, there was still an ache within her heart that had failed to subside and seemed to tighten at the most inopportune of moments.

There was little desire within her to make her unsettled moments public and so she excused herself from current company in order to search out somewhere a little more secluded. Light footsteps carried her down the corridors in search of a room that could allow herself a moment or two without composure but instead she seems to happen up someone else in search of the same thing. “Forgive me.” Truthful words leave her lips with sweet and soft tones. “My intention had been to find some peace for myself, not to disturb someone else’s.”

@andarofrunestone

[babyjakes]

guessing game.

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

summary | bucky’s learned to be patient with you when you’re having a hard time asking for what you want.

pairing | daddy!bucky barnes x little!reader

warnings | sfw regression (daddy!bucky and little!reader), reader experiencing extreme shyness, big hurt comfort vibes (no hurt? just? comfort?? lol), SOFT!bucky the softest so patient so gentle, thumb sucking

word count | 1,317

requested by anon | oh my so happy you’re taking bucky requests! could you please write something where bucky’s little is really clingy but shy at the same time so like she’d just stare at daddy and wait for him to understand on his own whenever she wants a kiss or a hug or wants to be held on his lap? And like when he finally gets it and gives her what she needs she melts into him and it’s all warm and fluff?

an | hey friend thanks so much for this request i’m so excited for it to be bucky’s first full solo fic :-))) this is so so so sweet, i love it so much! he’d just be the most patient, most encouraging daddy for a baby who had a hard time asking for things. hope you enjoy!

When Bucky hears a light knock on his bedroom door, he answers right away, already knowing who it must be. “Babydoll?” With your hand trembling over the metal doorknob, you twist it warily, pushing the door open and stepping just a foot into the carpeted room. Eyes searching cautiously for your daddy, you find him sitting on his bed in his jammies, reading a worn copy of an old book.

“Hey bub,” he greets warmly. “What d'you need?”

Swallowing hard, you remain frozen in your spot, your voice failing you as usual as you try to put your thoughts into words. When you find yourself unable to even open your mouth, your heart sinks in your chest, your shoulders falling slightly as you begin to back out of the room the way you came.

“Hey, hold on,” Bucky stops you, a frown now forming on his face as he folds the page of his book to save his spot before closing it over and setting it down on his nightstand. Sitting up slightly on the mattress of the bed, the concerned man looks over at you, asking, “What’s up, angel? S'there something I can help you with?”

Biting your lower lip, you continue to cling both hands to the side of the door, your feet feeling flimsy beneath you as you once again fail to answer. At your continued silence, a knowing look forms on Bucky’s face as he nods, rising from his feet and making his way over to you. Kneeling down a few feet in front of you to prevent himself from towering above your shaking form, the dark-haired man smiles softly at you, his next words coming out at barely above a whisper. “Hey, sweetheart,” he hums, his eyes shifting to the door you’re now half-hiding behind before returning to meet yours. “You can come in, doll. It’s alright. Here, com'ere.”

When Bucky motions for you to step towards him, it takes all the courage you have inside your pounding heart to propel you forward, out from behind the safety of the dark wood of the door. “There you are; hi, peanut. What’s on your mind, hmm?” Bucky croons, reaching out and placing a hand on each of your shoulders, guiding you a few inches closer to him. Gently, his hands rub up and down your upper arms in attempts to loosen you up, but you still remain rigid under the kind man’s touch.

Gazing his mild brown eyes into your own, Bucky then asks, “Just feelin’ a little shy, honey?” Gulping louder than you thought you would, you barely manage a nod, prompting your daddy to coo sweetly at you, “Aww, that’s okay, petal. I know my sweet girl just gets quiet sometimes, nothin’ wrong with that, darlin’. Nothin’ at all.” Slowly, you can feel yourself softening up the slightest bit at his intentional use of some of your favorite nicknames, but both of you know it’s nowhere near enough to break you out of your sheepish spell. “Just wish I knew what I could get you, princess. Know there must be somethin’ in that pretty head'a yours that you’re wantin’. Right?”

Letting out a shaky breath, you barely make it through another nod, the wide-eyed and terrified look on your face causing Bucky’s heart to simply wrench. You’ve always been this way, or rather, you’ve always tended to get this way, whenever your mind becomes a little too heavy and your throat feels like it’s swallowing itself into the pit of your stomach. Bucky always thought he could get shy at times, and then he met you. And while your extreme timidness has always posed as somewhat of a challenge for your relationship, the man’s only ever been more than patient and understanding with you, eventually even finding little ways to coax you out of your shell easier, whether it be by calling you the sweetest names in the book, or finding some way to make you laugh.

“Hmm,” Bucky hums as he stands in front of you, a playful look forming on his face as he wonders aloud, “what could my baby girl want this time? Does she want… to go have a snack?” Bringing a gentle hand down, he scrunches his flesh fingers a few times over your tummy, causing you to giggle shyly as your cheeks heat up. “No… don’t think that’s it. We just had dinner not too long ago, and she did such a good job eating all that spaghetti Sam made for us, didn’t she?” Bashfully, you offer a nod, earning a smile from Bucky as he pats your belly proudly.

“So she doesn’t want a snack… maybe she wants a bath then?” he tries another guess. As soon as he sees your nose scrunching up at the suggestion, the man chuckles, his metal arm reaching up to stroke back your hair from your face. “I’ll take that as a negative, huh? Well then… what could it be?” Bringing his other hand down to hold yours, Bucky’s metal fingers trail to just below your chin, tilting your head up slightly to get you to look at him. “Think you could help me out, sweetheart? Don’t think I’m too good at guessin’.”

With a more intense sense of focus being placed back on you once more, your smile fades away almost instantly, a low tremble building in your bones as you bite down on your bottom lip, trying to keep it from wobbling. “Oh angel,” Bucky murmurs, a hint of guilt sinking into his expression as he looks hopefully at you, his eyes urging you to open up. “S'okay, doll. You’re okay. It’s just me, right? Just Daddy. You can ask me for anything, honey, anything you want or need and it’ll be yours. Just need you to try for me, pumpkin. How about we just give it a try, hmm?”

Biting back tears as you struggle at his request, a quiet whimper rises in your throat, causing Bucky to return his hand from your chin to your shoulder, rubbing gently over the fabric of your puppy-print shirt. “Hey,” the man soothes softly, his voice dropping to a low murmur as he senses you’ve reached your limit. “Okay, princess. That’s okay. S'it just too scary, bub?” A first tear drips down your cheek as you nod weakly, your cheeks burning in humiliation as Bucky reaches out, gathering you into his arms before lifting you up to hold you close to him. “Okay, princess. That’s okay. Daddy’s sorry, baby. Know it’s so scary, you’re bein’ so, so brave for me.”

Rising to his feet, the strong man sways you gently, letting you tuck your head into the crook of his neck as he rubs your back lovingly. “Shhh, lovebug. It’s alright. Daddy’s got you; you just take your time, okay, baby?” But as he finishes muttering his comforting words, Bucky begins to notice how quickly you’ve seemed to relax into his hold, your head now out from hiding as it rests its side against his chest, your thumb slotted between your lips as you look up mildly at the man. “Angel?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you. “You alright?”

“Mhmm,” you mumble softly. “Thank'ou, Daddy.”

At your simple words, Bucky smiles warmly at you, leaning down to plant a kiss on your forehead. “You’re welcome, peanut. That’s all you needed, baby? Just wanted Daddy to hold you?” Earning a nod from you, he lets out a sigh of relief, backing up carefully and sitting himself down on the bed with you now cradled in his lap, your eyes growing droopy at the familiar scent of your daddy surrounding you and the faint sound of his heart beating. “Well don’t you worry, little one. Daddy’s right here, gonna hold you all night long,” he soothes, his words sealed as a promise with another kiss to your sleepy head.

[dollwritesarchive]

𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓎𝑒𝓉 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 ⎹ 𝓖.𝓦.

fandom harry potter / masterlist coming soon

featuring george weasley x reader ( f! ) [ past!fred x reader ]

rating nsfw, none of my work is meant to be viewed by minors ( anyone under the age of eighteen ), and i will happily block any that interact with my posts or my blog.

content warning lots of angst, canon death and grieving, hinted survivor’s guilt, unprotected sex, feelings of infidelity and more guilt

summary grief does terrible things to the heart you hoped would heal

word count 2.1k / mini musing

attention do not repost or translate, even with ‘credit’. just don’t do it. reblog instead of like. leave feedback if you enjoyed. i wrote this way too early in the morning, please forgive any mistakes

you felt like the wilting bouquet you’d plucked from his grave.

they could be replaced with the new arrangement, but you couldn’t.

you felt like you could never bloom again.

and here you were: seated at the table in the breakfast nook with the dead flora in front of you, like staring into a mirror. your fingers shake when you reach for a petal that crumbles into dust at the ghosting of the quivering pad. you inhale, deep, with wet eyes drifting to the silver band on your finger.

if you were the flowers, then Fred was the sunlight that abandoned you. he left you to freeze and shatter in a world of darkness and cold.

a salty stream carves the flesh of your cheek and runs down your chin to rain faint drops on to the surface that seep into the wood. come back, your aching heart screams from within your chest, my sunshine. give me something to bloom for.

“Are you…?”

your hand flees to swipe the tears from your cheek when you hear him from behind you. a pathetic half chuckle erupts from your lips, and you shake your head, but you can’t turn to look at him. not now. “No, not really.” you admit.

“Me either.” George whispers, but the room is so silent that you hear it plain as day. which begs the question: where are your children? he must’ve sensed your unease by the way you press your palms against the table and start to stand up, because he soothes you quickly, “Mum took the little ones. Figured you could use the time to yourself.” you’ve turned to look in his direction, now, and you swallow around the lump in your throat when he shuffles closer, both hands stuffed in his pockets. his honey eyes, much like your lovers used to be, are bloodshot and puffy, his nose red. he’d been crying, too. “Besides,” he offers a partial shrug when he exhales, and a pathetic attempt at a smile, “they’re good for her. Especially today.”

you nod— you were grateful for the chance to grieve without his spitting images staring up at you. you wanted to be their sturdy foundation, but you could hardly support yourself. “Thanks.” you mumble, hugging yourself. diamonds in your eyes as you stare at George.

you’d always known the difference between him and your husband, but here— today, as he stands in your kitchen with the pinkish glow of the sunset pouring over him, you could swear he looked more like Fred than he ever has. at least, you so desperately wanted him to.

he must’ve caught you staring, because his eyes flicker down to the floor and he sniffs, “I can go, ‘f that’s what you want. I just—“ you can hear the shakiness in the breath he sucks in, and the way his voice thins, “hate being alone. Without Freddie here. I thought, maybe…”

“That I felt the same?”

“Yes…” he trails off, approaching you with slow, uncertain steps. his eyes focus on the wilted flowers on the table beside you. he reaches into his coat pocket, presumably for his wand, “let me—“

“No.” you answer too quickly, pressing both palms to the pocket, hoping he doesn’t rescue them. “Leave them.” maybe you needed to see them and remember that Fred was the sun that could’ve warmed their petals, or perhaps you just hated being the most lifeless thing in the house. either way, you didn’t want to see them brought back.

George looks alarmed, as if he’s realizing why, and his eyes fall to your countenance, locking with your gaze— his own is a desperate plea. “Let me help you. Somehow. Please.” it was as if he needed it, to be a savior. “I promised him I would take care of you.”

more tears fall, from the pair of you. of course he did; George had a protective streak a mile wide, and you could see it suffering when he looked in your eyes and saw nothing but hurt. nothing but sorrow.

you reach up with an unsteady hand and push ginger tendrils, dampened from the weather, back with your palm, shuddering at how much he resembled Fred in this light; your heart needed to see one in the other. it would rather trick your eyes than accept the truth. your hand falls to the side of his neck, bracing there and urging him to lean forward— closer to your height. you would then push yourself on to your toes, the same way that you used to have to reach for the heavens in order to kiss his brother. your lips are quivering when they brush over his, and he stiffens. your name is a ghost that lays on his mouth, his hands by his sides. you smother it with another kiss before he presses his forehead to yours, breathing ragged.

“I can see him when I look at you sometimes. Especially right now.” you whisper, tears mixing with his as you peck his lips again. “Please, I don’t want to hurt anymore. Make it stop— just for a second, please, take the pain away. It’s making me crazy. I just want it to stop hurting.”

and George stares at you, his heart breaking even as he frames your face with both hands to drown your pleas in a healing, passionate kiss.

there’s a lingering familiarity, and still a persistent fear of the foreign couplet overtaking yours, but you push yourself against him and encourage the deepest kiss he could muster, parting your lips to welcome his tongue. you just wanted it to be the same. your heart pounds against your ribs when you stumble back against the table, grappling at his coat and dragging him with you. his breathing heavy and swallowed in the steamy lip lock, strong hands fall to your shape your posterior and boost you on to the tabletop. it’s only then that you peel the coat from his body, pushing it down his arms whilst his hands find your chin to angle your face, keep you connected at the mouth.

and your fingers fall to his belt, fumbling blindly, flustered and needy. his grasp abandons your face the same time that he breaks the kiss, open mouth trailing over your cheek and down your neck. you can feel the leftover dampness on your face smeared, but you’re already more focused on the way he’s kissing your neck, open mouthed, panting against your skin when your hand dips into his trousers to feel him. you are hyper aware of the way he calls your name and throbs against your palm. you exhale, head dropping back to give George more room to explore. it feels good, to be kissed again, to have your flesh navigated by teeth and tongue.

both of his hands pull your hips towards his when you retrieve his manhood, dragging you to the very edge of the table. you lock your legs around his waist, one hand slipping beneath your skirt to pull your panties to one side whilst the other guides him to the same destination.

two years is a long time.

two years of mimicking your lover’s touch, but never able to replicate it perfectly. George wasn’t perfect, either, but he was certainly closer than your fingers ever could be. and it had been so long that it hurt, taking him in. you had to bite back a whimper and sink your nails into the fabric of his shirt, scraping at the muscle found beneath it, to relieve the pressure of being stretched open again after so long. your brows knit together.

you can feel him tense against your body, clearly reading your discomfort, but instead of asking if he should stop (which you suspected he considered), he pushes closer to you, jutting his hips towards yours until he can push himself no deeper, before he begins to rock. you cry out, clinging to him tighter.

