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honeybeefae · 2 years

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Desperate Times (Azriel x Archeron!Reader)

Summary// While tending to Elain's garden you come across a mysterious flower with an even more mysterious pollen. As the effects of it start to hit you, you have to fend for yourself to get the edge off...or do you?

K!inktober Prompt: SEX POLLEN // Creampie // Sexting

(HERE IT IS!! 5,423 words and we have arrived. This story is obviously 18+ and contains LOADS OF SMUT!! So minors, DNI! However, I basically wrote a mini story so it also contains some major fluff and minor angst! I hope everyone enjoys it, thank you so much for reading!)

WARNINGS: SMUT, SMUT, SMUT! Dubcon (the sex pollen kind but they talk it out), pinv, eating out, bjs, no safe sex here, wing touching, mutual pining, minors DNI!

Tag List: @marimorena06 , @mystic-scripture

(If you'd like to join my tag list for future works, feel free to comment or message!)

Elain had given you a simple task while she was away with Lucien. Tend the garden. It wasn’t hard to do and if you were being honest, you loved watering the flowers and trimming the plants. That was one of the few things you had in common with your older sister.

Being the youngest Archeron sister had its many, many downfalls. You were only seventeen when Feyre had been taken by Tamlin, fulfilling her destiny while you desperately searched for yours. During that time you tried your best to look for her, learning what little Nesta and Elain were able to teach so that you could find a way for your family.

However, it wouldn’t have ever been enough to stop Hybern’s soldiers from finding your family and dragging you to the Cauldron as a sacrifice. That day will forever live in your mind, the looks on everyone’s face as the three of you were thrown into the brutally cold water.

You survived despite the odds, as did your sisters. It was a cruel twist of fate when Nesta and Elain got gifts bestowed on them while you were left the short end of the stick. As always.

It didn’t hurt you too much though, you were used to being in the shadows. They kept you company when it got to be too much and you were grateful for it, for them. You didn’t need nor want to be seen as Feyre, Nesta, and Elain were.

But there were a pair of eyes on you that you could never shake off. Rhysand’s notorious Shadowsinger.

Azriel.

Ever since you had been pulled from the Cauldron he had watched you. At first, it unnerved you, this Illyrian spy hovering over you while his shadows whispered into his ear, but now it just feels like you’ve pissed him off in some way.

A small part of you had wondered if you were mates, especially since when Nesta and Elain were Made, the bond for their mates snapped in place. The bigger part of you knew though that if you were mates he would’ve revealed it by now.

Unless he didn’t want you.

Something sharp started to hurt in the middle of your chest at the thought. You were already lonely enough, not wanting to bother your sisters with your troubles as it seemed everyone was finally happy. Except for you.

“You’ve been washing that dish for five minutes now.” A low voice stated behind you, making you drop it back into the sink. You knew who it was before you even turned around.

“Lost in thought I guess.” You replied, shrugging half-heartedly while turning to face Azriel. He was dressed in his typical Illyrian leathers, wings tucked in and arms crossed.

Those hazel eyes were holding some kind of emotion that made you shrink back and as you did, the shadows around him seemed to flinch as well.

“Why are you-” Azriel began.

“I’m gonna-” You started.

A blush crept up your cheeks from embarrassment. You licked your lips, not noticing how his eyes followed the movement, before leaning to grab the watering can. “I’m going to go tend to the garden. If you need anything, I’ll be out here.”

You pushed through the back door before Azriel could reply, taking a deep breath when the fresh air hit your nose. The sun felt warm against your skin and it helped ease your worries about what was surely watching you from the kitchen window.

After filling the watering can you make your way to the gate, pushing it open with a creak and letting it shut behind you. This garden was Elain’s pride and joy and for good reason.

Flowers and plants of all shapes and sizes were in bloom, trimmed, and cared for to perfection. She spent most of her time here and has been in a mood since she realized she’d have to start all over again at her and Lucien’s new house. You were still stuck at the townhouse so you had promised her to take care of it as best as you could.

It was actually doing pretty well. You were very proud that you hadn’t killed a single one. Elain still technically lived here but she was letting you handle the reigns at the moment.

The wind lightly blew your hair back as you got to the last section of the garden, shadows dancing in the sun. As you bent down to get the ones in the back you noticed a new flower that hadn’t been there before.

It was a beautiful shade of pink and white, the colors swirling like marble. There was also golden dust on the edges of its petals that seemed to twinkle in the sun. You were almost positive that it wasn’t a weed but at the same time you had never seen this type of plant, even back in the mortal lands.

A sweet smell hit your nose and before you could blink you had reached out to pet the petals. As you touched them, the golden pollen stuck to your fingers. It caused a strange buzz to fill your head and body which had you almost falling onto your ass.

You felt extremely lightheaded and placed a hand across your forehead to take your temperature. That was a mistake though because the pollen traveled with you and fell across your face and nose, making your skin sweat and burn much faster.

“What the hell was on that flower?” You questioned slowly, heart thumping in your chest. The light and sounds around you were almost too much for your senses and something clicked in the back of your foggy mind.

Have I been poisoned?

It would make sense. A strange flower shows up, the pollen is making you dizzy and hot, it could’ve been anyone that put it there. Were you the target? Or was it Elain?

A sharp cramp twisted your lower stomach and you dropped the can, spilling the water across the stones. “No, no, no…” You gasped, looking around frantically. No one was here or else they would’ve heard you, would’ve noticed your pain. You were pretty sure Azriel had gone on some errand as well, leaving you completely alone.

You needed to get inside and find something to cure you. The clock was ticking yet you didn’t even know when it would be up. The Mother seemed to hate you.

The feeling was mutual.

Your skin was practically on fire, sweat soaking your face and clothes. The second you made it to the back door was when a new symptom hit you, drawing a new reaction out of you.

Azriel’s scent was still lingering in the kitchen and when the smell of cedar and mist hit your nose a huge gush of arousal went immediately to your sex. It had you clenching your thighs together from the force of it, drool collecting in your mouth.

Using all the strength you could muster you practically crawled to your room on the bottom floor, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary. You stood on wobbly legs and immediately stripped yourself down to get at least a little relief.

All of your thoughts started to turn to mush as you swayed side to side, falling back onto your large bed. Images of Azriel started to flicker behind your closed eyelids and you moaned again.

His bare chest while he trained, the shadows curling around his arms, the way his wings stretched after a long flight. Each picture made you wetter and wetter until you couldn’t take it anymore.

Whatever was in the flower had turned you into a mindless whore, sex was the only thing on your mind at the moment. You had never felt so tightly wound in your life. Hell, your only sexual experience was with a local boy when you were sixteen.

Realization hit you like a ton of bricks, momentarily stopping your inappropriate thoughts. It wasn’t a poisonous flower at all…it was a fertility flower. You had read about them in books from the continent where it explained that pollen was used in wedding gifts and mating rituals.

The next thing you realized was that there wasn’t a cure for this. You would have to ride this out for however long it stayed in your body. If you remembered correctly, the fastest way to fix this was to have your mate help.

Unfortunately for you, you didn’t have one. This was something you needed to fix by yourself.

So, with shaky fingers, you ran two fingers down your pussy, your juices easily lathering them completely. It seemed so dirty to be doing this to yourself, in the middle of the day when anyone could walk in.

When Azriel could walk in.

You groaned at the thought and plunged those two fingers into your waiting hole, hips rising off the bed at the euphoria. A small trickle of guilt went down your spine about imagining him when he clearly didn’t care for you, but, when an image of him between your thighs flashed across your head, it went out the window.

“Fuck me.” You gasped out as you raised up to your knees, riding your hand while your other one went to paw at your breast. “Please, Az, please…” You whimpered, trying to keep your voice down.

Hair was sticking to your face and neck and you could’ve sworn that a puddle was forming underneath you but you were too busy chasing your orgasm. It was growing inside you like a storm, your walls clenching around your fingers as you cried out again.

It was too much and not enough. You felt as if you were being swallowed by giant waves, pleasure turning to pain when you couldn’t reach that peak. Tears started to gather in your eyes from how much your stomach was cramping and how flushed you felt.

Soft cries tumbled from your lips a few moments later as you still rode your hand, begging the Mother above to help you take this pain away.

And gods did she have a funny sense of humor.

Three sharp knocks echoed in your room, your head shooting up as you scrambled to cover yourself. “Y/N? Are you okay?” Azriel asked through the door, his tone short.

Mother save me, please tell me he didn’t hear me.

It took a minute for you to collect yourself enough to answer, two fingers still stuffed inside of you. “Y-yes Azriel. I’m okay, go back to whatever you were doing.”

He stayed at the door, shuffling his feet before clearing his throat. “Are you sure? I felt a tug on…” He trailed off. It seemed like he had heard you, his voice low.

“Leave. Please.” You begged though your voice held no edge of authority. A sick part of you wanted him to bust down the door, see you, and claim you. You regretted the line of thought as another cramp hit you. “I’m fine. Just go.”

Azriel didn’t listen. Your scent was suffocating him and he had to know what was happening. The doorknob turned before you could stop it and he stepped inside, eyes widening at the sight of you. You were probably the last person he wanted to see like this and it was made so much worse by your tear-stained cheeks and disheveled hair.

“Gods, Y/N, I can see you dripping from here.” He growled, eyes hooded and voice dripping with desire. “What happened?”

You didn’t have time to register his tone because the scent of him wafted over you again. And again. And again. It felt like your heart was going to give out at any second if you didn’t get him closer.

“Stupid flower, pollen, I just need-” You ground out right before you felt your eyelashes flutter, the overwhelming feeling you were about to faint creeping in.

He was quick to get to you, reaching out and grabbing both of your arms to sit you upright. His hands almost seared into your skin and you moaned, reaching up to cup his face and pull him towards you.

Azriel was so caught off guard that he couldn’t stop your lips from joining, one of your hands grasping his hair to tug him closer. He tasted like shadows and secrets, lips plush and soft as you held onto him for dear life. You couldn’t think clearly anymore as the aphrodisiac had now fully absorbed into your skin. The kiss had your head spinning and cunt throbbing ten times harder than before, causing you to groan into his mouth.

“I want you, Azriel. I need you.” You panted, looking into his eyes for the first time in months. He could feel your chest heaving against his, see the wild look in your eyes. “Please help me.”

He took a very deep breath and shook his head slowly. “I can’t Y/N. You aren’t yourself and I don’t know what you did but-”

You cut him off by palming his growing erection in his pants, almost drooling from how long and thick it felt. The other hand left his hair and grabbed his left hand to put it over your bare breast, biting on your lower lip at the sensation.

Azriel’s self-control was on a razor-thin line. You were too drugged out of your mind to notice but his jaw was tight and his eyes were memorizing every curve of your body. This was everything he ever wanted, you squirming and begging underneath him, but not like this.

Not when you wouldn’t remember it.

The mating bond had formed between the two of you the second you were Made. A strong, primal feeling settled into his blood when you were dragged out and thrown to the floor. You hadn’t noticed, not that you would have any idea what it was, and Azriel thought it was better that way.

He had seen how well Elain had taken it when Lucien stupidly blurted it out that day, or even Nesta. Azriel wasn’t going to subject you to that unless you expressed interest in him as well, no matter how many times he dreamt of your touch or kiss.

His mind was made up but you weren’t about to be so easily swayed. Just as Azriel went to pull away you used all of your strength and flipped your positions so that he was the one sitting on the bed. You swiftly straddled his thigh and began to grind down, throwing your head back in pleasure as your clit rubbed against the thick muscles in his leg.

“Oooh, Az.” You keened while wrapping your hands around his neck. His pupils were blown wide with lust, so much so that you could barely see the hazel in them. The two of you were quickly approaching the point of no return but he just needed one more push.

A devious thought popped into your lustful mind.

When you ground down again you let the pads of your fingers graze against the top of his wings. It was a featherlight touch but the moment you did, Azriel let out a growl that could’ve shook the house. Two scarred hands gripped your wrists and yanked you off of him before he shoved you onto the bed.

You watched in awe as his wings spread out while pinning you beneath him. It brought you back into the moment for just a minute, enough to savor his hand coming down to circle around your neck.

“You’re playing a very, very dangerous game. I don’t want to hurt you.”

But the mere thought of stopping made tears spring to your eyes, raising your hips in a desperate attempt to show him where you needed him. Azriel briefly glanced down at your throbbing cunt and took a shuddering breath.

“I don’t want you to hurt me.” You whispered, licking your lips while gazing up at him through your lashes. His hand was still wrapped around your throat, holding you there. “I want you to ruin me.”

And just like that…you opened Pandora’s Box.

Azriel snarled and claimed your lips in a passionate kiss, immediately thrusting his tongue into your mouth and dominating every space in your mind. His shadows curled around your arms and legs so that you couldn’t move at all. You struggled against the bonds for a second but when he bit down on your pulse point you went right back to him.

“Ah!” You cried out, staring at his face that held a sinful grin. Another wave of wetness hit you and fuck, he could smell it.

“Look at me, princess.” He purred, licking a line up from your neck to the shell of your ear. Azriel bit down on it before chuckling. “I want to taste you.”

A frustrated cry slipped out of your mouth when he trailed a single digit down your pussy, collecting the juices and bringing them to his lips. He groaned at the taste and couldn’t even bear to tease you anymore, needing to devour you at that moment.

He nipped and sucked his way down your body, his shadows still keeping you spread wide and still for his pleasure. His tongue lazily sucked in each of your nipples, rolling the bud around before releasing it with a loud pop.

You were shaking in anticipation and when Azriel finally got to your core, looking up at you with those dark eyes and sadistic grin, something clicked in you. It was like a thread connecting the two of you and everything got much more intense.

Before you could say anything he went straight to business, giving your clit a harsh suck that made you try to clamp your thighs around his head. You were still restrained though and all you could do was grab fistfuls of your sheets and cry out his name, your previous thoughts scattering to the wind.

His tongue felt heavenly but when he started to moan at your enthusiasm it sent an entirely new wave of pleasure through your body. He flicked it over your clit rapidly before going down to thrust the hot, wet muscle into your cunt.

Azriel knew you were dangerously close to the edge already and wanted you to fill his mouth with your sweet nectar. He doubled his efforts and let his shadows dissipate so that he could snake an arm under your hips to lift them off of the bed.

The second you were free your fingers locked onto his black locks while your thighs went around his ears. This new angle made the pleasure increase and you could feel yourself falling over the edge, the only safety net being him.

“Azriel…I can’t. I need it-I need-” You were a blubbering mess. He took pity on you and thrust a single finger into you, curling it to hit that spot deep inside.

“Take it. It’s yours, Y/N.” Azriel urged, closing his eyes as the first gush hit his tongue.

A gasp was the only warning you gave before you came on his face. Your body went rigid before completely melting into the mattress, riding his face as best as you could from the angle he had you in. Azriel kept licking and sucking until you gently pushed his head away, memorizing his face that was now coated in your wetness.

You could feel the edge of the pollen fading away, your body not feeling quite as hot and sweaty. The ache to be filled was still there, however, and it was quite obvious from the bulge in Azriel’s pants that he would do the job perfectly.

“That was…wow.” You said breathlessly, looking up at him. He was glad you sounded more like yourself but the guilt was now crawling up his back. Azriel could hardly even look at you. And you noticed.

The gravity of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks. You were fully naked, with the hottest Illyrian soldier between your legs, after having just begged him to fuck you without even having dinner first. He didn’t even like you, couldn’t see you without shooting a glare or turning away.

A small sniffle had him turning to look at you. You sneakily tried to wipe at your face and grabbed a pillow from behind you to try to cover up your body. “Azriel…I am so, so sorry.” Your voice was low and your head bowed.

“I watered Elain’s garden and found this flower. I thought I was being poisoned but it was a fertility flower used on the continent.” You explained before he could yell or curse you. That would break you entirely. “It’s used in mating ceremonies and such. I thought I was by myself and I was in so much pain…”

He cupped your face with one hand, brushing away a stray tear. “Why did you say my name?”

Blood filled your cheeks at his question, your face and neck turning red. He wasn’t giving anything away that would tell you what he was thinking. You tried to look down but he held you steady. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I must have been just out of my mind.” A lie was the best thing you could think to do to try and save face. Azriel didn’t need to know about your feelings for him. “Are you mad?”

There was a minute of silence between you, his eyes unnerving you as they searched desperately for something. You could tell he was still very much aroused and tried to ignore the cramping that was ramping up once again in your lower abdomen.

“You’re lying.”

It wasn’t a question or accusation, it was just a statement. He knew you were lying and you would rather suffer for the rest of your immortal life than tell him why you called out for him.

“I don’t know what you’re-” You began but he cut you off, nostrils flaring. It was like he knew some secret that you didn’t but he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell you.

“Tell me the truth, Y/N.” He ordered you but you closed your eyes, trying to find some peace in the darkness. You couldn’t do this, couldn’t face him.

Until you saw something in that darkness, something that kept fading in and out. You felt yourself reaching out for it and when you got closer, it was a shimmering silver thread. It was beautiful and pure and…familiar.

Without hesitation you wrapped a hand around it and plucked it, gasping at the sensation. It felt like your entire body had been pulled with it but that’s not what made you open your eyes.

It was Azriel’s matching breath that made you stare at him in amazement.

Hazel eyes stared into yours with the exact same emotion while his lips were parted just as yours were. A matching pair. Two sides of the same coin. It felt as if the entire world had been condensed to just the two of you, breathing in each other.

“What is this?” You murmured.

“Our bond.” Azriel hesitated as you furrowed your eyebrows. “You finally felt it.”

“Are you…are you my mate, Azriel?” The thread connecting you got impossibly brighter in your head when you said the word. You didn’t need him to answer the question though, already knowing it to be true.

You were Made for him…and he for you.

Azriel watched with bated breath as you worked through everything in your mind and when you finally, finally, looked at him as he always dreamed you would he didn’t hesitate.

He brought your face to his and kissed you wordlessly, savoring the feeling of your mind through the bond that he had waited five hundred and forty years for. You matched his enthusiasm with passion of your own, biting down on his lower lip while pulling him closer.

The groan he let out made a new fire ignite in your bones, giggling when he grabbed the pillow and tossed it into the corner of the room. Azriel moved from your lips to your ear, biting down gently.

“Say it again.” He all but pleaded while moving back to look at you again.

There wasn’t anyone in the world that could stop you from giving him what he wanted. “My mate.” You smiled, pulling him back in for another kiss. “You’re my mate, Az.”

You started to fiddle with the strings of his pants and he all but leaped up to pull them off, watching you with hungry eyes. The aphrodisiac was certainly still in your system but it was nothing compared to what the revelation of your bond was doing to you.

It was like a primal urge was drawing the two of you to consummate the mating bond as soon as possible. Azriel removed his clothing and when you studied him you swore your pussy throbbed in anticipation.

He was massive and before you could stop yourself, you crawled across the bed to where he stood. You sat on your knees and gazed up at your mate. “May I?”

Azriel answered by grabbing your hair and tugging you to him, chest rising and falling in quick breaths. You wasted no time in taking him in your mouth. He tasted divine and his musk made you feel drunk. He grunted when you took him in as far as you could, coating his cock in saliva.

“Good girl, fuck.” He praised you, trying to restrain the urge to fuck your mouth when you looked up at him.

The praise made a fresh ripple of arousal coat your thighs which had you shifting on your legs. You badly needed him inside you but the urge to get him to cum in your mouth was greater. One of your hands went to the base of his dick to stroke what your mouth couldn’t and he moaned your name.

Your other hand drifted down to your weeping cunt and started to rub circles on your clit. The moan you let out reverberated around him and he suddenly pulled you completely off, lips curled up in a snarl.

“I’m trying hard to be gentle with you, princess. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.” Azriel warned.

The warning went in one ear and out the other, your head swimming with lust. He was being too nice and you needed to be grounded, to be reminded that what was happening was real and you actually had a mate.

So you pushed his hands away and swallowed him whole until he hit the back of your throat, your eyes rolling back as you tried to breathe through your nose. Azriel sucked in a sharp breath and smirked, using both of his hands to grab your hair once more. “You asked for it.”

He didn’t give you time to pull up, starting a brutal pace of fucking your mouth. Both of your hands flew to his thighs to hold onto as you let him use you. The sounds coming from your mouth were sinful but it didn’t matter. You were enjoying the way his face contorted in pleasure and fuck anyone else who had a problem with it.

Azriel’s fingers started to twitch in your hair when you tried to help him, sucking as much as you could while gagging. He had never seen you more beautiful than now, on your knees with tear-stained cheeks choking on his cock.

A ray of light being corrupted by the shadows.

