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ladyfogg · 4 months

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Perfect Fit

Fic Summary: Since the first time you let him bite you, Astarion knew seducing you would be easy. What he didn’t anticipate were the feelings that came with it.

Fic Rating: 18+

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Drow!Monk Reader

Word Count: 11.7k

Warnings: Biting, Blood Drinking (Vampire and all that), Male Masturbation, Vaginal Sex, Fingering, Oral (Female Receiving), Sex, Grinding, Cuddling

A/N: I’m really glad I took my time with this one because I absolutely love how it came out. Enjoy! I don’t know if I’ll write any other Astarion fics but we’ll see.

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Just a taste, that is all he needs.

Boars and wildlife will not suffice, not if your little troop of weirdos keeps going at the same grueling pace. Since the moment he had been snatched up and that damn tadpole shoved into his eye it has been one battle after another.

The diet Cazador forced him onto had already weakened him. And Astarion knew that if he did not do something soon, if he couldn’t keep up with the others, you will turn your back on him.

After all, why keep him around if he isn’t useful?

No, he needs to stay in your good graces. More than that, he needs you to trust him, to care for him. It’s the only way he can ensure that when his former master comes knocking, because Astarion is not naïve enough to assume he is completely free, you will be there shielding him, to knock back.

Which you are obviously capable of doing. He’s seen you fight enough times to know you have a quick temper and an even quicker right hook.

You are the defacto leader, the one who always seems to do the talking even though you’re not the most charismatic of the bunch. Yet, when you open your mouth, the others listen, take your word as law even when they don’t agree.

Astarion finds himself falling in line along with them. Then again, he has two hundred years of conditioning to contend with. He wonders what excuse the others have.

Regardless, the plan remains the same. Seduce you, get you on his side, save his spectacular, frankly tight, ass. Simple. He’s played this part more times than he can count and can do it in his trance.

Of course, none of that matters if he starves to death. The gnawing hunger deep in his belly is distracting and has been for days. He’s used to ignoring it, even in the thick of combat. But he can’t, not tonight.

Tonight, it’s bad enough to get in the way of hunting. He can’t keep up with a lame doe he stumbles across. It bolts before he is even close enough to lunge. Not good. He returns to his tent frustrated and desperate.

Red eyes scan the still camp, predatory and sharp. He told you all he would keep watch because he needed time and space to think, which is partially true. However, that was when he hoped to catch dinner.

How in the Hells can he bloody think when he’s starving?

There’s a rustling near the fire, immediately drawing his attention. His gaze falls on you while you shift, your back to him as your body rolls towards the warmth of the campfire. A breeze glides through their encampment, bringing your tantalizing scent towards him, beckoning, teasing.

Astarion takes a deep inhale, eyes closed as he unwittingly gives into his instincts. Hunting pushes them away. But with no wildlife to sate him, his feet move on their own, dragging him closer to your prone body. When he opens his eyes, his vision blocks out everything that isn’t you.

The hunger is all that matters and right now, the hunter has finally found his prey.

His steps make no noise as practice and skill take over. He’s close enough to see the subtle rise and fall of your breath, the dim firelight framing you with its eerie glow, leading him like a beacon in the never-ending dark.

Astarion takes a knee, arms out for balance and eyes closed as he moves purely on instinct. He opens his mouth, fangs dripping with saliva at the promise of a meal, a real meal…

A second later he feels you move and his eyes snap open, only to find yours staring up at him. Cold realization slams into him like a heavy maul, making him blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Shit.”

Immediately, he backs away as you quickly rise to your feet, eyes narrowed in distrust. You don’t even have a chance to speak before he launches into an explanation, trying to keep his voice hushed to avoid waking the others.

“No, no, it’s not what it looks like, I swear,” he insists. “I wasn’t going to hurt you I…” He pauses, taking a breath to ground himself. The bloodlust isn’t satiated, not by a long shot but it is tempered by a furious-looking monk. “I just needed…well…blood.”

It sounds lame even to his own ears. Not his best work but, then again, he isn’t at his best.

You swear, burying your face in your hands. “Fucking unbelievable!” you exclaim in a harsh whisper. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it! We even found the boar you snacked on. And you were so quick to brush it away.”

“It’s not what you think!”

Astarion’s voice goes up and you motion for him to be quiet. A quick glance confirms the others are still fast asleep.

The next thing he knows, you’re grabbing his sleeve and tugging him away from the fire, away from the others, which is not at all what he's anticipating. He doesn’t even have a chance to register you’re touching until your hand is already gone, leaving a phantom of its warmth.

“I’m not some monster,” he persuades. “I feed on animals. Boars, deer, kobolds, whatever I can get. I’m…I’m just too slow right now. Too weak.” He pauses, the hunger taking hold once more. “If I just had a little blood, I could fight better. Please.”

There’s a sharp pain between his eyes, the familiar trigger of the tadpole lodged in his brain. He recognizes the sensation, knows it’s you reaching out, asking, and after a moment of hesitation, he lets you in.

Unlike your companions, you’ve embraced the new connection, used it to convince others to move out of your way or do as you say. Not within the group of course. He suspects you’re too noble for that.

Astarion hasn’t had much time to practice himself. No time like the present. He needs you to see, needs you to understand that what he says is true.

The trust he is trying to build is at stake, no pun intended. You need to see that this is an anomaly, an unfortunate side effect of the intense fighting you both had to endure the last few days.

So Astarion shows you, lets you see fleeting images of what he’s hunted in the woods. But this is all still new. He does not know how it works, does not anticipate the flood of other memories, personal ones he isn’t ready to share.

A dark street, a willing mark, a soft supple body for Cazador’s dark needs. They flicker one after another, a blur of faceless victims he’s lost count of. Yet, none of them with his fangs at their throat or their blood on his lips. It becomes too much too fast.

He gathers his strength and throws up those mental blocks, the ones he’s had for decades yet seem to be crumbling in an instant. With a mental shove, he pushes you out.

While Astarion's body reels from the onslaught, you remain stoic, arms crossed as you stare at him with that intense gaze of yours. The only indication anything is amiss is a head tilt.

How? How are you already so used to these damn tadpoles? You don’t even blink, and with the shadows of the night wrapped around the both of you, he can’t read your expression even with Darkvision. But he can assume and right now, he’s sure he’s fucked up. All he needed was you to trust him and because of this insistent hunger, he’s failed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

This is not the question he expects and he blinks, taken aback. You don’t sound angry, hells it would be easier if you were. Anger he’s used to, can handle with poise. But Astarion thinks he can work with this, whatever it is.

Because it’s not pity, it’s not empathy, it’s something he does not have a name for.

“At best, I was sure you’d say no, more likely you’ll run a stake through my ribs,” he explains. “No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me.”

Of course you can’t. Anyone who ever put their trust in him came to bloody ends. Yet, he’s seen you drop a gnoll with nothing but your fists and an insane high kick, so he feels you may be sturdier than most.

You study him closely, and Astarion does everything to appear docile and properly chastised, hunching his body to make himself smaller. There’s a beat where neither of you blink or speak. However, he catches the subtle slump of your shoulders and a sigh escapes your lips.

“I believe you,” you say. “And I do trust you.”

Astarion slowly exhales his own sigh, this one of relief. “Thank you,” he says.

Then, because he can’t help himself, because his empty stomach twists, because you’re still close enough for him to inhale your scent, he pushes his luck.

“Do you think you could trust me just a little further?” he asks, a hopeful lilt to his voice as he bats his eyelashes at you. “I only need a taste, I swear.”

He fully expects your refusal and wouldn’t blame you in the slightest. As much as this hunger is driving him to madness, he is fully prepared to slink away with his tail tucked between his legs if it means he lives to seduce you another day.

Yet the next words out of your mouth throw him off his game.

“Fine, but not a drop more than you need.”

There’s no hiding the surprise on his face. He knows you see it yet you don’t gloat or react, only smile.

“Really? I—” He clears his throat and recovers, swagger in place as comfortable as a well-worn mask molded just for him. “Of course, not one drop more. Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?”

He motions towards your bedroll with a bow. As you brush past and turn towards the fire, your smirk is wider, as if you can tell how much excitement is building within him. Then again, with the tadpole and your uncanny ability to read people, you probably do.

The others are still silent and sleeping as you lay back on your bedroll. Astarion’s chest heaves and he licks his lips as the prospect of blood, humanoid blood, becomes all he can focus on. He’s salivating again, red eyes drawn to the smooth expanse of your neck.

At first, all he can hear is the crackling of the fire. But when he leans in, the steady beating of your heart breaks through the noises of the night. Bloody Hells, he can hear the blood rushing through your veins. It hypnotizes him, draws him forward as you roll your head to the side.

White fangs pierce dark skin, sliding clean through to find a thick, pulsing vein. Underneath the rush, he almost misses the soft gasp push past your lips.

Almost.

But he doesn’t have time to process it because the first drops of blood touch his tongue and nothing else matters. Not mind flayers, not tadpoles, not Cazador, nothing but the sweet, red liquid that is sliding down his throat carrying your scent.

Everything else before pales in comparison.

There’s no fear. When he hunts he can taste the deep fear of his prey in their final moments. But this is different. You are different.

It’s such an onslaught of emotions he can’t process them right away. It’s secondhand, like trying to grab a rapidly fading echo in a dark cave.

Astarion doesn’t anticipate it and can’t recognize half of them at first. Sensation is what he does recognize. Pain is immediate, followed by warmth leading into heat in his cheeks and stomach. So much heat. He’s been cold for two hundred years, he’s forgotten what it’s like to have body heat, to be hot.

His body naturally curls around yours, one hand sliding under your head to cradle it close. The fingers of his other hand dig into the packed soil, gripping for something solid yet finding nothing.

Your body arches into his, breasts pressed to his chest and for the briefest moment, he imagines how better this would be if he could feel your bare skin to his.

Then another splatter of blood hits the back of his throat as your heart rate increases and the thought is lost.

Instinct wins out once more and Astarion groans, sucking at the wound with renewed fervor. This is better than he could have imagined. You’re better. All robust and tantalizingly smooth, finer than the finest wine he’s ever sampled. He licks at your skin, gathering as much of the precious liquid as he can. He knows it’s supposed to be a taste, but he needs more. Wants more…

A hand on his shoulder draws him out of his stupor and a firm shove has him breaking free with an orgasmic gasp. Life now drums through his veins, yours and his comingling into a surge of energy that has his dead heart thrumming harder than he ever remembers.

“Enough,” you say, your voice gruff and small, though still commanding. He thinks for a moment you might have actually cast Command on him, until his addled brain remembers you don’t use magic.

Astarion pulls himself together, comes back into his body in a way that’s far more pleasant than it has been in the past. He’s sure he’s made a mess but when he looks down, all he sees are two small puncture wounds with the barest hint of blood. Small specks of his spit glint in the firelight.

He resists the urge to kiss them away, instead stumbling back onto his haunches to give you space.

You slowly sit up and he catches you wincing. It’s the brief flash of pain that helps him reign himself further in. You said you trusted him, let him drink from you, he will not, could not, betray that trust, the gift you’ve given him.

“Of course,” he says, voice breathless as he tries to remember how to speak. “That was amazing.” He smiles wide, feels a droplet of blood slip away from the corner of his lips as he does. “My mind is finally clear. I feel strong, I feel…” The faintest hint of emotions still lingers. “…happy.”

You both sit quietly for a moment, air thick with tension and a hint of copper. Your scent is even stronger now and Astarion thinks he could track you from miles away if need be.

“I look forward to seeing you fight.”

Right, the whole reason you did this. To help him be stronger, useful. It’s those thoughts that ground him once more, snap his head out of the clouds and onto the hard forest floor.

Astarion stands while you remain right where you are, watching every move he makes. He wonders if you are waiting for him to pounce, waiting for the monster he assured you does not exist. When he speaks again, it’s the light, easy tone he’s perfected, like sliding the mask back into place.

“Shouldn’t take long so many people need killing,” he says, flippantly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating but I need something more filling.”

Nothing will escape him now. He swears he can take down a bear should he be lucky enough to find one.

He turns to leave, yet something stops him from taking the next step. When he glances at you over his shoulder, for a moment, the mask slips and he allows you to see the genuine gratitude he feels.

“This is a gift, you know,” he tells you. “I won't forget it.”

Not staying for a response, he turns away and stalks toward the darkness of the waiting forest. When he’s sure you can’t see him, he swipes that drop off his chin with his thumb, sucking it into his mouth to enjoy the final taste of your essence.

He is content for this to be a one-time thing, a special circumstance he is lucky enough to experience. And though he already longs for more, he enjoys the heat while he can, letting it carry him through the night as he hunts his next prey.