“Don’t stop—“

George doesn’t fit inside of you the same way that Fred did, or perhaps your body didn’t welcome him with the same, loving flutters. instead, your walls spasm frantically about the intruder until he’s grunting in frustrated approval against your neck.

“More!”

you were grateful for his consideration— keeping his face buried against your throat. it’s easier to convince yourself that it wasn’t him. besides his heavy breathing, and the way he calls for you, he’s quiet, as if he’s your puppet. you can pretend that he’s Fred; recall every time he’s taken you on this table the exact same way. live the fantasy.

a head of auburn tresses for you to grab with one hand, the other palm down on the table beside you. George ruts into you, his fingers digging into your hips; he’s a panting, moaning mess in your ear. but you’re the same— pushing your heels into the small of his back in an attempt to force him even deeper, the velocity of his thrusting rocking the table and coaxing flustered whining and breathless pleas from your parted, swollen lips.

you’re already falling apart in his arms, that you hardly notice the climax creeping up until you’re in the midst of it, back arched and head face buried in his heaving chest. “Freddie,” you call out, hoarse, “Freddie!”

you would go on to later hope that George was too preoccupied with his own orgasm in the same instance that he didn’t hear you moaning his brother’s name, or that it didn’t hurt him.

seconds feel like hours while the two of you come down, the initial high fading.

realization sinking in.

what have you done?

“Oh my god.” it’s all that comes out before you’re clamping both hands over your mouth in horror.

three words leap from his lips, preemptive to deter a crisis. “It’s all right.” George takes a moment to abandon your body and tuck himself back into his trousers, panting with a cherry tint over his cheeks.

“What did I do?” you push yourself on to weak legs, gripping the back of one of the chairs for support. your stomach has sunk so low you were sure it would drag you to the floor if you weren’t careful, a twisting pain in your chest and guilt suffocating you. “I— I-“ you can feel the coolness of your wedding band against your lips that have just been embracing George’s. “I didn’t mean to— I just, I don’t know what came over me. I just wanted to be close to him again, to feel something again.”

George frowns and comes over, approaching you from behind with his hands resting on your shoulders, “I know that—“

“You must think I’m despicable.”

“Despicable?” he repeats, appalled. “How could I ever think that?” he doesn’t wait for an answer, before he’s shaking his head, squeezing your shoulders. “You’re grieving, and grief makes us… not ourselves.” George uses the grip on your shoulders to turn you around and pull you in for a tight bear hug.

you want so badly to keep yourself from crying again, but crumbling like the rotten flowers on the table into his chest you sob, half babbling about betrayal and half pleading for George’s forgiveness.

“I didn’t— mean— for that to happen—“ you choke on the words, sniffling. your tears are soaking through his shirt, even with your eyes shut tight. “I’ve ruined everything!”

“It’s okay, shh, love, you’re all right.” resting his chin on the crown of your head, George rocks side to side, as if consoling a small child. “You’ve not ruined anything. It’s going to be okay, you’ll see.”

you stay there, in George’s embrace with both hands on his chest, holding on to his tear-stained shirt, feeling guilty. guilty that you’d slept with him. guilty that you’d betrayed your late husband. guilty that, now, he was the one comforting you and no one was there to comfort him. you knew he needed it, too, that he was hurting more than you, but you couldn’t find your strength. it must’ve been buried under the pity and self loathing.

finally, after several moments of silence only broken by your sniffles, you rest your cheek against his chest and croak, “You’re still my best friend, right?” you don’t know what you expected George to feel, or how you expected him to treat you after this, but the thought of this day driving a wedge between you and him was agonizing.

“I’m still your best friend.” he exhales, much more level than before.

“Will this get easier?”

“I don’t know,” George answers honestly, pressing his lips against your temple in a chaste peck. “But I’ll be here. For you, for the kids. You won’t have to brave it alone, I promise.”

[some-kindofgnome]

now everything is easy

do not interact with this post if you are under 18.

Katsuki wakes next to you the morning after your heat reaches its peak.

c: katsuki bakugou x reader

wc: 3.7k

cw: smut (18+), morning sex, subtle alpha/beta/omega dynamics (knotting, heat cycles,  descriptions of scent & slick), vaginal & oral sex, aftercare if you squint, katsuki is like lovingly disgruntled through most of this but he adores you i promise

notes: Bakugou lovers, what’s up? It’s been a minute... 😅I can’t BELIEVE how long it’s been since I’ve written about Bakugou. But I signed up to write him for a few collabs over the summer, so here’s my warmup. I think I did this trope wrong but he goes down on u so like that’s fun, right? 👀

(MASTERLIST)

Morning comes hot and sticky, drizzling like honey into Katsuki’s slowly waking mind.

For a long time, waking slowly like this seemed little more than a far-off dream, for the man who could never be caught off guard. Most days his eyes still spring open, fully alert to the sound of his six o’clock alarm. But when she needs him, he loses himself easily to her.

To you.

He’s not sure what time it is exactly, only that midmorning sun splashes obscenely across the mussed bedclothes, lighting up the soft green of the worn linen and the buttery eggshell-painted wall beyond. His muscles settle into a dutiful ache. His thighs are still a little stuck together. He kind of needs to piss.

But you, fragile and perfect with the dew of your leftover heat drying on your spine, are worth lingering for.

You’re still fast asleep as he rolls onto one hip, fresh scratches pulling and stinging in the muscles of his back. The sheet’s tucked haphazardly over the curve of your hip, but you’re sprawled on your side with your torso left carelessly bare.

He can’t help himself, leaning forward to bury his nose against your scent glands, pulling the strong reek of you into his head. Your scent is so easy to read- maple-sweet, fragrant like orange blossom and deliciously mingled with his own. Last night, he fucked you both into sheer exhaustion, and the sheets still waft puffs of your mingled scents with every shift of his body.

Still, you’ll be wanting more soon. He gives your petal-soft skin a devilish little nip, rolling away to stretch yesterday’s exertion from his tendons.

Before he can even shift to climb out of bed for the bathroom, you’re squirming beside him.

Too late.

Those long, peaceful breaths of sleepy silence quickly give way to strained little whimpers as your senses come back to you. Last night, your heat cycle had reached its peak. But after a full measure of sleep- and eight hours without the fill of your alpha- he knew this was coming.

“Alpha,” you keen, struggling with even one coherent word. Katsuki’s instincts flare to life while you wake up, fresh waves of your needy scent filling his head and bringing his alpha to the surface. His cock stirs greedily against one thigh, stiffening traitorously in response to your voice.

He sighs harshly, flopping back against the pillows. His jaw ticks, letting firm throbs of desire swell in his gut.

“Couldn’t even wait for me to take a piss, could you?” He growls, no shortage of affection in his rough tone. You’re already rolling over, tangling clumsy, slick thighs in the soiled sheets.

“Please,” you sigh. “One more. I need one more.”

“C’mere,” he grunts, palming your ass to bring you close. “Let me see you.”

Your flesh is hot and sticky beneath his touch, and he knows how badly you need him but he can’t help indulging. Not now, when you’re so pliable and needy for him. It’s cruel to think so, but he loves you most when you’re desperate like this. His mean streak doesn’t come for you very often, but he can’t help it. You’re so easy to tease, and so much cuter when you want something.

He slips between your thighs to quell your squirming, letting you settle onto your back. You spread your legs as far as they’ll go, staring up at him with that wide, vulnerable, irresistible expression you always get at this time in your cycle. It’s how can tell your heat’s coming, far before the changes to your scent. The first time you look up at him like this every season, he knows it’s all over.

Your thighs are still crusted with last night’s slick and dried remnants of cum, but when you spread them, long strings of fresh fluid break and drip onto the mattress. The warm slip of your sex is glistening already.

Katsuki decides in that moment that he’s going to take his time with you, whether you’re ready to wait for it or not.

“You feeling patient?” he chuckles, lip curling as he flicks his eyes back to yours. You’re still staring up at him like that, an extra flash of panic lighting your eyes when the word patient reaches your ears.

“W-what,” you plead. “N-no, please, just- now, just do it now…”

Your voice trails into a strangled little squeak of pleasure when he dips his head between your thighs and seals his mouth to your dripping cunt. The familiar sweet musk of you pours into his mouth, cocktailed with the overwhelmingly heady flavor of your heat slick. The tightness in his balls is getting blurry now, half-full-bladder, half-swelling desire. But he can hold it, if it means he gets to pull more of those little cries from your needy throat.

He glides the flat of his tongue up between your folds, knowing that it makes you squeal without actually pushing you any closer to the edge. As he predicted, your thigh twitches by his left ear and your toes curl, but the whine that leaves you is not a satisfied one.

“K-katsuki,” you beg. The shape of his name on your lips comes as a surprise to him, and he glances up at you with a flinch of his brow. While there’s nothing quite like the way you shout “alpha” in the throes of your heat, when you’re all sleepy and sticky and half-conscious like this, his name feels good, too, hanging in the bleary air between you.

It sounds nice.

He rewards you with a lift of his chin, bringing the fat press of his tongue over your swollen clit just once. The sharp flick of it makes you yelp and flinch, slamming your hips into his face so hard he nearly bites his lip.

“Fuck,” he curses without pulling away, “cut it out.” He flattens one palm over the low plane of your pelvis, pressing weight into his wrist and pinning your wriggling hips to the mattress. The angle’s a little more awkward like this, but your toes are starting to twitch and he can tell you’re losing yourself to the pleasure.

He presses one finger to the weeping silk of your slippery folds, nudging it forward to find your needing hole and pushing smoothly inside.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he croons into your cunt, “y’re fuckin’ grabbing me already.”

Your walls flutter in near-instant reaction to his touch, closing down hard around his middle finger. You squeeze so tightly he can barely draw back out of you again, curling the pad of his finger to find the spongy flesh near your entrance. It’s the tenderest part of you, and when he rubs it just right, you’ll descend into the kind of shivers that’ll make it hard to hold back.

It’s worth it every time, though, to watch you lose your mind under his diligent hands.

Katsuki refreshes the weight in his palm, pinning you freshly down while he re-adjusts to the slick pull of your clutching depths. He cups his tongue against your clit, feeling the heat in its swollen ridge, and dips his ring finger into you, alongside the first. His cock’s fully hard now, drooling wet preek into the sheets and burning with bright, hot tension.

Fuck, it’s going to feel good to get you on his knot again.

He focuses once more on the task at hand, finished revelling in your taste and ready to focus on your pleasure. You like it when he flutters his tongue quick and sharp against your clit, and your cunt’s most sensitive in the shallow parts near your slit. He curls his fingers, rubbing all along the hottest planes. He can practically feel the spots where your nerves sit closest to your skin, making your body spasm when he pins them under his fingers.

“Kah!” The first syllable of his name flies from your lips. He knows you sense his intent now, and your body’s already beginning to stiffen with the promise of climax. He knows you have to tense up a little to make it happen, so when you tense your core beneath the press of his free hand, he knows you’re getting close.

“Close,” you pant anyway, slipping one hand between your thighs and raking your fingers into his hair. When you grab the longest strands at his crown and pull, it sends an unexpected little shock of pleasure to his dick that pulls the air from his chest.

You’re already starting to pitch and shake, but he knows better than to let up now. He keeps the pleasure coming steady and strong, pushing out out a solid rhythm between his tongue and his fingers as he feels you pass the point of no return.

“Right there,” comes your desperate voice, crawling into your upper register. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s it, y-you’re-“

It’s kind of beautiful, how easy to read you’ve become. He’s pretty sure he could satisfy you like this by feel alone at this point, blindfolded with his ears stuffed full of cotton.

A heartbeat and a half later you’re falling, tense muscles suddenly going slack as you dig your heels into the mattress and arch your back off the bed and contract so tight around his fingers he almost busts it right there, trying not to think about how maddening you’re going to feel around his cock in a few seconds. You let out one, long, hushed draw of his name, a “Katsuki,” that wafts by his ears like a fragrant breeze. Then you’re collapsing between his hands, fitful and whimpering and fighting him off.

“Better?” he grunts, sitting back on his heels. He wipes his mouth off with the back of one hand, dipping the pad of his thumb into the corners as he licks your heat-slick from his lips.

The look you give him suggests everything he intended. Better after a peak, perhaps, but there’s only one thing that’s going to satisfy you enough to function today.

Fuck, his knot’s already starting to swell a little when he closes his fingers around himself. He grits his teeth, ignoring the flush of heat that creeps down the back of his neck and willing it to stay small enough to fuck you properly.

He looks up at you again, and your scent crashes into his mind, filling every hollow of his blurry mind. You’re already gushing fresh slick, reaching for him to grab him by the face and pull him back down to your level.

He probably shouldn’t have teased you so long.

He lets you tug him against you, bracing his hands at either side of your head to drop his mouth to yours. He laves his tongue affectionately across your teeth, tasting notes of his scent in the lingering flavour of you. The hint of his own musk serves as a pleasant memory from the night before, when he’d poured his scent into every hollow of your body, claiming you as wholly as you’d given yourself to him.