The image was too much and you greedily drank down his cum when his hips stuttered, roaring out as he held you there until he was done. When he let you go you drew back with a gasp, cum leaking out of your mouth while you caught your breath. It was only a few moments before your mate laid you back and claimed your mouth once more, tasting himself on your tongue.

That inferno that had been building in your body was on the verge of exploding and Azriel could tell by how much you were squirming. He didn’t want to wait anymore and without questioning, lined himself up with your entrance.

You raised up on your elbows to watch him enter you, biting on the inside of your cheek at the first stretch. It felt exquisite. He pulled out slightly before pushing back in again, watching you consume his dick.

“Azriel…you feel so good.” You sighed, falling back onto the bed when he bottomed out. He had stretched you out to the max but it was as if your body craved more of him as it would never be enough. “Please, move.”

“As my mate wishes.” Azriel purred before pulling out and slamming back in in one fluid motion. The thrust sent fireworks of pleasure throughout your body and you cried out for him, back arching.

The pace he set was brutal, the two of you chasing a joint release. He bent down and took one of your breasts into his mouth, sucking the hard nub and nibbling on it until you left scratch marks down his arms.

You opened your eyes to watch him fuck you, seeing the concentration and pleasure in his eyes when you clenched down. The end was coming all too soon but also not soon enough.

His wings were covering the two of you, casting a warm light that made you feel fuzzy inside. You knew how sensitive Illyrian wings were, especially when you had made the mistake of touching Azriel’s when you had first met, but that was the goal you were going for,

Your finger gingerly reached up as he rutted into you and stroked down the sensitive membrane, your eyes taking in his reaction. He let out a full body tremble and looked down at you in untamed desire.

“Do it again.”

So you did. Over and over you caressed his wings, even letting your nails graze across sometimes. Azriel snarled and let his mouth come down to bite your collarbone, enjoying your cries of pleasure. He could tell you were getting close and if you kept touching him like that, he would be too.

Azriel doubled his efforts, rutting into you with mindless passion while you allowed yourself to be swept up by it. Your orgasm started to build and just as you ran three fingers down the edge of his right wing, you felt him hit that spot inside of you.

“Shit, fuck! Az!” You squealed as your hands fell to grip onto something, anything, as you came to the crest of pleasure. “Right there! Please, please!”

He gave you a wolfish grin and angled his hips to hit it one, two, three more times until you came with a loud cry and his name falling from your lips like a prayer. Your cunt squeezed him like a vice, causing him to follow your lead and spill inside of you with a roar of his own.

The bond between the two of you shone brightly as you met your peaks together. Azriel’s cum was hot inside of you and as he kept thrusting, you felt another orgasm ready to follow your first. You didn’t know if you could take it but he knew you could, dipping two of his fingers to your clit to rub quickly.

Your entire body shook in ecstasy when you came again, your mind going foggy. It felt like you were looking down at yourself, at your mate as he stilled inside of you to drink in the moment. You wanted to stay here forever.

His hand pushing back your hair made you come back to reality, your eyes squinting up at him. Azriel’s gaze was tender as you smiled at him. You cupped his face with one of your hands to match him, rubbing his cheek.

“My mate.” You sighed happily.

Azriel chuckled and kissed you softly, pressing his forehead against yours along with his body. The two of you were joined together in every sense of the word and it felt right.

“Yours. Forever.” He replied, breath tickling your face as you kissed once more.

3K notes · View notes

alavestineneas · 3 months

Text

The star reborn

pairing: young!coriolanussnow x fem!reader summary: But most importantly, her eyes. Bloodshot. Sharp. Intelligent. The eyes he tried so hard to ignore, the eyes he will undoubtedly try as hard to forget—they are his eyes, even if the colour is different. Inside them, there's nothing of the person he painted or conditioned her to be—those eyes are neither of prey nor of a sheep. No, the dreamy, unblinking orbs are the curved mirrors reflecting the truth he fears to control. warnings: canon-typical violence, narcissism, character death, implied sex, implied/referenced suicide word count: 3,5K

PART 1 IS HERE

author's note: hiiii! chapter 2 is finally here!! please let me know what you think of it in the comments - I did leave my comfort zone a little with this one. also, it is kinda angsty - be sure to be in a right headspace before reading it. Love you - enjoy!!

The lights above her head shine with dull, warm colours, casting their heavy shadows on the green, heavily painted walls. The silver lining of the ceiling opposes almost sickening stuffiness. YN's eyes follow it through half-opened lids: hot and cold, the contrast so vibrant it hurts already irritated senses. Was it alcohol? The half-full bottle of sugary liquor stood as if trying to hide, beside the gigantic bed. It couldn't be; her body was long used to the fire spreading through its small canals. The feeling, although equally unpleasant, was different—like a hidden bruise she took too long to notice, its purple hands stretching down her abdomen.

It was supposed to be just a one-time thing, a job she could handle without any complaints—like she did every time. Maybe it was, but soon one time turned into twice a week, then whenever he felt like it. It was good, sensing the want, and need every time his figure appeared at the doorframe—almost too good. Staining her lips with taste, his taste, sending her head round and spinning. A twisted carousel with countless bed sheets, counters, and extravagant salons of the latest cars instead of smiling animal figures.

Coriolanus's breath was hot on her skin; his whispers marked it with unreadable praises that YN knew he didn't mean—they still landed right on her chest, sinking their way into her lungs and clouding the air her brain desperately needed. He curses and swears, so far from the professional persona he puts on every time he finishes. The feeling of cold, long fingers on her hips pulling YN's body closer turned into electric-like impulses, crashing into her flesh and mixing with the rhythm of her poor, booming heart.

It's easy to guess the patterns of his movements, his broad shoulders covering almost the entire room from her eyesight—a minute more, and all of YN's vision would be taken by the knitted blonde brows and silk-like lips. Coriolanus's eyes draw motifs on her bare body, drinking everything down to the slight twitches of her legs, but never meeting her own. She almost feels sad about the fact; after all, she deserves to see how they grow dark, changing from sky-like blue to almost sapphire, heaving along with his breathing.

His hand changes its position, clasping YN's throat instead of the bedframe. It's brutal and animalistic to feel him holding onto the last bits of self-control to not let his guard down completely, in an attempt to regain the power back. YN closes her eyes—the sensation of his trembling limb is poisoning her insides with the sweetest taste of fear. The heartbeat in her temples, echoing in the empty chamber of her chest—the tempo of prey running from its hunter, the pace of the chase of an illusive prize. She feels Coriolanus twitch, the grip tightening along with her before finally relaxing. Caught. Eaten.

She doesn't mind the feeling of heaviness his body seems to plant in her own; he lays his head near, chest rising and falling, the smug, satisfied ghost of a smirk lingering on his swollen lips. YN doesn't remember when exactly she became content with it; it seems something inside of her has always craved him. Coriolanus squints his eyes under the light of the ceiling lamps, but all she sees is a wolf. A hunter sizing up the sheep before sinking his white, pearly teeth in the soft waves of flesh. Now, he is full, although no one knows for how long. YN guesses the hunger never entirely goes away.

Hers doesn't. She devours until she's sick, and does it again, again and again. His touch is too much, and YN wants to leave, hide, and scrub it off until her fingers bleed—and at the same time, she craves it more than anything. If he is a hunter, what does that make her? Prey. Deer. But does the prey have teeth as sharp as she does? Does she bite as often, tearing her way to survival? Maybe, and maybe not—YN is never in the habit of putting a label on her head and eating at it until there is nothing left of her but a hollow shell.

''Is there something wrong?''

YN almost cringes at the sound of her voice; its sound travels the room, circling the bed she was lucky to call her escape before finally landing on the tip of Coriolanus's tongue. He doesn't turn to her, taking in the ball of nerves she called a question before answering.

''The reviews of Games become more and more disappointing—game makers, although they change each other quickly, don't bring anything new. People don't want to watch.''

The hum of understanding escapes YN's dried lips before she can think twice about it. Coriolanus leaves her mind a dessert, an arena she thought she left behind, left as a victor, making her fight for existence once more. His next words prove it.

''You gave a show with all the weaponry skills, especially because they aren't typical for your district. How?''

She shouldn't feel pride in what sounded more like an interrogation, but YN never liked to do as she should've—that's why her naked body is now interwoven with his, the rising heartbeat in her ribcage sending waves to his fingertips. ''I trained with stones and butter knives. When you learn how to kill a bird with them, the human body is nothing.''

Coriolanus chuckles, the deep vibration resonating against her head on his chest. ''Impressive. But why risk getting caught preparing for something that might never happen to you?''

Maybe it's the way his hands draw circles around the lines of her neck, or maybe it's the way the lights flicker, but the slumped words from YN's mouth become more difficult to pronounce. ''You see the games as punishment, but the real punishment is life outside them—the arena is a golden ticket, and to compete is a privilege. Once more people get that into their heads, they will fight to even have a chance to put on a show for you. Of course, if you turn a blind eye to the preparations: can't impress with excessive knowledge of gemstones or fabrics, can you?''

His silence could've meant a lot to people who didn't know better, but the slight, almost invisible nod of the blonde-crowned head suggested understanding. If YN had been a little more attentive, she would've noticed the subtle shift in his pose. That way, the voice booming into her ear wouldn't have caught her by surprise.

''Turn on your stomach.'' Coriolanus only commands, and never asks. His pale cheeks are not yet free from colour, and the glimmer in his eyes reeks of determination.

YN wants to refuse; she wants to open her mouth and bite him right where a vital vein pulsates on his neck, draining the life force mixed with the scent of his bitter cologne. She doesn't; she hides her teeth in the silk pillowcase, its soft fabric making a home in her opened mouth. It wasn't the closure she craved, but YN knew better. You take what you can get, and with Coriolanus, you take what he gives. She needs to be adored, to be worshipped—he turns a blind eye to her every time he gets what he wants. Maybe that's what she gets for loving a man like him—he knows she is just a woman and tolerates her despite that. In the end, it doesn't really matter; he is still a god, and she is still on her knees, begging until they grow raw.

It was harmless fun at first to have her around. In addition to his small collection, a limited edition of the human she was—the whole world underneath her pretty heel, her eyes only on him. It fed his ego; Coriolanus will admit that much. Like a golden watch on his left hand or a new-tinted car, YN revolved around him. An ode to status, a testament to his power. But all things have to end—the lights are turned off after the long day of work, and the plates are cleaned after dinner.

He watches the buildings change rapidly, their warm windows mixing with tall structures of concrete. Even now, in a silent car, he finds their ever-changing looks captivating—the city jungle is never asleep, its loud voices covering the streets with a thick coat of isolation. Among men, he still stood alone. Undefeated. Victorious. Coriolanus doesn't bother to turn to the woman beside him. He played this conversation in his head too many times; now, there is nothing of the initial curiosity that used to sparkle. ''I think it would be better if we stopped seeing each other; the press is too relentless, and it's becoming dangerous for our image.''

He doesn't even have to come up with something plausible—rumours are circling of a ''new mysterious man" who was seeing the Panem's favourite star. But no one suspected it was him, and even if they did, who would dare to question him? The reason behind his decision is less poetic—the one he is somewhat reluctant to admit, even to himself.

''What?''

Her voice cuts the air, pulling Coriolanus out of his thoughts. He almost feels her figure tense up, her manicured hand gripping a stunning purse with all the power she has. It looks like claws, which he notices with humour. He imagines the same nails digging into the skin on his back, just like they did a few nights ago; the feeling sends a pleasant wave down his spine. ''You will continue with modelling and photoshoots, just like before. It even might be better—there are a couple of new projects I want you to take on.''

''Do these ''projects'' include other men that you promised to keep me safe from?''

She is mad. Coriolanus, it seems, tastes the venom dripping from her painted lips on his tongue, its bitter acids burning his throat. Maybe it's that lingering sensation, or maybe it's the air conditioning in the car—his body grows a little hot, and his head turns a lot more annoyed. He swallows; the car is almost at the mansion's driveway. A few more minutes and a starch of fresh air will get to his lungs.

YN doesn't wait for the car to fully stop; she opens the door abruptly and closes it right in his face, her boots stomping on the expensive lawn, leaving small holes in the green scenery. Her long coat flies as she walks, ignoring the shouts he throws her way. The wind, or him, leaves her eyes watery; the thick black mascara is already smudging and creasing under her beautiful lashes.

''YN! YN, wait! Woman, why won't you stop for just a fucking second?''

She doesn't answer, pushing through the buttler into the huge hall and throwing the leather bag onto the grand staircase. Fleeing, escaping—the actions stir something in Coriolanus—a mixture of anger and strange excitement. He grabs her by the shoulder, showing her back, but YN twists away, turning to face him instead.

''Why won't I stop? You are planning on leaving me, on selling me like a used car, and you have the audacity to ask me to stop?''

''YN, darling, let's just quit shouting for a second; you are overreacting.''

''Me?'' Her eyes are mad, maniac—nothing of the stoic beauty he is so used to enjoying. She yells, backing her way into the living room and throwing anything that gets under her hand at him. Coriolanus watches as the books, vases, and small statues fly over and into him, crashing against the walls and crashing into small pieces. ''I am overreacting, asshole? I have given you everything I had, every fucking piece of me that you wanted, and now you demand that I stop?''

He only plants his feet and abandons chasing her when the coffee table is in her hands, its golden lining matching the buttons on her blouse. Coriolanus lifts his hands in surrender; they both know she is not above launching it at him. So, he leaves her be.

YN's figure slides down the wall, her body trembling with anger and cries. They echo inside his head, a strange melody of defeat and desperation. Coriolanus watches her from a safe distance on the sofa, his head resting against the soft pillows. He can wait—this is likely the last time he gets to admire the beauty the world has graced her with.

The carefully styled hair that now resembled nothing of its original form, the freshly applied makeup that now streaked across her face. Even the way her neck bends to allow her a better view of him. YN's gaze follows his every move—it seems one wrong step—and the newly bestowed stillness will flee from his grasp again.

But most importantly, her eyes. Bloodshot. Sharp. Intelligent. The eyes he tried so hard to ignore, the eyes he will undoubtedly try as hard to forget—they are his eyes, even if the colour is different. Inside them, there's nothing of the person he painted or conditioned her to be—those eyes are neither of prey nor of a sheep. No, the dreamy, unblinking orbs are the curved mirrors reflecting the truth he fears to control. Coriolanus desires her; Coriolanus requires her; and if there is a want, there is a need. That's why he doesn't wish to see her anymore; if he does, she will eat him alive.

''Don't leave me,'' YN's voice is a siren's call, softer than any other sound. She crawls to him, carefully placing her head on his lap, searching for something, anything, on his face.

''You should get help, darling, for a little bit. What do you say? A nice place near the mountains—just a few months to wait for the press out.''

YN looks up at him, her face deprived of any emotion. ''Promise you will have me back?''

Coriolanus just nods, his large hand running down her back. The matter is already decided. He is not safe just because he owns her. If YN feels like it, she will stain her mouth with his blood, too.

''Hi Maggie!''

YN's voice booms through the speaker of the phone Mags holds tightly to her ear; finally, her friend is allowed to answer her calls. ''Hi! How are you? Are they feeding you well?''

That's probably not true—the mental health institutions have a history of underfunding, but Mags hopes Mr President was kind enough to choose a better place for his ex-mistress. She wasn't shocked when she heard of YN's mental breakdown; on the contrary, Mags thinks the hospital is just what her friend might need—the life of a victor isn't all glamour.

''Good enough! You know I can't put on too much weight; the designers won't forgive me for that!''

She sounds happy over the phone like this—if she is, Mags is too, no matter how much she wants to cry at the sound of her voice.

''Did he say something about me?''

Mags knows who she is asking about but hesitates to answer. She doesn't have the heart to tell her that the Snow family just announced the pregnancy of his wife, so she does what any good friend would do—Mags lies. ''I don't think so. But! The new law was just put in place—1, 2, and 4 are allowed to train their tributes from now on!''

''Oh, that is wonderful! Maggie, I am so sorry, but I have to go now. I promised I would help with books in the library. But I will call you as soon as I can!''

''I'll be waiting, YN. Be on your best behaviour; I would like to see my best friend soon!''

YN laughs. It's not very clear, but the warmth radiating from it translates definitely. ''I would never leave you, Maggie. Even as a ghost, you will never get rid of me—not for a moment.''

Mags hopes it's true. It's hard being YN's friend sometimes, but no one deserves to be alone in this cruel world. The phone call ends before she can answer; all that is left are long beeps.

The same beeps she is left with after the next call. It is answered by a different voice; this one is more mature and not as lively at all.

''We are sorry to inform you that Miss YLN lost her battle to depression on Friday, the 25th, at…''

Mags doesn't listen after that; she throws the phone across the room, bringing yet another death to delicate machinery. She has no point in keeping it in her house now for a simple, mundane reason: there is no one left to call. That is when the feeling she tried so hard to escape all her life finally nestled in her stomach, swallowing her from the inside. Hatred.

She hates the games, Panem, the Capitol, and the people who live there. Hates newspapers, hates tabloids, and hates interviewers—the people flooding the centre where the funeral is held. She doesn't want to see any of them—to see them cry and hug, whisper and tell long speeches about a person they murdered—YN didn't know any of their names, yet somehow all of them ''grieve with the world at the loss of their dearest friend''. But most of all, she hated the one who didn't even bother to show up, the one who had caused all of this.

Mags doesn't even bother remembering her own pain; it is greatly overshadowed by the cold body of her friend in a coffin she would've hated—nothing bored YN more than simple colours and ''refined tastes''. If Mags could, she would've filled the room with clashy patterns and as many shiny things as possible and served the cheapest burgers one could find in Capitol—just how she liked it. But all she can do is stare at the cold ground and a freshly planted bush of pearly-white roses on top of it. Her hands itch to dig it up, to stomp on it and replace it with something else—she doesn't. YN would've wanted them to stay.

She told her that one time, a year or two after her death—every time she appeared at its anniversary, exactly a month before the reaping. The first time Mags saw her, she thought she was going insane, but then the fear adjusted to never-changing grief. YN was harmless, even kind, although she communicated only with hand gestures—those are the rules, she told her, and rules should be followed.

The sky already grows dark, but YN hasn't shown up yet - Mags is too tired of a long day of teaching in the academy to ponder why. Maybe, after the fifty years that passed since, her friend finally found her peace. If so, Mags is happy for her. She can't wait anymore—the old woman picks up a coat from the locker and puts it on, closing the classroom before starting her journey to the exit.

The halls of the training grounds are empty; all of the children have already gone home. It pains Mags to remember who inspired the careers, and it fills her heart with immense pride at the same time. YN, to this day, is the golden standard of tribute; she is forgotten, neither by the people of Capitol nor by her own. Mags can't even count how many times the young victors of one hesitantly came to her with an old magazine in hand, asking to share something about their idol's life. She would often only smile; those children learned it by themselves sooner than she would like them to, most suffering the exact fate at the hands of the same man. The only thing that brought hope to Mags's heart was her declining health; she was getting older, and so was Coriolanus Snow. And as much as he would like, no one was immortal; he would pay for all the deaths on his hands, she would make sure of that.

''Excuse me, Miss?''

''Yes?'' Mags thinks that she heard it wrong and that her hearing is getting worse. But no—a boy, not younger than fourteen—leaves his spot at the bench near the gates and stands up, coming closer.

''Are you Maggie?'' The childish voice contrasts with the muscular build; the boy is definitely a student. ''I was just practising knots when Miss came up to me and said Maggie could help with that.''

The air leaves her lungs suddenly. Mags grips onto the coat, her hands desperatly in search of the headache pills. It all must just be her imagination, right? But the boy looks real, studying her face in curiosity. ''What woman?'' she finally breathes out.

''I don't know,'' the boy shrugs. ''Not from here. In a pretty white dress with stars on it. I asked her where she bought it, but she just laughed.''

Mags smiles weakly—that does sound like something YN would do. ''Did she say anything else?''

''Yeah!'' The boy beams excitedly, showing a missing-tooth grin. ''She said I will be the brightest star there ever was if I work hard enough!''

''That sounds about right," Mags says, her voice filled with nostalgia. "You know what? Find me tomorrow after your classes - I'll help you with knots. What was your name again?''

''Finnick, Miss. And thank you!'' The boy turns on his feet, not listening to whatever she has to say, and hurries home. ''Bye Miss Maggie!'' he shouts on his way before disappearing in the maze of brick buildings.

An impulse to correct him and remind him that her name is ''Mags'' crosses her mind, but she decides against it. After all, the name was too special to forget. The stillness of the evening lands on Mags' shoulders, and she continues the way to the victor's village. She has a lot to do - the 65th games are starting in a month, and then she will have a chance to finally rest.