So imagine his surprise when you approach his tent only two days later, wounds barely visible under your collar. Astarion is readying his weapons, preparing for yet another trek through the wilds.

You’re in your vestiges, your arms free say for the thin bracers protecting your wrists. Your stance is sure and confident, eyes alight with something he hasn’t seen in them yet.

“We’re ready to head out,” you say. “Got everything?”

“Prepared and ready for the inevitable descent into violence.”

“How are you feeling?”

For anyone else the question wouldn’t be so loaded. He gathers you’re probably wondering if he’s going to try to steal another bite at some point.

“Fit as a fiddle. Your donation was much appreciated and helpful,” he says, sliding his daggers into their scabbards. “The effects are mostly worn off but such is life. I’m not weak if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not. But, if you need to, you can feed on me tonight.”

Astarion can barely contain himself, thrilled at the prospect of another surge of power, and that his seduction skills are working, though not entirely as he expected. Still, it’s an opportunity he will not squander.

“My sweet, there’s nothing I’d like more,” he purrs, stepping in close. He catches the darkening of your cheeks and lets himself smile in triumph. “I’ll come to you tonight, when you’re snuggly wrapped in your bedroll and we can have a little privacy. And this time,” he drops his voice for added effect, “I’ll make sure I’m quiet. We don’t want to disturb your rest.”

It's not lost on him that the night after his first taste you took to sleeping in a tent rather than under the stars. The added privacy had him wondering about its purpose.

Now he knows.

Taking another step closer, he drops his voice even lower, keeping the moment between you two. “Later on, when we are at rest, I will eat you right up,” he promises. “Just enough to give me strength and just enough to leave you wishing for more.”

Your breath catches in your throat and he knows right then that he has you. Even as you smirk and roll your eyes, his pleased smile never falters.

“Great line,” you say, walking backward towards Karlach and Shadowheart, who are waiting for the two of you. “Has that ever worked for you?”

“Numerous times. And trust me, you haven’t heard half my lines.”

“Is that what you do in front of the mirror now that you can’t fawn over yourself?”

“Hurtful!” he gasps in mock outrage. “Also, need I remind you, you came to me just now.”

“And you came to me the other night.”

“Fair point,” he begrudgingly admits, slinging his bow onto his back. “Although, I did ask for just a taste. If you’re wanting another nibble, that says more about you than it does about me. I’m a vampire spawn. What’s your excuse?”

By you’ve turned your back on him and though he can’t see your face, the middle finger you aim his way lets him know he’s won the argument.

The anticipation of his next feeding carries him through the day.

It’s ever-present in the back of his mind, fueling his hunger and drive. He fights harder because he knows that come nightfall, he won’t have to hunt for his meal. You’ll be there in your bedroll, ready and willing.

Astarion can’t suppress the shudder of longing every time he thinks about it.

Waiting never felt so long.

You’re moving closer to the goblin camp with every step, picking off stragglers as you find them. Shadowheart asks the corpses for information and you’re able to narrow down the location of the druid right down to which building he's in.

When you make camp, you’re only half a day’s travel to your destination. Everyone is exhausted and moody, with little talk this time over the campfire. It doesn’t bother Astarion, who felt you all were becoming far too chummy for his liking.

He waits and watches from his tent, taking note as one by one, the others peel off to their respective spaces. You’re one of the last, your eyes straying across the camp in his direction, meeting the gaze that has been transfixed on you the entire time.

As if to tease, your scent finds your way to him on the wind, making his head spin. He gives you a wink and a smirk. You smile back and quirk an eyebrow before disappearing into your tent like the others.

Astarion bides his time, waits until everyone stops rustling and the collective silence of sleep washes over the camp.

Wyll is on watch tonight, though his back is to your tent. Astarion keeps to the shadows and easily dodges him, making no sound as he slips past.

You’re fast asleep, buried in your bedroll with a blanket loosely draped over you.

Astarion feels that familiar tug low in his belly, lets his feet guide him closer. He doesn’t need the fire to see you there, peaceful, almost angelic. You changed into a looser tunic which has slid down to reveal a shoulder.

And the faded markings he left on your throat the other night.

Astarion kneels and then crawls up behind you, slow and careful. He said he wouldn’t disturb your rest and he meant it. No need to wake you when you’ve given your consent.

Besides, as sneaky as he is, Astarion wonders if you’re that light of a sleeper, considering how easily you awoke the last time. He lays behind you, gently peeling the blanket away. Your tunic slips lower when he does and at this angle, he catches just the faintest glimpse of the top of a breast.

It makes him pause, give an appreciative glance, before your neck beckons him.

The hunger urges him forward, begging, pleading with him to drink. You’re so close and warm and vulnerable. He does his best to lean over without touching you, but you automatically tense in your sleep when you feel the coolness of his body draw near.

Leaning down, he lets his lips brush your ear as he whispers, “It’s just me, darling. Go back to sleep.”

You hum and relax once more, dropping your shoulder in the process. The angle is too good and he is too famished to wait any longer.

Astarion bites down, his fangs lining up exactly where they pierced before. His mouth fits against your throat like it was made for him.

A perfect fit.

There’s no need to rush and he is able to savor the experience. This time, a sense of calm washes over him, making his eyes droop closed as the now-familiar yet no less exquisite rush of your blood fills his mouth. Deep down there’s a sense of injustice for being denied this experience for so long.

However, he wonders if it would have been the same without the anticipation and thrill of the chase. Without you in the equation. After all, you’re a powerful person, unyielding in your convictions.

Yet, here you are, offering your blood to him. Giving him power.

He keeps his fangs buried for a moment longer, holds himself there until his mouth is brimming with the taste of you.

Only then does he retract them, sucking softly on the reopened wound to drink his fill. You’re fast asleep, which means that he has to stop himself this time. You’re not aware enough to do it for him.

When he wanted to earn your trust, he did not think you would give it to him so freely. What else will you give him? What else can he get away with? Questions for another night.

Thankfully, he can force himself to stop once that welcoming heat spreads through every part of him.

Every part.

Fucking Hells he is hard as a rock.

It catches Astarion by surprise and he immediately draws away. He finds himself panting, his lips still coated in red as he glances down at himself.

Is it the act of drinking blood or the blood itself? Feeding on animals certainly never drew this reaction.

His head is spinning from bloodlust and arousal, and he feels the need to leave your tent as soon as possible. You signed up to be his meal, not to get him off.

Not yet anyway. Shame, if you were awake he could make his move. He briefly considers rousing you with honeyed words and lustful promises but he decides against it in the end.

Maybe next time.

As he cleans up the mess he’s left on your throat, licking away the remaining drops of blood, he can’t help palming himself at the same time. He’s barely able to contain a hiss at the sensitivity.

Fuck, if this is just from feeding on you, what’s going to happen when he gets to have you another way?

Astarion reluctantly withdraws, readjusting your tunic before draping your blanket back in place. Your breathing never hitches and remains steady, even when he slips out into the night.

With fresh blood pumping through his veins, his body is strong and alive. He feels so fucking alive. He barely takes a few steps before the hardness in his trousers proves too distracting, forcing him to rest against a tree.

If he turns his head, he can still see your tent through the bushes and trees. It surprises him that he wants to go back. Then again, you are the most interesting prospect around and a part of you is within him now.

Soon, a part of him will be in you, he promises himself.

Astarion unties the laces of his trousers and pulls his cock out, finally allowing the hiss he held back earlier. It throbs persistently, begging for him to do something, anything for release. He gives himself an experimental squeeze, wondering if he has the mind for this right now. But it’s too good and he’s too worked up to deny himself.

His eyes never leave your tent as he strokes his cock. Slow at first, but that quickly proves not enough and he speeds up.

Astarion has had too many lovers to count but it has been some time since he’s had to take matters into his own hands. And yes, he plans on seducing you and may even find you attractive, but this is not in the plan.

It certainly didn’t happen the other night.

Moving purely on urges, Astarion lets his head fall back against the tree trunk, and his eyes close, picturing himself back in your tent.

If only you’d been awake, he could have pressed against you, let you feel the length of him as he drank his fill.

Would you grind back? Would you gasp? He’s more than sure that he can get you to do both. When he finally gets you where he wants you, when he finally has you writhing and moaning his name, he's not going to let you cum until you beg for it, beg for him to fill you as he drinks from that delicious throat.

With a strangled moan, he cums onto the forest floor, his knees buckling under the sudden onslaught of sensation.

Putting his full weight against the tree for support, he takes a moment to catch his breath mind, and senses hyper-aware of every rustle of leaves and gust of wind. With his lust now stated, there is an overwhelming sense of fear and guilt.

What the Hells is with all this wanting and desire? He is not allowed to want. Seducing you isn’t about desire. Neither of those emotions should be there and yet they are.

Let’s just push those way back where they belong, he thinks as he tucks himself back into his trousers.

His head is clearer now, his focus as sharp as it was the previous night. Brushing the incident off, Astarion switches into hunting mode, his grin wide enough to verge on the side of madness as he bolts into the forest, with nothing but the thought of his next kill.

Your offer of blood becomes a regular occurrence.

Not every day but often enough for Astarion to notice a significant change in himself, his power. He is faster and stronger than he has ever been. There is still the situation of becoming immensely horny when he does feed on you, but he looks on the bright side and accepts it as an unexpected bonus.

On days when your party runs into a fight, he finds himself drained but not enough to impede his hunting.

A fact he brags about one night when he stumbles back to camp, brimming with excitement and pride.

“Guess what I just did!” he exclaims, plopping beside you on the ground by the fire that seems to have your attention.

It’s your night to keep watch which means he is out of luck for his midnight snack, as he’s taken to calling you. Much to your chagrin.

You chuckle and motion towards his mouth. “Judging by the blood I’m assuming you caught a nice dinner,” you say.

Astarion impatiently wipes it away. “Not just dinner, a bear! A whole bear!”

“Gods, you drank a whole bear?”

He nods proudly, grin wide and sloppy. “Now, it wasn’t as good a vintage as Drow,” he concedes with a wink your way. “But that’s not the point. The point is, I was able to kill it all by my lonesome and nary a curl out of place.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Kind of,” he slurs.

In truth, he is euphoric, untouchable. Between proper feedings and the tadpole, Astarion feels he is the strongest vampire spawn there may have ever been. Tonight, like the first night he bit you, there is no Cazador, mind flayer, or other threat. There’s only him and the blood of the black bear that he’s taken for himself.

And you, of course.

You smile in amusement, turning your attention to the fire.

Astarion leans back on his elbows, his body wonderfully loose and relaxed for the first time in decades. He takes the time to study your profile, his delirious mind focusing for the moment. He is acutely aware that it is only the two of you, a rarity considering the size of the camp.

Between the adrenaline of the hunt and the opportunity that comes with privacy, Astarion shifts closer, not enough to touch but enough for you to know he’s done so.

“You know, darling,” he drawls. “I don’t think I’ve told you how devastatingly beautiful you look by firelight.”

You don’t respond and at first, he wonders if you heard him. When it becomes apparent you haven’t, he clears his throat and tries again.

“The way the flames reflect in your eyes is hypnotizing,” he continues. “I can get lost in them, have been lost in them ever since we met.”

Still nothing. Astarion feels you’re miles away, which his pride will not stand for, not when he feels as good as he does and is throwing you all the signals.

He sits up and waves a hand in front of your face. “Helllooo? Devilishly handsome roguish vampire here giving you compliments. The least you can do is acknowledge me.”

You blink and tear your eyes away from the flames, giving him a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to ignore you. I’m not very good company tonight, I’m afraid.”

Astarion shrugs and sits up, interest piqued. “That’s alright, darling. We don’t need to talk. There are plenty of other ways we can enjoy each other’s company.”

You roll your eyes as you look back at the fire with that amused smile you seem to reserve only for him. “Hey, if I could turn my brain off for the night, I’d take you up on that,” you admit.

Finally feeling like he’s getting somewhere, Astarion leans in closer. “You’re in luck because I happen to be a delectable distraction. All you have to do is say the word.” He pauses before adding. “I’m talking about sex of course. We should have sex.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of what you meant.”

Astarion grins, reaching out to walk his fingers up your forearm, playfully tugging at the sleeve of your tunic. “So what are we waiting for?” he purrs. “A midnight snack is all well and good, but I wouldn’t mind sampling what else you have to offer.”

As full as he is, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in another nibble. There’s something special about your blood, enticing. When he’s this close to you it becomes all he can think about and he has to stop himself from nuzzling your throat. At least until he knows he has you.

“I want to,” you tell him, finally meeting his gaze. “I really really want to.”

“Then what’s the problem? I am ready, willing, and certainly able.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not.”