You’re already humping your hips down against his, with his cock pressing up into the crook of your thigh. Katsuki groans long and low into your mouth, fitting one hand between you to bring his weeping tip to the hot gush of your cunt.

“That’s what you want?” He grunts, dipping his mouth from yours, tucking it against the shell of your ear.

“Katsuki, hmmm,” you whine, dragging your hard nipples against his chest. When he doesn’t move right away you whine again, clutching at his back and trying to rock yourself down onto him.

“Alpha, plea-hah!”

Katsuki delights in the way he can still startle you, after all this time. He cuts off your begging by snapping his hips sharply forward, bottoming out in one clean thrust. He’s never pretended to have the biggest cock in the world. But he’ll be damned if you’re not satisfied by it anyway.

“That’s right,” he pants, closing his eyes against the crook of your neck. “I got what you need.”

He pets a hand down your sternum as he straightens up a little, thumbing the tender swell of one nipple. He slides his fingers into the dip of your waist to brace at the curve of your hip, digging the pads of his fingers into your flesh as he rolls smoothly in and out of your clingy heat.

He closes his eyes again, overcome by the feelings he swallowed to tease you earlier. You are still tender and gooey from last night, molded perfectly to the size of him and sucking him forward every time he tries to pull away. Your slick leaks out around the edges of his cock with every push of his hips, and the quiet, satisfied cries from beneath him send pulses of deep affection into the hollows of his chest.

There’s nothing quite like this, the physical manifestation of the intimacy that lies between you. He is the only one who can do this for you anymore, the only person in the world who can quell the trembling tides of your heat.

He’s not gonna last long at all, getting sweet on you in his head like this.

Determined to make use of the time that he has, he slides his fingers into the back of your knee, pushing your thigh up toward your torso until he can reach up and grab you by the ankle. Slowly, deftly, he straightens your leg, gliding his palm down the length of your shin and guiding the curve of your heel into the crook of his shoulder.

“Pretty like this,” he croons without thinking, turning his head and feathering a quiet little kiss to the inside of your ankle. He spies your reaction out of the corner of his eye, a blissful little sleepy smile that paints your warmed features. Affection clutches low and hot in his belly, a feeling he’s only now grown used to embracing. Tenderly, he wraps his arm around your leg, braces it against his chest, and begins to thrust.

He takes up a slow, heady pace, pulling slowly out of you and then slamming forward with a harsh snap of his hips, revelling in the way your body jerks every time. He can feel the breath rattle against his palate as he sucks it in through his clenched teeth, losing himself in the maddening grip of you. It’s woven into the very fabric of him, loving you. He doesn’t have to say it anymore, not when he can practically read it out of your skin. But he’s promised himself, more fiercely than anything, to take care of you.

He promises you in the way he fucks you through this, muscles stretched thin, balls aching. Worn out on a weeknight’s worth of sleep, calling out of work for the second day in a row, undoubtedly leaving you in bed to put together a decent meal from the fridge he’d stocked this time last week, when you started looking at him Like That and he couldn’t even bring himself to dread it.

You clench, shifting your foot against his shoulder and lifting your hips into his. The tight little ripple around the base of his cock shoots all the way to the base of his spine, and with a sharp little grunt Katsuki slips his free hand down your belly, stretching his thumb over your tender clit. He can already feel his knot beginning to swell again, pleasure spiking hard when he traps your clit under his thumb and starts to stroke, making you cry out and tense into him all over again.

“Kat…suki, I’m.. g-gonna,” you plead, like he can’t already feel it happening again. Even your scent fluctuates when you’re about to cum, rippled with a sharp little spice that peters into sweetness all over again when you bleed down from that high.

“I gotcha,” he promises gently, hooking his arm more firmly around your calf. “Come on, baby. I gotcha. Come on.”

He dips his hips as low as he can, paying extra attention to the beginning and end of every thrust, to overstimulate those tender spots that line your entrance. It works, because before long you’re digging your heel into the meat of his shoulder and convulsing around his pounding length and gushing hot slick that drips down his balls and coats his pelvis and smears across the low end of his stomach.

“Fuck.” The word hisses from his throat, his body taking the green light of your waning climax long before his brain clues in. He digs his fingers into your thigh and leans forward, stretching it up toward your chest and lets himself go, shoving his hips madly against yours and milking every cruel draw of pleasure from his own body until his thighs are shaking with the resistance of it. When the ecstasy finally boils over he slams his hips as far forward as they’ll go, squeezing his eyes shut and shooting long spurts of cum up into your belly. Your walls stretch eagerly around him as his knot expands completely, sealing his pelvis to yours.

Finally, he shrugs your ankle down his arm, gently straightening your leg out over his thigh as you catch your breath. He’s a little winded, too, never quite ready for the overwhelming sensations of taking you.

“That’s never gonna get old,” he mumbles, bowing over your supine form to rest his dewy forehead on yours.

You’re still panting hard, but you laugh airily, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. His eyes are closed again but he can feel you grinning and it’s too contagious not to crack a little smile. He ducks his forehead away from yours to nose against the shell of your ear, mouthing gently at your jaw and sliding both hands up and down either side of your torso.

“Better?” he asks, sincere this time. And, sincerely soothed this time, you nod.

“Much better.”

He knows you’re telling the truth, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s going to be on you all day. He can’t keep himself off of you when you’re coming down from the worst of it, all sweet and pliable and soft in a way that you most certainly are not for the other days in your cycle. You kick his ass without hesitation, and he loves you for it. But you’re irresistible like this.

“Now,” he grunts, still nosing his way down your neck, tonguing the sweet hollow of your scent glands, “hurry up and calm down. I gotta take a leak.”

That urge hasn’t gone anywhere fast, growing shallow and tight in the pit of his groin. But it’s not urgent. Not when he’s locked so sweetly (and securely) into your relaxing depths.

“You’re the one that needs to calm down,” you retort in good humour, glancing down for a heartbeat.

“Say that again and I might not bother waiting,” he threatens easily. The noise that escapes your throat is enough to make him snort, pillowing his head in the crook of your shoulder as you turn sharply to find his eyes.

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

“You gonna stop me?” He regrets challenging you immediately when you flail instinctively beneath him, wrenching on the base of his knot and drawing a strangled, pained little wheeze from his chest.

“Fuck, I was kidding,” he scolds, pinning your shoulders to the mattress. “Jesus. Welcome back.”

You’re getting your fire back early. Maybe he’s kind of missed it, after all.  

He keeps himself curled over you like that until his knot’s gone down almost all the way, cock softening out of you and letting fresh drips of slick and cum leak onto his thighs. Finally he pulls himself away from you, padding blindly into the bathroom and flipping on the harsh fluorescent light.

He braces one hand on the wall over the toilet as he relieves himself, still half-hard and wavering on his overworked thighs. After he’s washed his hands he wagers a look in the mirror, turning his back and twisting to look over his shoulder and examine the damage.

He goes back to bed smirking, thinking of the long, angry scratches while the memory of their infliction is still fresh.

You are already half-asleep again when he finds you, so he just pulls the sheets up around your shoulders and drops a kiss to your temple. You’re going to want coffee soon, and you’re going to need breakfast. Neither of you have had a proper meal in longer than he’d care to calculate.

When he steps into some undershorts and eases into the open space that makes up the rest of your apartment, he opens the kitchen windows, since you’ll want fresh air when you come out to join him. He’d stopped by the bagel shop on the corner by the agency the last time he was there, leaving work early to come home to you, because he knew you’d want fried eggs on your favourite sesame bagel when you were finally coherent enough to crave food again.

The routines that make up his devotion to you aren’t the things he learned about in health class. They weren’t written down in the books that were unceremoniously shoved at him after he’d presented, nor did the details of your post-heat care list appear on any neatly packaged powerpoint presentation.

He’s picked them up slowly, the hard way, by messing up over and over and over again. They’re things he never even realized he knew about you, until he looks down at his hands and he’s flipping his own egg every few seconds to keep it from browning but leaving yours in the pan to get crisp around the edges.

It feels good to know you so deeply. Even when, sometimes, the flipside is still a little too vulnerable and scary. Even when he’s still harsh and mean, when he still messes up, when he still catches himself on the edge of fury so often.

You picked him anyway, and he’ll be damned if he’s not going to let that mean something.

[syven-siren]

Black Hole Breeding

Summary: Sam and Dean find themselves insatiable, craving and clawing for every inch of you. And you? Well you find yourself wanting nothing more than to have your fill of them too. (Demon!Dean x Reader) (Soulless!Sam x Reader)

Warnings: Unprotected Sex / Breeding Kink / (Multiple) Creampie / Cum Inflation / Oral Sex / Throat & Face Fucking / Dirty Talk / Other Unholiness 

Word Count: 2244

Requested by Anon: But I had this dream and I was wondering if you could do some smut with breeking kink and demon!Dean x reader x soulless!Sam. They use an entire weekend to consensually keep reader tied up, and take turns creampie-ing (is that a word?) Her as often as they can which is a lot, only taking some breaks to given her snacks and water. A LOT of cum? Sam putting some tape on the entrance of the 🍑 because he doesn't want any to leak out?

There’s a certain level of risk to life when yielding to the pleasure of men with no moral compass. With each interaction, you walk the line of decency, hoping that this time won’t be the one that sends you spiraling into a monster of their making. And yet, you still have not had your fill of it.

Invested in the delicate balance of bending and breaking your body to their will, Sam and Dean have taken you to the deepest depths of debauchery. They, themselves, have been to the very edge. They have seen the bad, have done the worst, and still salivate for more. The three of you are beings of greed and gluttony. Lust always lingers in your shadows, digging her claws into your bodies, and poisoning your blood with tempestuous honey.

“Can you smell her, Sam?”

Calloused fingers pet the swollen petals of your core. Instinctively, your hips make an attempt to buck, but your bottom barely lifts off the table. The cords bound around your ankles and wrists make certain of that. A mewl of bubbles in your throat, calling out to the two males. Desperation suits you well.

“Yeah. A fertile little bitch, isn’t she? Ripe and ready for another breeding.” At the low baritone of Sam’s voice, your core pulsates around the silicone bobble plugging you. They have already bathed you in their sin multiple times over, but there is no rest for the wicked.

“We drew straws. Sammy won but I know you can’t wait to take mine again.” Within Dean’s forest green eyes, you see flicks of envious black glitter. Their attention is quickly drawn down to your tongue which peeks out to moisten your chapped lips, “You want something in your mouth?”

Words elude you. The processes of your brain have switched off, leaving you with basic instinct alone. You rely on an unintelligible noise to express your deep desire to feel the thickness of Dean’s shaft on your tongue. The rustling of clothes and the distinct zrzrzr of the zipper’s teeth parting are music to your ears. You need to feel something, anything besides the itching burn of desire.

Dean caresses your face, mumbling about how fuckable you currently look. You whine at him and earn a quick crack against your exposed breast, “Don’t be ungrateful. You’ll get it when I decide to give it to you. Do you understand?”

“Y-Yes.”

You wish to complain further when the object of your wanting is not given but bite your tongue. Fearing Dean’s wrath, you wait patiently as he explores your body like a newfound treasure. Under his feather-like touches, the nerve receptors of your body are seared with an invisible heat. Your nipples pebble at the sensation. And much to his delight, they stiffen further as he tweaks and rolls them between his fingers.

In contrast to the sharp stings applied to your upper body, an open-mouthed kiss is placed along your inner thigh followed by another. And then another before Sam’s tongue teases the skin with a slow lick. Air floods your lungs as you suck in a breath through clenched teeth. Every touch scorches your body and makes you twitch in anticipation of when the next will come.

Taking up his own endeavors, Sam maps out your flesh with rough bites and rogue kisses; inking out a path of mottled skin from your inner thigh to the most scared haven nestled between your legs.

A stuttered moan bubbles in the back of your throat as slow licks tease your engorged clit. Sam’s skillful tongue works against the pearl with a clockwise swirl then back in the opposite direction. It makes your head spin and become drunk off his ministrations.

It’s all the same: the pleasure...the pain. Both are offered as you lie on a cushioned altar.

Set before you, is the tempting fruit of Dean’s desire. The bulbous tip is laid against your lips and leaks the communion of sin. As if it will be your last meal, you eagerly lap at what is provided. The heady musk of him envelopes you, searing your tastebuds and tickling your nose. Cupping the back of your head, Dean powers more of himself down your slick orifice, “That’s a good girl. Take it all.”  

With your head hanging off the edge of the table, blood rushes to your brain, and a dizzying buzz fogs you. The sensation overwhelms you suddenly and the vessels of your brain throb with each beat of your heart. The hinges of your jaw click and pop as more of him is shoved in and out again. You savor each stroke, slurping at his girth, swallowing the mix of your saliva and his precum.

Your neck stretches further under the weight of his timed ruts. A blazing fire overcomes your skin, traveling down your body as you feel him plunge further down your throat.

“Fuck. Wouldja look at that?!” Dean traces the outline of his cock underneath the delicate skin of your neck, “That’s the prettiest shit I’ve ever seen.”

Each spasm of your pharynx squeezes him with renewed strength. Your body tries to expel the object blocking oxygen from entering your lungs but it is to no avail. It only makes the experience more pleasurable for the man above you.

Disinterested in playing to your need for adjustment, Dean begins plowing into your throat. His heavy balls brush against your sweat-slicked forehead. In a lewd way, they further mark you as his.

If anyone were to bear witness to the hedonistic display this night, they’d think themselves in hell. But to you, it’s purgatory. Suffering and sin. Pleasure and peace.