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spacesquidlings · 6 months

Text

In The Starlight I Was Free

Description: Astarion hadn't thought he would ever know happiness, and more than that he'd thought he would never know what it was to truly love, and loved in return. And yet here he was, with his partner curled so lovingly against him, who showered him in affection every day. Who he so wholly adored, and who he wanted to show just how deep his love, and his want of her, go.

Pairing: Astarion x Female Tav (Aspen)

Warnings: NSFW, cock warming, blow job, hand job, exhibitionism (sort of), sleepy sex

**********************************

The sky was awash with starlight, so bright it could have been mistaken for the sun.

Well, not entirely. There was a gem-like glitter to the stars, a cold, sharp light more reminiscent of sharp-edged diamonds. In comparison the sun could be anything. Buttery and soft, gliding across his skin like feathered wings. Harsh and brutal, unforgiving as fire. Thin and watery, like weak beer. There were words he did not have to describe the sun, how different it could be every day, how it could change at any point during the day, how it could set the sky ablaze, or soften the edges of the world in blush pinks and bruised purples.

Not that Astarion was a connoisseur of the sun by any means, he hadn’t set foot in it for centuries, fearful of the scorching pain that would turn his body to cinders.

But doomed though it was, to have the tadpole buried in his brain, he could not help but be thankful for it, for allowing him to wrest himself free of his enslavement, for allowing him to set foot in the sun once more, to feel it on his skin, to experience the ebb and flow of its light and warmth like ocean tides.

He found he much preferred it, the sunlight, to the coldness of the stars and the darkness that bled out between their light like a fathomless pit.

Tonight, though, the stars were so bright he couldn’t help but stare up at them, watching as they flickered, as deep purples bled into the sky, softening the darkness. The moon was nearly full, casting a veil of silver over everything he could see, turning benign things into something nearly magical.

He could have laughed at himself, waxing on to no one about the stars and the sun and the moonlight making the dark seem ethereal, like some wild place he could vanish into and be safe from the monsters stalking the world, where he would no longer be a monster himself.

Yet even if that were true, if a portal made of moonlight appeared, a doorway leading him to a world where he could be safe, he wasn’t sure if he would even take it anymore. This world had been cruel, but he had found scraps of kindness, of precious, delicate things he wished he could hold safely in his hands, to cradle it against his heart.

Beside him, his partner yawned, stretching her arms above her, dragging them through the grass before rolling onto her side and nestling against him.

“Are you still awake, darling?” He slid one arm around her middle, tracing his fingers over her waist, her hip.

Aspen’s nose wrinkled, her lips pressing into a thin line that told him she was trying very hard not to laugh. “No.”

“Ah, I see.” He chuckled, mirth dancing in his heart. “Don’t let me disturb you from your dreams, then.”

Mirth was new to him, a strange giddiness that reminded him of sunlight bleeding through a canopy of leaves, staining everything in gold. He had only recently added it to his repertoire, and now it seemed to bubble in his chest alongside his traitorous heart at the slightest of provocations. She would say something objectively unfunny, like some tragic little pun, and he would feel it stirring. She would wrinkle her nose and roll her eyes when he teased her and there it would be, like seafoam gathering on waves. She would take his hand, or laugh brilliantly, or look back at him with delight in her eyes after mastering some new spell or song, and there it would be like a laugh in his throat.

He felt it almost every day, trailing behind him as they drew closer to the end of their quest, to whatever would lie beyond them in the future when the tadpoles were gone. This was certainly no time to be feeling such a childish delight, and yet he did. He did constantly.

He felt it now, lips quivering from the effort of not smirking as she nuzzled against his side, her arms wrapping around him. He’d never known himself capable of loving someone as much as he did her. He’d never known himself capable of being loved, certainly not as much as she loved him.

It was in all the little things she did, in the quiet questions before kissing him, before so much as holding his hand. It was in the way she would run her fingers through his hair, let him rest his head on her chest while she slept, listening to her even breaths, relishing the warmth that seeped into him until he felt like he was truly alive. It was in how she trusted him entirely, never doubting him. In how she’d begun to open up about herself, as much as she was always asking him about him.

He could have spent another century listing off little things. The way she smiled, the way her hands tangled with his, the way she would always try to make him comfortable before she went to sleep, the way she always did odd little things that brought a smile to his face.

She’d managed to get her hands on a cloth notebook, how he wasn’t even sure, insisting that she planned to learn to draw so she could show him how she saw him, since mirrors still would not reveal his face to himself. He’d managed to get a peek once while she was practising, and had nearly burst into laughter. She’d been trying so earnestly, but she had neither skill nor talent for it, and the sketches reminded him more of something a child first learning to hold a pencil would create.

“My dear, please don’t take this the wrong way,” he’d been smirking, trying to hold in his laughter as she’d glared at him from the corners of her eyes. “But I think you’d better leave drawing to the professionals. If you’re that hellbent on having a portrait of me, perhaps you can commission a skilled artist.”

He remembered how she had snapped the book shut, stuffing it into her pack before he could get a second glance. “I thought it would be nice.”

“And darling it is nice. Well…” He’d sat beside her, trying to draw her into his lip, thinking surely she couldn’t stay mad at him if he cuddled her. “It’s a nice thought.”

She’d huffed, bottom lip popping out in a pout. She’d looked ready to run, or perhaps to smack him. But she’d done neither, although she had crossed her arms, leaning as far away as she could considering he’d been holding her.

“Perhaps once we’re done with all of this.” He’d gestured to the camp around them, to the general situation of the world potentially ending. “We can find you some drawing lessons.”

Her eyes had remained narrowed, and she’d turned away from him. “Well your options are that, or I could write a song, I suppose.” She’d relaxed against him then, some of her ire having ebbed away as the idea had struck her. “I’m not half bad at that, you know. Although I’d be verbally describing you, and I would include something about your smile lines.”

At the time, Astarion had huffed, even as that strange feeling of mirth had awoken in him at his words. It was true he’d prefer the most beautiful parts of him to be described and immortalized only, but what were songs but drawn out poems, romanticizing even the most mundane of things.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind a song written about me.” He’d mused, leaning his head to the side so it had rested against hers. “A long ballad about how wonderful I am, about all my exploits.”

She’d snorted, easing into his arms, toying with the strings dangling from the collar of his shirt. “Could I include a verse or two about how much I love you?”

“Oh darling, I would expect nothing less. I want to know just how much you adore me.” He’d nipped at her ear, earning a small squeak. “And about how marvellous a lover I am.”

She’d dissolved into a fit of giggles then, threatening him with the promise of really writing some lovesick song about him, as if that wouldn’t be something he’d have wanted terribly.

The rest of their conversation had devolved from there, Astarion growing needy for her touch, to feel her burning skin against his. And Aspen had been happy to oblige, had wanted to shower him with all her love as she’d let him lead her far from their camp, into the shadows of the woods where no one would hear them.

She’d murmured quiet questions in the shadows, her face illuminated by nothing more than the liquid moonlight pooling in the gaps between the leaves. She’d helped him to lie down, had sung sweetly to him between fiery kisses trailed over his skin as she’d undressed him slowly.

She’d been unskilled, ignorant of the ways of seduction when he’d first met her. And when he had first taken her, she had been entirely innocent, needing guidance to know what would make her feel good, what would make him feel good. But she’d been a quick study, and in that moment she’d unlaced his shirt with deft, nimble fingers before pushing it wide to trail her lips over his skin, knowing exactly the way to swirl her tongue around his nipples, to suck at his skin while he’d moaned.

Soon enough his shirt had been discarded, crumpled in a heap as she’d made her way down his torso with her mouth, one of her hands lightly stroking him until she’d reached the waist of his pants. They were gone in an instant, followed by her own clothes, having learned how much he enjoyed tracing his eyes over the curve of her body, watching the sway of her breasts as she knelt between his legs, trailing kisses along the inside of his thighs before drawing his cock into her mouth.

She’d made love to him so sweetly that night, bringing him to completion with her mouth first, swallowing his release before planting a loving kiss to his tip before moving on. She’d scattered kisses over his body once more, but he’d grown far too impatient, taking her face in his hands and bringing her lips to his, tasting himself on her tongue, aching terribly for the feel of her body around him.

All his instruction and guidance was turned against him then, for she had grown sly now that she knew how to make him feel best, how to coax music from his lips. He’d melted in her arms as she’d circled the pads of her thumbs around his nipples, as she’d reached a hand between his legs to stroke his cock, to squeeze his balls, to make him whimper as his mind grew hazy and blank but for the quiet way she murmured his name, telling him pretty he was, he much she loved him.

When finally she’d straddled his waist, hovering just above him, he’d been able to do nothing but grip her thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin, covered in sweat and panting from previous releases. But she’d only teased him further, grinding against him before finally, finally drawing him slowly, inch by delicious inch, into her body. He’d been allowed a few moments of smug satisfaction as he’d felt how she’d clenched around him, Aspen just as needy for him as he’d been for her. Then she had moved, slowly at first, languorously. Asking him if he’d felt good, if it had been nice, if he could keep making such pretty sounds because she’d loved his voice.

She’d spent the entire night bringing him to the edge, again and again, letting him fill her body until his release spilled down the insides of her thighs, smearing across them both as she’d continued to move. She’d kissed him, over and over until their lips were both bruised, until they were both breathless, her hands stroking his sides or twining with his as she came along with him.

It had been like she’d been worshipping him, like he’d been her god and she a faithful supplicant at the altar of his body. Her words had been fragments of prayer, reverence in the way she murmured his name, adoration in the sweet words that fell from her lips like rain.

Devotion had been in every roll of her hips, in every shudder of her body as she’d came around him. Sweat had streaked down her face, pooling in the hollow of her throat, and still she had devoutly breathed sweet nothings, had given her body to him like a sacrifice.

She’d stroked his face, had played with his hair, promising him that there was nothing she’d wanted more, would ever want more, than his happiness. She’d described his expression of ecstasy like she’d been reciting passion-filled poetry, her fingers gentle even as they traced lines of fire over his jaw and his lips and the curve of his ears.

When, so lust-addled and drunk on her, his own personal goddess, he had asked her to sing her pretty words instead, she had obliged, promising that all she wanted was to bring him joy, to make him feel good, in every way he wanted.

When at last he had been so entirely spent that he’d been unable to make an intelligible sound but breathy moans she had finally stilled, kissing tears and sweat from his face until he had laughed. Strength had returned to him as languidly as the sun setting on a summer's evening, and as she’d kissed him he’d slowly wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close, not wishing for even a breath to pass between their bodies.

She’d been happy to stay where she was, to keep her legs locked around his waist and cradle his head in her arms. He’d stayed buried deep inside of her until the sun had come up, until they’d tarried so long their companions would have certainly been looking for them.

The memory of that night, of how she made such sweet, gentle love to him, made his cheeks flush now, his breath coming in short gasps. Beside him, Aspen opened her eyes to regard him curiously, stirred to consciousness by his sudden ragged breathing.

“My love?” Her voice was heavy, thick and slow with sleep. “Is something the matter?”

There was such gentleness in her voice, such care, it nearly brought tears to his eyes. She was half asleep and still she wanted to care for him, wanted to wrap him in the softness of her love.

Perhaps he really would cry, because he was sure he did not deserve this love, as sure as he was that he would forever stay with her if she let him.

“It’s nothing, darling.” He turned his gaze back up to the stars, watching as their light glittered and danced like gemstones tossed skyward. “I was only thinking.”

She hummed, the sound vibrating through him like the beginnings of a song. Her voice was so pretty, and he could have sank into it like sailors falling for sirens at sea. He was no fool and would not be so easily tricked, but he loved her so entirely he would have followed her to a watery grave.

“Thinking of what, my love?” She splayed her hand across his chest, above where his heart beat a steady rhythm. It was strange, to be dead but to have a beating heart. It was not something he’d even noticed until her, until their lives had been inextricably tangled together.

But he did have a heart, beating, stumbling at times, reminding him that he was still alive in the ways that counted. That he could love, that he did love.

Astarion twined his fingers with hers, bringing her hand to his lips. She watched him with heavy lidded eyes, lashes fluttering as she tried and failed to keep her eyes open.

“Nothing much,” he murmured, staring at the stars. They really were bright tonight, as though the world were suddenly awash in light now that he was free. But not even the stars could compare to her, and although he’d turned his head to look up, his eyes wandered away from the jewel-encrusted night, fixed on Aspen as if she were the only thing in the world that was worth looking at.

“You’re staring at me.”

“Am not.”

She forced her eyes open, glowering at him. He couldn’t help but smile, having provoked her into waking. “You’re staring right at me.”

“I can’t help it,” he cooed. “You’re more brilliant than the stars. I look at you and I feel like I am standing in the sun, like I am truly alive.”

A tender smile curved across her lips, her eyes falling closed once more. “Would you like me to wax on about all the ways I love you? About the softness of your hair? The creases in your face when you smile? The rumble of your laughter in your chest?”

“I’d much rather you tell me how striking my eyes are, or how I look like I was sculpted to look like one of the gods,” he drawled, stroking her hair. “But I suppose if you are that fond of those other things you could make mention of them as well.”

Laughter flitted from her lips like butterflies taking flight. “I’ll take that into consideration. But truthfully, my love, there is much more to you than just your face, handsome though it may be.”

He held her closer, tighter. His heart fluttered like the wing-beats of a hummingbird, so warm from her body pressed against his that he could have been melting into her embrace. She was always reminding him that he was beautiful, although it was a fact he knew quite well, but then she would always remind him of other things she loved. The sound of his laugh, the handful of freckles scattered across his face and chest, the way he always turned his head towards the sun when it rose in the morning, the line between his brows when he was reading.

All things he would have cringed away from not that long ago, soft parts of himself he’d have rathered stayed buried in the dirt alongside whoever he’d used to be.

Perhaps it was the cadence of her voice, the musical way she listed off the parts of him that he had long considered faults in his facade of perfection. Perhaps it was the earnestness in her eyes, the way they shone and held his for the briefest of moments before flitting away as colour rose in her cheeks, as if she were overwhelmed with a feeling so strong she could hardly speak the words. Perhaps it was in the way she asked to hold his hand before she told him, how she nestled close when she did, how she had to be touching him in some way as if she couldn’t bear to be away from him.

Whatever it was, whatever magic she’d cast over his heart, had made him view himself differently. His imperfections were no longer hated, and he felt more secure in himself, in all the shards of who he was. He wasn’t just a pretty face, not to her, he was someone worthy of life, of love.

“Do go on,” he murmured into her ear, earning a delighted shiver for his efforts. “I’d love to know what else about me you adore.”

“Where would you like me to start?” Her laugh was more of a sigh, but it was infectious nonetheless, and he warmed as it reverberated through him.

The memory of the night she’d most recently sung praises for him surfaced in his mind. He tried holding her tighter as she dozed, murmuring words to him that were becoming more and more unintelligible as she drifted away. He rolled onto his side in an attempt to tuck her close, his eyes scanning the contours of her face, the line of her jaw, the softness of her lips. Her dark lashes fanned out across the tops of her cheeks, the corners of her lips quirking up as she made a contented sound, shifting closer.

Astarion had no practice in the art of writing or of music, but he was finding that there was no end to the parts of her that he loved. It was like he was falling in love with her a little more every moment, every day. There was always something new, something he hadn’t known before but that delighted him once he did. If he’d had the skill or the desire, he would surely be able to weave every little thing into a poem, perhaps a song.

Not that he was particularly keen on such an idea, but he ruminated on it for a few moments before discarding the notion as he trailed a finger down the side of her neck. She did not seem the type to desire songs and poetry of herself, always flushing so spectacularly when he breathed sweet nothings in her ear, her entire body trembling as if she might faint from such gentle words.

She never pushed him away or begged him to be quiet, but he’d noticed that when he was only trying to express simple affections, she seemed to respond better to his touch. She was always leaning towards him like a tree torn free from the earth, whether she realized it or not. Her face would brighten if their knuckles brushed when they stood together, her eyes turning to twin stars when he reached out to take her hand in his. She would nestle into his arms when she slept, trusting him to keep guard of them both, and she was forever accepting requests to hold him with her arms opened wide.

Perhaps it was not sweet words that he needed to use, but his touch.

Which was more than fine with him. Sometimes he felt as though his words rang hollow, did nothing to encompass the vastness of the warmth he cradled in his cold, undying body. He needed something else, something more. Not sex, no, but to hold her close, closer than he was holding her even now.

He would be lying if he said it was just for her. He was selfish, and he wanted her closer, needed it, more than air, more than blood. He felt like he would die all over again if he could not close the remaining space between them.

“My love,” he breathed the words quietly, stroking her throat, above the twin puncture marks that had scarred from the daily feedings she so willingly offered herself for.

“Mmmm?” Her lashes fluttered, but her eyes did not remain open for very long.

“Do you trust me, my love?” His heart beat an erratic melody, his fingers twitching. He had an idea in mind, but he wanted to make sure she was alright with it first.

She slurred her response, and when he prompted her to repeat herself she tilted her head back, peering at him through slitted eyes as she murmured “of course.”

Astarion traced his hands lower, grazing her thigh. “And you know I love you, don’t you?”

Her brow furrowed. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing terrible, my love.” He hesitated, his hand hovering on her leg. Since he had freed himself, since he had confessed the entirety of his shadowed heart to her and she had accepted him in full, he hadn’t been able to resist slipping into her bedroll each night. Not always for sex, not when he usually wanted some modicum of privacy for that and often spirited her far from their camp so their companions did not hear the sounds of her pleasure.

Aspen had long since grown more comfortable with him, in many ways, and at night she often discarded her trousers as she slept, wearing nothing but a long tunic that nearly reached her knees. It would be such an easy task to lift up the hem of her tunic, to stroke the sensitive flesh between her thighs until she was ready for him.

“Then trust me, love,” she murmured, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“It’s nothing much, only…” He trailed off, deciding to start slowly, reaching beneath the hem of her tunic to stroke the plush skin of her inner thigh. “Is it alright if I continue?”

Aspen’s eyes snapped open, holding his for a long, long while, surveying his face in the dark. She was human, and he wasn’t sure how much she could make out in the shadows, even with the light of the fire flickering nearby. But whatever she saw seemed to appease her, and her eyes closed once more. “Yes, love, it is.”

He dragged his fingers higher, keeping his touch light.

“Do you want me to do anything? Would you like me to help with your clothes?” She moved her hands to his chest, her movements slow and muddled from sleep.

“No my darling.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “I just want you to lie still and feel very good.”

“Are you certain? Are you truly sure, because I can-”

Astarion brought his lips to hers, cutting off her argument before she could finish it.

She was breathless as he broke away, and he couldn’t help but smile at how flustered he’d already made her. “I am very sure, darling. This is something that I want.”

“Okay.” Her voice was small, her hands gripping his shirt tight.

“Although I do need you to do something for me, pet.”

Fatigue must have been a powerful opponent, because Aspen fought to keep her eyes open for more than a moment at a time, even as she spoke. “Anything.”

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

She did as she was asked, and Astarion sighed in contentment as he began stroking his fingers along the soft skin at the apex of her thighs. Slowly at first, although he would be lying if he said he did not move quicker as her breaths turned ragged, her lips parting so prettily for him. He circled her clit with a featherlight touch, then again, with more force. She moaned, leaning into him, and he felt his own body responding in kind, tension growing in his core, heat spreading through him.

Aspen writhed beside him, her neck arching, her chest heaving. Even in the dark he could make out the colour spreading across her cheeks, reaching below the collar of her tunic.

“I’m going to get rid of this now, okay?” He murmured next to her ear and she nodded furiously, lifting her arms to make it easier for him as he peeled it away from her body.

“Good girl,” he breathed, smug as she whimpered.

Her thighs twitched, her hips moving of their own accord, and it was with his other hand that he had to steady her, pressing her down so she could not move. “Hold still, darling. Didn’t I tell you I wanted you to lie still?”

Another whimper, a breathy please as she trembled.

He chuckled, drawing his hand away to lick his fingers clean. “I’ve hardly touched you, and you’re already a mess.”

“Astarion, please.”

“Yes, my darling?” He couldn’t help but tease her, only a little. It was so easy, especially now. She was still half-asleep, but every time her eyes fluttered open he saw her pupils, so dilated they looked fully black in the night. “Use your words. Tell me what you want.”

Aspen whined, grasping his arm with a grip like iron. Her words were breathless, broken up by little gasps as he stroked her. “You’re not being nice.”

He clicked his tongue, enjoying the sight of her squirming, of her struggle to remain quiet and still. “How could you say such a thing, darling? I’m very nice.” He flicked her clit as she whined, earning a soft whimper as her nails dug into his arm. “Well… I’m a little nice.”