Astarion frowns, confused. This has always worked before, there’s no reason for it not to work now. He doesn’t get it. You’re clearly attracted to him and he’s doing everything but presenting himself on a silver platter. By now you should be throwing yourself at his feet.

And there’s no way he’s lost his touch because that would be like saying the sky is no longer blue.

You take a deep breath and when you start to speak again, it comes out in a rush, like you’ve been holding the words in for far too long and can’t any longer.

“There is so much at stake and so many people are depending on us, on me. It’s all I think about. I can’t focus on anything else. For days it’s been one crisis after another. On top of that, everyone keeps saying that we need to get rid of the tadpoles and that we should have turned already. We rescued Halsin but he can’t do what we hoped he would and I’m just…”

You let out a noise of frustration and Astarion is back to grinning because this he can work with. This he understands.

“Aren’t monks taught to still their minds?” he teases.

“I didn’t become a monk to still my mind. I became a monk because I like punching things. It’s honestly my favorite thing to do.” You take a deep breath before falling onto your back to stare up at the stars. “But now everyone keeps looking to me for answers and I just don’t have them. Nor do I want to be the one to figure all this shit out.”

Perfect, a new angle.

Astarion leans over you, forcing you to look him in the eye. “It’s just as I feared. You need me more than I thought.” He bends his head, delighted when you instinctively present your neck. He places the gentlest of kisses to bite mark, nuzzling into your soft skin like he’s been wanting to do since he sat down. “If you need your mind on something else, let it be me. Let me touch you, taste you. Let me bring you to such unbearable peaks that you forget everything that isn’t my mouth, fingers, or cock.”

You moan softly, shuddering at the warmth of his breath. “I don’t know if you can.”

Astarion draws back, a wide smile showing off his sharp canines. “Trust me, darling, I can.” He slides a hand up to cradle your head just like he did the first night he bit you. But it’s kisses he lavishes your throat with, with the occasional scrape of his teeth.

A gentle hand on his shoulder has him pulling away.

“You seem pretty confident about that,” you say, eyes searching his.

“Because it’s true.”

He knows what you’re searching for and does everything he can to make sure his gaze speaks for him. Lust and desire, mixed with a touch of hopefulness. Disarming and endearing, exactly who he needs to be for you.

“Here is what we’re going to do,” he continues, putting all his weight on one hand so he can use the other to take yours. “Tomorrow night, once everyone is asleep, I’ll slip into your tent, and I will make it so that pretty little head of yours can focus on something else. Something much more pleasurable.”

He punctuates each word with a kiss, first to your fingers, then your bruised knuckles, and finally to your inner wrist where he can feel your pulse racing. The sound of your rushing blood makes his own body thrum with desire. His hunger returns, but not enough to distract him.

But enough to make him twitch with anticipation.

At this angle, he knows you can feel it when his cock hardens. Your eyes widen and you bite your lip to stifle another moan when he teasingly grinds down against you.

“I…” You try to speak but need to take a second to catch your breath. “I would like that very much.”

“Good.”

Astarion leans down and captures your lips in a harsh kiss. It’s meant to be quick, a tease, a way to continue the seduction and leave you wanting more but it immediately becomes something else. You match his energy perfectly, your tongue slipping past his to explore. He isn’t expecting such a hungry response after the way you seemed so controlled, fully expecting it to take time for him to get you to this level.

Apparently, you’re closer to the edge than he thought. But it’s more than that. Kissing you makes him feel…something. He just doesn’t know what in the Hells that is. It makes it difficult to pull away, to stop, and make you wait.

So he indulges, deepens the kiss by leisurely licking the inside of your mouth once you actually let him. It’s good, really good. Enough to lose himself for the moment, to cup your cheek and hold you close.

His head is spinning and in his excitement, one of his fangs nicks your bottom lip.

A drop of your blood is enough to snap him out of it. Because if he doesn’t, he’s going to ruin everything. He’ll either fuck or drain you and right now he’s not sure which.

Astarion abruptly breaks the kiss, not before his tongue at your lip to steal another drop. “Until tomorrow night,” he promises.

He leaves you there, dazed and staring after him as he casually strolls back to his tent. Leaving you wanting more, just like he planned.

And definitely not because of any other reason.

Needless to say, trancing doesn’t come easy that night. Every time he closes his eyes, all he envisions is you in the firelight, looking up at him like he is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Granted, he knows he is, but that’s beside the point.

If he’s honest with himself, there may be a small, tiny part of him that feels bad for deceiving you this way. Granted, he is attracted to you and the idea of having sex sounds incredibly appealing.

So what if there is another motive? You both will come out on top in the end, metaphorically speaking. Although, the mental image of you riding him is quite good. Body rocking, breasts bouncing, wet heat enveloping his lap…

Astarion needs a distraction himself at this rate.

The next day he maintains his distance for both your sakes. For one thing, he knows being apart from your object of desire only makes the chase that more thrilling. And for another, he is dealing with a storm of emotions he is not prepared for nor interested in.

On occasion when he can’t help but slide his gaze your way, you seem thoroughly focused every time. He doesn’t catch you looking longingly his way, not even once, and finds it frankly insulting. How can you be so engrossed in what you’re doing even though you know he will be in your bed later?

Unacceptable.

When you both find yourselves set upon by cultists, Astarion is relieved. He needs a good bloodbath to pull his shit together.

His daggers get quite the workout, slicing enemies left and right.

Lost in the thrill of the kill, he forgets about the weird feelings and the way his seduction of you seems to be more complicated than he thought it would be. He forgets about his hesitations or questions.

Nothing is weird and nothing is wrong.

A familiar scent breaks through the gore that stops him in his tracks. Your scent. Your blood.

You’re bleeding.

Like a hound, his head whips in your direction. He sees you across the battlefield, knocking a man to the ground. But one hand is pressed to your side, bright red visible even at this distance.

Shit, you’re further from him than he realizes and he has to scramble over a few boulders to be able to close the distance. His sharp eyes catch movement in the trees, and before he even has a chance to grab his bow, the hidden archer takes aim.

Everything happens so fast.

The arrow fires, Astarion eyes land on you, knows you don’t see it and as he raises his hand towards you, has your name on his lips—

Your hand snaps up, catching the arrow an inch before it hits your temple. With a glare, you look up at the archer, swing around, and throw the arrow right back at him.

Astarion watches the archer fall from the branches, landing in a heap on the ground.

Dead.

You grin in Astarion’s direction, face smattered with blood and he wants nothing more than to fuck you on top of that corpse. But then you stumble and concern takes over. If you fall in battle then he’s shit out of luck and he can’t let that happen.

“Whoa now, none of that!” he scolds, rushing to your side to catch you. “Where the Hells is that cleric when we need her?”

“Did you see me catch that arrow?” you slur, grinning. “I didn’t know I could do that.”

“Yes, yes, it was very hot, now hold still, you’re bleeding everywhere.”

“Even better, gives you a free meal.”

It’s Astarion’s turn to roll his eyes as he helps you lean against a tree for support. “I prefer the more intimate approach we’ve established.”

Once he’s sure you’re not going to collapse, he digs through his pack for a healing potion.

“Shame to let all this blood go to waste but to each his own,” you say.

He uncorks the potion with his teeth and holds the bottle up for you to drink. It’s not until it’s empty that he allows himself to calm down. You slowly remove your hand and the two of you watch the wound start to close. Not all the way, you’ll need Shadowheart for that, but enough to stop the bleeding.

Astarion spits the cork aside and throws the empty bottle. “There, almost good as new. Maybe don’t get stabbed again.”

“There go the rest of my plans for the day.”

“Lunatic.”

Something comes over him, making him grab the back of your head and yank you into a kiss, too wrapped up in his bullshit to overthink or consider his actions. With one arm around his waist, you kiss him back and it’s sloppy and messy and everything he needs it to be.

Nothing happened. You didn’t die and you’re still able to be seduced. Good.

When you draw back, gasping for breath, he grabs your wrist and brings your hand to his lips. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly sucks your fingers into his mouth, one by one, swirling his tongue around the digits to gather every drop of blood he can. You’re right. It seems silly to let it go to waste.

Your pupils dilate, your breath coming through your lips in a rush as you watch, transfixed.

He doesn’t need the tadpole to know what you’re thinking, or imagining. It’s a precursor to what he plans to do to you later. But with your thighs squeezing his head as he brings you over the edge.

Astarion releases your finger with a pop and a smirk. You lean in to steal another kiss when you’re stopped by the heavy thud of Karlach’s footsteps. You just manage to pull back when she bursts through the foliage.

“You guys alright?” she asks, also splattered with blood. “We just got jumped by some assholes.”

Astarion gestures to the bodies littered at your feet. “Welcome to the fucking club.”

“Where’s Shadowheart?” you ask.

“Right here,” Shadowheart speaks up, approaching from a different direction. “One tried to run away but I took care of it. Shit, are you bleeding?”

“Not anymore, thanks to me,” Astarion says.

When you wince and stumble towards her, Shadowheart catches you. Her hand glows with radiant light as she casts a healing spell.

“Easy there, soldier!” Karlach says. “You stay put. We’ll deal with these.” She gestures to the bodies, where Astarion is already digging through the pockets.

He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to let good gold go to waste, and definitely not because you two were interrupted. Not because being close and alone with you makes his head spin. Not because he doesn’t know why he kissed you like that. And certainly not because the brief taste of blood is threatening to send him into a frenzy.

By the time the bodies are searched, Shadowheart is done with her healing and you’re able to stand up straight.

“Let’s get back and tell the others,” you say. “With these guys gone, we should be good to keep our camp for one more night. But tomorrow we have to move on.”

Astarion is starting to feel peckish and welcomes the chance to be alone. “I’ll do a little scouting to check for stragglers,” he offers, tossing you the heavy bag of coin he collected. “You know, make sure there isn’t anything lurking before dark.”

“You sure? You really shouldn’t go alone,” you say.

He’s already headed in the opposite direction and turns to face you as he walks backward. “If they hear me, they deserve to catch me. You don’t need to worry, darling. I won’t be late for our date.”

Your cheeks darken and he watches Karlach break into a wide grin while Shadowheart raises her eyebrows. He’s already gone by the time they bombard you with questions.

That moment you two just shared plays over and over in his head. With the taste of your blood still on his tongue, he gives into baser instincts.

Tonight, he will fuck you, and you’ll be so enthralled by his talents, he’ll have you eating out of his hand in no time.

Astarion’s mission turns up no more cultists. And after a brief tussle with a boar, he’s recharged and ready to seduce the pants off you.

Literally.

Night has already begun to fall when he returns to camp. At first, he doesn’t see you anywhere, but then you emerge from the brush, in a clean tunic and trousers with your freshly washed clothes under your arm.

He sneaks up behind you as you lay them out on a nearby patch of grass to dry.

“If you waited we could have had a little dip together,” he purrs, only half teasing because bathing naked with you sounds enticing right now.

“That wasn’t funny,” you glare over your shoulder, although he doesn’t sense or see any real malice on your face. “They gave me shit the whole way back.”

“I’m fairly certain they knew something has been going on. You haven’t exactly been hiding the mark.”

You tug on your collar in a vain attempt to do just that. “Still.” You turn to face him and cross your arms, a neutral stance that conveniently highlights the muscles in your arms. Not that he notices.

“Darling,” he gasps, “are you ashamed of me?”

“Of course not. I just don’t like people knowing my shit.”

Astarion glances around and can see multiple pairs of eyes on you both. So rather than close the distance, he settles for eye-fucking you instead.

“Tonight, all you need to worry about is relaxing and letting me take care of you. Thoroughly. Properly. Until the only thought in that pretty little head of yours is my name.”

Even from this distance, he hears the rush of your blood and it makes him grin wider. You shake said pretty head at him, turning away under the pretense of fixing your clothes.

“So long as you bathe beforehand. Blood may be your thing, but it’s not mine.”

“Not yet, anyway.”

He’s got you flustered and can’t help laughing as you shoo him away. After a brief stop at his tent for fresh clothes and soap, he finds a secluded spot by the nearby lake and takes time to pamper himself.

This part of the seduction ritual he likes, finds comfort in. Washing away the grime and viscera from his skin and taking the time to wash his hair puts him in the proper mindset. While he can no longer see his reflection, you can and that’s all that matters. He knows his looks are unparalleled.

So he primps and preens, cleans himself thoroughly before stepping out to dry off. The full moon casts the world in an otherworldly glow and he stands for a spell, taking in the night. Less than a week ago he was scrambling for rats in the dark, trying to sate the ever gnawing hunger. Now he can stand in the sun, sample the delicious blood of a thinking creature.

What a difference a few days makes.