A strangled sob evades Dean’s throbbing member and escapes your throat as the plug is pulled from your pussy. Too enraptured by the cock suffocating you, you had forgotten about the other man in the room.

You’re core aches and is left with a feeling of emptiness that is soon filled by Sam. There’s no softness in his first thrust. His cock, though not as wide as Dean’s, is long and veined; making its entrance more than noticeable. An audible squelch reverberates through the room as he sinks into you. The size of him displaces the fluids of your previous passionate encounters. The warm concoction dribbles down and tickles over your untouched puckered hole.

“I’m the one fucking you so look here.” Thick fingers vine around your forearms and force you to curl upwards. The vertebrae of your spine groan at the hyper-flexion and Dean’s cock is pulled free from your mouth. Following the command, you watch in pure fascination as Sam’s cock plunges in and out of you. The mixture of your past meetings is a thick cream on his rigid shaft. And on reentry, it allows the crown of his cock to kiss the farthest point of your pussy. A wail scratches at the sore walls of your throat and passes through your plump lips to echo across the room.

In. Out. In. Out.

Again. And again. And again.

His thrusts are pointed and forceful. The muscles of his abdomen contract with each one. Sam’s visage is one of determined concentration.

“Sam.” His name leaves your mouth as an exhale of sacrilegious hallelujah. The walls of your pussy curtain around him, wrapping him in velvety warmth. There’s a painful nudging against your cervix that accompanies his next few thrusts.

“Feel that? That’s where I’m gonna cum.” He informs you, brows furrowed in concentration. “I’m gonna make sure it’s deep. Yeah. Better not waste it, right?”

“Yes. No, waste...No, wasting it.”

A devilish chuckle rumbles deep within his chest at your response. Your pussy flutters around him frantically, eagerly grasping at his cock. His thrusts become uneven but never lose their power. Quick and sharp, they force the air from your lungs. Once. Twice. And then his hips still. But his cock twitches, lifting with the quick motions as it paints your walls white.

A squeal of ecstasy erupts from you and tears leak even though your eyes are pinched closed. Your body shudders. The fibers of your muscles twitch with crazed energy.

Full. You feel so full and warm. There’s a stretch, aching in your abdomen. The cream of his completion has filled you in a way no other has before. Sam’s hips roll in waves, easing his length out of you but pushing the milky fluid further in you. You whine when his hand makes contact with your stomach, smoothing over your skin and adding pressure.

“You’re showing.”

Confusion crosses your face until you follow his gaze to your stomach. Indeed, your stomach has swelled slightly at the addition of your coupling. Your breathy moan causes both men to laugh in exchange.

“What did we say? Everything stays in? Yes?”

“Everything s-stays,” you stumble over your words as he begins to withdraw. You clench around him, wiping his member clean as it exits, “Everything stays in.”

“Look at that, Dean. She cleaned me off good.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Dean countered, giving you one last look before shuffling towards the door, “Such a good girl, huh?”

You whimper when Sam’s fingers tease your opening but he shushes you, “Don’t act up now.”

Exhausted blankets your body and mind making it easy for Sam to work the plug back into you. You moan at the intrusion. Too full. The words bounce around your brain but never make their way out of your mouth.

Time paces forward slowly. Things move about but you have no energy to mind them. Too focused on the lulling warmth that radiates from your occupied core. Your heavy limbs fall slack as the bounds are released and yet you feel as if you are floating on air. Your devils turn to winged saviors as they comfort and care for you. Taking pity on your abused form, they provide you with nourishment and scandalous praise.

“You ready for more?” Dean’s voice beckons you from your inebriated state, “You want more, don’t you?”

“I want everything. Give me all of you.”

Each time they have you, it is more powerful than the last and you lose more of yourself to their wicked ways. At times, you are frightened by your own willingness to indulge in their games but here you are again.

Positioned on your hand and knees, you await, with reverence, Dean’s next move. There’s no suddenness or harshness as expected. His soft touch throws you off balance. You get lost in it. His fingers glide along the valley of your spine. His suffocating presence wraps around you, snuffing out your own and replacing it with an unrelenting need.

Taken by your obedience, Dean rewards you; replacing the plug with his cock. The stretch is not nearly as painful as it normally is but still, it aches and causes you to moan pitifully.

Like a beast of avarice, he ruts into you over and over. Grunting and groaning, he gives in to feral instincts. His thighs smack into the back of yours, leaving you bruised and whimpering. But you care so little about the pain. It only adds to the twisted pleasure that tugs at your core.

Dean’s fingers dig into the supple flesh of your hips as you rock back to meet his thrusts. “Fuckin’ hell. You’re too good. So warm and perfect.” His words are slurred with passion.

Taken by an addiction, you both yearn for the feeling of your physical form molding to his shape.

His hand cups your jaw, pulling your back against his chest. Your eyes are meant with ones of pure obsidian. The way he stares so deeply into yours makes you contemplate if he can see the ribbons of your soul. The smirk on Dean’s face gives every indication that he can. Or perhaps he just knows that you willingly bound yourself to the tattered and blackened edges of his own dark heart.

“Sam doesn't think you can hold any more inside but I told him you’d be a good girl for me. You aren’t gonna disappoint me, are you?”

“No. Never, Dean.”

His kiss is rough and rushed. It sears your promise with a forceful emphasis. Much like the rest of his approaches, the way he touches you is harsh and hostile but that is who he is.

Fingers press against your clit, nudging and working the sensitive bud. The thrusts of his cock, once perfectly timed, now stutter with his impending end.

Fire. And need.

Force. And fill.

Golden light clouds in your vision as he sows his seed of sin in your garden of Eden. You cry out in sweet rapture, imploring him to continue.

His thrusts go on. Tipping you past the edge. Over and over, he pumps into you indulging your greediness.

Filled and full, you collapse beneath him. He doesn’t follow and slips free from your core. There’s no way to contain the copious amounts of cum they have provided you. With the gentle prodding of the mattress on your stomach, the juices flow from you. Your thighs and the bedding become bathed in it and yet you’re still full.

“You look gorgeous. Sam! Come look at our girl.”

Ravenous eyes devour the sight of you, sparking a new hunger in them.

Insatiable, they are.

Sam and Dean are two black holes readying to consume all of you. And you’ll allow it. For if nothing else, you are theirs.

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed. Feedback is always appreciated!

Supernatural Masterlist

Tagging the Lovelies: @am3l1a-24 @reborn-rekall @akshi8278 @vienmiaprendere @mika-dannielle @holding-on-to-hotch @marilynmonroefanfics @fandomxreaders @whitemanshoe19 @adoreyou976​

[vecnawrites]

For a short one, maybe a hundred words or so, how about Faunus ruby is about to into her heat so she asks jaune to tie her down in her bed, but come morning, jaune is the one who is tied down.

(Well, went 1,289 words over one hundred, but I don’t think you will be complaining...hope you enjoy this!)

Ruby panted, her tail wagging wildly. Already she could feel the uncomfortable warmth filling her body. It was happening, her heat was coming upon her. She would need help staying still; she was a right terror during it from what Yang said.

But Yang wasn’t here. Nor was Blake or Weiss, nor even Pyrrha or Nora...not even Ren! All of them having gone somewhere or other for the day, leaving only her and…“Jaune!” she gasped, shooting up and her cheeks flushed red as she thought about her crush, the boy she had fallen for over the months they had been at Beacon. She knew that he would help her without making a fuss out of it!

She rolled out of her bunk, nearly collapsing to the floor as her soaking panties pulled along her pussy, her legs quaking as she tried with everything she had to not just collapse on her face. Still, she found her core utterly drooling, lines of her sweet smelling honey oozing down her inner thighs.