Astarion did his best to keep his movements slow and even, coaxing her to the precipice of her climax without letting her fully descend into it. It was difficult, a feral part of his mind wanting to make her scream his name into the night, to bring her to release over and over until she was an absolute mess. But that was not his intention, not tonight, and he wanted to focus on something gentler, something much more tender.

He alternated between kissing any part of her skin his lips could reach and whispering softly into her ear, delighting in how she shivered in his arms when he did.

“Shh, not too loud, love,” he murmured, circling his fingers around her entrance. “We don’t want the others to hear.”

“Do you- Do you think they’ll catch us?” She was clutching his shirt so tightly he felt certain that it would tear.

“Not if you stay quiet,” he breathed, laughing at her stricken expression. “Don’t look at me like that. I just wanted you so terribly, pet.”

Aspen moaned again, his name a prayer on her lips. It made him ache so entirely he didn’t think he would be able to last for much longer. Her chest heaved, her breasts soft and inviting, and he distracted himself with them, drawing the bright pink nipples between his teeth, biting them as gently as he could until she was mewling, even his name sounding incoherent as it was caught by the wind.

“I want to be close to you,” he said, pressing his lips to the valley between her breasts, breathing in the smell of her skin, sweat and growing things and the subtlest hint of the oils and perfumes he used for himself.

Her arms snaked around him, scrabbling for purchase against his back, pulling the material of his shirt taut. “Then come closer.”

Drawing back, Astarion’s gaze fell on her face, on the deep blush that set her aflame, the heady desire in her eyes. There was something else there, too, something hidden in the depths of the need he was filling her with.

There was love in her eyes, in the curve of her smile, in the way she let out a soft breath as she met his gaze, one of her hands sliding up to bury in his hair.

It was bright as sunshine, as gentle as an embrace. His knees grew weak from it, his body trembling as she gazed up at him with such sweet adoration.

“I want to be close,” he breathed, fingers fumbling as he quickly discarded his shirt, and his trousers next, not wanting even the slightest scrap of fabric between them. He wanted nothing but her skin against his, her heart beating a furious tempo against his chest, her breath tickling the skin of his throat. He wanted there to be nothing, only her, only him. “I want to be buried inside of you, and I never want to come out.”

Her fingers ran through his hair, sketched along the shell of his ear. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t look away, spreading her legs a little wider. “I want that too.”

A lump formed in his throat, nearly choking him. He felt like a boy, like he was taking a tumble with the first person he’d ever fallen for. His heart was beating a discordant cacophony, unused to loving and being loved so entirely in kind. He felt vulnerable, his heart bared to her, but he felt no fear. He trusted her, trusted her to hold him, to love him, to keep his heart safe.

Never in all the years of his life that he remembered would Astarion have ever described himself as soft. But he felt soft now, felt like he was melting in her arms, his tenuous hold on himself fraying.

Here he was, falling apart in the face of a kind, softhearted woman, her arms open to him, her voice a murmur in his ear. This was not something he’d ever envisioned for himself, had never even considered. There was no room for softness in his world, no room for love.

Yet he had it still. He had her love; she’d entrusted her entire heart to him, her entire being. Were she not so warm in his arms, her shuddering breaths against his skin making him shudder, he would have mistaken this all for a dream.

“Astarion.” Her voice drew him back to the present, away from the churning tides of his thoughts. Anxiety had begun to bubble in his chest, fear that this truly was a dream, that it was some great trick of his mind and he would awake and be lost in the shadows once more.

But no, there was no way for his mind to conjure a voice such as hers. Hands caressing his face the way hers did, fingers twinning in his hair as she so often liked to do. He would never have been able to imagine such sweetness as this, not in his hundreds of years of life. So she must have been real; she had to be real.

“Astarion?” Sleep still clung to her, and she drawled his name, a smile on her lips. “My love, what are you thinking?”

He did his best to offer a devilish smile, although he knew he was failing spectacularly by the way Aspen’s brows drew together, the corners of her mouth twitching.

She wiggled her hips, gently rolling them against his, and he nearly choked in response, the ache in his core steadily growing. “Tell me,” she beseeched him, rolling her hips against his once more. “Please, my beloved? I want to know what’s going on in your head.”

There were a slew of things Astarion could have said to her in that moment, but with her wide eyes and her open expression, he couldn’t bring himself to say something sharp. He was well beyond feigning indifference now, having confessed to her before the grave his old self had been buried, having clung to her almost every night since, seeking the comfort and steadiness of her embrace, of her beating heart. And now, so desperate and needy for her touch he’d disposed of their clothing so he could feel nothing but her skin against his, so he could sink deep inside of her. So he could be held, so he could feel beloved and precious and safe.

“I was thinking of you,” he professed, his voice small as a child’s. He sounded like a lovestruck fool and yet he could do nothing to change it. “I can think of nothing else but you.”

“I’m right here,” she murmured, brushing his hair back from his brow. “I’m close, my love, I’m not going anywhere.”

“It is undoubtedly selfish of me…” He trailed off, trying again to grin. It was like second nature to him, to feign rakishness. But in this moment he really could not, no matter how hard he tried. How could a disciple, kneeling before his goddess, ever hope to be anything but devout, to give himself entirely with anything other that wholehearted sincerity? “But I want to stay with you for as long as you’ll have me.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled, and she spread her legs a little wider. “Oh my love, I want to be with you always. I want to be with you forever. If you’ll have me, of course.”

Astarion leaned down, brushing his lips against hers, a hunger more consuming than his desire for blood taking over. “Forever, then.”

“Forever,” she agreed, breathless from the kiss.

He didn’t give her much time to breathe, capturing her lips once more as he pushed her legs further apart. Aspen’s body complied with his needy demand, thighs shaking around his hips as he lined himself up, tip pressing against her entrance.

If there was one thing he knew he would never tire of, it would be the sounds she made as he pushed into her. The delicate whimpers, the way she sighed his name, a melody spun of spider silk and starlight, meant for only his ears.

Aspen shuddered, her body fluttering around him as he sank deeper. Her hands moved from his face to his shoulders, a delicious pressure that sent shocks of pleasure across his nerves, that made him want to move faster, to thrust with ruthless abandon into her. It took every last shred of his self control to keep his movements slow as she trembled in his arms, until a little gasp fell from her lips as his hips finally, mercifully, met hers.

“How’s that?” He murmured, pulling back just a little, just enough to sharply roll his hips against hers, earning another needy little gasp.

“You’re being mean again.” Her whine was breathy, her fingernails digging into his skin.

He shushed her. “Not at all, darling. I’m only enjoying those pretty sounds you’re making.”

She opened her mouth to whine once more, and he took the opportunity to capture her lips again, swallowing the sweet sounds she was making as he slid his tongue between her lips.

“Not too loud, though,” he teased, and the laughter that rang through the air was genuine, warm and earnest as she stared up at him, utterly dazed. “Those sounds are for me, and only me. I don’t want the others to hear.”

Aspen’s mouth snapped shut, her body trembling harder now, whether it was from the arousal he had woven with his touch or from the desire to smack him he wasn’t sure. It was adorable all the same, and he trailed a line of kisses from the corner of her lips to the hollow of her throat until her head fell back, her neck arching to allow him better access.

“While I appreciate the gesture, darling, I have something different in mind.” He couldn’t resist pressing a few more kisses to her throat despite his words, scraping his teeth against her skin so she knew just how badly he wanted the hot blood that pulsed in her veins.

She opened her mouth, closed it again, struggling to find her words.

“Take your time, my darling. I don’t plan to move anytime soon.” He had only planned to fill her body, to press himself as close to her as he could. He was still so desperate for her, and he feared he would never want to pull away, never want to move from her arms again.

Slowly, her grip on his shoulders began to loosen, her nails no longer digging deep enough into his skin to draw blood. Her lips were still parted, ragged breaths billowing into the air as she clung to him. For his part, he tried his best not to move, stroking her hair, the contours of her face, the gentle rise of her collarbone. Shudders still wracked through her body like the aftershocks of an earth-shattering quake, but they were becoming fewer and farther between.

“How’s that?” He murmured as she grew still. “Feeling better?”

A nod, her eyes dark as night as they found his. “What did you have in mind, my love?”

Hearing that sweet name of endearment on her lips, ‘my love,’ made him feel like he was fracturing. Her love, her love. He was entirely hers, and she was entirely his.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you say that,” he breathed, utterly lost in her words, in the fathomless depths of her eyes.

The pink of her lips reminded him of flower buds, a frivolous detail he never would have taken note of before, and yet as he drew the connection in his mind he felt the fractures growing, splintering into shards of crystalline glass, reflecting the sunlight that he had not gotten to feel for centuries. Every part of her was perfect, every part of her was so alive, so soft and flush with colour.

He did not have the words to describe it, and nor did he want to. There was an enchantment to it all, something delicate he did not wish to sully with saccharine words and overwrought lines. He only wanted to love her for as long as she would let him.

The corners of her lips quirked up in a small smile, her palms pressing against his shoulders and sliding down his arms. “What did I say?”

“That I’m your love.” His voice was small as a child’s, vulnerable. But he felt no fear, only a comforting warmth that curled around him like a second embrace. He was safe; here, he was safe. “That you love me.”

He was grateful for her patience, for the kindness that he had scoffed at when they’d first met. He couldn’t imagine someone being so patient, not with him, but he didn’t have to imagine. She just was, and she was patient for him, she was kind for him.

She was patient and kind for other people, but he chose to ignore that for now. It was different when she was looking at him.

“Of course I love you.” A breathy laugh fell from those sweet lips, and he was once more reminded of a flower, something beautiful and colourful. She looked at him like he was her sun, even if he was doomed to be veiled in shadows for eternity. “I love you so much.”

He chuckled. “So much?”

“Yes!” She drew the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth. “More than I have the words to say.”

“And I love you,” he breathed, because he could not stop saying it. He had said it once truthfully, and now he could not stop, doubted he would ever be able to stop. “I love you Aspen, my beloved, with all of me.”

There were no other words that he could find that would even come close to describing the depth of his emotions, but he was thankful that she did not seem to need it. That those simple words were enough, that the embrace he held her in was enough for her.

“You never answered my question, love,” she said after a moment, the starlight reflecting in her eyes.

He frowned. “What question?”

“What did you have in mind? For right now?” She traced her fingertip over the curve of his ear, tugging lightly at the sharp point.

“Well, my darling…” He trailed off, covering her hand with his. “I had… That is…” He trailed off, struggling to find the right way to explain it.

It should have been easy. He wanted her, he wanted to be close to her. He craved her nearness, not sensually, just to be close. He wanted to crawl into her skin, he wanted to be held so tightly by her that they would never be parted.

He was quickly learning that it was much easier to yearn, to want, and so much harder to give those feelings form with his words.

Aspen remained quiet as he mulled over what he wanted to say. She ran her hands up and down his arms, reaching up to play with his hair, twisting curls around and around her fingers, dragging her fingers across his scalp like a massage.

Finally the words came to him, falling from his lips like a confession. “I just want to be close to you. I want to stay like this, in your arms.” He hesitated, feeling helpless as she watched him, with nothing but the shine of the stars to illuminate her face. “For as long as you’ll allow me.”

“Then we can stay like this, my love.” Her arms wrapped around his neck, hands pressing against the back of his head as she gently drew him close. “We can stay just like this for as long as you’d like.”

“Really?” He could scarcely believe it, even as she tucked his head beneath her chin. His cheek was cushioned against her breast, the steady pulse of her heart echoing through him.

“Really.” She rubbed circles against his back, her hand gliding up to tangle in his hair before sliding back down along his spine. “I love being close to you, too.”

A familiar wave of uncertainty made his belly clench, and he couldn’t help but hazard a look back at her. “Are you sure? There is nothing else you want?”

Her fingertips drummed against his back as she hummed, face scrunching up as she feigned contemplation. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a nice pastry and a coffee. I hear there are some delightful places in the city.”

He snorted. “That’s it?”

“I wouldn’t mind a new book when all this is over. I think I’m going to need a few quiet days to recover.”

Astarion scraped his teeth against her skin, earning a yelp.

“You asked!” She hissed. “I was only telling you of some things I wanted.”

“Forgive me, love,” he murmured, pressing a chaste kiss to the bite. “I’d meant are you sure there is nothing else you want in this moment?”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” she began, fingers dancing along the nape of his neck. “Can I kiss you?”

The tension that had been clutching his stomach with an iron-grip fell away, replaced by the feeling of a thousand gauzy wings fluttering within his stomach and his chest. They flitted idly between his ribs, perching on his bones, sending ripples through the oceans in his veins, like waves and tides.

“Please.”

Aspen brought her lips to his brow, smoothing his hair back as she kissed him. Gentle, soft as a feather brushed against his skin. Her breath fanned across his brow, her lashes tickling him as her eyes fell closed.

He reached up, his hand cupping the back of her head. “Wait.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, only…” His words came out in a breathless rush. “Could you do that again?”

Another kiss to his forehead, just as soft and sweet as the first. “Like this?”

“Perhaps you should try that again, darling,” he drawled, smiling against her skin. “I’m not sure if you got it quite right.”

Aspen tsked softly, but she kissed him again. And again. And then her hands were reaching up to grasp his face, to tip it up towards her as she pressed kisses all over his face, from his brow to his cheeks to the tip of his nose, no part of him was safe from her affections.

She kissed him until he was quivering with laughter, struggling to keep it in, lest they wake their companions.

“Aspen,” he hissed, although he was smiling so widely his face hurt, bubbles of laughter nearly choking out his words.

“I can’t help it!” She sighed, giving him her best pout as she tucked him back against her chest. “I just love you, and I just get overwhelmed by it. I want you to know that I love you.”

As his laughter slowly melted away he began to relax in her arms once more, a small smile still lingering on his lips. He rolled his hips in revenge for her making him laugh, earning a sharp gasp. “I know you do. Everything you do shows me how much you adore me, my darling.”

He expected a stuttering response, her words to turn to nonsense as they were prone to do when he teased her. But she only smiled at him wickedly, her touch still gentle as a breeze rustling through his hair. “I do. And I know just as well how you, my beloved, love me dearly.”

It was Astarion who ended up struggling to find a response, his tongue heavy in his mouth, his words nothing but stammering nonsense. He opened his mouth, floundering like a beached fish.

“Am I wrong?” She teased, mussing his hair. “Have I assumed incorrectly?”

“No, my darling,” he gasped, his words spilling like a flood. In the back of his mind he questioned who he was becoming, this soft-hearted, blathering, lovesick fool who could not even string together a coherent sentence as she held his gaze. Surely he could not be the same person as he was when they had first met, roguish and clever and sharp-tongued.

Although then again, maybe he didn’t want to be that person anymore. Maybe he wanted to be someone different, maybe he wanted to be himself, whoever that person was.

It would take him a long while to figure that out, and perhaps it would change every day, but he did know one thing that would forever be unchanging, one thing he wanted to be more than anything. He wanted to be cared for and loved, he wanted to be hers.

“I care for you, more than anything,” he admitted, the words still falling free before he could think them through. “I love you more than I thought I could ever love. That’s the truth, I swear it.”

He was holding her so tightly his fingers had dug into the soft skin at her waist. He loosened his grip, smoothing his palms over the crescent moon indents he had left in his wake. “I know I’ve lied when I’ve said those words before, but I mean it. I feel like I am alive, truly, in a way I never was, even before.”

She remained quiet, playing with his hair, watching him with a little smile. Starlight shone in her eyes, or maybe it wasn’t starlight. Maybe the stars were only reflecting her light back from the skies.

The final words he spoke were little more than a breath, stolen away by the quiet keen of the midnight wind. “I love you.”

Aspen’s eyes glowed all the brighter, silver pooling at their edges. “I didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

He scoffed, although his heart wasn’t in it.

She didn’t seem to mind, her touch so loving as she slid her hands from his hair, stroking his neck and back. “I’ll try to be worthy of your love.”

He held her tighter, burying his face in the valley between her breasts once more so she could not see his blush. “Just keep holding me. Keep holding me and don’t let go.”

“I can definitely do that.” He felt her cheek pressing against the top of his head, her breath tangling in his hair. “I’ll hold you for as long as you want.”

Although he could not sleep, not the way Aspen did, Astarion still closed his eyes. Nestled safely against her, he let his mind wander. He no longer bothered to look at the stars, did not even think of them. He knew that even if he were cursed to live amongst the shadows once more, there would still be light. Aspen would be there with him, brighter than any star, brighter than even the sun.

She would keep him close, hold him tight whenever he needed it, and whenever she wanted to be close too. And in her arms, he was finally free, he was finally home.

#astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x oc #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #honey the sweeter the sun

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grimlins-chaos · 3 months

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The numbness that comes with an unfulfilled promise..

It was quiet for the most part, petals and leaves fall from the boughs above and flutter down to the city below, a few of them landing upon the surface of the lake that Alaantheria had been simply observing, her face still a bit numb from the fresh mark- but that paled in comparison to the numbness she felt in her heart and soul. She finally got to prove herself as someone of worth, not only earning the mark of shadow, but also the Scythe of Elune. The elf looked over the fantastic weapon with tired eyes. She hardly felt anything, not just in regards to her accomplishment but to all things im general. All of it felt so meaningless. She knows all her friends are worried about her, it wasn't till some time recently when she finally gained the strength to be out amongst people again- but now she was alone. The sounds of revarly from those of the guild and other kal'dorei celebrating her and her party's accomplishments, she should be happy, she should be proud. But she just.. can't..

"For someone having finally earned her marks, you don't seem too happy to bear them." A gentle voice came from behind, causing the young elf to turn around and be just a bit surprised to see the High Priestess herself of all people standing there.

Alaantheria wasn't quite sure how to verbalize it, she didn't feel like she could speak up about it even though all of her friends hadn't ever shut her down before- some of them know their own losses and she's experienced loss herself throughout her life. There was just something about this loss that cut deeper than anything else and she didn't know how to explain it. "I'm just thinking about things, High Priestess, pay no mind to me." Alaan managed a small smile, one that felt so.. wrong to put on.

The older woman's lips quirked into a mildly unimpressed frown, brows furroed as she cocked her head to the side ever so slightly, making it clear she saw right through the young elf. "We should be truthful with ourselves, Young one. And Tyrande, please." She says as she walks up to the railing to stand beside Alaantheria. "I wouldn't be a very good priestess if I were to turn a blind eye to one of my people clearly suffering, especially on a day that's supposed to be a joyus one for her. What's on your mind, child?"

Alaan sighed a bit, her smile turning into a wristful grimace. "Where to even begin.." She turned to look over the railing, resting her arms on it as she rested her weight against it. "There was someone supposed to be here.. and he's.." She paused, throat becoming tight with emotion as she could feel the tears threatening to return. "Not.." She managed to force out.

Given her demeanor and the tension throughout the druid, Tyrande seemed to have understood pretty quickly how this somebody so dear to the girl may have departed. It was but one of many reasons why she hates the legion so passionately- the way they managed to rip so many loved ones away from people, often in the most brutal and cruel ways imaginable.

Alaantheria took in a sharp deep breath, attempting to compose herself and continued. "H-he was caught in an explosion, sacrificing himself to save others." The bitter bile rose to the back of her throat, tears forming at the edge of her eyes. She wanted so badly to be in his arms again, to feel his warm envelope her tight, even toward the end when he began to drift away from her she always knew there was something in him that loved her. Now.. now she's never felt more cold.

She was met with the feeling of a hand brushing over her leafy green hair as Tyrande spoke. "The love you shared with him I can tell was one of the greatest.. and also the most painful.. Raw, pure, forever enduring.." Tyrande looked out over the lake view. "While I've only ever nearly lost him, to be left behind while my love left to help the world or to walk the emerald dream filled me with a very similar pain- to be alone while your heart is out of your reach and you're left with the phantom feeling of them at your side.. it cuts deeper than any blade. And the whole they leave behind feels like you're standing on the edge of a gaping chasm that has no end.."

The words alone were enough to do her over, tears spilling down her freshly marked face as she buried her face in her hands and her body began to be raked with sobs, finally mourning as she never truly got to express before and it hurt- it hurt so much. Why did he have to go? It could have been anyone else, but it was him. And a part of her hating him for leaving her behind, but she also couldn't bring herself to be mad at him for many more would have died. She just missed him, she wanted him home so badly.

The priestess gently stroked the younger elf's hair, giving her all the time she needed to grieve. In time Alaantheria managed to calm down, setting her hands down as she looked over the calm lake before her, seeing herself in it's reflection, in that beautiful attire with her face flushed and her eyes wet and puffy from tears. And all she could manage were a few words in a weak and she sounded so small. "I don't know where to go from here.."