Closing his eyes, he takes a deep inhale to steady himself, to focus. And by the time he exhales, his eyes are open and he’s ready.

Camp is still very much buzzing with activity when he returns, bare-chested with loose trousers. Your scent wafts his way, making him subconsciously turn in your direction. His eyes meet yours over the fire, and he throws you a wink. You smile and duck your head, something he never found endearing until that moment.

Just like all the other nights, he waits for the activity to die down, waits until almost everyone is asleep, before sneaking into your tent.

Except, this time you’re awake. Your back is to him as you sit, still and silent. At first, he wonders what you’re doing, until he recognizes the steady breathing that comes with your meditations.

Silently, he ties the tent closed before kneeling behind you. He sees your pointed ear twitch, knows you’re aware of his presence.

Astarion lays his hands on your shoulders and leans down to nuzzle your temple. Your body is tense. He can feel the knots even through your tunic. Carefully, he digs his thumbs into them, rubbing in circles which forces a soft moan out of you.

“You are far too tense, darling. I don’t think the meditations are working,” he says with a low chuckle, smirking at the way the skin of your neck raises with goosebumps.

You lean back against his chest, making it harder to keep massaging you. So he slides his hands down your arms to hold you instead.

Astarion isn’t one for hugging or cuddling, but this feels nice, having your weight on him like this. It only lasts a second. You lean forward once more, this time with your face in your hands. He lays a hand on your back, recognizing that you need a minute, and more than happy to give you such.

He feels slightly out of his element. Normally when he arrives for the seduction, it’s hasty and eager, with the mark throwing themselves at him. You aren’t doing that, you haven’t even turned around to face him.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” you tell him, your voice muffled. “If you’re looking for something carefree and light, I’m sure you can find someone with less baggage.”

Astarion can’t help bursting into laughter. He pulls your arms down and leans around to look you in the eye. “Have we been traveling with the same companions?” he asks. “If you can find this mythical baggage-less person then I salute you because from where I’m sitting, we’re all a bunch of fucking weirdos.”

That breaks the tension in you. Laughing, you lean into him again and he savors the closeness, recognizing that it stirs that same unknown sensation within him. He kisses your neck not only to move things along but for another reason.

Yours is the first thinking-creature’s neck he’s ever sampled and the novelty is fairly potent. He’s left his mark on you, not once but several times. It’s enough to drive him to distraction. The scent of your skin causes his body to react, his mouth already salivating while his cock twitches with interest.

Astarion finds you relaxing while the time slips away, and it isn’t long before his hands are reaching for the laces of your tunic. He unties them with deliberate slowness, giving you every chance to stop him.

You don’t.

In fact, your hands join his to help, and when they are finally undone, you draw away to lift the tunic over your head.

Now you’re both shirtless and when your warm skin touches his it’s like a pleasant balm to his cold flesh. He continues lavishing your throat while his hands cup your breasts, thrilled at the way your nipples pebble under his thumbs. He kneads and tweaks, pinching until just on the edge of pain before backing off.

“Astarion?” you ask, voice already breathless and husky with desire.

“Mmm, yes?”

“If we do this, I only have one request.”

He’s not surprised at this, even anticipated as such. There’s always a request or demand of him and he will dutifully oblige. Anything to keep this going, to seal the deal.

“And what’s that, darling?”

“Stay with me after? At least, just for the night.”

That…is it?

Astarion draws away, prompting you to turn to face him. Your eyes are hooded, lips wet from being swiped by your tongue. But there is a vulnerability he has never seen before that has him answering immediately.

“I will stay,” he promises, and means it. “For tonight, I am yours and you are mine. Nothing else outside this tent exists. It’s just us.” He gently cradles your face. “Just this.”

You lean in and he captures your lips.

The kiss is slow, deliberate, meant to reassure you that your humble request will be fulfilled. But as it continues, it switches, changes into something else entirely. One of his hands drops to your trousers, yanking at the laces with the same fevered energy that’s taken over your mouths. He is suddenly filled with the urge to touch, to make you shudder and moan not for his sake, but for yours.

Astarion sees in his mind’s eye every choice, every decision you have had to make. Always for others and never for yourself. Hells, do you do anything for your own well-being?

He hasn’t seen it. And if this night with him is it, if being with him is how you want to indulge, he’s going to make damn sure he makes it worth it.

When his hand slips below your waistline, his fingers slide through the mound of curls to the petal-soft flesh waiting for him. Feeling the wetness on his fingertips makes his eyebrow raise as he breaks from your kisses.

“Already, darling? I’m flattered.”

You huff, flustered. “It’s my neck,” you mumble, prompting him to latch his mouth there once more. “It’s really sensitive.”

You gasp when his fingertips stroke through your folds, spreading your arousal with practiced ease.

Astarion has a realization. “All these nights, when you knew I was going to be paying you a visit,” he says. “Did you by any chance feel aroused?”

“Every fucking time.”

He slides a finger into you, relishing the low moan and how eagerly your body pulls him in. That explains the intense hard-ons and need to get off immediately after feeding on you. He was unknowingly drinking your arousal, which he plans to do in a very different context tonight.

You’re warm and wet, and the sound of your rushing blood is making it so difficult not to seek his—your marks. The ones he feeds from every time, the ones that never seem to fully fade even with healing magic.

Sliding his finger out, he presses firm circles around your neglected nub while his free hand reaches for your breasts again. Your chest heaves and your hips begin to rise and fall along with his ministrations. When he pushes two fingers into you, your head falls back onto his shoulder.

“Astarion!” you gasp.

“That’s it, darling. Let go of everything else. Just think about me.”

In this intimate moment, he becomes acutely aware of two things: one, his name has never sounded sweeter, and two, this is going to be different for him.

Astarion doesn’t find himself slipping away like he’s done in the past. Prior, his body would go on following the script while his brain retreated elsewhere. It was a part he knew all too well and had perfected over the centuries. A moment of disgust at himself then powering through just to get it done.

Yet, it’s not happening. Tonight, he is very aware of where he is and who he is with. Somehow having you be the one to moan his name is keeping him grounded, in the moment.

And he doesn’t want to lose that.

His fingers speed up, alternating between rubbing your nub and burrowing deep into that addictive warmth he wants around his cock. You’re gasping and moaning, seemingly uncaring if anyone hears.

Let them hear, he thinks. Let them know I’m the one making our fearless leader cum.

Suddenly, this angle isn’t right. It won’t serve his needs.

Because now that he’s aware of them, aware that he needs your body, needs your little gasps and moans, he won’t stop until you’re both in a breathless, mindless heap of body and limbs.

Astarion tries to draw his hand out of your trousers but you scramble to keep it there, until he nips at your ear and says, “Shh, shh, it’s alright. We just need to get a little comfortable.” Only then do you let him pull away.

He maneuvers you onto your back and is able to fully take in the delicious image you make. Eyes glassy with desire, lips parted, breasts moving as you try to catch your breath. Without warning, he grabs your throat, not hard. Just enough to angle your head up so he can steal a few more kisses.

Then his attention falls to your trousers and he has them off your legs a second later. You’re not wearing underwear, never bothered to put them on after your bath. Hooking his hands under your knees, he spreads you wide, takes his first look at all of you, and promptly descends.

Astarion doesn’t try to put on a show or warm you up with a few practiced licks. You are more than ready for him and he finds himself starved in a completely different way.

A welcomed way.

His lips wrap around your clit and he sucks greedily, humming with satisfaction when your thighs clamp around his head. It keeps him exactly where you want him, not that he plans to leave any time soon.

This taste of you is so different from your blood yet equally addicting. Heady and sweet, invading his senses until nothing else exists but you. His tongue snakes long your seam, parts your swollen lips, and seeks the hole he teased earlier.

When he finds it, your hips shoot up and he tongue-fucks you, eyes drifting up to meet yours as he does.

You’re propped on your elbows, watching his every move. The vision you make is breathtaking and as he watches your head fall back and your arms buckle, he smirks because he is the one making you feel this way.

Astarion slides a finger into you, this time deeper than the other angle allowed. Your thighs are already quivering and the moment he crooks his finger in just the right way, your arms finally give out and you lay flat on your back.

Hands tentatively find their way into his curls but instead of pulling like he anticipates, they stroke and burrow, holding on for the sake of staying grounded, not for control.

A second finger joins the first and his mouth returns to your aching nub, sucking as greedily as he wants. You’re shaking and moaning, your hips starting to grind against his face the longer he goes on. With the tadpole, he can sense you’re still holding back, still not entirely lost yet. He tries to get you there, increases the pressure of his mouth, and rubs harder against the special place inside you he’s found.

With every twitch, he feels you let go a little more. And when you’re almost there, he switches tactics. For the second time, he reaches for your mind, tries to show you images. This time of yourself, of what he is seeing right then and there.

A beautiful, wanton, deity of a person whom he worships. At least for right now, in this moment. One whose legs fit perfectly over his shoulders and whose shining eyes have him transfixed.

But then what happens next fundamentally changes Astarion and turns his world upside down.

Because, now he isn’t seeing you. He is watching a pale elf with glowing red eyes whose mouth is devouring your slit. Whose cheeks are ruddy with fresh boar’s blood and whose white curls are wrapped around dark fingers.

Astarion is seeing himself for the first time in two hundred years.

And bloody hell he’s magnificent. Not just because he’s beautiful but because he can feel what you’re feeling when you look at him. He can sense the warmth, affection, lust, and fierce protection you’re experiencing here and now, with him.

He’s already achieved his goal. Now he can move on to more important things.

He draws an orgasm out of you only minutes later, not needing you to beg. Not when you’ve given him yet another precious gift.

What a breathtaking sight the two of you make. You, bowing your back into a beautiful arch, and him, sucking greedily at your clit while his fingers stroke deep inside you.

Astarion comes up for air only when your sweaty legs glide off his shoulders, leaving you spread and satisfied.

“How’s that mind of yours now?” he asks, licking your slick off his lips.

It takes a moment for you to answer. “Fuck, you weren’t kidding,” you gasp, a hand pressed to your forehead as you try to collect yourself.

Astarion smirks and pushes himself up onto his knees, carefully slipping his fingers out of you. He can feel your walls clench, automatically trying to keep him there. He’s tempted but has a better idea.

“I told you, I’m quite good.”

While you lay there, watching, waiting, he makes a show of unlacing his trousers. By now his cock is desperate for attention, straining against the fabric. Each move he makes is purposeful, each look calculated, letting you know exactly what he plans to do next.

He thinks of the previous nights when he crawled into your tent and slid up behind you. And once his trousers are gone and his cock is free, full and leaking at the tip, he nods his head.

“Turn on your side, darling.”

He strokes himself while you do, using your arousal to make the glide of his hand easier, better. He lets every lustful thought invade his senses, lets his eyes shamelessly rake over your body as he realizes this is a fantasy he will get to live out.

Astarion knows this night is about you, should be about you, but he can’t help but feel that it’s now also about him. About having something, even if it’s for a night, that gets to be his.

He spoons up behind you, tucking his cock snug under your backside. His hand comes around and slides between your legs once more, picking up right where he left off. You gasp at the sensitivity, your body tensing for only a second until you manage to relax again.

This time with the added bonus of you rocking against him.

Time loses all meaning. He can not be certain how long you both lay this way, grinding and moving together while his fingers make you cum for a second time. It takes longer but absolutely worth every moment. His mouth is permanently attached to your throat lavishing it in kisses and love bites, leaving even more marks. Not as deep as the mark. He'll only drink from you once he’s good and ready.

And when neither of you can take it anymore, when the friction of your skin isn’t enough and you’re positively soaked, he whispers into your ear.

“Lift your leg.”

You do and he takes hold of himself, coats himself in your slick again, then pushes into you with a smooth, quick, thrust.

A perfect fit.

Being inside you, having his cock enveloped by that fucking heat is better than he would have ever thought. After that, he can’t take his time, won’t until he’s emptied every last drop into you.

Your moans are constant, muffled as you bury your face into your thin pillow, your hand twisting the bedroll, reminding him of how he twisted the soil when he had his first taste of you.

Taste.

Gods does he want to taste you again, drink you as he continues pounding into your eager body. As if struck by the same thought, you reach back to slide your hand into his curls.

“Bite me,” you urge. “I need you too. I can’t…”

He hears the rest of the thought in his head.

I can’t cum again if you don’t.

Astarion bites down on the mark, having half a mind to press down on your swollen nub at the same time. You cry out this time. Loudly. Properly. Not his name yet even more beautiful, a cry of pure ecstasy.

Your blood seeps into his mouth just as a fresh wave of your slick coats his cock, and he is done for.