She shuddered as she grabbed a bundle of Blake’s ribbons (she hoped her teammate forgave her for borrowing them, but she was certain she would, she had heats as well) and fumbled for her scroll, doing her best to type as the heat within her belly grew and grew, becoming stronger every moment.

~~~~~

Inside Team JNPR’s dorm room, Jaune blinked as his scroll dinged, notifying him that he received a message. Setting down his homework, he grabbed it and opened it, frowning as he read the garbled message that came from Ruby.

‘pEse cum 2 dom. Ned helP!’ well, it wasn’t like he could rightfully ignore that in good conscience, now could he?

Getting up he quickly made his way out of the dorm room and across the hall to RWBY’s dorm room and knocked, swiftly entering the dorm room and closing the door behind him.

Turning around, Jaune blushed brightly and turned away, cheeks on fire as he stared at the wall resolutely. “What the hell, Ruby?!” he gasped out, skin bright red as his mind ‘helpfully’ played the image of Ruby completely naked in his mind on a feedback loop.

“Sorry, sorry! But...but I need help!” Ruby’s voice was heavy and shaking, panting almost, making him turn back, peeking over his shoulder to see her holding ties, no, ribbons, in her shaking hands, her tail wagging quickly behind her...although her felt things happening as that wag translated to other parts of her body deliciously, like her surprisingly sizable breasts shaking and bouncing, her nipples taut and hard.

“M-my heat is coming on, a-and I n-need to be restrained!” a loud whipping noise filled the air as her tail went into overdrive as she looked at him hopefully. “W-Will you help me?” she asked, silver eyes wide and bright with hope.

Jaune swallowed, cock bulging outwards in his pants at the thought of tying a naked Ruby down, hovering over her-he bit back a groan as his cock throbbed hard; he had always thought the cheerful wolf faunus girl as beautiful, but he had never wanted to risk the friendship they shared by trying anything...avoiding Yang’s wrath was certainly another plus as well.

But to hear such earnest pleas for help...he couldn’t say no to her.

Turning around (and making very sure to keep his eyes on her face), Jaune took the ribbons from her hand, missing how her pupils dilated and she froze completely still. “S-So you want me to restrain you, Ruby?” he asked, pleased that his voice didn’t crack, but pausing when he received no answer. “Ruby?”

Glancing down, he was met with a face full of rose petals, causing him to sputter, before he was slammed in the back and knocked into the bottom bed, his world spinning as he landed on his back.

“OOOOOOFFFF!!!” he grunted as something landed on him, hard, before his arms and legs were yanked apart and tied to the head and baseboards. Looking up, he saw a naked Ruby straddling his thighs, her tail going absolutely wild behind her as she stared down at him hungrily.

“Hah...hah...sorry, Jaune…” she panted, her orange-sized breasts heaving, nipples hard and taut, pussy absolutely drooling down her inner thighs and leaking onto his jeans. Her fingers stroked his bulge gently, her tail wagging even faster somehow, her eyes getting even more hungry before-

-RRRIIIIIPPPP!!! Jaune couldn’t help but release a loud yelp as Ruby tore his jeans and boxers open, his hard cock flopping out and standing tall and proud. His thighs bunched in a vain attempt to hide himself as Ruby pulled more, tearing the fabric further, exposing his hips and his balls in full.

His cheeks burned more as Ruby squeaked in joy and cradled his cock in her warm, small hands, nuzzling her soft cheek against his hard flesh. This position happened to arch her rear end up, allowing him to see the jiggle of the bubbly swells of her rear as she sniffed delicately along his cock, burying her nose in his sack, inhaling deeply, her tail practically vanishing from how fast it was moving. “Mate...mine, mine, mine, mine, mineminemineminemine~” she chanted, before hopping up onto his lap properly, hovering above his shaft and rubbing his leaking tip with her soaking lips. “Mineminemineminemine-”

Schlickt!!

Jaune cried out and Ruby howled as she sank down on him, her swollen lips wrapping around his cock firmly, her inner walls clenching around him tightly and flexing, like a hand moving around his hard shaft.

“Ohhhh...matematematematematemineminemineminemine~!” Ruby chanted, hips immediately vanishing in a blur as she activated her semblance and rapidly moved upon him, whining, whimpering, howling as her walls flexed and squeezed around Jaune’s cock in an attempt to pull all the cum from his balls.

Which she received with a vengeance.

Jaune growled in pleasure, bucking upwards as his balls tensed, pulsing in his sack as they expelled large thick shots of their backed up contents, delivering them straight into the depths of Ruby’s flexing and grasping core, filling her womb.

Ruby howled, even louder than before as she clamped down hard on her new mate’s cock, her walls swelling and locking down around the thick stalk of flesh, flexing and milking it for everything it was worth. She whined and shifted, her pussy going wild as she slumped down, landing face first on her mate’s chest, hearing the heavy thump, thump, thump of his heartbeat, smelling the spice and salty tang of sweat clinging to him as she rolled her hips, tugging the hard flesh back and forth.

“Matematematematemate…” she hummed, turning her head and kissing his chest, her sweaty hair sticking to his chest, her boobs squishing against his torso as she trembled in prolonged orgasm, her walls continuing their suction and job of emptying Jaune’s balls. A canine grin stretched across her face as she heard Jaune grunt underneath her and felt more hot wetness shoot up into her body, filling her with more of his wonderful warmth. Pussy flexing more around him, she snuggled close to him, breathing deeply if his scent.

Licking his skin, she decided on a small quick nap before continued lovemaking. “mmm...love you, mate…” she growled softly, happy and truly content for the first time in a long while, as she slowly drifted into a state of rest.

Jaune’s eyes widened as he heard Ruby’s words, his mouth dry...although that could be because all currently bodily fluid he had was being sucked slowly out of his cock. He hadn’t expected this to happen when he came in, or for feelings to be revealed...especially after she had tied him down and mounted him like a pony.

Taking a deep breath, he searched his feelings. How did he feel about Ruby? He knew he cared for her deeply, thinking of their interactions with one another. “Holy...I love-nghhh!” Jaune was cut off as another orgasm was milked out of him, his balls trembling as they expelled another thick load of cum into Ruby’s grasping depths.

He panted, looking down at the peacefully napping wolf girl on his chest. Feelings could wait until Ruby woke up, he supposed, trying to settled as best he could while his cock was being so constantly stimulated…

...but there were much worse fates to go through to be sure.

[matchamorphosis]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞

𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 | ღ | 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || what seems to be a normal rich summer morning with the women who lives across the honeysuckle boulevard from his cottage lies something else. a buttery rich feeling that spreads deep within Bucky’s heart as he takes his neighbor, alongside Alpine to the farmers market for coffee.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 || fluffy fluff! ➳ part one

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 || retired!bucky barnes × neighbor![black//woc]reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 3K ➳ 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 || @firefly-graphics

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || if you think long walks with bucky and alpine in the sunny countryside are warnings then so be it but there is lots of food mentioned. ღ also reader owns a flower shop, not a warning thought just some info!

𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 || this version of cherry wine by hozier ღ this version of mystery of love by sufjan stevens ღ

𝐰. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 || eeeeep!!! so this is my first bucky with alpine fluff and i’m very glad to have it be the first for my fluffy mini series that i’m doing for this month! ღ I don’t describe reader too much throughout the story but what is clear is that I don’t specify on skin tone but yes the person in the moodboard is a woc! ღ anyways I hope you cherubs enjoy reading! ღ

+ p.s || do not repost, republish or plagiarize my work on any other fanfic platform such as: wattpad, ao3, tumblr, etc or steal my work all together. do so and i will rip your spine from your scumy asshole and shove it down your talentless throat. ♡♡♡  

it was a lavish affair when Bucky found himself tangled with you in the bed of a million perennial petals.

clothing falling and bodies twisting themselves against each other in not lust but emotional apprehension. the soft petals of rose, carnation and violet keep pouring like blissful rain, entangling in his hair and in the crooks of your body.

enough to suffocate but enough to make him feel enveloped in the fantasy- the divination of you you you and only you.

for you are butterscotch benevolence that he will let pool like ambrosial nectar in the cavernous hollows of his collarbones. your tears of seventh heaven euphoria trickling onto his skin forming constellations- like the paint speckles on the forlonged artists canvas of his naked soul.

you are honey sunlight oozing from the basin of the candy floss sky, lacing with the shedding petals that continue to powder in their divine scent and morality. his fine pink sheets soft and silky as the rose petals of Heliogabalus, he’d sigh in heavenly pleasure to be buried alive in petals if she was drunk of the love he has for her.

he sees her playing, singing, dancing and bringing her virtuous spring song deep within the glossy shine of her honey hive eyes. love seeping in the melancholy streams leaking through the old creeky floorboards of his home and straight into the chambers of his heart.

so promising yet so grandeur as he feels his chest warm with her very touch, the ivory bow encased in the virtuous flowers of her emblem garden in his hands- he’d think that he was Cupid but oh how he’s been struck by his own arrow in great surprise. straight into the once extravagant chamber of his heart.

the spiraling golden arrow destined to pierce and rip through the tender muscle of breast to the beating vessel that writes a tragic tale of eternal ravishment in the movements of lyrical beats. muttering with languor-glazed lips, he’d keep her love like a an old locket against his chest for it’s what reminds him of home whenever he feels the cold element on his skin.

there are pieces of you scattered in the wonderous arteries of his heart.

nestled in the folds of the beating muscle, take heed.

for that is his home.

y/n is his perennial feelings left unsaid, exquisite pain yet ethereal serenity. his soft bed of roses and his deadly golden arrow, all meant to give his heart hope.

that he was- however it seems the bed of roses and all the lovely elements it holds have come to a staggering pause.

now as the sun hits the past super soldiers eyelids that dream of flower petals and the heavenly vision of you disappear. they flutter open to meet the single stream of sunlight that has slipped past the slit of the sheer bedroom curtains. brightening up the somewhat clustered space of the room with its single golden string.

Bucky sighs in defeat, this is the fifth dream he’s had of you in a month and he was barely pushing past the second week of May. before he didn’t mind the dreams, they calmed his mind while he layed in slumber during the thunderstorms of April but now they were resilient. it wasn’t no regular thing to dream about the women across the boulevard in the haven of flower fields and maple trees.

Bucky knew this but he couldn’t help but not treat these dreams sweetly. they were the definition of sweet torture, you never hurt him in those dreams as he did to himself but it was a pain to know that you probably don’t think of him the same way. for goodness sake ever since he and Alpine moved the only interactions he had with the maiden were just acknowledgments as they passed each other on their daily errands.

he shouldn't be this infatuated with someone who he's only met.

the soft hum of a purr finally awakens Bucky, his cats paw brushing against the half covered skin of his fleshed bicep. it takes a pat or two to make Bucky open his eyes to find Alpines blue hues staring back at his and he gives his furry friend a crooked smile. a chorus of meows welcoming him to another sunny morning in the peaceful and harmonious countryside.

“morning pal, ya slept well?” Bucky smiles as he lazily lifts his hand to scratch the right spot behind Alpines ear.

stretching out of bed till his feet touch the cool wood flooring, following the simple path from the bedroom to the kitchen he pours Alpine his dish of cream and gets started on his own breakfast. whisking hen eggs his neighbors from afar gifted him the day before and toasting the freshly baked loaves of bread he bought specially from the market yesterday.

Bucky normally didn’t take any gifts from anyone, he wasn’t that type of person to feel comfortable with those sort of things but as the days gone by the cheerfulness of the communities welcoming energy towards him has soften his doubt.

eating his simple breakfast paired with coffee, Bucky bites into his buttery egg toast whilst quickly scribbling down his to-do list for the day. of course there isn’t any tasks that the hundred and ten year old man has to get done but there were things that Bucky did look forward to ever since he settled in a month ago. the country was a lovely peacefulness he had forgotten about ever since he was a boy.

traveling to his grandparents farm away from the city for memorable childhood summers in the sun and fields. turning his head to meet the white linen sheets that draped over the kitchen panels, Bucky can see the herd of brown and black spotted cows from the distance. tapping the pencil against the shiny polish of the kitchen table he bites his lip on what else to add on.

his head lifts up to see through the other window that casts its lovely light against his paper. blue eyes meeting the toffee cobblestone path that led to her cottage, hidden amongst the shrubbery of acorn trees and flower budded bushes. hearing from lots of locals in the cobblestone village near the sparkling sea that she owns a little orchard of peach and cherry trees, a few strawberry patches amongst the vegetation.

it made sense why he sometimes finds a large wooden basket of those ruby fruits at his doorstep from time to time. a card inviting him over for some tea that he would agree to yet he would always call you the next day a stuttering mess canceling it over some important errands. nonetheless it made Bucky's heart swell how understanding you were, sweet just like the ripe fruits you pluck for him on Sundays.

Bucky would make copplers and sometimes pies out of them and if he wasn't so scared of the possibility of being too attracted to you he'd head over to your place so he and him would eat them in your gazebo. but of course he can't do everything his heart implores him to do. was it bad to want to get to know you and imagine what it would be like to befriend you?

maybe do lots more than just befriend you...

sometimes he would find a glimpse of your form in the distance as he headed for the lake neat the lavender fields up north to fish something for dinner. humming while you cared for your flowers, singing to them as you danced along the vintage radio. Bucky could see himself singing and dancing alongside you. caring for your precious tulips, primroses and other beautiful flowers that you sold.

those pretty flowers sweet and divine just as her lips and voice when the two first met, when he arrived in the too expensive car that stood out amongst the scenery. arms occupied with bouquets upon bouquets of trimmed flowers that practically shielded her face, his body ran straight into yours when he got out of his car. flower petals falling with the impact and him apologizing one thing led to another and he helped her with her bouquets all while being stricken when he got a clear look at her.

a clear look at you.

lovely in your sundress that flowed beautifully against your bodies soft planes, there was something about the sparkle in your eyes that made him start to stutter. something about you that made his heart bloom in a recherché flower he still can’t understand because he can still hear the velvety tone of your voice speaking your own name when giving each other’s your introduction.

from there on out a glowing ember of clustered stars burned in the pit of his belly when you spoke his name and he spoke yours. it was soft and innocent as the flowers in your arms but the introduction was cut off far too short for Bucky's liking but he promised you a coffee when he was completely settled in. having to do something so he could see you again cause oh how he wishes to hear you speak his name again and again and again till the flowers sprout, bloom and decay with each coming season.

maybe he should pay you a visit and bring up that coffee...

the music from the radio filling the bright cottage kitchen sweetly alongside the birds singing their song outside. Alpine takes his seat across from him, yawning over the new day that brings nothing but lazy laps and baked fish treats. forking a few honey drizzled raspberries in his mouth, Bucky walks to the front door and just in time the daily paper plops down on his feet from the passing paper boy whipping through the grassy roads on the shiny steel of a ringing bicycle.

bending down to retrieve the newspaper, he passes through the sidewalk of petunias and violets till he reaches his mailbox. the wood creaky and the metal rusty but the daisies that sprinted around the opening was a pretty site to see before Bucky grimaced at people from the outside world wanting to invade his privacy. grabbing the letters before smelling the sweet daisies, Bucky looks through the letters one by one. ripping some that had no use for to be used as fire food for his fireplace, grunting that even though he’s away from the tabloids and cameras there are still people eager enough to want something from him.