Tyrande reached over and picked a small violet flower from a vine that had been growing as one with the railing as much as the rest of the vegetation that simply merged with Darnassus' structures. "Do you know why I gave you the mark of shadow?" She merely asked, causing Alaan to look up at her, confused. Tyrande however merely smiled in return, tucking the stem of the flower into the green hair just above her ear. "Associated with the night warrior of legend, it was believed that the mark of shadow represented balance and hidden potential." She then cupped the side of the girl's flushed cheek. "If I had to guess he recognized you have so much more to give than you even realize. And now he's given you the opportunity to show the world what you can do, show just how strong you are. Take the light of his memory and the love that he gave you and live." Her expression softened as she then tugged the other elf into her arms. "He may not be here in body to watch you but I have a feeling that like I and like so many to came to see you today that he is so proud of you."

That seemed to finally grab a shakey but genuine smile out of Alaantheria as she returned the hug and the tears returned, accompanied by a small ball of warmth deep in her chest. The pain was still there.. it'd never go away, but she believed she understood what she had to do now.

#night elf #world of warcraft #warcraft #wow #tyrande whisperwind #kaldorei #art #my art #fic snippet

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aveegrex · 2 years

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DEITY UZUIS X READER

four-handed tengen, and exactly one wife short to have a handful. now, we shall fix that, shan't we?

genre: smut pairing: the deity!uzuis x f!reader word count: 2,7k cw: voyerism, group sex, cunnilingus, face-sitting, mating press, creampies, fingering, monsterfucking, kinda suggestive bathing, breeding kink, sex pollen (kinda), tengen is a god of fertility btw, cum-eating, a little bit of masturbation

author's note: did I write a fic to make this silly "four hands and only three wives" joke? yes, yes I did. Also, this piece goes not only into my kinktober event, but also to the @h-jime 's monsterfucker event. I'm extremely thankful to all my followers who were patient enough with me and my catastrophic time management. Thank you, loves, and I hope you enjoy this.

aveegrex kinktober masterlist

“And how did a cute thing like you end up here?”

You gulp under his intent gaze, curling further into the corner of a small room. Honestly, the answer was simple - a lone girl lost in the woods while picking mushrooms and berries, desperate for shelter from brutal rain and wild beasts, indicating how far from the village you have wandered. Wet to the bone and with your kimono now all torn from sharp twigs, you’ve been lucky enough to stumble upon an abandoned temple. “A divine gift” you thought to yourself and snuck inside, too caught up in despair to notice someone’s presence

But wording this out to the tall stranger with eyes of cherry is way harder. So you just shrug sheepishly, adjusting your kimono. “Dunno” you mutter, eyes glued to his bare feet. “Sorry”

“Sorry?” he echoes, voice booming over the rain. “Whatcha sorry for, gem? Didn’t say I mind it”

Still, even after his nonchalant reassurance, you hold your sight down. Who knows what a large man could do when the only coherent witness to his deed is that of a little cat on the porch?

It’s freezing, rain washing all the day’s warmth away, and you pull on your clothes to snuggle deeper, a visible shiver shaking your form. Damned be the curvy paths, you could have been asleep by now by your fireplace, all wrapped in wool and d r y, for heaven’s sake, and with your stomach full, but no. It’s cats and dogs and brawny strangers with little social etiquette for now, so a corner in a not so abandoned temple should do.

“You’re freezing, gem!” he points out, and you barely hold yourself from grumping on his brilliant deduction. ”Why didn’t you say so? Here, lemme warm you up!”

He’s striding closer and your eyes shoot up, wide and filled with fear. Warm you up? Hell, the judge would be reluctant to take the cat’s word, and you’re scooting away from his nearing form, still unable to make out any features.

“My Tengen!” a creak of wood and a soft worried voice still the man in his steps. “My Tengen, oh, my love, you’re scaring her!”

Your eyes dart to the smaller frame by the door to the hallway and for a quick second it stands just right for you to make out the concerned eyes.

“Oh, my Tengen” the figure nears, squatting beside you and covering your shaking form with a blanket. ”She’s drenched! Why haven’t you invited her in?”

The man freezes in his place, head tilted to the side. “She didn’t say she wanted in” he’s quieter now, and you turn your sight to the woman whose hand now urges you up.

“I wonder why” another voice, fiesty and sarcastic, chimes in, and you wonder how you managed to miss such a crowd in here for about an hour. "Three wives in and you’re still clueless”

“Makio!” two voices precipitate the newer one and you relax into the second pair of hands, a whiff of jasmine invading your senses.

The fiesty one seems to ignore her tamers, instead cooing at you with a kind smile. “Come, dear, don’t mind him” she chuckles, and you reciprocate her grin. “God you’re cold, hold on- SUMA!”

You wince as her voice cuts through the thick damp air. A loud bang and timid pattering are heard from the adjacent room, and yet another head (heavens, how much did you actually miss?) pops from behind the door, this time accompanied by a candlelight.

But before this timid pretty brunette has a chance to speak, Makio ushers. “A bath, Suma” hazel eyes linger on your for a second. ”And towels, a lot of towels!”. She pushes on your waist, leading the way inside the temple, and your scattered mind is too overwhelmed to take in everything as the patter is heard again, the Suma one gone as soon as she came.

You’re too lost in this sudden commotion to register how your poor freezing body ends up in a wooden tub, submerged into hot water among the candlelights and three so differently worried women.

“So cold! She’s so cold, Hina!” through lidded eyes, quick to submit to relaxation the water provides, you recognise Suma. She’s hovering above your head, wide doe eyes sparkling with worry. “Oh, she’s not gonna make it! I don’t think she’s gonna make it! Hina, what if we’re too late?! Oh, Tengen was so mean to not invite her properly, he should have invited her, and now she’s cold and those berries are lost and she’s probably haven’t eaten anythingandshewilldiebecausesheshungryandcol-”

“Shut up!” and here’s Makio, gently lathering your bruised feet with soap despite her biting tone. “Suma, your babbling is what’s gonna kill her, not that silly drizzle!”

A calm, velvety voice breaks through to your ears, and you turn your dizzy head towards the source, coming face to face with your initial savior. “I’m so sorry for them, my dear” you can swear here and now you’re witnessing the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. “Don’t fight sleep. You’re safe here”

Oddly, no reason not to trust her comes to your tired mind. She’s cooing something about how they’re gonna take care of you, but you just nod thoughtlessly, a foolish smile tugging at your lips, and let your eyes flutter close, relaxing into touch and homely banter. It lulls you to the sweetest slumber, and in no time you doze off, limbs heavy in three sets of caring hands.

…

Still half dazed, you feel yourself coming back to your senses, the sound of raindrops against the wood getting more and more defined. Tap, tap-tap, tap-tap-tap-tap-tap, it’s both persistent and unassuming, gentle in pulling you out of sleep.

Sleep.

You’ve been sleeping?

Where?

WHERE ARE YOU?

Eyes blowing wide, you sit up on the very soft (so definitely not your own) futon, sudden rush of horror washing over you. It’s dark, the room barely lit by a very subtle flow of warm yellow from the hallway, but it’s enough to figure out that you’re certainly not home. The walls are empty besides for flowers and ivy crawling up the walls, and you can’t help but wonder how the place seems so well-kept despite the overflow of nature.

Hesitantly, you push off the covers, coming up to your feet with a barely restrained groan. your legs hurt, and it’s helping the memories of a berry hunt to shine through.

Oh yes, you were lost.

But still, what is this place?

Timid, you cautiously slide the door open, careful not to make a single sound, and step out to the better lit hallway. It’s the same, flowers and ivy blooming all over the walls, but here those are much brighter, and almost … breathing? “No, it’s just the remaining sleep” you tell yourself, tiptoeing to the source of light.

The closer you get, the bolder the colors are, soft hues of pink and yellow giving way to scarlet, canary and magenta. It’s the smell too, you note, unable to hold yourself from reaching for a burgundy lily, and a stripe of brownish pollen marks your skin. You’re about to wipe your hand when

“Ah, Tengen!”

…

“Yes, yes-ah! Tengen- OH!!”

You freeze, mere steps away from the source of light, a slit in the door promising more questions.

Slowly, alert of any and all possibly squeaky floorboards, you close the distance to the opening, leaning in to peek inside. There, amidst the abundant rampage of flowers and plants and all trees (inside? trees of wisteria inside?) you see a swarm of bodies. Moving rhythmically, limbs tangled in tantric dance, all pulsating in slow tides, there are your hosts, as you make out already familiar hair and faces.

These faces though, blooming in blush and heat, are all contorted in bliss. Pure thick bliss, heaving the air with the most erotic gasps and moans, filled with wet sounds, smells so intoxicating, so ripe, so fertile.

One of the bodies comes higher, strong back stretching up, and you barely hold in a gasp. Four hands protrude, two on each side, and they’re all taken by the women who have not so long ago tended to your more prosaic needs.

There’s Makio, whose hips are stuttering as she grinds on Suma, both latched to each other by their cores, needy whines escaping the brunette’s lips. And two hands tend to them, filling one’s mouth and grasping another’s palm as Makio’s struggles to hold herself up right above her partner.

Eyes moving to the side, you see Hinatsuru’s face, eyes rolled into her skull as other two hands hold her neck and waist respectfully. Her face gets hidden by a pair of strong thighs, moving rhythmically in all too familiar motion, lower groans and moans being absorbed by the moss on the walls.

It’s hypnotizing, and even though you’re obviously barging on to something you’re not supposed to see, there’s no shame flashing through your mind. No, your thighs squeeze naturally, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks, and you almost feel welcome to watch the carnal show.

“Oh, Tengen-” Hinatsuru’s hand wraps weakly around the bulging muscle, and you notice her dainty feet wobbling atop of the man’s shoulders, toes tickled by his luscious platinum hair.

Tengen. Tengen?

Oh, that Tengen?

You remember a towering figure from a few hours ago, the one with a loud voice and heavy step, cornering you in a cold entryway. You had no chance to see his full face, nor to make out an unusual amount of limbs that time, and now your interest peaks, tongue gliding over suddenly so dry lips.

Apparently, he’s doing something especially skillful, since Hina’s mouth hangs open, giving way to the lewdest sounds. Pollen dances in the air, glimmering in the unknown source of light. Makio rolls her head, pink lips so wet and plump of all the biting they’ve endured, and you see her and Suma shuddering, sweaty tits hanging heavy over her heaving chest.

You almost miss your own hand gliding down to palm at your heated core, arousal pooling in your lower stomach, weighing down on your neglected folds. You notice the urge, but it only feels so natural to follow it, to give in and touch yourself to the love unraveling before your eyes, until

“Coming in, cute thing?”

His voice cuts through the thick air, making you still your movements like a deer in headlights. He’s still facing away from you, hips still rutting into blissed out Hina, and Makio and Suma seem to be too preoccupied with tasting each other now to care about some peeper, so how?

“My beautiful - ah - wives told me off before” he turns his head and you almost faint of his glory, deep magenta eyes staring right into your soul. A kind grin adorns his face, and he hisses before continuing, landing a fat smack against Hina’s thigh. “For being a rude host, that is. Doesn’t my cute guest want to join in?”

“T-tengen, don’t tease!” Hina whines, but it’s unclear what she’s referring to, rutting against the man’s hips needily. “It’s my turn now-ah”

You rock on your heels, thoughts sloshed together into incomprehensive mush, core pulsating with unattained need, and fuck it, they look so good, they feel so good there, rutting against each other in sync, making the air buzz with overwhelming urge.

Stepping in shyly under Tengen’s pleased coo, eyes shooting between all the bodies, overwhelmed with the choice, you undo your waistband, letting the kimono fall to the ground.

It smells of slick and lust there, it bathes you in the fertility of all, of this security in want, and the closer you get to the mossbed, the quicker your pace gets. You’re kneeling on the soft grass, unsure of what to do, but once again, four hands hug you from behind, open mouth kisses pressed to your buzzing skin.

“She’s beautiful” a whisper to your left ear. “She’s needy” a playful sneer to your neck, and you feel a small hand creeping to your drenched core, dainty fingers ghosting over the slick. Your hips stutter towards the tease, and two digits snake along your folds, gathering the essence before diving in.

“So responsive” you recognise Makio’s bite, although it’s softer now, catching the moan that falls from your lips. “Let go, sit down” Suma’s playfully cooing from under you (when?), her hot breath tickling your clit, and you give in, thighs splaying on each side of her soft cheeks, a hungry mouth latched to your doused cunt.

“They’re so attentive, my loves” Tengen strains, his own hips shaking of nearing climax, and you bite your lip as a rush of something hidden deep within washes over you. Hina’s heels are now digging into his back, urging him deeper, pleas of his divine gift stuttering into the ripe air of the room.

Your own body is too lost in Makio’s lips wrapping around your nipple, in Suma’s playful tongue toying with your clit and entrance, but your full attention’s trained on Hina’s exposed core with thick endless globes of white spilling out of her twitching hole.

“You’re next, cute thing” another four hands roam your body shamelessly now, squeezing and groping the fluttering flesh, and his lips slot against yours, long tongue drawing moans after moans from your blissed out self.

Makio helps you down, laying you gently on your back, and Suma’s too engrossed into her feast to let go of your happy cunt, urging your thighs up, swallowing your juices before giving way to her man.

“P-please” you muster, weak hands flying to his shoulders. “Sshh, sweet thing, I know” he muses, his heavy girth gliding along your folds, firm tip sending jolts of electricity into your needy clit with each bump. “I’ll take care of you too, no worries”

You don’t even think how he’s hard again, only pressing your core onto him, begging him weakly. “T-tengen, please” you almost sob, as he presses into you, hard length stretching you out just right.

“So responsive indeed, gorgeous” and your ankles on his shoulders tremble, hands clutching onto the strong neck. You register Suma and Makio babbling on each side of you, their lips finding purchase on your neck. Tengen’s two hands tend to you, while other two stuff his wives, making them rut against thick fingers towards another climax.

It’s all too much, it’s so right, so natural to open your legs wider for him, to dig your fingers into his toned ass, to gasp as his tip finds your sweet spot and abuses it so deliciously, harsh slaps of his crotch and balls stimulating you further into ecstasy.

You make out a cunt over your face, hazed mind slow to understand that Hina wants more, but thoughts give way to instincts as she lowers onto your face and you taste her sweet release mixed with Tengen’s tangy seed. You drink her up, tongue drawing circles into her cunt, the smell of sex and the feel of Tengen’s cock throbbing inside pushing you into your own nearing orgasm.

He’s ramming inside, driveling something about how tight you are, how good you’re locking him in. Faster, harder, aching tongue neglected to have Hina squeeze your head with her plush thighs and gush her load all over your face. Faster, harder, sweetly abused cunt clenching around inhuman girth pounding the last neurons out of you.

“Just a bit more, sweet thing-AH, just like that, uh-huh” they sing in unison, and you moan into Hina’s fluttering core, sound of Tengen’s gasp muffled by the clench of your thighs as he shoots his thick load into you. His thumb rubs at your clit, cock nestled right against your drowning cervix, and you gush, squirting all over the mossbed and his stomach, orgasm making your body seize up in shock and bliss.

You barely understand anything that happens later, too out of it to even uncross your eyes, hips still twitching of intense climax they’ve gifted you, but you make out one thing before falling into slumber entangled with them.

“I still have one hand free of wife, cute thing. Mind taking up the empty spot?” MDNI, reblogs and comments are welcome, and say yes to the mating press

taglist: @hoohoohope @justanothernpcartist @the-b-u-n-n-y @muzans to join the taglist, please leave a comment on my kinktober masterlist or dm me (remember u have to have ur age in bio)

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wonderlandsakura · 8 months

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So I think of Dan and Ellie as Vlad and Danny's children, we know this

Dan is literally a fusion of both their ectoplasm, and Ellie, despite being probably a clone, was still raised around Vlad and his ectoplasm, which I think would have affected her.

So I think their cores should reflect that:

Wind core for Ellie, as wind can be cooling, but can also carry gusts of heat. She is ultimately her own individual, only slightly influenced. It is wild and untamed and free like she is and it can chill and it can warm and it can comfort and reassure, yet also be brutal and wild and rip and tear and rend all that blocks it's path.

Water core for Dan, melted ice, a representation of what caused his birth. An Ocean, a Tsunami. Tears, mourning, grief. Constant and unrelenting and inevitable like the tides, sometimes seeming calm and still, but this stillness is but an act to hide the brutal, crashing, fatal waves that will soon follow. A sudden, striking, forceful anger and grief that sweeps in and destroys mercilessly, unknowingly, without bias or care, going where nature wills it, and though it can stop and recede just as swiftly, it sometimes merely slows, lingering and receding, and at times never really leaving.

Ice core for Danny, cold and harsh yet all the more reassuring and safe for it. The cold of an ice fortress or igloo, protecting those within it and keeping in the warmth. The cold of an ice pack on a nasty bruise, the chill as you watch the anger of someone else standing up and protecting you and knowing only your enemies will face it, the cold of a snow day, the carefree enjoyment of childhood, unburdened, knowing that the snow has no wish to harm you, but instead bring joy. The ice of protection of safety, just as sharp and cold and cutting, but only to it's enemies, those who do not see the love and joy in it.

Fire core for Vlad, the ever-burning embers of a wood fire, something that must be kept feed, lest it die out and leave one to freeze. The fire that cannot die, cannot rest, can burn down to embers, but must never be extinguished, for fear of the cold that will creep in and kill, for fear of the longer time one will starve for it, for fear of the darkness and the enemies within and the inherent uncertainty of the unknown, for fear. The simmering embers of everlasting devotion, the crackling warmth of the hearth that heats the home and heart, the shared light of companionship.

Basically, I'm saying that Ellie has a wind core as her obsession is freedom, Dan has a water core, and his obsession has something to do with his intense grief, if that grief is not in itself his obsession, Danny, has an ice core and a protection obsession in this case, while Vlad has a fire core and an obsession concerning love and companionship, but it's become mutated and twisted by his fear.

#danny phantom #vlad plasmius #dan phantom #dani phantom #ellie phantom #danny fenton #vlad masters #ice core danny #fire core vlad #wind core ellie #wind core dani #water core dan #protection obsession danny #freedom obsession dani #freedom obsession ellie

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spinchip · 1 year

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NEVER THE DARK

Read it here on Ao3

Years after Aspheeras defeat and Zane's death by her hand, the Ninja must face the rise of a new and powerful villain with a team unbalanced… but when they are forced into the Realm of Madness, they will discover the past is not what it seems. What is lost must be found, Ninjagos fate rests on it.

Or: What could have happened if Wu had gone to the Never Realm instead of the ninja?

PROLOGUE

The portal behind him is grandiose and demands attention, but when Wu arrives back in Ninjago, he is alone. A warm welcome does not await his absence and he does not expect it, stepping back onto grass and mud with the gravity of a priest at the podium of a funeral. Or, perhaps, with the slumped shoulders of a judge who is not certain his sentence was just. He crosses over from bone deep chill into warm spring rains, the blue-white of his fingertips burn from the beginnings of summer air but he pays it no heed, caring only that his frozen joints move enough to unlatch the gate so he can make his way inside. Home brings him no comfort, really, not when the empty spaces within it are a monument to his failure and his loss.

The courtyard dirt is insulated with a layer of long-dead leaves that are too wet to crunch beneath his sandals, the ugly squelch of damp compost announcing his presence to those with a keen ear. His mouth is dry and he craves mint tea in a way that aches, the pack of brew leaves in his bag sitting untouched- he was saving it for when he found him. He’d always meant to share it, but he’d never gotten the chance.

Nothing could have prepared him for the Never Realm.

He feels foolish and small coming back empty handed. The absence at his side feels like a broken rib brutally apparent, each breath a see-saw of misaligned bone. He had felt the unkindness of grief before, had been audience to his brothers dance with death too many times, had seen Morro walk out of the monastery and known he’d never return- but this loss tangles its claws in his guts and tears them all out, hollowing out his insides and letting in a terrible and cold draft. It had been so unfair. The Ice Emperor had stared down at him with eyes as brilliant and blue as the morning sky, and without a hint of kindness or recognition. So foreign and wrong that Wu had known before the man had spoken that Zane was gone and an imposter wore his face.

The door to the monastery flys open and Wu looks up, heart leaping into his throat. Lloyd stands in the doorway, hair tangled and greasy and deep purple bags beneath his eyes. He looks so furious that he's choking on it, face flushed and eyes watering as his pajamas flutter in the delicate night's breeze. He’s haloed by the warm lights of the monastery around him, turned black and gold and sharp edged.

“Wu,” He breathes, and then something in him snaps as he hisses, “Where have you been?”