Thrusting wildly, still rubbing your sore clit, Astarion spills himself into you, lost in a frenzy of blood and lust. He’s aware enough to yank out his fangs but after that, it's a blur as he sucks at your throat while his cock spasms and fills you with his seed.

It's too much and coats his lap and your thighs while trickles of blood dribble down your neck. He’s aware of you pushing his hand away from the overstimulation. So he grabs your hip for leverage during his final, weak thrusts. Spent, you both cry out a final time and then grow still.

Eventually, you roll onto your stomach while Astarion collapses onto your back, crushing you against the bedroll.

You don’t seem to mind in the slightest, letting him lazily lick away any remnants of blood. Only then do you hum with satisfaction stretching underneath him as much as the position will allow.

“Fuck, Astarion.”

“That you did, love. That. You. Did.” Each word is punctuated by a kiss or a nibble.

“You were right,” you purr, sounding infinitely more relaxed than he’s ever heard. “I needed that.”

He places a final kiss to the mark before rolling onto his back. “Mmm, me too.” He tucks his hand under his head, staring up at the canvas of the tent with a lazy, satisfied grin. Like a cat who’s just found a sunbeam.

You roll to face him, draping yourself across his chest in a graceless heap. Your face is glowing with post-coital bliss, eyes still shining as they take him in. You reach up to wipe away a spot of blood from the corner of his lips, which he sucks off your thumb.

Astarion is aware you both should clean up but he can’t bring it in himself to care. Your scent hangs around him, not just your blood but your arousal and release. When mixed with his own, it stirs something primal inside, a sense of claim he’s not sure he has a right to feel.

But he’s far too satisfied to question it.

“That was amazing,” you slur. Already your eyes are drooping and your breathing evens out.

Astarion draws you close, feels around for a blanket he manages to drape over you both. “You’re amazing,” he responds, and is surprised he means it.

Even he is ready to trance, the normal rush of adrenaline after feeding is gone, channeled into the thrusting of his hips during those last precious seconds before utter bliss.

For once, no thoughts or machinations enter his mind. Unless it’s your soft body atop his, he has no interest, lazily stroking your back until you fall asleep.

And as he lets his trance carry him away, he has one final thought, an observation his waking mind will remember vividly the next morning when he finds you in the same position, curled around each other even in sleep.

Having you in his arms seems to be another perfect fit.

---

Taglist: @frankie-mercury @miniminx

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x female reader #astarion x you #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion ancunin x you

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theblue6ook · 3 months

Text

Shit Interview PT 4

Summary: After two weeks of Bruce Wayne playing hooky, Y/N is finally putting her foot down. [B (23) & Y/N (21)] [Eventual slow burn with Bruce]

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

a/n: Well hello there. If you liked this story, it’s a part of my “Out of My League” series. There will be more to come ;)

Y/N had given him seven more days of solitude. That’s a week since their last argument. Two weeks since she had been hired. Where was her boss? That was a great question.

In case you don’t know, that’s two weeks of sending email invites, fourteen days of missing calls, and three-hundred-and-thirty-six hours of picking up Bruce Wayne’s slack, and yet, even this was not her breaking point. Oh no. Her breaking point was Nigel Collins. Mr. Collins, who she had originally planned on interviewing for, was an absolute asshole. She should have known, considering his tight interviewing process. He hadn't even found an assistant 'worthy' of him yet. Every meeting she attended in Bruce Wayne's stead, he commented on and belittled her. Sitting her in the corner of the room each day, in an extra office chair with no desk, she’d balance her notebook on her knees as she wrote down their meeting notes since typing ‘bothered him.’ Her back ached, and she had to sit and listen to him complain about her presence, and oh, did he love to hear himself talk.

“There’s Bruce Wayne’s little spy.”

“You’re going to act as notetaker… for Bruce Wayne… I don’t even think I’ve seen him read before.”

“It figures Bruce Wayne hires someone else to do his work for him, but can he try hiring someone competent next time.”

Now, Bruce Wayne was not exactly in her top ten, but good lord, isn't talking behind someone’s back a little spineless? The only saving grace was when Mr.Johnson and Mr.Foxx attended. They at least tried to keep everything as professional as possible. Honestly though, despite Mr.Collins being difficult, it had been one of the best work weeks of her life. But there was still one problem. Bruce Wayne was waiting her out, and she had one thing that wasn’t crossed off her to-do list.

Naturally, Y/N had called Alfred in advance. She told him she would be driving over to the manor to have a discussion with Mr.Wayne about his responsibilities. Instead of deterring her, which she thought he would do, Alfred told her it would be better to come up on Saturday at noon since Bruce had a daily event scheduled after dinner each day. Who knew his calendar was blocked off? Certainly not his assistant. So here she came, in her shitty car with a new battery, wearing a sweatshirt and joggers. Her hair was a mess, and she knows she doesn’t look very professional, but honestly, she doesn’t feel like being very professional.

Pulling up to the large front gate, she intercommed Alfred, and he buzzed her in. She recognized where to go from her last interview and pulled down the driveway towards the side door near the kitchen. Alfred let her in with a grin on his face.

“I have a feeling this is going to be good,” he smiled.

“Really?” she replied. “I was having the exact opposite of that feeling.”

Her fingertips were tingling as Alfred led her into Bruce’s office. Y/N was starting to feel like she rushed in too quickly. She was just so frustrated this week. She felt like she had to do something like she had to act. But now here she was in Bruce Wayne’s office in her sweatshirt and joggers, looking like the exact mess he made her. Too late to change, she thought.

Meanwhile, Alfred had gone up to Bruce’s bedroom. It seemed he was already awake, doing his morning pushups on the floor. If by morning you mean 12 pm. “You have a guest waiting in your office.”

Bruce looked over his shoulder, exasperated, “May I know who it is?”

Alfred only smiled, pulling a T-shirt off his dresser and handing it to Bruce. Bruce pulled it over his head. “I wish you would just tell me these things.”

Bruce had considered not going, but it was best to be complacent with Alfred. Walking down the stairs and turning the corner, he frowned. Alfred had closed his office doors, so he didn’t even know who to expect. He definitely did that on purpose.

Moving silently, he opened the large door. It didn’t seem like the woman in the middle of the room had noticed. She was looking out of the windows toward the Gotham skyline. Bruce started to run a list of the people he knew in his head, and he did not recognize her. He had considered meeting her out on one of his “Bruce Wayne Bachelor” nights, but by the way she was dressed, he could tell she wasn’t exactly here to catch his attention. He cleared his throat, leaning against the doorframe.

It scared the shit out of Y/N, who was already on edge. She turned quickly, bewildered, and took in his appearance. So this is what Bruce Wayne looks like in person. He was taller than she had expected, and the articles were true... he did look even better in person. She sighed, letting some stress out after he scared her and slightly relieved he was also wearing a pair of sweats. At least she doesn’t feel so out of place. “You’re a lot quieter off of the phone.”

“So we’ve met before then?” he asked, confused.

“You don’t know who I am?” she asked, and Bruce just shook his head with a stupid, confused look. She was already getting annoyed. “Does Alfred tell you anything?”

There it is, he thought, as his face completely changed. “Oh, wait. I recognize that attitude.”

“My attitude-”

“And no, by the way, Alfred doesn’t tell me anything. He didn’t tell me hired you. He didn’t tell me you were here.”

“Can you talk for once without interrupting me?”

“What are you doing here, Miss.Y/L/N?”

“Wow, I’m surprised you even know my last name. Considering how uninterested you were in our last conversation,” she sighed. “Really I just came to make sure you were still alive.”

“Still alive?” he quipped back.

“You know, since you haven’t attended any of the meeting invites I’ve sent you. You’re ignoring my calls. You’re leaving me in meetings with Mr.Collins. It’s like you want everyone to think I’m incompetent.” Y/N wasn’t sure where she was storing all of this pent-up anger, but it was here, and she was visibly upset.

“Did I lie to you?” he threw his arms out. “Did I say I wanted an assistant? I even tried to fire you over the phone."

He's saying it like it made the situation better, Y/N thought. Bruce rubbed his forehead, trying to calm down and rationally get out of this situation. "Listen, this obviously isn’t a good match for either of us. Why don’t I just have Alfred get you a different job?”

“Oh, so you won’t even do that yourself? You’ll make poor Alfred fire and rehire me.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you in office!” she exclaimed. “I bust my ass every single day trying to save your reputation, which I’m doing as a favor to Alfred, by the way. I sit in meeting after meeting, looking like an idiot because my boss can't even find the time in his ‘busy schedule’ to be there. Do you honestly, and I mean so honestly, think someone else will hire me when I haven’t even done my actual job yet, which is assisting you in case you weren’t aware?”

He paused after her outburst, looking at her with an unbothered stare, “Wow, great performance. Did you rehearse that?”

“I should have known you’d be much worse in person than you are over the phone.”

“Then why even bother showing up,” he tilted his head.

“I actually really enjoy this job, despite everything, and I’d really like to not lose it.”

They both paused and said nothing, staring each other down. It felt like a standoff, and the silence was slowly killing her. If anyone can play the quiet game, it’s Bruce Wayne. You know, since he’s been doing it and winning for the past two weeks.

“I swear to god,” she broke, groaning. “It does not have to be this painful. I won’t schedule meetings until noon if you want to sleep in. I’ll make you a to-do list. You can even get on Zoom calls from the comfort of your own home if it makes you happy, but please don’t make my life more difficult than it already is.”

There was another beat of silence, and she couldn’t even tell if he was mulling it over. His face held no expression as he just stared at her silently. It was kind of unnerving. Eventually, he turned to leave the office, and she thought she might cry out in frustration. But, he sighed, dropping his head, and stopped. “I will be at the office from twelve to three on Monday. No more. No less.” It looks like she did end up catching his attention.

tag list: @pank0w @padsfirewhisky (let me know if you want to be added to the tag list in the comments below)

#batfam #bruce wayne x reader #batman #batmom #bruce wayne #batboys x reader #slow burn

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peachybeom · 1 year

Text

Valentine Blues

Taehyun x reader

ex-best friends to lovers

Please reblog if you like this!

You were currently experiencing the worst day ever and were about one more tragedy away from having a breakdown.

Huffing violently you stood in the middle of an alleyway, watching your home route bus disappear with the main traffic.

Your phone beeped at the same time and you reached for it while taking rest on a wall nearby.

[10:51pm] Roomate.

Hey Y/n,

I just wanna thank you again for staying out tonight!! Because of you me and Josh can FINALLY enter the home base tonite and get extra juicy iykwim ;)))

Happy Valentines day babes!

Okay yeah now you can feel the breakdown coming.

You were so engrossed in storming all the libraries in town, looking for a specific book for your asshole Professor, to get him to reward you some extra credit, that you had conveniently forgot the stupid promise you had made to your roommate.

As much as you wanted to crash on the soft mattress of your bed and mute the world for rest of the weekend, you weren't desperate enough to walk into your roommate having sex with her co worker while roleplaying as a nurse.

In your peripheral vision, you could see couples huddled together, walking hand in hand. Some sharing an ice cream, others practically devouring each other with their intense stares.

Love was definitely in the air, and it made you nauseous. It wasn't that you were anti love or something, in the past you actually looked forward to this cliche holiday.

But recently you had managed to convince yourself that after several bitter breakups and unrequited crushes, being in a loving, healthy relationship seemed just impossible for you at this point.

Shaking your head, you pushed aside all the pointless worries and tried to focus on your current problem which was being homeless for the night.

You racked your brain to think which one of your crackhead friend would be available to offer you a lodging.

Kai? No. You knew he had plans with his girlfriend in her dorm to watch some random Disney movie and cry like a baby while she consoled him.

Soobin? Doubtful. His still had problems prioritising his girlfriend over odi, so that was a territory you didn't want to enter.

Beomgyu and Jeongin? Never. Those two would definitely be somewhere wasted in a club while they humped their way through another round of beer pong. They had actually tried to convince you for an entire week to join them at the club tonight and form a 'Singles Union', An association which helped each other to get laid. No way you were walking into that trap again.

That left you with Yeonjun- ehhhh. You actually had no idea what he was upto. Last time you heard from him, he was 'Single like a Pringle and definitely ready to Mingle'- his words not yours.

Sighing, you crossed your fingers as you dialled his number on your phone. Hopefully he could be your saving grace.

After a few rings he picked up the phone.

"Hey Junnie, I know it's kind of late and well.....Valentine's day but I really really need a favor from you," You said rushing your words. The cold weather was definitely peeking under your raging emotions.

"Oh hi Y/n, yeah sure what's up," Yeonjun replied, in a whisper.

"Yeah so I actually- I hear a woman's voice. Are you on a date?," You asked, cutting off your own words.