a soft voice from the distance pulls him out of his annoyance, it makes his eyes lift from his dreaded mail to the women a mile away singing her song as she reaches her mailbox. Bucky can’t help but look at her from afar; and maybe Alpine knows this to as he watch his lovesick owner admire the maiden from the kitchen windowsill.

with some obscene fortune he notices you checking your mailbox as well. heart pacing in his chest, he wishes he didn’t go outside before showering and at least brushing his hair for your waving to him from the distance.

“hello hello Bucky!” your sweet voice exclaims and it just adds onto the heaven that is the morning it makes his cheek hurt from how much he’s smiling.

“hello hello to you y/n. how is the shop coming along?” Bucky shouts and his heart sinks when you wave him over to you.

despite his mind telling him to not pursue closer his heart makes him walk his way to you standing next to your Valentine shaped mailbox. his worries slipping away when there's a underlying comfort in your posture and aura, alluring like the bees are to the flowers. welcoming and warm and he can't help but feel that way every time he's near you.

speaking of you, its reassuring to also know he wasn't the only one to wear pajama's out since your still in your blue silk nightgown. matching silk slippers adorning your feet, you sip from your tea cup as you read what he believes to be a Cosmopolitan.

“it’s coming along great, thank you! a bit slow the first week but that’s how any business starts but I just received my tenth loyal customer and i’m more than certain i’ll be selling lots of flowers today.” you spoke as you smiled to yourself then up at him.

checking your mail, Bucky’s surprised that you have quite a handful of letters and boxes. all written in lovely cursive and packaged nicely, almost like love letters and gifts. it makes Bucky’s heat sink, knowing that he might not be the only one who’s fallen head over heels for you. by all means you probably have the whole village under a spell with just the way you smile alone but he wants to see that smile the most.

he wants to be the reason for that smile.

“that’s sounds wonderful y/n, maybe I could stop by and pick a pretty bouquet or two," you only smile wider upon those words and much to his excitement you even brush your hand against his.

"oh really? have a special someone in your life who needs some loving?" you perk as you open an envelop but the question makes Bucky's throat dry on how he should answer.

you seem like the type of maiden who loves an honest man- yes, he should be honest.

"well... there is this one special lady." Bucky lingers and that makes you snap your attention away from the letters in your hands. voice dying in your throat at those words and heart beat hitting pause.

"I always thought Alpine was gonna be the only one to get to my soft spot- we sleep in the same bed together," he stops to laugh a bit, rubbing the back of neck with his metal arm and you laugh along with him.

"how is Alpine? i'm noticing he's getting into a routine with sleeping in my chamomile beds in the afternoon," you smile and bring your tiny tea cup to your lips. "would you care for a cup Bucky? this just so happens to be chamomile,"

"Alpine is doing good and thank you for bringing that up I was beginning to wonder where that rascal has been leaving for. will have an important talk to him once I get home and- I was going to ask you something," Bucky speaks while admiring how your thick lashes curtain your honey hive hues as you sip the steaming golden liquid.

no one should look that beautiful just drinking tea yet here he is, breathless on the simple action. if he truly wanted a cup he'd wish to drink from your tiny cup, to press his lips upon the porcelain rim where yours once brushed against. drink the sweet sunshine to experience the closest thing to your honey kiss...

"don't worry it's alright! I love looking over at him when I have tea at the back patio, he's quite a lovely guest. very well mannered, and yes Bucky is there anything I can help you with?" you cannot deny that your heart is practically skipping beats in your chest, fast and lively like the flutter of a butterfly wing.

Bucky runs his fingers through his hair, for someone who has done the simple thing of asking someone out for couple hundreds of times a hundred years ago from now it’s a disappointment that he’s lost his touch. however you don’t seem to notice or care but that doesn't mean he should give up. not when you're right here glowing in your morning dew radiance, anticipating the next words to slip past those lips.

it's now or never.

"h-how do you feel about that coffee I promised? today? I have a few errands to run in town and I was wondering if you would accompany me- on my errands... if that doesn't bother you,” Bucky rambles to a stop and he's thankful you're still smiling that closed lip grin against the porcelain of the cup.

"yes Bucky I would love that! there's a coffee cart near the shop I work at but what about your lady? she wouldn't mind us going out for coffee, would she?" you speak as you gather your letters in your arms. glancing up at Bucky to receive some conformation and Bucky bites his lips.

"I don't think she'll mind. in fact... I think she would love me to go out once in a while. I have a habit of only going out when necessary, coffee with you wouldn't hurt,"

"that's perfect, i'll see you at twelve then Bucky. you can help me open shop to," you smiled and Bucky returned an even warmer one back.

filling your heart with a rush of liason, like a tea cup filling with tea. something meant to be full and warm, embraced with someone's touch and lips as they drank each fluttering honey glazed sensation they have for one other.

something that seems to be happening right now before they break their strong eye contact, wiry- crooked smiles still embellishing their sun-freckled faces.

you wish you could kisses each one off his clean shaven cheeks right now, slightly rosy but oh how it would feel like peach skin against your lips.

Bucky wishes to kiss yours, the shine of your lips the form of heart shaped clouds and he just can't seem to get his head out of the amorous blue you cast him into.

"i'll be seeing you in an hour Bucky," you draw before walking away with a cheeky wink, your eyes still locking with his before you get to the rosy sunflower porch.

"and i'll be waiting for you doll,"

♡♡♡ thank you for reading part one! ♡♡♡ pretty please like, reblog and/or comment what you think and if you enjoy this join my taglist to be notified of my future works! ♡♡♡

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[riddlecrux]

Rosehall

Day 1 of Elriel Month is here! Summary: He knew that Rhysand's orders weren't fickle nor laced with lies, yet he couldn't phantom how his brother turned on him. How he, of all the people, couldn't understand how badly he wanted to be happy.

You can also read it on ao3!

They didn't talk.

No shy glances, no accidental touches while passing each other through the corridor, no warm smiles behind the rim of a wine glass. Even the silence in which he was sitting was unbearable, so different than the one that carried comfort and jasmine scent that always made him content, whole, at ease. Now, sitting alone on the fine chair in the House of Wind he was barely breathing. He was suffocating with loneliness, heavier than the one that crawled through his bones in that dark cell from his childhood. A real pain exploded behind his closed eyelids.

The night air pricked on his face as he tried not to think, not to feel. It was as if the gaping hole in his chest was a thing of his own shadows - swirling inside, eating him out and leaving only shreds of his broken emotions. He tried. He tried so desperately not to fall for her. For yet another unattainable person that was next to him just to mock his misfortune. It was something completely wrong. How one can take so many failures and still delude himself that maybe this time the ending would be different.

He was such a damned fool.

Azriel opened his eyes as a sharp pang in his chest enveloped him in another wave of utter bitterness and helplessness. The thing with Elain was something he hadn't expected - she came into his life wielding a fork and suddenly he could see clearer than ever before in his life. How sun caught in her golden-brown hair and how the freckles on her left cheek created a small triangle. And the way all that loveliness faded away when she was stripped of her own free will - and how he failed her at that moment. The arrow to his chest didn't hurt as much as her screams. The terror of them was still haunting him during long nights of insomnia and half slept nights.

And there was that companionship they formed. Based on silence and gardens. Teas full of leaves and sticky fruit floating on its surface. Elain always preferred her to drink sweet, even if her nose scrunched each time she sipped from a porcelain teacup - pale pinky held in the air as if she was still a lady in a room full of liars and men trying to woo her. Maybe during those moments of tranquility between them, he started to appreciate her gentleness even more.

Their meetings slowly but surely transformed into nights full of sleeplessness and sore throats - silence turned into constant chatter about everything and nothing. The first time he heard her giggle his world turned upside down. In that particular moment she was all he saw, in all her golden glory and chocolate smear on her chin - so warm and bright, so out of his reach. A secret. His secret, a memory to be locked inside his mind's labyrinth.

Sometimes he wished that both of them stopped before they had even begun their… relationship. Because maybe if he possessed more self strength and if he was less selfish, he would have protested when Elain touched his hand while they were resting in the garden. Or when he caressed her cheek while trying to get rid of the soil splattered there. Whenever they touched Azriel felt as if he was healing. These small palms that traced ridiculous figures on his scarred hands brought him comfort no one else did. A touch so tender that he wanted to break in halves only for her to mend him again. She was nothing like him and at the same time so familiar, so understanding. When she looked at him with her brown eyes full of terrors and beauty, he knew that she could see his soul. Every ugly part of him. And she never averted her stare, never flinched from his touch - she wholeheartedly accepted him.

Sighing out loud his wings twitched behind him when his eyes darkened once again. He knew that Rhysand's orders weren't fickle nor laced with lies, yet he couldn't phantom how his brother turned on him. How he, of all the people, couldn't understand how badly he wanted to be happy.

"Long night?" He snapped his neck at the voice and inwardly relaxed seeing cold silver eyes staring at him without fear.

"I suppose so," shrugging his shoulders he turned back toward the city, one hand still on the glass of strong alcohol he was pouring into himself for hours. A screech of a moving chair resonated next to him and with a slow exhale he sipped his drink.

"Not the fire this time," Nesta huffed and he saw in his peripheral vision that she poured herself a decent shot as well. "Both of you are the same," a small smile ghosted on her lips before she drank the brownish liquid in one go.

"Me and who?" He knew playing stupid wouldn't work on her but he was so tired. He had already lost, so Nesta seeing him at his worst would be nothing in comparison to the thunder inside his mind. The oldest Archeron sister let out a dry chuckle which indicated that she was aware of his silly attempt of deflection.

"Elain," her name awakened something inside him. Like a golden tether holding him upwards, longing after the female that brought up such emotions from him. "She used to glow these days, you know," he saw her playing with the rim of the goblet. Long finger stopping suddenly as if the glass burned her. "I know what happiness looks on her, and whenever both of you interacted or spent time together she was always… so bright. So alive," his heart thumped a few times before it gave him a painful tug. "The moment you saved her life was the first time I had wished that you were her mate," the wound opened again, a small sound escaped his mouth before he slumped forward. "But fate isn't so merciful. Yet, Elain made her own way in this life. I saw how she escaped that empty shell she used to be and how she learned to breathe again… with you ," Azriel wanted her to stop. To let go of this torment she was exposing him to.

"I can't listen to this," he stood up, his wings stretching to its whole span. "You know it's impossible," his bitter laugh echoed in the interior. "We both know that it doesn't matter if I have feelings for her," he was ready to fly away when Nesta's hand caught his elbow. Silver eyes shone in the darkness of the night with ancient power.

"It's her choice," she whispered. "She doesn't want her mate, she has never wanted that bond," her grip loosened for a bit and he was tempted to run away but her expression held him in one place. "But she wants you. She chose you. And you know it because I saw how you look at her, how both of you glance at each other," she pinched him when he was composing himself from snapping at her. "Ask her. Ask her about what she wants. Take her to the place where it's just both of you, so no one can interfere," her nod was final and with it, she slowly turned around and vanished upstairs. His jaw hurt from the force he was clenching his teeth. Nesta's words were a poison that circulated through his bloodstream.

Could he have that conversation?

Could they possibly be together?

The night air was cold against his burning skin when he shot up in the sky, wings outstretched and tense.

*

He landed on her balcony.

The beige curtains were dancing in the air, metal dreamcatcher swaying on the wisps with a soft melody. There were plants and flowers scattered around the balustrade and his shadows skittered around them, leaping into petals and leaves before returning to his form. He stopped beside the wooden table to see half-finished tea and some papers - a few of them with drawings of different gardens, trees, and notes about the seeds. However, what caught his attention was a stash of papers with Elain's handwriting. All of them were thrown around the surface with drops of tea marking some of them. There were letters forming sentences, he could pinpoint some of them, ones that weren't completely crossed out in the pale moonlight. He was about to touch one scroll with his name on it when his shadows whirled around him with a soft warning.

"Spying on me?" The sweet scent of jasmine and honey embraced his person as his hazel eyes blinked at the sight in front of him. Elain was in a white nightgown, tiny ribbons on her freckled shoulders were something he didn't know he needed to see in his life. Her loose hair was curling at its edges as the tresses touched her middle. She was watching him, big brown eyes stoic and unnerving.

"No," he breathed and her smell attacked his senses, driving him crazy. She crossed her arms under her breasts and padded towards him. Her feet stopped next to him and with a lazy movement, she gathered her papers without glancing at him. He could see her nape, soft and pale and so inviting as she leaned across the table. His fingers curled into fists when her presence burned his self-resilience.

"Do you need me for something?" She inquired letters in her grip and a slight frown on her perfect face.

"Actually," his shoulder tensed when she shot him a questioning glance. "Yes, I need you," he left it there. A pause and weight of his words, waiting for the judgment and perhaps hatred. But it never came as Elain silently turned to him, her lips parted and a soundless sigh ghosting in the air between them. She peered at him, irises wide and somewhat gentle before she touched his biceps and he was ready to be undone.

"We should talk," her breath tickled his skin as he nodded without thinking twice. "Here?" Her question woke him up and trying not to scare her, he offered his scarred palm while stretching out his wings.

"There's a place I want to show you," his words echoed in the dead of night and as her small fingers wrapped around his hand he could finally breathe again.

*

When they arrived the moon was high in the sky, its light reflecting on the waters of a marble fountain in front of the manor. He exhaled letting Elain down as she politely exchanged her thanks. She pried her hair from the face and with newfound excitement, she whirled around facing him with a bright smile.

"I dreamed about this place," her voice was warm and all he wanted was to touch her to make sure she was standing there under the moonlight. "The gardens were something I have wanted to see," she pointed a finger in the direction of a greenhouse and a patch of flowers and vines.

"Dream or a vision?" He knew he shouldn't test his luck, yet deep down inside he felt as if he had already known the answer. As if it was imprinted inside his heart for a long time.

"Vision," she answered, walking towards the field of roses. Her palm touched some petals while her hair tumbled down towards the ground. "I saw you here," her digits closed around the stem with silent amusement. "You were happy," she turned around and looked straight at him.

"This is Rosehall," the lump in his throat made it difficult for him to speak. It was like a fever dream of his, having her here in the fields of flowers and so painstakingly real.

"Very suitable," she smiled and turned once again stepping onto the soft grass. "It's a pretty name," he heard her sitting on the ground and when he glanced up he saw her lying flat on the earth. Her knees were slightly angled but her face was upwards as if she was watching stars. Azriel staggered towards her, breathing fresh air as he finally stood up on her right.