He storms down the stairs and steps into the rain and pays no heed to the way his hair slicks down to his forehead and clings to the nape of his neck, “Where were you?” He demands again, marching up into his face.

Wu’s tongue feels heavy and thick in his mouth. He can’t reply, staring at Lloyd sadly.

Lloyd grabs the front of his cloak and hauls him closer, “Where were you!?” He howls against the wind, “We- we needed you! I needed you!” The rage burns through Lloyd too fast, sleepless nights leaving him boneless as anger turns into soul-crushing grief. The grip on Wus' robe becomes desperate and Lloyd huddles into his chest, knees shaking as rainwater mixes with tears, “You left, and I needed you! Master Wu!”

His tongue unsticks from the roof of his mouth, “I’m sorry.” He says, the weight of it far heavier than Lloyd will ever understand, “I’m here now, I’m sorry.” He can't find the strength to support him in this moment and follows Lloyd to the dirt when the boy’s knees buckle. Wrapping him up in his arms, carding his fingers through Lloyds hair- it feels so insignificant, so meaningless after what he’d done. He’ll spend the rest of his life making up for this- for coming home without Zane.

Lloyd sobs, beating a fist against his chest. “Where did you go?” He asks, leaning back and gripping Wus shoulders hard enough to bruise, searching his face for an answer. Wu closes his eyes and turns his face away from Lloyd, overwhelmed by his guilt and his grief. If Lloyd looked into his eyes Wu knows he would understand exactly what he had done. He would know all of his shortcomings. He would hate him.

“I’m here now. It’s okay.” Wu repeats, rainwater catching on the corner of his lips. “I’m sorry.” He pulls Lloyd in now, wrapping him up in his arms and so grateful Lloyd allows him to.

He won’t tell them. It’s better this way, that they don’t know- Zane could live in their memories as a hero, as a friend, as a good man. Wu will take this to his grave for Zane. To respect his memory, to protect the reputation of his child in everything but blood.

Wu hugs Lloyd tighter and it thunders above them, “It’ll be okay.” He promises, gathering him up and steadying the shake of his hands. Lloyd doesn’t comment on the chill of his fingertips, allowing his uncle to comfort him. Wu remembers suddenly that the last time they’d lost Zane, Garmadon had been there to hold Lloyd through the grief. Wu hadn’t just failed Zane, he’d failed Lloyd and the others too. His heart is crushed under the weight of it all. He feels like a child again, his Fathers disappointment echoing around him in every one of his choices.

Lloyd pulls away first and any tears on his face are camouflaged by the rain, “Come on, Uncle Wu.” He says, his voice brimming with a bone-deep exhaustion that Wu felt on a spiritual level. Standing up, Lloyd brings Wu to his feet with him. The stress of the past week catches up with Wu, and he feels old and feeble as Lloyd guides them out of the rain.

The rain cuts abruptly short as Kai materializes in the storm, holding an umbrella he’d brought out to help them avoid becoming completely soaked through. The others are still here, no one's run yet. Grief hasn’t split them into pieces like it had before.

He feels like he’s drowning, unable to tip his head back enough for air. He’s exhausted and gutted and terribly heartbroken. They get inside, and silently they walk the hall to Wus' door.

A hand lands on his shoulder and he jolts, looking over into deep gold eyes. Kai’s face is drawn and shuttered and he’s dressed in a sleep-robe and pajama pants, the umbrella dripping water in one hand, “Welcome home, Wu.” Kai looks a lot like Lloyd, greasy and unkempt and lost, “You should get some rest.” he says, seemingly a decade older than the last time Wu had seen him. Grief and pain maturing the hope out of his eyes.

“C’mon, Lloyd. It’s too late to have this conversation.” Kai says softly, tugging on the blonde's wrist.

Lloyd glances back at Wu, stares at him for a long moment as if to reassure himself that he’s really there- he’s really home. He hadn’t lost anyone else. “We’ll talk in the morning.” He promises Wu, “Goodnight, Uncle. I’m glad you’re back.” He hugs him again, so suddenly Wu barely has time to reciprocate before Lloyd is already pulling away.

“Goodnight, boys.” He tries, a thick awkwardness tied to his words. He wonders if he’s any better off than they are- or if, when he looks in the mirror, he’ll see the same lost expression on his face too.

They walk away.

Things will never be the same again.

Wu tosses and turns all night.

#Ninjago #ninjago never the dark #ninjago au #lloyd garmadon #wu garmadon #kai ninjago #ns11 #grief #spinchip fic #angst #teehee!!!!!!!!! wahoo!!!!!!!!!!!

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sakuranplays · 2 months

Text

~ Hotel California ~

SilverV Week's Prompt : No-Tell Motel

Raindrops splashed against his skin. The damp city glistened with bright lights. Now familiar neon signs greet him.

No-Tell Motel.

The same nightmare again.

All of Johnny Silverhand's senses overwhelmed by sharp and painful grief. It cut through him and under his skin.

Hopelessness washed over him. Dread gnawed at him and he heard the clicking sounds of her heels. He clenched his fist but willed himself until she passed by him.

Blood stained covered her face. Her expression neutral. There was no tears in her eyes. Yet, he felt her fracturing from the inside. The world seemed emptier tonight.

A world absent of Jackie Welles.

What was left of her was a wounded shell of a person that she was. Even as her body moved through the dank deserted hallways, her mind was still in the Delemain cab. Savoring the last memories of Jackie's still warm body against her hand.

Saburo's face appeared on the screens. Johnny spat on the carpeted floor and rushed ahead to match her footsteps.

V waited for a few seconds before she knocked against the sliding door. He memorized every second as she walked to her death.

Alone trapped in coyling room with two snakes.

Grief numbed her down. Everything she felt was concentrated on holding herself together. Her raw nerves were frayed. She was at her most vulnerable and it was clear to her murderers.

Like a broken record.

He followed her into the tiny bathroom. She saw her own face and trembled at Jackie's blood. Something rose within her. Her mind struggled to process. Fierce disbelief at her own failures. An all consuming rage sparked within her depth. She grasped hard on it and lashed out with her bloodstained fist.

Her reflection fractured.

Control wash over her mind and body. She locked her vulnerabilities back inside of her. The expression on her face was neutral again. She washed off Jackie's blood. Nothing slip through the cracks of her cold metal armor.

But it was never enough. She failed to see the threat to her. Knocked down. Brutalized in mere seconds. Blacked out. She fought through the blinding pain and pried open her eyes. Her rage kept her alive briefly. She yelled her outrage, but it was too late. Her head snapped back.

The bullet struck deep. Her warm blood soaked through her hair. He tasted blood in his mouth. Her blood.

Everything became colorless and emptier than before.

A world without V.

Someone nudged her body to see if she was dead. He didn't catch what the villains said but one of them lifted her body. Her blood soaked the carpet and trailed out of the room. Then she was ruthlessly thrown into a trash compacter. Her body hit a mound of trash.

They disposed her like she was nothing. An afterthought. Alone and unwanted.

It hurt so deep within his deathless soul.

Johnny sifted through the memories until he was hunkered close to her prone form. He breathed through his clenched teeth but kept his eyes on her still form..

Her broken body kept the memories of what happened to her while her mind was silent. There was nothing left. Her precious life snuffed out. Gone in what felt like an eternity.

Even within her dreams, she died again.

Her mind relived her own death. Unprompted. Unwelcome.

Johnny knew she still rested in the real world, but it felt too real. Memories shackled them together in a sick repeating tune. They can do nothing except keep on reliving it.

He felt the tell-tale noise of a municipal drone. Despite the tight space, Johnny gathered her close to him. The thick rusting metal compartment groaned as the drone clamped tight. Almost feel it like his own head instead.

And they were airborne.

Rainstorm shook the metal box from all directions. They both sunk deeper into the filth. He held her the entirety of the journey. Whispering words of comfort and safety. He wondered if he said it for her or just to make him feel better.

The drone dipped hard and suddenly became prone. A loud groan echoed through tiny space. Refuse began to unravel around them.

Johnny gathered her close to his chest. The floor opened up from underneath.

They were in the air and crashed onto a heap of trash filled with metal and questionable materials. The impact knocked him out of breath.

For a long moment, he laid there on his back and was glad that he had caught her this time. They had fallen multiple ways. Sometimes, she slipped out of his embrace. When that happened, he had to go through a mountain of trash to reach her body.

With a low groan, Johnny pushed the metal sheet that had flipped over. He pushed himself up on his elbows and cradled her precious body against his heart.

#Cyberpunk 2077 #SilverV #SilverV Week #Johnny Silverhand #Female V #oc : Mawar

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notyour-valentine · 1 year

Note

35 with Polly🦜?

Side note while making this I realized we have dodomojis now?

So happy dodo day?🦤

Actually happy dodo day rhymes with happy 1k babe.

...Kinda

Happy 1k babe🦤💕

Talent ~ Polly Gray & Reader (Fluff)

[Celebration] [Celebration Masterlist] [Masterlist]

(18/21+). I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Words: 828 words

Mrs Thorne had invited you - by now she had cultivated quite the circle of friends, rebels, poets, artists, revolutionaries.

She served good drinks, expensive food, offered discretion and a free space, so you felt more than welcome.

It was more curiosity than anything else that brought her to accept her invitation to this event at her brother’s stately manor.

For someone who preached communism, this was an interesting development.

Hardly anyone, apart from their circle of friends, knew her, but as always they drew eyes. Of course they did, they were loud and dazzling and different, and in a city like Birmingham they were nothing short of curiosities.

She preferred to watch, a glass of cold champagne in her hand as some of her male friends decided to let loose with the Charleston.

As she sipped her drink, she could hear approaching footsteps.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a woman, more mature than Mrs Thorne, but with the same shape of eyes, dark eyes, with dark curly hair.

She was too young to be her mother, she thought, though not by much, although the similarities were uncanny.

“Ada says you are the artist.”, she announced without false courtesies.

“Hmm,”, she mused with a smirk, not bothering to respond to that. “A woman artist. She tells me you have a great talent with sketches and charcoal.”

That made her turn fully.

“It is my vice of preference.”, she admitted, “much more personal for portraits than oil paintings where layers on layers are plastered on people playing pretend. I like to show people as they are, not how they want to be.”

“As they are?”, the woman asked.

She nodded once more.

“In their purest, simplest form.”

There was a brutality in raw honesty, but a beauty too, and the only true beauty art could capture.

“Tell me you don’t prefer it to that.”, she demanded, nodding to the monstrosity that hung on the wall, one of many crimes against her eyes the owner of this house had committed.

Her red painted lips curled into a smile.

“That is my nephew.”, she explained, outing her identity.

Elizabeth Gray, she remembered from Mrs Thorne’s stories. Aunt Polly.

“Yes, I know.”, she admitted as she took another sip. “Quite the man, apparently. They say he has a talent winning over his business partners but not nearly as much as his business partner’s wives.”

Polly Gray snorted in dry amusement, before tilting your head. “You are not wrong.”

Then her gaze softened.

“As they are, hm?”, she asked. “According to my niece, you are a woman of incredible talent and ability.”

“So are you.”, she replied without hesitation.

Her eyes widened. “Oh I am not an artist.”, she argued quickly, shaking her head.

She only shrugged. “I can count the amount of women able and capable to make decisions in a large company like yours in this country on one hand - while holding a champagne flute. Take this in the most flattering way possible, because that it is the way it is meant. You don’t seem to be the kind of woman who is in her position to simply be decorative.”

Her brow shot up. “Am I not decorative?”, she wanted to know, a sharpness in her tone that made her laugh.

“A woman like you wouldn’t be content with being decorative.”

With that, the rage and insult Mrs Gray had felt subsided, replaced by a warm, mutual understanding.

She waved over a waiter to replace their glasses.

“How quickly can you do a sketch?”, she asked curiously.

It made her sigh deeply and she drank before responding. “Five minutes if you want it to be bad, two hours if you want it reasonable, as long as I need if you want it to be good.”

Mrs Gray was unable to stop her the smirk that came to her lips, a glimmer of admiration in her eyes.

“Honest, I see, as honest as your paintings. Or you are charging by the hour.”

Before she could respond, they heard something shattering, making both their heads turn.

“Sorry - so sorry, everyone, sorry Tom!”, a man with a thick bushy moustache said, standing in a puddle of champagne, laced with broken glass.

He seemed dully familiar until she remembered the family picture in the other room. Another Shelby.

“Sorry love,”, he told a woman standing close to him, who had been caught in the crossfire of splashing liquid.

“‘Ere, let me help!”

With that, he tugged his sleeve over his hand and tried to wipe down her dress.

“Oh fuck me!”, Mrs Gray cursed as she saw it. “A nephew?”, she wanted to know.

Her sigh told her all she needed to know.

“He doesn’t have Thomas’ talent for…diplomacy.”, Polly Gray said as she watched him in his clumsy attempts at drying the woman off. “Maybe no talent, yet a character it seems.”, she argued with a soft smile that made her snort in amusement.

End.

Thank you so much for requesting and participating in my celebration - I hope you liked what I wrote.

Thank you everyone for reading and as always, I hope you enjoyed and would love to hear your thoughts!

Taglist

Overall

@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @chlorrox��@watercolorskyy @books-livre @quarterpastmidnight @lilyevanswhore @polishcrazyone @zablife @just-a-harmless-patato @stevie75 @flyingjosephine-blog @runnning-outof-time @babayaga67 @butterfly-skinnylegend @cillmequick @raincoffeeandfandoms

#valentines1k #ask me to dance #polly gray #polly gray imagine #polly gray fanfic #polly gray x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine

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angelltheninth · 2 years

Text

First Time with Alcina

Pairing: Lady Alcina Dimitrescu x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, vampires, vampire bites act as an aphrodisiac, blood drinking, sexy blood drinking, groping, nipple play, kissing, size difference, orgasm delay, thigh riding, begging, praise kink, possessive Alcina

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: I'm so fucking late for Lady Dimitrescu thirst posts. Or am I? Can you be late for stuff like that? Regardless it's here now. Enjoy.

When you were told that you are the next sacrifice to Lady Alcina Dimitrescu, you expected to get brutally killed the moment you stepped foot in the castle. Instead you got crowded by and fawned over by several... witches? At least that’s what they seemed to be to you. They kept touching you, commenting on how delicious you smelled, how you’ll make for a fine delicacy. Were you about to be eaten alive?

Your fears only escalated when they told you to go and take a long bath to make sure you’re nice and clean. Yeah, you were defectively getting eaten. You fully expected to be taken to some sort of dungeon next, yet you were given a white nightgown, one that barely reached your thighs but a nightgown still, brought to a lavish looking bedroom and told to wait on the bed.

You curled up on the bed, eyes daring from one side of the room to the next, waiting for... something.

Just when you began to get tired the door swung open to reveal a very tall, and a very beautiful, pale woman with short black hair and a really big... hat. Yes, no reason for you to focus on anything else.

“Oh. So you’re the little treat my daughters kept raving about.” There was a sinister, yet alluring chuckle in her voice as she eyed you from across the room, “Stay there, I need to get changed first. I don’t want to get blood all over my dress, it’s one of my favorites after all.”

“B-Blood?” A cold shiver runs down your spine and you shrink further back into the lavish, soft pillows, almost like a scared animal hoping to hide from the vicious predator. Which was pretty accurate to how you felt right now.

The woman, presumably Lady Dimitrescu since she walked around with such authority, merely glanced at you, a smirk playing on her lips as she lick them. “You don’t even know why you’re here do you? Poor little thing.” There was nothing soothing about her voice as she said those words, rather it was amusement, joy even.

You gulped as you watched her disappear behind a changing screen, appearing quickly again with her hat, dress and heels in her hands, now wearing a lacy black and dark red nightgown that left very little to your imagination,

Wait no! Why are you even thinking about that?! She’s about to...

“Eat you.” The words sounded like silk on her lips as she approached the bed, towering over you, “Well... at least have a good fill of you before I decide. Who knows I may keep alive you for a while if you behave.”

You watch as she crawls toward you, you attempt to move back some more but she gets a firm hold on your wrists and pushes you backward on the bed, your back hitting the soft mattress and pillows. Try as you might you can’t shake her grip.

“Such pretty eyes, all that fear, and all for me.” Her voice is low and sultry, her free hand running along your leg and onto your stomach. She’s huge in comparison to you, only adding to your fear and... something else that you can’t quite place at the sight of her standing over you like this.

Your breath hitches when she draws closer to your neck, taking a deep breath. You can feel her smile against your skin, at first it’s warm and then you feel something sharp and cold graze your throat.

“You smell so nice, afraid yet so sweet. You’ll taste even better I’m sure, my little pet. I can hear your blood calling to me. What will you act like I wonder, when I sink my teeth into that pretty, unmarked neck? Will you squirm for me, moan for me.” You feel the pressure of her warm lips against your skin, her lipstick leaving a stain on your skin, “I hope you will. Make it fun for me.”

“Make it fun? Wha-What are you planning to do to me exactly?” You try to move away again, her grip still as firm as before. There’s a small chuckle followed by another kiss before she pulls away.

You see her face, her eyes shining while they travel down your body, making feel more than a little self-conscious under her gaze. Yet what catches your attention the most are the sharp fangs.

“Eat me? You’re really...” You can’t even finish the sentence.

“Aw don’t worry little pet. It will only hurt for a moment. In fact it’ll feel good for you. I always make the first feedings feel good.” Her lips are back on your neck, leaving goosebumps across your skin.

“Feedings?” Your voice trembles.

A soft hum passes through her lips, “Of course. I told you, depending on what you do for me, I might keep you. And you’re already so much fun. I have a feeling you won’t disappoint. You’ll make for such a tasty midnight snack. I promise to treat you well.” Her hand cups your other cheek, well actually the whole side of your head, it feels cold yet strangely soothing. “One more thing, while we’re doing this, you will call me Alcina, do you understand?” She looks at you with squinted eyes and waits for you to nod. “Now then, let’s have a taste shall we?”

Your voice catches in your lungs when you feel the cold fangs sink into your throat. It hurts, god is the pain sharp, almost enough to make you black out. You squirm under her bite, feel the blood leaving your body as she sucks on your neck, pleased hums leaving her lips. At some point you swear you hear her moan, and that in turn makes you moan, makes you feel dizzy, makes your body feel hot all over.

The cold sharp pain you felt before is replaced by a feeling of warmth like you never experienced before. You hiss when you feel her remove her fangs from your neck, “Delicious. You’re absolutely delicious my sweet.” Her lips kiss over the marks she made on your neck.

“I... don’t feel... its hot...” You manage to say in between deep breaths. Your body is on fire, a liquid heat pooling between your thighs like you never felt before. You squeeze your thighs to ease the pressure.

“Already?” Alcina laughs, low and breathy against your neck, “How adorable. You’ve a very supportable one then. This is gonna be great fun.” Her hand cups over your breast, not nearly as cold as before. You surprise yourself when you arch further into her touch.

“Why am I feeling this way? What did you do?” A whimper escapes your lips when you feel her roll your nipple between her clawed fingers. “Why do you... oh god...” White hot pleasure briefly flashes behind your eyes as her strong thigh parts your legs and presses over your center.

“Normally my bite releases an aphrodisiac that relaxes my food enough to make the process painless. In some cases though it makes them... well I’m sure you can figure it out.” Her knee moves again, making your hips roll along with it, chasing it and more of that blazing hot feeling from before, “You’re very sensitive. You’re doing so well my pet.”

You shut your eyes tight, trying to clear your head but to no avail. All you can think about is Alcina, her fangs, how they felt like when they sank into your neck, and the feeling of wetness and pressure between your legs.

“Can you... make it go away? I’m not used to...” Another moan rips from you as she bends her head down to close her mouth around your other nipple. She sucks on it briefly before she grunts and with a quick slice of her claws rips and tears your nightgown from your body. The primal display sends a fresh waive of lust through your body.

“Not used to what my pretty little one?” Her hand runs across your bare stomach, cupping your left breast and pressing her finger in slow circles over your nipple, “Not used to being pleasured like this? Looked at with such desire?” What ever words you were about to say vanish from your mind as she closes her mouth over your right nipple again, sucking greedily, just a hint of her fangs against your nipple, promising that delicious pain again, “That can’t be true. A pretty little human like you? Looking so ravishing.”

Alcina’s tongue licks the blood imprinted on your breast, her words alone enough to make your body shake with pleasure.

“I can’t... please... I need to...” To your surprise she lets go of your wrists which immediately grasp the pillow under your head.

“Patience.” You shiver feeling her lips across your neck, now stained with both her lipstick and your blood, her tongue over her bite mark, “I don’t tolerate, or award, disobedience. Is that clear, my precious little human?”