"Yes I am, but I can help you. What's the problem?" He answered.

To this you stifled a laugh. Choi Yeonjun on a date? The no strings attached Choi Yeonjun taking some lady out to have a nice dinner? This day was getting more trippy minute by minute.

"It's a speed dating thing. Now tell me what do you want, I don't have much time." Yeonjun said in an annoyed tone, taking the silence as a way of you teasing him.

Ah that makes so much more sense.

You almost felt bad for interrupting Yeonjun on his 'date' but you knew he was the only one who could save you right now.

So you told him about your problem.

"Hmmm you are aware that you can just crash at my place right? You already know where the key is kept, I won't be home for the night anyways" Yeonjun stated matter of factly.

Your ears perked up at his suggestion and you almost cursed yourself for not thinking about it earlier until a face flashed up in your mind.

"And what about Kang Taehyun?" You questioned grimly.

"Beggars can't be choosers Y/n. Besides it's not like he's the spawn of Satan." Your friends responded.

"But Yeonjun-,"

"Listen I have to go but consider this. It's not like you have any other option. Byee happy love day!" And then Yeonjun abruptly ended the call.

You groaned loudly and stomped your feet like a baby, earning glances from a few pedestrians. But you couldn't care less about them.

You started to weigh your options.

Spending a night at a run in shady motel full with horny couples or with your friend's roommate, the annoying, son of a gun- who also happened to be your ex bestfriend, Kang Taehyun.

After giving both of them intense thought. You decided to swallow your pride and take up Yeonjun's offer. Atleast his bed would be free of mysterious bodily fluids unlike the motel's.

After almost walking for half an hour- a consequence of missing the bus earlier, you finally reached Yeonjun's apartment.

Your feet were giving up on you and your teeth began to clatter lightly due to the cold February weather.

You could hear faint music from the other side of the door.

Great. Taehyun was home.

You weren't surprised though.

Even though you despised Taehyun, you decided to knock on the door instead of unlocking it out of common courtesy.

Nothing happened for a few moments and you knocked again. Still nothing.

Growing impatient you reached for the key and was about to use it when Taehyun opened it.

Correction: A very shirtless dripping wet Taehyun, with a towel around his waist opened the door.

"Lover boy isn't home tonight," Taehyun started with a stern tone. Oblivious to the fact that he was basically half nude standing in front of you.

"I-uh," You gulped, trying to compose yourself.

Taehyun is annoying and irritating and an asshole. His chiseled abs could not facade his shitty personality.

"Yeonjun said I could stay here tonight, Now move." You continued before making your way inside the apartment.

You did feel a bit intrusive and rude but your day had already been a mess and dealing with Kang Taehyun was icing on the cake.

Ignoring and engaging in minimum conversation with him was your goal.

Reminiscing the comfy feeling of a bed, you made a beeline for Yeonjun's room and turned the knob to open the door.

"What the fuck," A string of curse words left your mouth as you saw the room before you.

It was completely trashed and the stench of freshly applied paint almost made you dizzy.

"Yeonjun's room is being renovated, didn't he tell you that?" A voice mocked you from behind.

Taehyun was now leaning against the door frame -now fully dressed- and drying his hair with a hand towel.

You wanted to cry. You knew that this proposition was too good to be true. Breaking down over a trashed room was childish but anyone in your place would feel the same way. Everything was getting on your nerves.

There was no way you could sleep in the living room too, your fingers were already numb and your throat felt scratchy.

"I'm gonna kill him," You muttered under your breath before taking your bag and making your way to the exit only to be stopped by Taehyun midway.

"Hey I can't let you leave. Yeonjun would kill me, also not to forget you are sort of homeless aren't you?" He said raising a hand.

Your eyes widened. So he knew, great.

The last thing you wanted to be infront of him was vulnerable and embarrassed, but here you were.

As much as you hated to admit it, he was right you didn't have any other choice.

"So where will I sleep?" You asked raising an eyebrow, refusing to admit defeat.

"In there," Taehyun replied pointing to his bedroom.

"No way I'm sharing a bed with you. You pervert, " You answered him in disbelief.

But the thing was even though you hated Taehyun, you knew that he won't make a move on you without consent.

Deep down you still trusted him.

You, Yeonjun and Taehyun went way back. They were the first two people you ran into on your first day of college, when you were a naive, insecure friendless student. They were the ones who took you in and made you feel welcomed.

"Oh no, You'll take the floor," Taehyun answered bringing you back to reality.

What?

You stared at him blankly as he broke out in a fit of laughter.

"God it feels so good to have the upper hand," He continued.

Suddenly the thought of walking home alone and witnessing your roommate doing the dirty didn't phase you anymore.

So once more you picked your stuff and started walking towards the door when you felt Taehyun grab you wrist.

You'd had enough. Fuck avoiding him.

"What the hell do you want Taehyun. I've already had a crappy day as it is, spent my entire day searching a useless manuscript for that Professor dimwit, ran two fucking stations only to miss my bus home and walked here in this freezing weather with people sucking off each other's face all around me. So No, I don't have the energy to deal with your petty humiliations. Let go." You turned around lashing at him.

Your fists were bawled and your lips quivered. Taehyun always worked you up, he made you feel weak and vulnerable and you hated him for that.

Something changed in Taehyun's expression and his eyes softened. He loosened his hold on your wrist as you pulled it away from him.

"You can take the room. I didn't plan on sleeping there anyways, got some assignments to finish," Taehyun finally spoke up, his voice soft and laced with guilt.

You stared at him for a minute too long and then without saying another word you made your way to the room and shut it behind you.

You sunk down on the floor, once inside.

Grabbing a fistful of your hair you let out a shaky breath.

This wasn't fair. While the rest of the world was busy celebrating love and happiness with their significant others, you were left here moping in the bedroom of the boy, one you managed to successfully detach and despise in your mind for almost a year now.

The reason you were so hostile towards Taehyun wasn't because he was sort of pretentious or his face was too annoyingly perfect, it wasn't because he was so calm in situations where one shouldn't be.

The true reason was that Taehyun made you feel things that you would never allow yourself to feel.

Everything thing he used to do drove you wild. Made your heartbeat like crazy whenever he was around you, the touch of his hands, the small comforting smiles which adorned his face when your eyes met.

You were always rational with your love life, never reaching for places you couldn't but Taehyun was an exception.

He led you on, starred in all your hopeful fantasies and dreams but then left one day only to leave them shattered on the ground.

"Y/n I think you've got it wrong. It's best for us to remain friends don't you think? Best friends can't hurt each other,"

Except Taehyun was wrong. Best friends can hurt each other, they can leave scars which can take ages to heal. Those words still haunted you to this day.

He had rejected you that day.

But it wasn't the response that upset you the most, it was the shitty excuse he gave you, because the promise to remain friends was just as difficult. You could never look at him the same way again, the pain eventually grew into hatred and here you were now.

Holding back tears, you finally looked around the room. Nothing had changed since the last time you've been here, Taehyun had always been a pretty minimalistic person. Everything felt the same except for two photo frames which were placed on his bedside table.

You went up and examined the two pictures closely. One was of the day when Yeonjun, Taehyun and you decided to take a spontaneous road trip to your home town. A smile spread across your lips as you recalled the happy memories.

However it was the second picture which earned a gasp from you. In it, you were shoving a handful of Chocolates into Taehyun's mouth laughing while he looked at the camera with mischievous eyes, hands wrapped around your arms.

You couldn't understand why Taehyun would still keep this picture with him, nevertheless framed and on his bed side table.

Before you could think about anything else, you felt a knock on the door. Startled you dropped the frame on the bed and went ahead to open it.

Taehyun stood there in front of you, holding a jumper in his hands.

"I have to grab some books and here, I figured you would be cold," His expression still apologetic.

His hair was messy and a hint of sleepiness evident in his eyes.

You took the sweater from him and moved to the side to let him in.

Your heart skipped a beat when you brought the jumper closer to your face. It smelled like him.

"I'm sorry Y/n. I acted like an asshole earlier," Taehyun said minutes after, eyes still settled on his giant bookshelf.

For a moment you didn't know how to respond but then you spoke,

"I'm sorry too for lashing out on you, it's just today's been a pain in the ass for me,"

As you were speaking you realised, how much time it had been since the two of you spoke without bickering, let alone apologize to each other.

"I thought you'd probably be out tonight celebrating," He continued now looking at you.

You scoffed at this.

"My love life has been in shambles since forever," you replied letting out a pathetic laugh.

Since you.

"Same for me, if that makes anything better,"

Even though the three of you did not hang out together anymore. Yeonjun always used to give you updates on Taehyun's life even though you pretended not to care.

You had no idea where this conservation was leading. At any moment you could ask him to leave, but there was piece of you that wanted him to stay just like it did a year ago.

"Actually I- uh got something to give you, just a second," Taehyun said abruptly before leaving the room.

He exited the room in such a hurry that you didn't even have time to process what he said.

Something for you? What could it be? The thumping of your heart making it hard to concentrate on anything.

The door opened again and this time Taehyun returned with a mug in his hand.

He stood beside you next to the bed and placed the mug in your hands.

"What's this?" You asked him, puzzled.

"I know the circumstances aren't the best but I couldn't break the promise," Taehyun replied, his expression soft and a little embarrassed.

You still couldn't get it.

"I can't cook or bake to save my life so here's some hot chocolate instead....Happy Valentines Day Y/n."

That's when it hit you. A few years ago you and Taehyun had made a made a pact with each other, for every valentine's if either of you were single or sulky the other person's job would be to look out for them and cook them a 'comfort' food of their choice.

Taehyun remembered. Of course he did, that explains that picture he kept on his nightstand.

You were overwhelmed to say the least.

"Hopefully this makes everything just a bit better," Taehyun finished off.

That's when you heard your own sniffs and felt a tear running down your cheek.

Taehyun looked at you with a panicked expression as he sat beside you and opened his mouth to say something but you cut him off.

"I can't do this anymore Taehyun, it's too unbearable. I did everything to get over this Despised you, avoided you but I'm just so weak. I'm pathetic," Even though your vision was blurry, you could still clearly see Taehyun's sculpted face in front of you.

It was pathetic really. The facade you managed to pull off for so long came undone the moment he confronted you.

Beomgyu and Jeongin would probably laugh their heads off and label you a loser if they ever got to know about this.

But Taehyun pulled you into a hug, his warm embrace enveloping the whole of you.

"Don't say that, I hurt you and it's my fault. I was a coward Y/n, I didn't want to ruin or complicate things but it only caused pain for both of us,"

He pulled back to face you.

"I know I can't ever make up for the things I said that day, but- fuck it I miss you. There are so many things I want to say that I couldn't back then but most importantly Y/n I- I love you."

Although your mind was an emotional mess. Hearing those three words from Taehyun made the butterflies in your stomach wild. The school girl crush, the giddy feeling you felt everytime Taehyun was near you returned.

"Same," you blurted out meekly not trusting yourself to form coherent sentences.

This earned a wide grin from Taehyun, giving a perfect view of his pearly white teeth and adorable eye whiskers.

He placed a hand on your cheek, wiping the tears and then leaned in dangerously close.

"May I?" He whispered against you lips and without thinking twice you smashed your them against his. This exact moment, you dreamt of it countless time. Being in Taehyun's arms was something you thought you could only see in your dreams. Actually you still weren't sure if this all was real or you were just lost in another dreamland. .

"I've missed you so much y/n oh my god" Taehyun breathed against your lips.

What eventually started soft and slow turned hot and steamy in a matter of seconds. Hands roaming all over and your entire body melting into his.

When Taehyun slipped his hands under your jumper to take it off you suddenly pulled away from him, breaking the kiss.

"What happened, did I do something wrong?" Taehyun asked with a worried look.

You shook your head quickly and pointed to the mug now placed on the nightstand.

"The hot chocolate will get cold," You replied.

Hearing this, Taehyun visibly relaxed and entwined his fingers with yours.

"I can make you a thousand cups of hot chocolate later but right now let's focus on us," He said in a deep voice, laying you down further on the bed.

"Am I really going to get laid with Kang Taehyun on fucking Valentine's day? Past us would be cringing so hard," You teased him further.

Taehyun replied by burying his face in your neck.

"Happy Valentines Day baby. Lets believe in love again."

The next day when you woke up to a naked Taehyun sleeping peacefully beside you. You had to pinch yourself to convince yourself that this wasn't a dream.

Never in a million years you thought such a disastrous day could have such a perfect ending.

Taking a sip of the cold chocolate milk from the night before, you started down at his beautiful face.

He gently stirred beside you, eyes opening slowly.

"Good morning, you're real" He speaks in a hoarse voice, eyelids still heavy with sleep.