"I haven't thought about its name for years," he slowly sat and looked at her profile. She was gazing at the sky with a small smile. Happiness looked beautiful on her, it made her glow.

"There's so much...space," she breathed and her chest moved in a slight erratic manner. "You can almost taste freedom here," Elain blinked as she turned onto her side. She faced him and he thought that there was never a time in his life when he felt so many emotions at once.

"I'm sorry," the edges of him crumbled as his eyes started to burn. He didn't mean to hurt her, not in the slightest. He was just too… selfish. And she was everything he had ever dreamed about, an embodiment of home, of a warmth he so desperately searched for. "It wasn't a mistake," he whispered as her hand fell upon his abdomen. Always trusting, always inviting.

"Then what? A distraction?" She mused as her body leaned forward and she was mirroring his position. "I will never know as long as you won't talk to me," she supplied with a pain in her voice.

"No, never a distraction. I have wanted this," he circled the air with his hand ambiguously. "From the moment you clenched onto that fork you were someone I have wanted to be with," his head lowered down Azriel didn't want to meet her eyes.

"Why haven't you told me?" Her confusion mixed with regret pained him.

"You have a mate," he muttered while plucking on some innocent straw of grass.

"And you know I don't want him," her palm searched for his cheek and as she turned his face to look at her, he saw tears in her eyes. "Whenever I'm with you I feel whole. Alive. I look at you and feel so scared," he inwardly flinched yet she held him in one place. "Scared of losing you. Every time I lose sight of you I feel like I'm drowning. It's as if a part of me was ripped apart," she closed her trembling lips and stared at him with utter devotion.

"Elain," his fingers touched her neck, his thumb circling around the hollow gap between her shoulder and jaw.

"That night I chose you. Us," she said with a final note, leaning against his hand. "It's my choice, no one else's," a butterfly-like kiss ghosted on his inner palm.

"Rhysand's orders," he gulped when she pushed him down and climbed onto his lap.

"Fuck Rhysand's orders," she spat and for a moment both of them were silent. Then he laughed, a true bellowing laughter erupted at the back of his throat at her vicious remark. Her giggles followed and he had never heard such an extraordinary sound.

"Never deemed you as a foul mouth," he managed when she slumped forward, enveloping him in a warm hug.

"I live with Illyrians and a very pissed immortal being," a hot kiss on his neck made him shiver.

"Elain," he took her face in his hands and stared at her brown eyes with a heat crawling down his spine. "Elain," he whispered again while closing the distance between them. She whimpered when he finally nibbed at her lower lip. The sensation waking up something primal inside him, a storm of feelings and needs attacking his senses. Her warm mouth opened and he finally kissed her - something exploded in his chest, something brilliant and intimate. It was as if everything was set in order, the way her lips moved against and how their bodies molded into one. He could feel her, smell her need and anticipation. She was shaking as her small fingers dug into his neck.

"Azriel," his name on her lips was his undoing. He opened his eyes and saw her… glowing. The golden hue enveloping both of them into a cocoon of intense bliss. When she opened her eyes the golden color lingered there for a while before vanishing, leaving both of them gasping for air.

"You were always there," he realized touching his chest. A vibrant thread blinding him with its magnitude.

"Rosehall," she laughed tracing his scars. "You have waited for so long," Elain kissed his temple while embracing him again. "I'm sorry I have made you wait for so long," the bridge between them sparkled with love and belonging.

"I knew you would come to me," nothing but the truth slipped through his lips as he gently cupped her chin. Both of them stared at each other, halves of two finally found. A home he had longed for, held in his arms as a scent of roses and jasmine shielded him from the world.

[aiiwa]

LET HIM KNOW — SAWAMURA DAICHI.

✗ REQUEST: can i please make a request of jealous daichi ( a fic if it’s possible). this thought has been living in my head for the past week and i just 🤰. so basically daichi gets jealous of a boy talking to you and flirting with you and just grabs you by the throat/jaw and just tongues you down right then and there. a college au would be great too!

— sawamura daichi x fem!reader

⤷ genre: college au

⤷ warnings: suggestive content, cursing, jealous (?) or rather possessive daichi, boy who disrespects relationships and doesn’t know when to give up

⤷ word count: 1.7k

— a/n: hi! i just wanted to announce that i actually reached 200 followers yesterday and i am extremely grateful for everyone who takes the time to read, like, reblog my content and for those who even message me! i appreciate everything, thank you so much! 💖

out of everything you prepared in celebration for your four-year anniversary with your boyfriend, sawamura daichi; the last thing you expected was to spend it tutoring in the hour right before your date.

you had spent months prior planning this special night for the two of you. from having dinner at his favourite restaurant which served the best shoyu ramen, to the rose-petalled bubble bath surrounded by the pine and vanilla candles he’d gifted you last month; and then, of course, ending it in the best way possible with him buried balls deep inside you and fucking you til dawn.

it was while you were getting ready for your date that you received a panicked text message from haru, the sweet freshman you’d been tutoring for the past five months, asking if you could help him today. you tried to schedule a session for tomorrow, but he was insistent almost begging you; and with a discontented sigh you relented, telling him to meet you at the library in twenty. he’d replied with a quick - “thank you y/n-senpai! <3” - and the love heart attached at the end was purposely ignored, as you headed out of your studio apartment.

daichi was less than pleased when you had phoned him, informing him of the last minute tutoring session.

“angel, tell me you’re not serious right now.” his deep voice was clear-cut, despite the sounds of traffic in the background; a tell-tale sign that he was in fact already on his way to meet you.

“i’m sorry, dai. it shouldn’t take too long, haru-kun said-”

“haru? that little shit?”

sighing internally, and making your way towards the red-bricked building with the click-clack of your thigh-high boots against the pavement, you nodded your head as if he could see you. “yes, it was haru-kun who requested the session.”

“you know how i feel about that brat.”

daichi had been more than supportive when you first started tutoring to earn some money on the side, and even though most of your tutees happened to be boys, it didn’t bother him much since they would take one look at him and give up on trying to win over your affection. haru was different. he was the furthest thing from subtle when it came to his crush on you, but you could handle his endless compliments and his attempts to take you out on a date; your boyfriend on the other hand, couldn’t. as intimidating as daichi was, haru had all but given your boyfriend a lazy once over before scoffing and mumbling about how you could do so much better.

that was the first time in a long time that you had seen daichi almost lose his cool. since that day, any interaction between the two of them had been borderline hostile; with your boyfriend hissing whenever haru’s hand would brush against you, and in turn the younger male would complain about how daichi must not be treating you well enough whenever you had chosen to walk home instead of having him pick you up.

“i know, baby, but the session shouldn’t be that long.”

“y/n.” the baritone slivering through his voice had you faltering in your steps. “you know he’s doing this on purpose. that kid has no respect for our relationship, or me- he needs to know his place.”

“daichi…i’ll talk to him today.”

“hm.” he hums in response, his side of the call silent for a beat. you could hear the blinking of his indicator before he asks, “are you at the library?”

“yeah i am, haru is probably waiting inside for me already. i’ll message you, okay?”

“alright, i’ll see you soon.”

the call had been disconnected almost half an hour ago, and you found yourself zoning out for the umpteenth time while haru busied himself by yapping away next to you. flipping your cellphone in the palm of your hand, your brows furrowed, thinking about how daichi hadn’t ended the call with his usual - “i love you, angel.” - perhaps he was mad you? it didn’t happen often, but flashes of you writhing beneath him as his hand cracked against your ass after heated arguments, had you crossing a leg over the other; thighs clenched together in an attempt to relieve some of the tingling pressure.

“y/n-senpai~!” haru waved his hand in front of your face, forcing you to blink away the less than innocent images playing in your mind. “are you okay? i’ve been calling out to you for a while, i have a question.” haru almost whines.

“i’m fine, haru-kun, sorry. please repeat your question for me.”

manicure fingers brushed over the exposed flesh of your plush thighs, between the hem of daichi’s favourite pleated mini skirt of yours you decided to wear for him and the ink coloured boots that wrapped around your calves and past your knees. you hadn’t realised the already short skirt had risen up, and as you tugged it down it was hard not to notice haru’s gaze watching the action intensely. maybe it was time to talk to him.

“haru-kun, i think we should talk.”

his eyes lingered on your legs, slowly dragging themselves past the dip of your waist, over the curve of your breasts, before they met with your own.

his eyes are wide, smirk less than innocent, as he shifts his whole body to face you. “really? about what yn-senpai?” 

“about my relationship with daichi.” at the mention of your boyfriend, haru’s expression morphs into a scowl. “listen, haru-kun.” you start, deciding to ease into it. “i’ve been with daichi for a long time, in fact today marks the anniversary of our fourth year as a couple...”

“and you’ve finally realised that he isn’t worthy of you.” ‘worthy of me?’ you think to yourself, completely taken aback; haru nods his head in understanding, as if he didn’t just completely misinterpret what you were trying to say to him.

“no, that’s not it-”

“come on, y/n-senpai, let me treat you how you deserve to be treated.” he rests his arm on the back of your chair casually. “i could give you everything he can and more. you just have to give me a chance.”

“that’s not going to happen, haru.” dropping the honorifics, tone snappy. you crossed your arms tightly across your chest.

“and why not?” he bites back. “what does he have that i don’t- did you tell him to come here?” he questions accusingly, staring over your shoulder.

“no…? i didn’t...”

swivelling in your seat, your breath hitches at the sight of your boyfriend heading straight towards you. each purposeful stride of daichi’s long legs, had the smooth material of his dress pants tightening around his strong thighs, the silver of his belt buckle glinting under the harsh library lights. his navy blue dress shirt stretched over his wide shoulders, first few buttons popped open to reveal his smooth, tanned skin underneath.

daichi stopped right by your seat, so close that you instinctively pressed the palm of your hand against his hip, feeling the warmth of his body through the thin cotton material. you were instantly surrounded by the sweet and familiar woodsy scent of his cologne, wafting around you and sending your senses into overdrive.

looking up at him, his pretty mouth was pulled into a devilish grin, pearly whites peeking from the corner of his lips and a single dimple poking through his cheek.

“hi, angel.” his voice was low, dripping in honey that washed over you; goosebumps prickling across your skin.

“daichi…?” a whisper was all you managed to get out. “h-how come you’re here...?”

“you look so fucking beautiful, y/n.”

haru’s scoff goes ignored, yanking his arm away from behind you and grumbling to himself in the background.

a warm flush rose in your cheeks as daichi continued to smile down at you, walnut coloured eyes appreciating every curve of your body; searing gaze lingering on your skirt, before he released an airy chuckle, almost kin to a growl. you could feel the heat pool between your legs, unconsciously leaning against his towering frame.

“i’m here because we’re gonna let him know…” daichi starts, loud enough for the boy to hear.

one arm flexes against the strain of his sleeves, sliding behind you to grip the back of your chair; the other reaching a large had to press against your cheek. the callouses on his palm are rough against your skin, thumb rubbing lazy circles before trailing down to the pout of your lips. dragging his thumb across your fullness of your bottom lip, your pink tongue darts out to taste the saltiness on the pad of his thumb. halting his ministrations, releasing a heavy breath out through his nose, he grabs your jaw, grip tight, and tilts your face to meet his as he leans downwards.

“...let him know that you’re mine.”

and then his lips are pressed against yours. it starts off sweet, sighing softly into him for a fleeting moment, before daichi deepens the kiss. it becomes sloppy, extremely possessive, and borderline nasty as drool at the corner of your mouth dripped down your chin; moans trapped down your throat. the lewd sounds of his tongue swirling around yours sensually, exploring your mouth, clouds the thoughts in your mind.

your body has a mind of its own, right hand tugging at the tufts of dark at his nape, while the left moves from his hip to trail across his navel. you grin when he bucks against your touch, yet gasp as sucks on your tongue. he consumes you entirely, and you’re all too willing to abide.

when he moves away, a string of silver keeps the two of you connected. you’re a whiny mess, mewling at him for more, and tugging at his sleeves for attention; while he sets his gaze on the sulking figure by your side.

“we’re leaving now. good luck studying, kid.” daichi calls out, smug look on his face.

he doesn’t even wait for a response, tugging you up and into his chest, while leading the way out of the library. stumbling a bit on wobbly legs, you grip his toned arms to steady yourself, as he holds onto your waist.

“dai.” you murmur, pushing up against him. “are we going to dinner now?”

“dinner?” he repeats, staring at you from the corner of his eyes. nodding your head, you feel the coil in your tummy tighten as his hand trails down to trace the underside of your ass. “forget about dinner, angel, i’m ready for my dessert.”

© 2020 AIIWA. please do not copy, modify or repost my work.

[bbytetsu]

SIGNS

pairing: osamu miya x gn! reader

word count: ~3k

author’s note: angst. warnings for slight swearing, very slight suggestiveness. best read to signs by bloc party.

on the winter day marking your first year together, you’re reminded of how deeply you’ve fallen in love.

as you exit the subway station, you’re greeted by the familiar intersection splitting off into narrow streets, each lined by streetlights. the outskirts of osaka are humble, with their greige painted walls and steep, weathered roofs. but the ordinary things here—the 7/11, the spinning barber pole, the cat lingering by the red mailbox—are like landmarks to you, noticed and loved by your crescent eyes. scanning your surroundings, you turn left towards his apartment and continue straight.

5 minutes away from his place.  

you amble past the 7/11 store. traces of nikuman waft in the cold air, inviting you in. you catch yourself smiling as you see the regular obasan, red-rimmed glasses perched on her leathery skin, bantering with the store owner—they’re definitely flirting, you think. through the wide windows, you watch the local high school boys’ volleyball team scatter throughout the rainbow aisles. some squat just below your field of vision, others pore through magazines by the register.

3 minutes away from his place.

you take a left. on your right, you pass the family-owned barber shop he visits. its endlessly spinning barber pole is a welcome dash of color amidst the neutral hues of the neighborhood. across from the shop stands the house with the red mailbox. the family’s calico cat idles dangerously close to the road and licks it paws before wandering off.

1 minute away from his place.

you pass the empty bike rack, and the gated residence comes into sight at the end of the street.

it’s all the same, but suddenly it’s not.

small fluffs of white begin to obscure your vision. you glance up at the sky, and your eyes widen—it’s snowing. juxtaposed against the osaka skyline, it’s almost as if the city lights are disintegrating, their embers falling around you in the form of bright snowflakes. you watch the snow in a trance, and before you know it, winter has draped a sheer white veil over the street, dusted over naked trees with its snowy kiss.

on the winter day marking your first year together, you feel as if your love for him has overflowed and trickled out from your chest. and now it surrounds you in the form of snow. falling so softly, so wonderfully dizzyingly.

----------

“i’m here, ‘samu,” you call out in a singsong voice as you twist your spare key in the lock. pushing open the door, you’re stunned to find his place completely dark. you step into the apartment and wrangle your boots off of your feet.

“’samu? you here?” with your eyes trained on the floor for any potential tripping hazards, you tread through the dim foyer.

“yeah, i’m here.” his familiar voice rings out, partially relieving your confusion. you look up to search for his figure.

“why’s it so- oh my god, what’s all this?” you nearly trip into the kitchen. you gasp at the sight of candles casting golden highlights across the dinner table. slivers of mahogany peek in between plates of nigiri, bowls of miso, and other tableware. in the center of the table, a glass vase holds two crimson roses, petals coated with glassy dewdrops.