“Y-Yes.” You breathe out, a heavenly sigh leaving you when you feel big her hands on your hips, keeping your body still while her knee continues to work between your thigh, bringing your pleasure closer and closer.

“Yes what?” Her fangs graze your throat again.

You gulp, “Yes, Alcina.”

“Good girl.” You’re rewarded with yet another pang of lust between your legs when her fangs sink back into your skin. Her grip on your hips lets up which allows you to grind yourself on her thigh as fast and hard as you want. She angles it just a little, a loud moan echoing around the room when you feel pressure on your clit. You chase that feeling again and again as Alcina drinks from you, making your head spin from the filthy thoughts swimming around in our head.

“I can smell how wet you are. You’re so close aren’t you my pet?” You can only nod your head hastily, “Aw look at you, so overcome by pleasure you can’t even speak. Do you want to come so badly?”

You nod again.

Alcina shakes her head, “Use your words my sweet. Do you want me to make you come? Do you need me?” Her voice becomes raspy, her words ghosting down your collarbones and over your left nipple, briefly popping it into her mouth before doing the same to the other. She goes even lower, another sharp pain courses through your body when she bites along the underside of your breast, only taking a little, only giving you a taste of ecstasy. “What pretty noises you make. Let me hear another.” She repeats the process on the other breast.

“Make me come. Please, please! I can’t take it anymore!” You roll your hips faster into her thigh, you’re almost there, just a tiny bit more.

“You’re doing so well my pet. I’m going to let you. I’m gonna let you come on my thigh. Look at me, I want to see your face twisted in pleasure as you come for me.” It takes a lot of effort to get a good look at Alcina through your blurry vision, but she seems to like it, judging by the smirk on her lips. Her knee pressed harder between your legs. Your whole body shakes, your thighs clamping around her leg as you ride out your orgasm, head thrown back, exposing your throat.

“Mine. You’re all mine now, little human.” She growls against your neck, biting you again and sending you into yet another orgasm. Alcina hums and moans against your neck, your body tensing before going completely slack on the bed. “I’m not letting anyone... not even my daughters have a taste of you.” She mumbles over your skin as she kisses and licks the bite mark.

She sits up and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, looking down at you with a satisfied expression.

“You’re so pretty like this. Blissed out and marked up by me.” You shiver when you feel her finger trail a slow path between your breast, down your stomach and pressing over your clit. Your hips jolt upwards, teeth biting your lip yet failing to suppress the needy moan. Alcina chuckles, “Still so lively. I like that. But I just got you, I’d hate to break you already.” The words make your already wet thighs even wetter. You watch as Alcina’s pupils dilate further, almost completely overtaking her eyes, “Rest now, my sweet. I’ll bring you food. You need to keep yours strength up.”

You can’t hold back a sound of surprise when she leans down and presses a gentle kiss against your lips. Your eyes flutter closed, chasing her lips with yours.

“Rest.” Her hand pushes you back on the bed, she gives you another brief kiss as she drapes a warm comforter over you. Try as you might you can’t keep your eyes open for much longer. The last thing you see and feel is Alcina pulling your head onto her lap.

#lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #lady alcina dimitrescu #alcina dimitresci smut #lady dimitrescu smut #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu fanfic #alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x female reader #alcina dimitrescu x female reader #resident evil #resident evil village

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sillybouquetsoul · 1 year

Text

Cloud Castles - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Summer (ao3 link)

Rating: Teen

Word count: 3.3k

Pairing: Aisha/Sein

Story Summary: They dance just out of each other’s reach, but each time brings them closer together.

Aisha and Sein navigate through the dark fairy tale of their own making, one encounter at a time.

Chapter Summary: Ways to cool off on a hot summer day.

Trigger warnings(!): a near-death drowning experience in the height of summer

Summer in the Dimoche mansion is the season where the most social activities take place. Connections of the Dimoche family travel far and wide to the Dimoche mansion for dinner parties and soirees. When the twins were young, their father would send them off to bed before hurrying to the parlor, where he would spend the rest of the night entertaining guests. In the next morning, any guests that joined for breakfast—most of them slept in—would then get the opportunity to finally meet the young Dimoche heiresses.

This summer is no different. It’s the fourth summer since the mansion welcomed four new members of the family, and the first summer since her father passed away. The sweltering heat of this summer turns the grass yellow as July ebbs into August, and the trees seem to shrivel up, drying out from the heat.

On this searing afternoon in the library, Aisha chides herself for not picking a more appropriate dress for the weather. She’s always favored dresses with high necklines. She never liked the gaudy dresses that Madam Sylvia purchased for Aida; they were often too revealing and attracted too much attention for her taste. She didn’t question that she could fit into the dresses; Aida could, and naturally Aisha could, too. But the older twin thrived on attention, having no qualms revealing skin.

Sweat is beading at her temples, and the high collar and her hair length is not helping. After the hundredth time of closing her book and using it to fan herself, Aisha sets the book on the window pane and sighs. The heat makes it impossible for her to focus on reading. Has summer always been this brutal?

For a single, feverish moment, she wishes she could turn into an earthworm and burrow underground, so that she can escape from the sunlight and humidity.

Her palms are also sweating, and she checks that no one else is around before she removes her gloves. The long scar runs a straight and vertical path down her right palm, stopping just short of her wrist. Though the wound has long healed, the skin around the scar is puckered and uneven. She can feel the ridges whenever she lays her bare palm on flat surfaces. It reminds her all too often of that day. She remembers the shockingly cold contact of the knife against her skin, watching the sharp blade easily pierce through flesh, blood pouring out in its wake. She also remembers Sein’s warm and wet hand immobilizing her wrist.

Aisha threw the bloodstained dress away after that day, which happened in the summer, too. She assumed that Sein knew dogs could swim, almost didn’t think that her prank would work, let alone backfire on her.

But instead of fixating on the emotions attached to that particular memory, an idea occurs to her. It takes only a flash of Sein’s bare and wet torso, shining under the sunlight, for her to realize that staying in the stifling library any longer will eventually make her faint, like any damsel in distress from the romantic fairy tales she indulges once in a while.

Aisha is no such damsel in distress. She returns the book to the shelf before hurrying out of the library, one destination in mind.

The lake behind the mansion would be a great place to cool off.

She knows that the dock of the lake is likely already occupied, so Aisha takes a route that leads to the east shore of the lake. The tall trees conceal the east shore from any nosy bystanders, allowing for more privacy.

Not that swimming in the lake on a hot summer day is anything to be embarrassed about, but Aisha prefers peace and quiet. She’d ask Aida to join her, but Carlo would then invite himself along, and somehow Nemo would get involved as well.

These days, Aida doesn’t seem content with just Aisha’s company anyway. She finds great pleasure in tormenting Madam Sylvia’s eldest and youngest sons, who gaze upon her as though she’s the only star in the night sky. Even then, her beguiling older twin isn’t satisfied, because there’s one person who hasn’t given in yet.

How like Aida to be drawn to the only Durant son who doesn’t fall at her feet. It’s a shame that Sein doesn’t outwardly reciprocate her affections, because Aisha would have really enjoyed the sight of him behaving like his brothers, like innocent boys who don’t know how to act around dainty, pretty things.

But Sein behaves nothing like boys his age. And that may be a reason why Aida has yet to charm him.

Aisha shakes off all thoughts about them as she reaches the east shore. The lake shines blue and inviting under the sun, the only witness to her removing the stifling gown and gloves, kicking off shoes and rolling down stockings. It feels indecent to strip down in broad daylight, but this summer heat isn’t something that can be reasoned with. Her chemise and drawers stay on, just in case.

She puts her discarded clothing to the side. Her hair spills over one shoulder, trailing the grass as she crouches down. Aisha unties the black ribbon on the bodice of her dress, repurposing it to tie her hair back instead. Hair out of the way, she approaches the water cautiously.

Sein has swum briefly in these waters before, and he emerged unscathed then—at least, from her perspective. If he developed strange rashes or itchy spots in the aftermath, she was none the wiser.

A sharp bark pulls her out of her reverie. Aisha swivels around at the sound, heart stopping in her chest when she sees Arthur bounding towards her, tongue lolling out and ears flopping up and down.

She’d be happy if it was just Arthur, hoping that the greyhound is roaming the mansion grounds by himself and happened to catch her scent, but fate proves unkind to her.

Not a moment later, his brooding owner appears from among the trees.

Sein’s eyes initially follow Arthur, but he looks up. Whatever he sees—whether it’s Aisha’s state of undress, haphazardly tied hair, or flushed face—causes those green eyes to widen.

They do nothing but stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. Arthur noses Aisha’s hand in greeting. Out of muscle memory, she strokes his head.

Sein seems at an utter loss for words—for once, the calm and neutral expression he readily displays has melted into something akin to shock.

Although, anyone would be shocked to see a supposedly refined lady clad only in her chemise and drawers.

It’s Aisha who breaks the silence first.

“If you’re a gentleman,” she says, grateful that her voice is steady even though her heart is racing. “You would avert your eyes and grant me privacy, brother.” The last word comes out sharp.

Sein blinks once, and his mask slides smoothly back into place. He does turn around then, keeping his hands crossed behind his back as always.

“My apologies, Aisha. It was not my intention to intrude on your… swim. I thought you’d be in the library, reading.”

“It was too hot to continue reading there.”

“I understand. The heat must be tenacious indeed, for a lady like you to resort to swimming.” Sein has a unique and infuriating tone of speech that falls short of teasing banter, but carries more judgment than a simple observation.

Aisha can’t see his face, but she can picture the smirk he wears now.

“Lady or not, I’d much rather not die from heatstroke,” she retorts. “I have a question for you.”

“What is it?”

Now that he’s here, she might as well confirm this before fully committing to her impulsive idea. “Is the lake safe to swim in? When you went in last time, were you fine? No… no illness? No skin ailments?”

“Hm, I don’t believe I suffered any illnesses or skin ailments after leaving the water. I would remember if I did.”

“Good to hear.”

Aisha tentatively dipped a toe into the edge of the water. It felt cool, exactly as she’d hoped. Arthur followed her, panting furiously.

“Is Arthur still too small to swim?” She asks without looking back.

“I’d rather he didn’t.” Came Sein’s laconic response.

“Well, I’m not his master, so I won’t stop him from entering the water if he wishes.”

Behind her, Sein calls out, “Arthur, come.”

Aisha wades in.

Oh, the water is heavenly against her overheated skin. She stops when the water reaches her neck, submerged in the refreshing coolness. She gathers water in her palms, marvelling at its clarity before splashing it on her face. It isn’t enough. She wants to be surrounded by water completely.

So Aisha takes a deep lungful of air and plunges down. Her eyes open on instinct, but the water pressure is heavy and stinging. The uncomfortable sensation fades away quickly, though. The bottom of the lake is full of weeds and other dark green plants that she can’t recognize. They sway with the water movement, long tendrils snaking upwards and brushing her bare legs. Small rocks and pebbles line the floor, smooth and rounded by the water current. They don’t poke her feet when she steps on them.

Best of all, the water is silent. She hears nothing except the air bubbles escaping her nostrils and mouth.

The air expels slowly out of her lungs, but Aisha wants to stay in here for a little while longer. Staying underwater reminds her of the early, quiet days she started reading at the library. She was so short that she couldn’t reach the third shelf then, but the books on the lower shelves kept her entertained until she grew taller. This was long before Madam Sylvia and her noisy sons moved into the Dimoche mansion, so she always had the library all to herself. She was left to her own devices from breakfast until teatime, a glorious six hours of uninterrupted reading. She could escape into her own head, and no one would bother her.

But unlike the library, she couldn’t stay underwater for six hours. Otherwise she’d drown.

And she isn’t alone in this experience, not when Sein probably stands by the shore still, because he likes to torment her. Aisha hasn’t figured out why he seems intent on seeking out her company, when he can easily find a willing and zealous companion in her older sister; but Sein has always been an enigma.

How much time has passed? Surely not more than a minute. She’s never held her breath for this long. Mermaids in The Little Mermaid can breathe underwater. Does water turn into air for mermaids? Or do they breathe through gills like fish? The fairy tales never expanded on these details, which to Aisha are arguably more interesting than their romantic premises.

Her chest is starting to feel tight. Somehow the water has carried her to the deeper end, where her feet no longer touch the lake floor. As she kicks upwards—

A white-hot pain shoots up her legs, and they seize up.

Oh no. She can’t move her legs.

Aisha waves her arms wildly, but they lack the strength to pull her body upwards. The movement only makes her flail around in the water, further tiring out her body and consuming limited air.

Help, she wants to scream, but bubbles spill out instead. The silence extends both ways; she hears nothing, and her voice is lost to the void. No one can hear her.

Is Sein watching? Can he see the bubbles breaking the water surface?

Does he even care to save her?

Aisha thinks he doesn’t. She also thinks she’d rather drown than be saved by him. She doesn’t want to owe him her life.

That petty, vindictive reason to accept death is her last thought before her world goes dark.

The water pools in her lungs.

Then a strong force from above is exerted directly on her chest, pressing so hard that her lungs compress, and the water is forced out. It travels in reverse, burning all the way up her throat and out through her mouth.

Sweet air finally replaces the water. She shoves the hands away, turning onto her side as she hacks up residual water while greedily inhaling air. All the air.

When the coughing subsides, and she can finally breathe without choking, Aisha’s hands ball into fists on the grass.

A ragged sigh leaves Sein, prompting Aisha to look at him.

He’s in a similar state: his bare torso gleams wet, black curls plastered against his face and neck. He reaches up, raking his hair back. This moment, this exact picture, mirrors the prank she played on him years ago. Except this time, the displeasure is noticeably absent. He doesn’t look angry.

“I really hope this isn’t another of your pranks.” Sein says, a dangerous glint entering his eye.

Maybe it’s the absurdity of her situation, or the fact that she nearly sent herself into a watery grave, but Aisha giggles. She giggles like Aida would, and her own reaction shocks her more than Sein.

“I… came out… for a swim… only to… almost… drown… myself…” The giggles erupt into full-blown hysterical laughter. Aisha collapses flat against the grass, uncaring of her indecent position and how her soaked chemise clings to her skin. She laughs until she starts coughing up water again.

“What would have happened if you weren’t here,” Aisha muses aloud, lips quirked upwards. Laughter never comes easy for her. Of course it does now, right after a near-death experience. “I’d have died, and no one would know how it happened.”

If she died, Aida would be left alone—a lamb surrounded by hungry wolves. Not that two lambs can do much against wolves, except bide their time until they inherit their assets.

Aisha regards the sky, the brightness making her squint. “This wasn’t a prank. Thank you for saving me, Sein.”

“I hesitated for a moment, thinking that you were trying to get me into the water by pretending to drown. I waited for you to come up for air, but you never did,” Sein stands, his silhouette partially blocking her view. “I almost considered leaving the lake, to grant you privacy as you requested. But Arthur would not budge. You have him to thank as well. If not for him, I’d have left.”

From this angle, his features cast in shadow, Sein looks tall and formidable, like he can pick her up and throw her into the lake with ease. He doesn’t seem winded in the slightest from hauling her out of the water. It shows how strong he’s grown compared to the last time. Aisha suddenly remembers something else.

“Did you… did you touch my chest just now?” She asks quickly. Her own hand flutters to the place where she felt the physical pressure earlier. The neckline of her chemise starts at her collarbones, so her chest is covered. But the material is thin, and the soaked fabric certainly leaves little to the imagination. “That’s improper!” Aisha exclaims, heat rising to her cheeks.

Sein stares down at her with half-lidded eyes, the corner of his lips twitching.

“How else could I have forced your waterlogged lungs to work? You weren’t breathing at all, Aisha. Believe it or not, chest compressions are a life-saving technique. I suppose you wouldn’t like to know the other technique I used on you, but it could do you good in the future to be informed should you ever need to save someone from drowning.”

Dread spikes in her stomach. It’s never a good thing when Sein smiles. And nowadays, he smiles often around her, like he knows secrets that she doesn’t.

Sein pauses, and the silence swells between them, so tense and heavy that Aisha bursts out, “What did you do?”

His eyes drift down, though not towards her body, which she initially expects. They’re pinned to an area around her chin and neck. Then, he raises his index finger to tap his own lips.

“Ever heard of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation before, sister?”

“I—” She gapes at him, lips parted but no words coming out.

“Would you rather I left you to die?” Sein asks coolly, crossing his arms.

I’d rather die than get saved by you. I’d rather die than have my lips touch yours.

But like it or not, Sein did save her. He saved her so that Aida wouldn’t be left alone in the world. This boy, who’s part of the wolves that killed her father, and are now eyeing her and her sister, their wealth, to claim as their own, didn’t let Aisha drown. He has ample motive to let her die; hell, Madam Sylvia and all her offspring—maybe except Carlo, who’s smitten with Aida—want the Dimoche heiresses dead.

“Why?”

Sein’s brows furrow together in impatience. “Why what?”

She sits up, unable to lie flat on her back while he looms over her. “Why did you save me then? If I died, there would be one less person standing in your mother’s way. She’ll get what she wants, and you and your brothers will each get a portion of the inheritance when you couldn’t, before.”

Sein is quiet for a few moments. Aisha doesn’t look away, determined to stand her ground.

“I didn’t let you drown,” he finally acknowledges, his placid tone not giving any emotion away. It frustrates Aisha because she still can’t read him, and yet he seems to read her without difficulty. “Mermaids can’t and shouldn’t drown, anyway.”

Aisha doesn’t get the chance to absorb his words, because Sein doesn’t let her. He stoops down until he’s crouching before her. In a lightning-quick movement, he grabs her wrist, thumb trailing the long scar on her palm, a deliberate touch that makes her flinch.

Furious and flustered, Aisha tries to kick him—miraculously, her leg muscles work again—but Sein catches her foot, swiftly pressing both her ankles down with one hand. He snickers at her struggle.

“Feisty.”

It almost sounds like an endearment. Aisha is momentarily caught off guard, forgetting the gravity of their situation. He’s so close that water droplets from his hair land on her thigh.

She blames the summer heat. Mirages are known to occur in extreme heat, and the human brain is highly suggestible, prone to seeing things that aren’t there. What Aisha sees—no, hallucinates—is an illustrated scene from The Little Mermaid, where the prince finds the mute little mermaid, helpless and unused to her new pair of legs. He shares Sein’s black, wavy hair. They are, more or less, in the same position as the prince and little mermaid; except there is nothing remotely romantic about reality, especially after learning that she was saved out of pity.

The hallucination vanishes when Sein speaks up again.

“Should I give you another scar to remember this occasion by? What part of you should I mark next?”

“Let go of me.” Aisha snaps, bristling.

“In a bit,” Sein trails off as he studies her face intently. “Ah. I know the perfect place.”

He tugs her forward and leans in.

Cloth in hand, Aisha glares at the bathroom mirror.

When she touches the cloth to her bottom lip, she winces at the sting.

Sein had bitten hard enough to draw blood.

By the time she came to her senses, her palm burned from the slap she gave him in return. But the five-fingered imprint on his cheek—like the one Madam Sylvia gave Aisha on her birthday—would fade faster than the wound on her bottom lip.

>> next: chapter 2 >>

#aisha manhua #aisha #sein #aisha x sein #aisha/sein #fanfiction #ao3 #ongoing #chapter 1 #cloud castles #aisha and sein are teenagers here

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riley-phoenix · 1 year

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Pairing: Malia X Reader(Male)

Canon: Teen Wolf

Content: Smut, friends to lovers

Author's Note: -

Summary: While on a mission out of Beacon Hills, you and Malia find you need to book into a motel. Everything seems fine until you realise one thing: There's Only One Bed.

The wind blew relentlessly, rustling the trees and forcing leaves off their branches while a constant, sharp noise, perhaps the swooshing of the ice-cold midnight breeze, filled the air.

There had been a surge in supernatural emergencies lately, leading Scott to order the pack to split up in twos and deal with them. To your absolute surprise and delight, he had paired you with Malia. You could work well together with anyone, but given the choice, you'd pick her. You'd always thought fondly of her. You admired her curt responses and found her honest --sometimes brutally honest-- personality irresistible. Not to mention; you found her attractive, gorgeous infact, but you weren't going to make a move tonight, not so soon after her breakup with Stiles. Besides, you were out on business.

This little crush had always made you nervous around her, leading you to be unnecessarily nice to her. Wether it was always paying attention to her over the chaotic exchanges of dialogue during a pack meeting or leaping out of your seat at her mere mentioning of needing a favour, you couldn't control yourself around her, but you were aiming to keep yourself in check tonight.

You were lost in the middle of North Louisiana with no service and the rain had just started coming down. You and Malia jogged through the muddy terrain until, finally, you stumbled upon a motel.