"Yes Tyun, I am" You smiled at his cute state.

Taehyun pulled you closer to his side and whispered in your hair, "Did I tell you, you make all my problems go away"

"Speaking of problems-" You started but were cut off by the loud bang of a door opening.

"Hey Taehyun, Did Y/n come here- WHAT THE FUCK MY POOR EYES. DO YOU TWO NOT KNOW THERE ARE OTHER PEOPLE LIVING IN THIS HOUSE" Yeonjun screamed covering his eyes.

You giggled at Yeonjun's mortifying reaction and slipped yourself deeper into the sheets.

"You're the one walking in without knocking, get the fuck out yeonjun" Taehyun screamed back, throwing a pillow at his direction.

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hoesandnuggs · 1 year

Text

It’s a Funny Story, Actually…

Please be kind, this is my first imagine

———

When you had first got involved with Leah, you were both 15. You'd met at an England camp and became friends, soon becoming more as you both realised you cared for each other a little more than you did for others. By the time you'd both had your 23rd birthdays, you'd been together for 8 years, longer than some marriages last.

You knew from the moment you met her you wanted to be hers for life. So the conversations you had about marriage and your future life together weren't anything terrifying.

When Leah had been asked to do an interview about your relationship, she felt happy.

It's not like she didn't already share you with the world. She was so proud to be yours and never shied away from public affection. She'd happily post pictures of you both, as well as kissing you after games, or mentioning you in passing comments in interviews.

"Baby, I've been asked if we can talk about our wedding and stuff. Are you okay with that?" She'd asked you as soon as she'd found out what it was about.

"Yes my love, it's all okay. Just don't make me look bad," you joked, curling her into your arms even more.

"We've never really spoken about it before," she replied, a thoughtful look gracing her features.

"Its never been the right time I guess." You responded, kissing her cheek gently before finding her hand where her wedding band stood proudly.

"I never imagined getting married until I met you," she said, a smile forming on her lips as she looked down at you from her higher ground on your lap.

"Save all the nice things for the interview babe."

And she did.

She was upset that you weren't able to come with her as originally planned, but a meeting with your agent had sprung up last minute and you couldn't find a work around.

"Leah, great to finally meet you." The interviewer said, whilst the crew were setting up the cameras. She engaged in small talk, as a text from you finally came through.

Lover🤍

Goodluck my love. I know you'll be just fine. I'll pick you up afterwards and we can go grab some dinner. You'll do fantastic as always. Miss you. Love youuuuu❤️❤️❤️

To: Lover🤍

Thank you love. Dinner sounds lovely, I'll hopefully be done by 7, but I'll text you as soon as I know anything. Miss you too. Love you toooooo🤍🤍🤍

Leah smiled as she put her phone away, waiting for the interview to start.

"So we're here today with Lioness Captain Leah Williamson, a different kind of interview than you're probably used to. Today we’re talking relationships."

"Yes so I've only ever had one relationship, the one I'm currently in. I met my wife when we were both 15 at an England camp, and we've never looked back since."

"So that's 10 years you've been together?"

"Yes, 10 years next month actually. "

"So you and your wife, Y/n Williamson, formerly Y/N L/N, got married 2 years ago?"

"We we're both 23, already been together for 8 years and we just knew it was the right next step. We got a lot of people commenting on it, saying we were to young to commit to the rest of our lives but when you've been with someone for that length of time, you just know, and we did."

"Did you propose or did she propose to you?"

"She proposed to me, although, it's a funny story actually."

———

You knew how close she was with her family. That was perhaps the only reason you stood outside the door of Leah's childhood home about to ask for her hand in marriage.

You were nervous, slightly. Amanda loved you, like her own, often telling everyone about her three kids, which brought a bit of confusion when they met you.

"Are you ever going to knock?" Amanda asked as she cracked open the front door. The smile on her lips wouldn't last long.

"No," her frown evident as she sat opposite you over the breakfast bar.

"We're ready." You tried, but you could tell that Amanda was stubborn with her choice.

"I won't deny that you are y/n, I know you're ready to take that next step, I just don't think Leah is. You're both only 23, you're still so young, you don't have to rush. Marriage is a big commitment, judt think about it some more," Amanda explained, but your heart had already shattered.

You weren't really expecting her to say no, and had the whole thing already planned out, the ring sat safely hidden away in your bedside draw, where you knew she'd never look. You knew Leah would love the date you had planned, and instead of wasting the cancellations you took her on it anyways.

Leah had butterflies from the moment you'd asked to take her out.

After your conversation in bed a month or two back, she'd been waiting for you to take her out and ask her to be yours forever.

The flowers that had arrived at her door were the first sign, the most beautiful bouquet of roses she'd ever seen.

And then you showed up at her door, dressed to the nines and a smile painted on your lips.

"God, you're so beautiful," you said with a smile, Leah's heart beating at a unknowing pace.

The compliments didn't stop there, and neither did the romance. Every stop in the journey, Leah waited for this to be the location you dropped to your knee and asked her you be yours.

But you never did.

As much as Leah loved the date, she'd also felt her heart break as it came to an end and she still didn't have a ring on her finger.

She didn't sleep that night, wondering if she hadn't been obvious enough in her approach. But you'd literally sat in bed on night and told each other that you were ready, that you'd only ever want each other. Maybe you just hadn't been ready just yet.

Her thought ran wild as she slept peacefully on her chest, her hand running through your hair.

"Are you sure you don't want to come?" Leah asked, hugging you from behind as you washed up the dishes you'd dirtied from breakfast.

"It's okay baby, I've got some things to take care of this afternoon. Maybe if you're still there at dinner I'll pop over." You smiled, giving her a kiss as she sighed.

It wasn't like you to miss family time. Especially when Amanda was making one of your favourites. Leah chalked it down to some of the stresses you'd had with your agent over the last few weeks, trying to cement a contract that you were worthy of at Arsenal, so you could stay with her.

"The pictures you sent me were lovely," Amanda said as she sat at the table with a tea in her hand, a juice for her daughter who still didn't drink hot drinks.

"Yeah it was amazing," Leah sighed, the frown that graced her forehead for a few seconds was not missed by her mother.

"Okay," she longed out, "that wasn't the reaction I was expecting."

"It was amazing, the most romantic date we've ever been on, and I thought she was going to propose, and she just-" Leah's heart sank, her head fell into her hands as she tried to contain her tears, therefore missing the reaction from her mother.

"She just what?" Amanda said, her hand squeezing lightly on her daughters shoulder in a weak attempt of comfort.

"She just didn't. We've literally spoken about it. I told her I only want her, that I'm ready. She said she was too and I guess I thought she meant she was ready now." Leah still hadn't been able to understand it, but seeing her mothers face made her question what she'd thought of you.

"Would you have said yes?" Amanda asked.

"Without a doubt. I don't want to wait another second." Leah replied.

Your phone buzzed a few seconds after your girlfriend had text you to let you know she was on her way home and that she'd pick up a Nandos for you both on her way back.

You assumed it would be Leah again, but was surprised when you saw Amanda's name on your screen.

"I'm sorry," she said before you even had chance to say hello.

"What have you got to be sorry for?" You laughed slightly, trying to hide your fear. What if she'd said something to Leah and she was coming back to end it.

"I said she wasn't ready and I was wrong, she is ready. You're both ready and I had no right to tell you otherwise. Go get the ring and do it." Amanda rushed down the phone, you could tell she was upset with herself.

"I've already got the ring, Amanda." You laughed.

"I'm home baby," Leah called, kicking off her shoes and heading straight to the kitchen to plate up your food.

"Babe?" She asked when you hadn't responded, only to find you stood in the garden, the fairy lights you'd hung up on the fence when you'd first moved in a-light.

"Darling, what's all this?" She asked as she made her way outside, confused by the roses in your hands.

"I love you," you started, as you handed her the roses. She gave them a sniff before she took in your nervous form. Placing them on the small outdoor table you had, she took your hands in hers, thanking you with a light kiss.

"I love you too." She said with a smile.

"This isn't what I had planned, but I can't wait another second." Still with your hands in hers, you dropped to one knee, only letting go to find the ring that was burning in your back pocket.

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you. 8 years is not enough time to have loved you, and I want to have the opportunity to love every single year you spend on this earth. You are my everything Leah and I-" you stopped when you felt a wet drop on your hand and looked up to find her crying.

"Please don't cry gorgeous," using your thumb to wipe away the tears on her cheeks.

"They're happy tears, I promise," she spoke through a sob. "Ask me." She demanded.

"Leah, will you make me the happiest girl alive and be my wife?" You ask.

She nods her head, slowly at first, but it quickly turns into a vigorous shake.

"Yes! Yes, yes," she said as she gives you her hand and allows you to slip the ring onto her finger.

She smiled at it for a second, before throwing herself into your arms.

"I thought you were going to propose the other day," she said, calming down enough to speak.

"It's a funny story actually."

To: Mum

She did it🤍

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #woso x reader #woso one shot #woso imagine #england lionesses #lionesses

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marveldcmistress · 2 years

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Summary: Reader is married to Charles and pregnant with her/their first child. Having heard tales from the other ladies of court about their husbands taking mistresses during their pregnancies, Reader stays up at night taking care of Charles' needs and tends to the household during the day, leaving little room for rest. When hormones and sleep-deprivation take its toll on the Reader's health, Charles finally confronts her about her once strict self-care routine he had established with her.

A/N: This is based off the post I made on here a few months ago that I decided to just write myself. You can definitely tell I rushed the ending but there’s so much more than I planned to add to it. Enjoy y’all!

Charles was sitting at his desk, returning letters of business, when a knock on his door took his focus away. At the invitation of entrance, his secretary announced his lady wife's personal maid. She seemed anxious, not quite upset but not exactly scared either. Nervous.

“What is it, Elizabeth?” he says, her anxiety setting him on edge. She, besides himself, was the person closest to you. Her job was literally to take care of you. So if she was worried, she would be worried about you. He was already protective of you, but since finding out you were bearing his son (“A mother knows, Charles. I dreamt it.”) his concern for you only grew. You were always a little clumsy, but now your equilibrium is off the bigger your belly gets, and you refuse to sit in bed all day.

(“This is my house as well, Charles. And I will be damned if I do not take care of it myself. What kind of wife would I be if I did not keep the house my husband has so graciously given me?”

He'd always roll his eyes and say “I'd give you the moon and stars if you only ask.”)

He returns his attention to the maid, if something were wrong with you or his child he would do everything in his power to save you.

“Your Grace, I believe Her Grace, my Lady Suffolk, is ill.”

“What's wrong with her?” He stands from his desk, moving past Elizabeth and out of his study. She tries to follow after him, struggling to match his long strides.

“I tried to wake her this morning to break her fast, but she complained of a headache, so I left her to sleep while going to fix her meal to bring to her. She's been so weary these past few weeks. I do see to it that she is eating properly, for the babe. But as I am not with her at night I have no knowledge of her sleeping habits. Is she getting enough rest, Your Grace?”

Her question brings him to an abrupt halt. Flashes of memories pass by his eyes. Images of you naked, full in belly and breast from his seed, passion blazing like the roaring hearth by the bed. You had both been insatiable, you from the hormones (and let's be honest, your sinfully sexy Duke) and him from complete adoration of your changed body. He was absolutely entranced, your breasts were always soft but now they were heavy with milk, the rest of your body plush with motherhood. You were glowing, a shining star in his dark world of politics and betrayal. You spend hours making love, fucking, and everything in between.

To know that he may be the reason you no longer rest brings him immense guilt. He knew you had issues sleeping before you got pregnant, and you worked so hard during the day. He constantly tried to get you to slow down, relax.

(“Charles if I am not working I will lose my wits. I promise to take care of myself, as well as you, but I must stay busy.” )

And he held you to that promise. When not at court, he kept you both on a daily routine. First with breakfast, either at the table together with servants working around you, or naked in bed with tea, basking in the morning sun. He'd never believed more in heaven than those moments with his angel. Then you would reluctantly leave each other to go to work, you to the kitchens to help prepare dinner before moving outside. You adored your gardens, ones he spent a good fortune on as your wedding present. He would go to his study or around the villages, answering letters to the King or speaking with those under his rule. He tried to be as fair of a leader as possible, having been a lowly man once. You would both break for an hour to lunch, taking a quick roll in the hay before finishing any other duties. After dinner, usually spent in your room by the fire, you take a bath together. You talk about your day, the baby, make love, then finally wash when the water has gone cold. Usually you would then fall asleep in each other's arms, but with both of your passions being so high you would still be up for hours stoking the fire.