you try to collect your thoughts. “i thought we were just meeting here,” you pause to think. “wait, did our dinner reservation get canceled? did you call me earlier? i might’ve missed it...” you fumble for your phone in your coat pocket.

he grins a slightly lopsided grin. “ya still haven’t caught on? i didn’t actually make a reservation, i was just tryna surprise ya… seeing as ya like surprises and all that. plus,” he clears his throat. “why would we go out to dinner when i can make it myself? i hear their wasabi isn’t even freshly made.”

you’re silent as tears well up in your eyes.

“hey, you’re not about to cry, are ya?” he’s unsure whether to poke fun of you or embrace you in a warm hug.

“i just can’t believe you did this all yourself,” you whisper, still fixated on the feast in front of you. even to your untrained eyes, you can tell that each each piece was handled with precision, delicacy, but above all, love. the air between you feels thick and honeyed, suffused with all the feelings brimming in your chest.

“i mean, i do this for a living.” you glance up at him. he shrugs, but you notice the tender twinkle in his eye.

“i know, but it’s still amazing. i don’t even know what to say,” you confess.

“ya don’t have to say anythin’,” he murmurs. “just let me enjoy the quiet for once.”

“huh?” your eyebrows furrow, but your lips curl into a faint smile. “okay, i take it back. you better be prepared to listen to me all night.”

he cocks his eyebrow. “why? is there something ya wanna do all night?”

“‘SAMU! don’t twist my words,” you lunge towards him. he recoils.  

“oi, relax!!”

just as you’re about land a solid smack on his ass, he maneuvers behind you and folds his strong arms around you in a back hug. laughing, you squirm in his embrace, but he doesn’t budge.

“gotcha,” he huffs into your ear. he loosens his grip around you, allowing you to wriggle your arms above and over his. you intertwine your fingers with his, and the two of you sway from side to side like in a slow dance. he pulls your body closer to his chest.

“happy anniversary,” he whispers, as if he’s afraid that speaking any louder will disrupt the romantic atmosphere he’s so diligently crafted.

of course, you know that nothing could ruin this moment.

“mhm. happy anniversary to us.”

with his eyes closed, he breathes in your scent. the two of you are quiet—there is no need for words. the way your limbs melt into each other, no beginning or end to either of you, is enough for the both of you.

he loves you. you love him.

he’s thankful that sushi doesn’t need to be served hot. he’d hold you here for an eternity if he could.

----------

it’s funny how things change throughout the years.

you sit motionless, with both of your elbows pressed against the cold mahogany of the table. when you first sat down, the sun had just begun to creep below the skyline, wispy streaks of reds and yellows blazing in its wake. now, the sun was long gone, and your only companion was the moon, whom you know all too well these days. round and low in the dark sky, it casts shadows across the empty dinner table.

the apartment is silent besides the quiet ticking of the kitchen clock.

tick, tock. as if it’s a bomb waiting to explode. as if it’s mocking you for waiting so long. as if it’s counting down the time you have left with him.

you lean your forehead against your hands, clasped in a silent prayer. with your eyes closed, you allow any and all emotions to wash over you.

how could you forget our anniversary? does our relationship even matter to you? do i even matter to you? why am i always your second choice?  how did things end up this way?

the muffled jangle of keys outside the door interrupts your thoughts, and the lock clicks as it turns open. hours ago, you would have perked up at the sound, but now it’s been much too late. you remain motionless. after shaking his shoes off, he walks into the dim kitchen to find you sitting at the dinner table, your forehead still pressed against your clasped hands.

“you forgot,” you whisper, refusing to look at him.

“i know, y/n. i’m so-”

you cut him off. “you could’ve called. or texted.”

“i’m so sor-”

“save it. i’ve been sitting here for the last… i don’t even know how many hours. and i’ve just been thinking about what to say.”

he’s quiet. how many more mistakes will it take for you to realize he no longer loves you like he used to? you shudder at the thought, but are unable to ignore it any longer. you’ve opened pandora’s box, unleashing thick smoke that swallows you whole. it clouds your every thought and contaminates your memories with him; it stings your eyes and steals the breath from your lungs.

you begin to shake, and he watches as your breaths shorten into small, erratic gasps. his chest tightens at the sight. kneeling down onto the ground to level himself with with your seated figure, he stretches his arms towards you. but to his shock, you flinch at his touch.

“don’t!” you gasp. “don’t come near me. i don’t want that-” you’re unable to finish your sentence, sudden gasps curbing whatever words were to come next.

“y/n, i’m sorry.” his voice is low, his mouth sours with dread.

“i know. but it’s not the first time that you’ve done something like this. remember my birthday?” you choke out, burying your face in your palms.

he grimaces at the mention. “i do. but ya said ya wouldn’t bring that up again. i thought we agreed to move past that.”

“well, yeah we did. but the thing is, it’s become a pattern.”

he stands up and hovers by your seated figure. “me forgetting? it’s happened two or three times. i wouldn’t say that’s a pattern. but listen, i know i was in the wrong and and that’s why i wanna say i’m sorry. i really am.”

you look up at him with puffy, bleary eyes. red tinges your waterline. “you just don’t get it, do you?”

“whaddya mean?” his mind scrambles. get what? he replays your interactions in a frantic attempt to uncover whatever deeper meaning he was missing.

“it’s not just you missing our anniversary, or you missing my birthday. it’s so much bigger than that. all of this,” you wave your hand. “is just a symptom of the bigger problem.”

he raises an eyebrow. “i wasn’t aware we had a bigger problem.”  

his lack of awareness shocks you. how can you be so unobservant, so oblivious? all the sorrow and rage that you’ve repressed begins to bubble and overflow, like a pot of boiling water with its lid on for too long. you ball your fists as hot, stinging tears run down your cheeks. “you wanna know what it is, ‘samu?” you straighten your back and turn towards him. “it’s the fact that you no longer have room in your life for me! admit it, onigiri miya is more important to you than i am!”

“what’s onigiri miya gotta do with all this?” he retorts. his voice is grating. “i know i’ve been busy with work, but ya couldn’t possibly think that. you’ve always supported me and my dream of running my own damn restaurant, but now it’s the problem with us? the fact that i have a dream?”

“no, the fact that your dream doesn’t include me,” your voice quivers. “there’s no space for me in your future, ‘samu.”

“oh come on, ya know that’s not true. i’ve just been busy keeping up with it, especially with how business is growing.”

anger flares within you. how dare he dismiss your concerns as if they’re not legitimate? as if you’re nothing more than a small child whining for candy?

“but think about it!” you shoot up from your chair and look him in the eye. “when you envision yourself in 5 years, what do you think about? you think about onigiri miya, you think about how business is booming, critics are raving about your cooking. you’re raking in so much cash you’ve opened a new restaurant and you’re standing there in front of the new place, and maybe you’re cutting the ribbon for the grand opening. but am i there? am i standing next to you anywhere in your dream? do you think about us, where we’re going to be in five years? no, no you don’t. i’m not anywhere in the picture and you know it.”  

even in the dark, you can see his jaw clench. the rest of his features grow rigid with frustration.

he, too, has reached his boiling point.

“how can ya possibly say that?” he seethes, his tone unforgiving like steel slicing through palpable air. “i told ya already, y/n. i’m sorry. i fucked up. i missed our anniversary. i even missed your birthday. but that is not the reason we won’t work out, i won’t let that be the reason. ya know i love ya. i do. but ya wanna pit yourself against my job... don’t ya think that’s a little unfair? for fuck’s sake, not even my job, but my dream? ya know how it’s been a dream of mine since forever to open my own shop. ya know how hard it’s been, how i shed blood, sweat, and tears to open it, much less to keep it going. of all people, ya know how hard it was for me to find something i wanted alone, something that was different than ‘tsumu’s. something that would let me be my own person. and now i’ve finally found it ya wanna take it away? all because ya need attention?”

his words leave a metallic aftertaste, and he watches your features twist in pain as you confirm your growing suspicions.

he’s outgrown me.

“i- i’m sorry. i know that you’re not trying to take anything away from me,” he confesses. he wants so desperately to take back his mangled words, but it’s too late. he’s dropped a lit match onto your bed of oil, setting flame to what he once knew.  

you stand up shakily and face him: the man who taught you what it meant to love. the man who taught you what it meant to hurt.

“you’re right, i’m not. but you know what?” your voice cracks before growing raspier. “thanks for telling me that. because when i imagined my future, i always imagined a future in which you were by my side. i thought we’d move in together someday, maybe even get a dog, maybe even get married, maybe even have—oh, i don’t know—kids, and move into a house! help them with their math homework! take them to the aquarium, go on family picnics! make onigiri on sundays! but, i guess i’ve been a fucking fool, haven’t i?”  

he looks at you with wide, dinner plate eyes.

you choke back sobs, not even bothering to wipe away the wet tears trailing down your cheeks. your heart weighs heavier than lead, and you turn on your heels.

“i- y/n, wait, where are ya going?” he reaches for you, the tips of his fingers brushing against your arm as you shoulder past him.  

“outside. to think.”

as he realizes you have every intention of leaving the apartment, he trips into the hallway after you.

“wait, it’s fuckin’ freezing outside-”

“ii’ll be fine.” you forcefully grab the woolen coat off the coat rack and swing it over your shoulders.

“y/n. please, we can work this out.” you’ve never heard him like this—quiet, but painfully desperate.

too late.

“i need to think.”

you step through the doorway, not daring to look back.

----------

you trudge through the half melted snow that coats the street. as your eyes burn with tears, the faraway osaka city lights blur in your vision like a kaleidoscope. shivering, you dig your bare hands further into your pockets and clench onto the fabric—an attempt to preserve whatever heat there is, but more so as an expression of your anger.

your legs seem to move by themselves, and you grit your teeth to keep yourself from crying. how did things end up like this?

1 minute away from his place.

you hurry past the empty bike rack and the brick walls guarding the houses. the greige walls have never looked grayer.

3 minutes away from his place.

you pass by the house with the red mailbox, its obnoxious color like a warning that’s much too late. the calico cat has abandoned you and is nowhere to be seen. the spinning barber pole taunts you with its endless dance.

5 minutes away from his place.

you pass by the 7/11. there’s no one in the store except for the regular obasan, whose wrinkles are drawn taut in a frown. you watch as she fires words at the shopowner, her one hand pointing at him animatedly and the other resting on her hip. they’re definitely arguing, you think.

you finally reach the open intersection in front of the subway station. leaning against a streetlight, you survey the neighborhood defeatedly, trying to find beauty in the surroundings you once regarded with so much affection. trying to find a sign. water seeps off of branches and falls onto the pavement like teardrops. the steep-roofed houses huddle together in the cold, their walls practically rubbing against each other.

it’s all the same, but it’s somehow different.

you look down at your feet, slush coating the edges of your shoes. it pains you to see that the the snow is no longer bright or pure, but translucent. tinted an ugly brown. with footprints littered across its surface.

on the winter day marking your fourth year together, the snow you loved so much has melted into slush, revealing nothing but barren soil beneath.

it’s over between us.

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

he'd once heard that talking to plants would help them grow . although the notion seemed ridiculous to him , yone could still remember the way the wizened vegetable lady of his past life had insisted on the correctness of her gardening methods . look --- look at how well my harvest has grown . it's got you coming around every week , hasn't it ?

... surely there was nothing to lose from trying . when they die ( and to his pessimistic self it is a when , not an if ) , he can at least say he tried .

and so he does --- he talks to them --- in secret , and only out of earshot . just this once though , he lets his guard down and fails to realize robin has returned .

a sigh . ' ... it's yet to get easier , talking to myself like this . this sore lack of conversational skills in me may be doing more harm than good . shall i recite a poem instead for you all ? ... you all , hah ... very well . ' eyes slip shut , drawing verse from memory , but when he opens his eyes , he tenses when he realizes he's not alone .

more cute stuff pls 🤲 yone is 😳💀

═══ UNPROMPTED INTERACTIONS ═══ LEAGUE VERSE

Like that of a dandelion was his step, gentle and silent as he crossed through the deepening woods - careful not to step on anything besides the path of least resistance. How many times had he walked the same steps? Too many times to count… Loneliness was strange in that way, how it grasped its talons in and turned its sufferers into puppets, strings pulled every which way and settling into the other rhythm that brought joy. It was as constant as the sun setting and the moons rising, how the cicadas cried and how the same birds called their loved ones home. The mage had grown so accustomed to the sounds of the wood that he practically predicted each one; that was until that soft gait paused when another voice entered the swell.

Robin lowers his selenic gaze to the path infront of him as he listens to the soft, husky whispers of a familiar face - or well, the blurred visage of what he was quick to find out was less a beast, and more a man. His head tilted to the side and eventually swiveled towards the northernmost part of his garden…and he took that first step into the wild, untamed brush. Bending low around each branch he came to see Yone settled amongst his flowers, and not just any, a small pool the mage had dug that was now fluttering full of water lilies.

The flower Yone gifted him when he first arrived.

Two moons rimmed with verdant beauty watch the samurai from the shadows of the brush and he finds himself being drawn out by the soft recitation of poetry within his birth language. Ionian had such beautiful tones within, and while Robin could understand most, others were lost on him. The mage does not hesitate when Yone stops his words, and emerges from the forest with a rather relaxed gaze. It is…strange how foreign it looks on his face, those wintry lashes covering his stare as he comes close and lowers himself down to the grass beside him before reaching his hand out to the petals of the lilies. They flutter as though he had tickled them, and softly he recites a poem of his own.

A delightful tone leaves his lips as the melody of his words pour like sweet honey; his voice lacks the dexterity of Yone's when reciting the language, but its worship of the life infront of him rings forth with each syllable. The mage hardly notices when the fawn and doe approach their sides and two white mice peek from his cloak, one cautiously lifting its nose towards the samurai while the other settles close to Robin's pale hair. Once the final sigh leaves his lips he faces Yone, a look of realization coloring his cheeks a faint red whilst he turns from the man and retreats his hands from the flowers. And when he finally does return the stare, he focuses downward to Yone's nose, unaware that the moons within his eyes have turned to mirrors to reflect the setting sun, bright and powerful. His words tremble,

"P-Pardon my enthusiasm."

[highgardcnrose-blog]

The summit had provided some much needed respite for her when life in King’s Landing had been entirely too tense and felt as though she had been continuously walking on a knife’s edge. Where she could usually charm almost anyone with relative ease when she was blessed with a kind disposition, sweet smile and grace with words, the lion queen who was supposed to now be her mother in law was not a heart so easily won. It did not seem to matter what she did she could not please the golden haired woman and if the rumours that had begun to spread around court about her supposed night time activities were anything to go by, their relationship only grew more sour by the day.

Freedom could not be enjoyed too long however nor would avoiding Cersei help anything when she had no doubt been spotted passing time with their enemies ( though she could not say she truly regretted reconnecting with Shireen, meeting the dragon queen for herself or enjoying the company of the Lord of Riverrun as she passed her days in the mine ) it seemed past time to reach out to he other woman. “Your Grace.” Bright smile touched rosy lips and words flowed demurely and smoothly from her lips. “I hope you will forgive the intrusion but I wonder if you might be able to spare some time for me?” The bottle in her hand was lifted slightly to demonstrate her next point. “My brother brought some of the Arbor’s finest back with him and I thought that perhaps we might share it.”

@goldcnlioncss