"This should do for the night", Malia says, to which you nod.

The door creaked open slowly as you stepped inside. You approached the front desk while Malia squeezed the water out of her hair and scraped some mud off her boots.

There was an old, wrinkly woman with grey hair and pale skin behind the desk. She held a curmudgeonous expression and never broke eye contact with you. You approached her and lifted a finger so as to speak, and, just as your mouth had opened, you were subsequently interrupted, "Only one room left", she said in a shrill voice.

"We'll take it", you said without further inquiry about the accomodations as you gazed out a small window and took in the inclement weather outside. You threw a few dollars onto the desk and she handed you a pair of bronze keys in return. You turned around and jingled them at Malia, signalling her to follow you to the room. Before you left the lobby you picked up your bags, and, being the gentleman that you were, carried both your luggages, of which there were only two medium sized suitcases filled with clothes and essential supplies.

The hollow floorboards echoed the sounds of your footsteps as you ascended the staricase. You placed the suitcases on the floor and the key in the lock, moving it slowly in a clockwise motion before opening the door.

Grabbing the suitcases by their handles once more, you lifted them off the ground and swung the door open as you stepped inside. The room was small. It had an antique, wooden style of interior designing that, despite not being of the greatest quality, constituted a warm, cozy feeling. It seemed fine until you noticed one problematic detail: There's only one bed.

"Crap!", You exclaimed.

Malia, who was standing behind you, surged forward in a small panic. "What?", She asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

"There's only one bed".

"Oh... Well, we'll make do", she said as she shrugged her shoulders.

You were shocked. It baffled you how nonchalant her response was and how she dismissed the situation as if it was nothing. You pulled out your blanket and started setting it on the floor when Malia questioned you.

"What are you doing?".

"You can have the bed", you said chivalrously

"*your name*, that looks extremely uncomfortable. Plus, I'm pretty sure there's termites on that floor".

"I'll be fine".

"We can share the bed".

"Oh, no I- I couldn't".

Malia rolled her eyes, grabbed your blanket and threw it onto the bed, "Really, it's fine".

"Don't you... Uhh", you started nervously.

"Yeah?", She asked.

"Don't you think sharing a bed is kinda... Intimate?".

She chuckled. "That's cute", she said jokingly, to which you didn't laugh, but rather looked on nervously. She sighed. "Look, we had a long day, we're both really tired. We're probably gonna fall asleep as soon as our heads hit the pillows. Nothing's gonna happen, I promise".

"...Okay", you said hesitantly, before removing your shoes, climbing onto the bed and turning the lamp light off.

Later that night...

Neither of you were asleep. You twisted and turned, trying to do anything to force yourself asleep but nothing worked, you just laid there, staring at the ceiling.

As you adjusted your pillow, Malia pulled the blanket you were sharing closer to her, leaving a part of your body exposed. "Rude", you joked. Then you heard her shiver, and you knew something was wrong. It was the weather, it was getting to her.

"Hey, are you sick?", You asked.

"Shapeshifters can't get sick", she replied.

"Then what's wrong?".

"Incase you forgot I used to have a fur coat", she said curtly as she shivered again.

"Oh, right... Is there anything I can do?".

She paused, "...Yeah, actually... There is". She turned around to face you and brought your body closer to her's. You were chest to chest. She placed one hand on your abdomen and the other around your neck as she brought her head closer to your's.

"This making you feel better?", You asked as you furrowed your brow.

"Yeah. Your body temperature is hotter than mine, it's helping me stay warm so the cold doesn't affect me as much".

"Anything I can do to help", you said hesitantly. It made you nervous when you noticed just how close your bodies were.

She paused again. "Are you ok?", She asked.

"Yeah, of course. Why?".

"'Cause your heart is beating like, really fast".

You noticed she had her hand on your chest. "Yeah... I'm fine".

"That was a lie".

"What?".

"Your heart rate increased again... Something's bothering you". She pulled your face closer to her's so that you were looking at each other eye to eye. "Tell me what's wrong".

"I guess... I was kinda nervous about sharing a bed with you".

"Why?", She asked, to which she recieved no response. "*Your name*, do... Do you like me?", Again she recieved no response.

You simply turned your face away from her, almost in embarrassment. Your response, or lack thereof, said everything.

"Why didn't you say something before?", She asked.

You struggled to respond, "I don't know... I guess I just thought it was so soon after you broke up with Stiles; I didn't say anything because... I didn't know if you'd feel the same way".

"That was stupid...", she said bluntly as she ran her hand through your hair and placed one finger on your face, "...Because I do". She brought her lips to your's as she cupped your cheek.

You pulled her closer by her waist and reciprocated the kiss, gently moving against her tongue and softly squeezing her lips. Then, you pulled apart. A look of uncertainty on both your faces. Malia pulled her hands away from her body and reached down, to the edges of her shirt before pulling it over her head. "I thought you said you were cold", you said playfully.

"I was thinking we could heat things up".

You chuckled and did the same. Pulling off your shirt before helping Malia onto your waist as you slid under her. She ran her hands over your abs and as you reached for her, she grabbed your hands by the wrists and pushed them down against the bed. You struggled against her grip as she held you down, "I have super strength", she said. Eventually you stopped, and allowed Malia to take control. Still pinning you down, she kissed you on the cheek and made her way down. She left a trail of kisses across your neck and even on your chest, each one earning a small moan from you.

Then, she released her grip on your wrists. Letting you free. Waisting no time you flipped both of you over, now you were on top. You followed suit as you kissed her, then moved down, to her neck, and to her torso, enjoying each small moan she let out.

"Unhook my bra", she commanded as she lifted her body off the bed, allowing you to reach behind her and undo it before tossing it aside.

She pulled playfully at the elastic fabric on your boxer shorts, awaiting your consent. "Do it", you said breathlessly as she slipped them off.

"Now me", she said, to which you obliged and removed her pants. You were both fully exposed now. Vulnerable to each other in the highest form of intimacy.

You brought your head down, closer to her's, and once again kissed her on the side of the neck. This time you spread your legs apart, prompting her to do the same as you grabbed her by her lower waist. You moved into her slowly, earning one long, audible moan as she threw her head back in delight. She placed one hand on your buttocks and squeezed it hard as she guided you into a motion. You moved in unison, by the waist, front and back, creating a pleasurable sensation for the both of you.

"F-f-faster", she said as your hips started to press against each other even harder. As the springs in the bed started to break under pressure, it coincided with the noise of your moans, growing louder and louder until it burnt you out.

After some time, you slowed down. Tiredly, you laid your head against Malia's chest as she fell back into the pillow until finally; you achieved a mutual climax. Both your hands fell to your sides and you pulled away from her, falling to her side once again, and eventually, somewhere in the night, you fell asleep.

Masterlist

Fandom List

Taglist

Tags: @cactuwus @melthedwarf

#teen wolf #teen wolf fandom #teen wolf Fanfiction #fanfiction #Malia #Malia hale #Malia x reader #Malia Tate

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almost-a-class-act · 1 year

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Happy Pacific appreciation week!

Prompt: Day 5 ( February 10th ): Favorite quote Author's note: Might expand on this at some point. Any other characters I should include? Let me know! As with the first several stories this will probably end up on AO3 after I have some time to go over it. You can find me there under roaroftheninth.

“I believe in ammunition.”

Leckie says it once, after the war has become a hulking beast with its boot on his neck, famously his least favourite place for a boot to be. It’s a lot of bravado, and a bit of nihilism, and truth be told he doesn’t mean it as much as he thinks he does.

He thinks about it relentlessly in the months – and years – that follow, about how war is less about what you are willing to do and more about what you are willing to give up. It’s the only real meaning in anything, once the conflict is long over and the enemy long gone. The comrades he left behind on the beaches and in the jungles of Guadalcanal and Cape Gloucester and Peleliu are not heroes because they were killers; they are heroes because they died, doing what men are sent to war to do.

He no longer believes in ammunition, or just causes, or whatever romantic reasons drive an ordinary city kid to ask for a gun so he can kill people he’s never met. There’s no sense in it.

He believes in finding meaning. It is the only thing within his grasp to do.

Burgie believes in family, in working hard for those around you – in the value of a strong foundation. There’s simplicity in that. If your roots go deep enough into the ground, you will be unshakeable.

It’s not his fault that they keep giving him wide-eyed kids to look after and he has to watch the light leak out of them in real-time. No one has assigned him to prevent this from happening, but it feels like a task that he is failing anyway. The enemy simply will not surrender. The only way out is through. The only way through is vivisection, being cut right to the bone, right through the part of you where a soul should be.

He watches it happen to Sledge, Leyden; Hamm, and Peck. Their leaking light pulls at his; he has to protect the last of it, hold it close and fast under the curve of his fragile ribs.

He goes home still believing in family. He just knows better now than to think that any amount of hard work will mean you can save anyone but yourself.

Runner believes very fundamentally in the power of a good joke.

There is a time and a place, to be sure, but the world will never get better without one.

He finds his people pretty quickly, and those people have a knack for wit too, too smart for their own good, chafing under a tight military bridle of doing whatever hellish, nonsensical thing you are expected to do for however hellishly, nonsensically long you are expected to do it, without asking questions, without accommodation for how hellish or nonsensical it is. The jokes they make are so black that no one will ever think they are funny again.

What on earth kind of war would it have been without them?

When he turns the corner and spots Lucky hunched over those rough-looking canned peaches on the ship that will carry them both far away from here for the last time, he is so relieved that he comes over warm and then cold, like a fever.

He believes in the family you choose.

Lena believes in doing your part. She is supposed to have purpose. She was not put on this Earth to follow the tide of whatever life was preconceived for her.

She knows that she can come across as brutally independent, standoffish, even difficult, but she is not interested in softening her sharp corners for the comfort of other people, especially of men, who seem to find those qualities unappealing. So be it. She was not put on this Earth to disappear into a marriage, either.

As time goes on, she believes in many things that present themselves to her, concrete things into which she can place her trust. She believes in the Marine Corps. She believes in John, who couldn’t quite figure out how not to be alone either, set apart from other people, until they saw each other – in every way you can see a person. She believes that sacrifices have meaning.

She believes that some people are meant to move through this world alone.

Snafu believes that you reap exactly what you sow, which is why he went to war in the first place.

He is not so gifted at doing his own sowing, but he is pretty effective at being the whirlwind. When he sees Eugene’s eyes fixed on the moaning enemy soldier at Bloody Nose, the marine on top of him fishing for the gold in his teeth, he finishes it because he knows that Eugene’s never done anything to merit reaping all of this. If Eugene is fucked, there is no hope for the rest of them.

So maybe he can turn back the whirlwind, too. Not always, but sometimes.

He believes in the immediate circle of marines around him – in Burgie, who would dutifully, stubbornly come and drag him out of any quagmire of blood and bullets and screaming, and in Eugene, who would avenge him.

By the time he gets home, he can’t figure out whether he expected to be alive or not. He doesn’t have any plans, and God – the universe – is silent on the matter of what exactly he deserves.

He believes he can start again, all on his own. So he does.

Andrew believes that on a long enough timeline, the good guys win.

He wakes up on that morning in October still believing it.

Eugene believes in a singular God – his God – and finds ways to make the world accommodate, even on those dark days when the pickings, faith-wise, are extremely slim.

There is a God, because if there isn’t, then all of this is random, no order to the chaos. All the good dead men he knows were erased through an act of indifference from the universe, not an act of love – not gone home to rejoice in the kingdom of the Lord.

Not part of a plan carefully constructed by someone who knows better.

There is a Heaven, because if there isn’t, the none of this means anything and they have all spent their one brief and extraordinary life in service of killing.

When he is so tired that it drags on every one of his bones, he tries it out one day, in the dark on Okinawa, the stench of corpses so strong that he might not ever get it off of his skin. Looking around at what remains of his friends, miserable and defeated, he tells himself: After this: nothing.

No, it hardly bears thinking about.

He believes that here is a plan, because he doesn’t have it in him not to.

#tpweek2023 #hbowardaily #the pacific #fanfiction #roaroftheninth

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librathefangirl · 1 year

Text

You Still Feel Like Home

ao3 (One-shot, 1k+)

Tonight was just for The Seven Deadly Sins. After a decade they were almost all back together; Meliodas finally had his family right here under his roof. It was delirious in its own joy. It was overwhelming and made Meliodas’ hearts ache. / Post season 1, Meliodas desperately needs a hug.

Omg school has been brutal lately, but I managed to finish something, yay! Hoping to get back to my ongoing stories soon, but who knows what my mind chooses to focus on. I certainly don't! XD

Read on ao3 or under the cut!

The Boar Hat was a complete mess; loud, rowdy, chaotic. It wasn’t even officially open. No, tonight was all for the Seven Deadly Sins. Even with Escanor’s absence it was the first time in over a decade so many of them were finally reunited. It was the first time in over a decade they didn’t have to face the threat of being haunted for a crime they hadn’t committed. It was obvious in the atmosphere. To an outsider, it might have seemed unruly or even hostile, but to Meliodas all he saw was his family. Back together under his roof once again. Thinking about it made his hearts ache.

Merlin had just fended off Ban – who had drunkenly started leaning more heavily on her by the second – with a few sharp words. Ban stared at her wide-eyed for a moment, mouth wordlessly echoing her threat. Then he threw his head back laughing. It was an obnoxiously loud laugh. If Meliodas closed his eyes, he could still see Ban in front of him just as easily. The crinkles around his eyes, the drunken blush over his cheeks, the edges of his mouth quirking up in a grin even as his laughed showed off every little tooth. All the stupid little details that shouldn’t matter but somehow made him feel all warm inside, warming parts of him he hadn’t even realized had gone cold and numb. Details that were all so familiar. They reminded him of home – and gods he had craved that feeling for the past ten years.

After he stopped laughing Ban just waved dismissively at Merlin, who rolled her eyes at him, and turned his attention to King instead. The reaction was immediate. King bristled at Ban’s quick provocation to the point he floated a good few feet above his chair. Meliodas shook his head fondly. A lot had changed in ten years. Ban and King’s relationship had definitely changed over the past days. But some things were undoubtedly, comfortingly the same.

Diane sitting in-between King and Ban was probably the only thing keeping the two from literally jumping at each other. Well, that and King’s complete lack of physical strength – plus Meliodas had told them to not get blood all over his floors. Diane suddenly let out a loud yawn, leaning back against Chastiefol behind her. The action caused King to instantly fluster, sending Ban into another fit of laughter. Meliodas let out a quiet laugh. If it was more wet than not, well, nobody needed to know.

Gowther, who up until now had been silently watching the interaction finally spoke. Ban and King both snapped their heads to him. Chaos erupted once more. Meliodas felt his hands tremble around his bottle as he put it down. He clenched his fists and slipped outside, unnoticed.

– X –

Or, rather, he thought he was unnoticed. Merlin had been watching Meliodas most of the night. She’d kept an eye on his body language, the small things revealing what he tried to ignore; seen the way he kept his distance, how he seemed to shrink as the others’ joy grew.

And then he walked out without a word.

“You are a real idiot, you know that?” Merlin said as soon as the door had shut behind her. Her own worry turned her words sharp and bitter. Meliodas startled where he stood. He had taken a few steps away from the Boar Hat while still remaining close enough for the muffled voices and laughs from inside to wash over him. He didn’t turn around at Merlin’s words. Instead, Meliodas seemed to cave in on himself. His shoulders slumped, head turning down towards the ground; his nails dug into his crossed arms as his whole body was as rigid as a plank. Merlin waited for a moment longer. When he still didn’t turn around, she sighed and walked over.

Meliodas was crying. Silent tears ran down his cheeks unhindered as Merlin came face-to-face with him. His eyes were already red-rimmed and puffy. His breathing, previously carefully controlled, hitched as he met her gaze.

“Idiot…” Merlin muttered again, softer. Meliodas scoffed at that – the sound coming out more like a sob. He diverted his gaze, letting it fall back to the ground.

“You came out here just to insult me?” Meliodas asked. His words were carefully crafted and quiet.

“I came out here to make sure you were alright,” Merlin countered, crossing her own arms. “But I don’t need to ask now, because obviously you’re not.”

Meliodas stared off to the side, towards the castle. His arms tightened even more over his chest, his nails digging deep enough to draw blood. Ever so little, Meliodas leaned closer to her. An unconscious pull; a yearning of closeness. He didn’t say anything.

Merlin bit back another frustrated sigh. She had hoped he would fight her on this. A stubborn Meliodas was better than an indifferent one; argue she could do.

“The fact that you’re not even denying it tells me how bad it really is,” Merlin pushed, trying to prompt a reaction. Luck was on her side this night because Meliodas immediately stirred. He rubbed at his wet cheeks, shaking his head.

“I’m fine.” The response was instinctive, and a little too monotone. But it was something. Merlin took a step closer, shaking her own head.

“Nobody in there might get it, but at least with me you can be honest.”

Meliodas met her gaze again, and even if it was only for the briefest moment, Merlin needed to take a steadying breath. The look in his eyes was like a starving man being offered food for the first time; desperation mixed with cautious trust.

“I-… It hasn’t been that bad,” Meliodas mumbled, rubbing at his arms. Merlin resisted the urge to just hit him over the head and call him an idiot yet again. You didn’t keep your past – and your entire race – a secret for 3,000 years by lying that badly.

“I said honest,” Merlin commented, trying to ignore the way her heart pounded painfully as Meliodas looked up at her again. It was almost astounding how someone who gave so much for the people he loved could give so little thought to his own well-being.

“Merlin…” Meliodas pleaded, and she knew what it meant. He wanted her to stop, to let it go and just walk back inside, to pretend she didn’t know how much he was hurting. She’d done it all before – but that was just it, wasn’t it? She’d watched him destroy himself enough times, in enough ways over the years to let him do it again. Especially when the solution for his pain was right there in the tavern.

“While the extent and nature of it varies, every demon are reliant on the bonds they form,” Merlin explained, as if Meliodas was the one who wasn’t a demon. “They don’t do well in isolation.”

Merlin saw her words hit home. Meliodas shifted uncomfortably before her. His gaze fell to the floor once more as he blinked harshly against a new wave of tears.

“I wasn’t-”

“The pig doesn’t count!” Merlin cut off before he could finish. Meliodas shook his head.

“No, that wasn’t what… I just meant, I wasn’t really, you know.” He made a vague gesture, but Merlin did know what he was trying to say. Now it was her turn to look away. A long moment of silence spread out between them as she breathed against the anger threatening to rise. Idiot! Of course that was how Meliodas saw it.

“I believe you,” Merlin admitted finally, albeit reluctantly. “But the only reason you didn’t actually break was because you didn’t let yourself, too focused on your goal.”

Merlin knew what could happen if a demon was abandoned. Meliodas had spent a decade on his own, cut off from his family. A century ago, it wouldn’t have worried her. Meliodas had never had many bonds strong enough to cause an adverse reaction before. Now though, he’d had to face isolation after finding a family of his own. Merlin felt guilty thinking about her own role in the severity of Meliodas’ current pain.

“You can’t help her like this Meliodas.”

“… I know,” Meliodas admitted quietly. He lost his battle against the tears; they fell freely once more. “But I don’t… I don’t know how-”

Meliodas couldn’t seem to finish the sentence, so Merlin wrapped her arms around him instead, pulling him close. He let out a whimper. His body practically shaking in her embrace. At the same time, he leaned into it, holding onto her as if she was the only thing keeping him together. Maybe she was. Maybe Meliodas was at the very edge of what he could take. Merlin wasn’t about to take that chance. She hugged him even tighter. One if her hands ran across his back, rubbing haphazardly across it until she found the right spot. Meliodas sagged in her grip, a content rumbling rising from his chest. Merlin let out a relieved sigh. She really needed to brush up on her knowledge of demon soothing points.

“Since when are you a hugger?” Meliodas mumbled after a long moment.

“I’m not,” Merlin countered, but didn’t ease her hold. “So don’t get used to it. Next time you have to ask Ban.”

Meliodas breath shook slightly as he tensed up again. He quickly relaxed again as she rubbed a little harder.

“Not tonight…”

“No,” Merlin agreed, even though she wanted nothing more than to drag him back inside and make the rest of the Sins aware of just how raw he was right now. She wanted to tell them how much he needed them close, and needed to feel that they were actually close. But she also knew that wouldn’t happen. Because that would set off an explanation much bigger than she knew he was ready to have. Yet.

“No, not tonight.”

#i did say i should give mel more hugs didn't i? well here's one at least #nanatu no taizai #seven deadly sins #meliodas nnt #merlin nnt #meliodas whump #emotional hurt/comfort #nnt fic #libra writes #my fics

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