He felt so selfish. How could he have neglected you for his own sexual gain? He should have known better, your health was vital to his child's. For the sake of his sanity, you and his child must stay healthy and safe. He rushes even faster to your chambers, worry etched all over his features. He must correct his wrongs, for his wife and heir.

You startle awake when your chamber doors burst open. You were just having a dream of Charles and your son, strolling through the spring blooms of your garden. The babe was small, clearly just born, and Charles was glowing in the sunlight. Your heart couldn't be more full of love, your husband and your child in perfect bliss. You look to the doors, wondering what kind of commotion could have taken you from such happiness. Charles is rushing at you, the crease between his brows the only thing you can decipher before he is crowding your space, hands on your back to help you sit up.

“My love? What's the matter?” you ask, reaching to smooth the wrinkles in his forehead. Blue eyes bore into yours, full of anxiety. You always loved how expressive he was, never hiding how he felt from you. When he had first proposed the offer of marriage to your father, you were afraid to end up in a love-less marriage with a stoic, stone faced husband who wouldn't give you a second glance. After getting married, Charles had put together a private dinner in your chambers, where he discussed what he wanted from this marriage, and asking of you what you expected from him.

(“I wasn't the best husband to my first wife, for which I regret. I would like to change that with you.” ) That is when you fell in love with your husband. He was the exact opposite of everything you feared you would have to endure the rest of your life.

His hands coming to cup your face brings you back to the present. “I should be asking you that, dear wife. Elizabeth said you would not rise for breakfast. Are you unwell? Is it the baby?” he asks. The words would not stop tumbling from his lips, hands caressing your body in search of anything abnormal. When he saw no physical signs around your abdomen, he looked to your face. The dark purple circles under your eyes was proof of just how exhausted you are. But you are stubborn, and while he loves that about you, it can be frustrating at times. Like right now.

“I'm fine, my love. I just required a little more sleep today, I suppose.” you mumble, putting on a bright smile for him, though it didn't reach your eyes. He knew you well enough that you were lying to him. It didn't anger him so much as just heighten his anxiety. Why would you lie to him about how you feel?

“Elizabeth said you've been lethargic.” he tries to argue. You huff, turning your face away so he doesn't see the sudden change in your demeanor. You have been more tired lately. Between growing your child, keeping the house, and trying to match your husband's stamina, there was no energy left. Each day felt like a struggle, so much to do but no motivation to do it at all.

“I'm fine, Charles. Just a headache that needed some sleep to get rid of. Nothing to fret over.” you brush off his worry, standing to move to the wardrobe to dress for the day. What you don't see though, is the way he takes in your hunched form, your adorable waddle only so cute to an extent.

“If you insist, love. Why don't you take a rest day, stay in bed? The house is already clean and I'm sure Elizabeth can handle the kitchens.” The dominant side of him wanted to demand you stay in bed, but he knows that trying to command you to do anything is futile. He had tried to command you once, and you had laughed in his face.

“I can't today. My rose bushes need trimmed, the house needs decorated for the upcoming harvest celebration, and the menus for His Majesty's visit needs prepared. I have too much to do.”

Charles stood from the bed, knowing that trying to keep in you in this room would only lead to an argument, of which you had only had two in your entirety of your marriage. The first had been a mis-communication, if you were to ask his wife. He was not in the wrong the first time. You had been at court, attending a party while the King and your husband were “working”. A wife of the visiting French Ambassador was giving your husband eyes all night, raising something from inside you that you never want to feel again: jealousy. She was a beautiful woman, flawless skin and shiny, perfectly curled hair. You would have been quiet throughout the night, reminding yourself of the talk you had that night he discussed your relationship with you. You had heard of his infidelity with his first wife, he had even admitted it to you. But he had promised to be faithful to you, to never break your trust, all he had asked of you was to have faith in him. You had agreed, seeing no reason to begin your marriage with something as detrimental to it as trust issues. You had remembered that promise all night. Until she opened her mouth.

“You know, I took him from his first wife. I wonder if I could take him from his second?” she smirked behind a goblet of wine. You didn't know, but Charles had just walked up behind you, catching the very last of her statement. Your shoulders tensed, a fire lighting within you. Charles would always say there are two personalities inside of you. The quiet, obedient court mouse, who only comes out in society. And the fierce little lion out in the countryside. At court you portrayed the dutiful Duchess so well, he thought you were a different person when he finally got you home.

“Madame. I believe the man you met long ago is no longer the man you see now. But if you so wish to test my assumptions, please feel free to do so. Though I warn you, I don't like my judgment being challenged in such a way. So seduce my husband. I dare you.” you growled the last words, catching the attention of the King. Henry had adored you, admired the fire in your spirit when he visited you at Suffolk Manor, witnessing you putting Charles in his place in such an elegant way. Two pairs of blue eyes watched the interaction, fully prepared to defend you if need be. They both knew you could handle yourself, but with this being a treaty meeting between the French and English, they had to keep it from escalating to the point of another war.

“Mademoiselle,-”

“You may address me as Her Grace, or My Lady Suffolk. The man you knew before was of no title. MY HUSBAND, of whom you speak now, is a Duke. YOU, madame, are below us in class, therefore may not speak to us any way you so choose. Remember your place in this court, and remember mine.” with that you excused yourself from the table, not waiting for Henry's permission, leaving the dining hall and going towards the gardens, Elizabeth quickly following after. Charles turned to the King, gaining a quick nod before chasing after you. He got to the entry way to the garden when he spotted Elizabeth sat at the bench at the entrance of the hedge maze.

“She's in there, muttering to herself.” she nods to the maize. He runs in, and after about a minute of walking finds you pacing back and forth, mumbles spilling from your lips and hands flailing at your sides. He had never seen you so irate. The red in your cheeks and chest was so cute. He just wanted to eat you up, until you turned those fiery eyes on him.

“I can't believe you would sleep with a woman like that.” And for an hour he got a tongue lashing he hasn't had since he was child being scolded by his mother. You ripped into him, so much so that he got defensive. Before you knew it you were in each other's faces, voices loud enough you're sure the whole party heard. It was only when you both stopped to take a breath did you finally pay attention to the tension between you, when he grabbed you by the face and kissed you fiercely. That was the night your son was conceived.

The second argument he would admit was his fault. Henry had come to visit, seeking some isolation around company he could trust. And he had perfect timing, you had just found out you were pregnant. It was a joyous day when you told your King he would be the Godfather. Charles and you had discussed it to the fullest extent when the physicians and handmaid told you. If anything were to happen to you, either of you, your son would become the ward of the King. It would ensure he would have a proper education and keep the title of Duke of Suffolk. Everything Charles would have wanted for his children would still come to fruition. Henry demanded to celebrate, calling for wine and ale and food. You had eaten your fill, and as the night grew later, you got more tired. Charles promised to come to bed not much longer after, to which you told him you would wait for him. The maids had helped you dress and prepare for bed, giving anxious glances to you between dresses.

“You both have something you want to say, so please. Do not feel like you must tread carefully around me.”

“We all love His Majesty, as well as His Grace.” Elizabeth starts.

“And we know how happy you are, in this marriage.” Mary, the other maid, starts.

“But?” you ask.

“Well, as you know I came from court, Your Grace.” Mary continues.

“Yes, I remember. What about it?” you ask, slowly starting to get frustrated that no one is telling you anything important.

“Well, it was rumored that when Anne Boleyn was with child, His Majesty took a mistress. Most men of court do, when their wives get pregnant.” you tense in your seat. Your emotions had been almost uncontrollable since conceiving, and the ladies at your side bringing up one of your biggest insecurities was not something you wanted to deal with right now.

You dismissed the ladies, deciding to sit by the fire to wait for Charles to come to bed. You had heard the rumors of court. They were correct, most men at court took to adultery when they found out their wives were having a child. Some used the excuse that their wives were too tired to fulfill their duties. Some had said they did not find her attractive anymore. One had even admitted he never wanted the woman in the first place, but laid with her to produce an heir. You knew Charles loved you, it showed in everything he did for you. Keeping you fed with the best diet, clothed with the finest silks, and satisfied in the bedroom. But if you could no longer provide for his sexual appetite, would he look for someone else?

You waited for hours in the chair by the fire before finally deciding to lay down in your bed, on the edge of your side so as not give the impression you wanted to talk. You had been up all night panicking over your insecurities, and Charles had taken hours to come back to bed. Eventually, you drifted to sleep, only to be wakened by your husband stumbling drunk into your chambers. Your father had been a violent drunk in your teen years and you had prayed you would not land the same fate with your husband.

“MY WIFE!! MY BEAUTIFUL WIFE, WHO WILL BE CARRYING MY SON!!!” Charles shouted, startling you. He was too drunk to notice, falling at your feet unceremoniously. You watched, waiting for him to start yelling again, but there was silence for a moment, before quiet snores emitted from your lap. You look down at your sleeping husband, already starting to drool on your night gown. Confused, you tried to gently move him off of you, only failing at doing so and watching as he drops his torso to the floor, hearing a loud thunk as his skull hit the wood. You tense, waiting for him to wake up and start yelling, only relaxing when he remains asleep. Huffing, you proceed to the door to bring in the guards to help heave Charles into the bed. Once they're dismissed, you pull off his boots but leave him dressed, deciding to be the caring wife and heading to the kitchens for water and food. Your man was going to have one hell of a hangover. But at least he was a happy drunk. You could live with that. Until you saw the mess that was your dining hall.

Charles woke that next morning with a pounding head, and a very pissed off wife staring him down like the devil himself.

“I do not mind you having a bit of fun, getting drunk and celebrating our child. But if my dining hall ever, EVER looks like that again, I swear you will never get this cunt again. Understood?” He simply nodded, already going through the many ways he could make it up to you. Even His Majesty had gotten an earful, of course much more respectfully. The King had paid for the whole house to be refurnished, along with an entirely remodeled nursery for his nephew.

Charles smiles at both memories. Even the rough times were bliss with you. He knows this instance will be mild as well, once he gets to the root of it. He watches you dress and style your hair, catching your eyes in the mirror when you look back at him.

“You don't have to hover all day, Charles, you can go back to work.” You say. His stare un-nerved you, like he was trying to read your mind. He didn't need to know that you had purposefully been feeding his appetite multiple times a night to keep him from finding a mistress. If you kept him satisfied, he should have no need to wonder. It was exhausting, but if that's what it took to keep him faithful to you...

When you're finished dressing for the day, he follows you out of the room, arm around your waist, keeping you close to his side. This, you will not fight. You love being close to him, being wrapped in his warmth and his smell. He escorts you to the kitchens, setting you at a stool and telling you to stay. You watch him gather bread, meat, cheese, and some wine before taking your hand again and leading you out of the house.

“Charles, I really do have chores to be doing.” you say.

“That's why we are having lunch in the garden today. You slept late, so we will eat where you are closest to your first chore.” he states simply. You cannot fault his logic, so you follow him to the tree you both like to sit under. He sets down your lunch before taking off his coat for you to sit on. He helps you down, knowing that you were much clumsier the bigger you get. Once he knows you're settled, he drops himself beside you, pulling you into his side. You melt into him, finding the peace he so happily brings you.

“I know you said you have much to do, but I beg of you, my love, please don't strain yourself too much today. The festival is weeks away and the King doesn't visit for another month. There is still time for planning both.” he mumbles into your ear. You know he is right, harvest was still three weeks away and the King doesn't care about the menu, just as long as he eats.

“I suppose I can focus on resting, but it will not be confined to that bed, Charles. I want to roam, perhaps stay outside and soak up the sun.”

“That is all I ask.” he kisses your forehead before reaching for your lunch and starts feeding you by his own hand. You relish these sweet moments with him. When you both must go to court, he is usually so busy during the day that you get no time to see each other. When he must go away without you, you roam the halls at night praying for a wink of sleep.

You ate and drank for another hour before parting ways. As promised, you stayed in the garden, tending to your flowers and fountains. Charles kept an eye on you through the window of his study. He had the gardens constructed there for that specific purpose. He finished just as the sun was starting to set, having seen you come back only an hour earlier. He knew you were making sure dinner was being prepped to your cravings. You had been demanding meat lately, his hunters and farmers doing their best to keep up. You had apologized profusely when last speaking to the butcher.

“My wife was the same with our boys, give my congratulations to His Grace on his son.”

At nights you had been craving fruit, nudging him awake to fetch strawberries and grapes. He always went happily, even going so far as to start bringing them to the room before you went to bed every night. He'd also make sure to keep water and chamomile tea around.

After a dinner of roasted chicken (in which you ate a whole hen to yourself, he was so proud, you'd been embarrassed,) you bathe. He made sure to tell the maids to add special oils and soaps for relaxation and rest to the water. He started with a massage, going from your neck down your shoulders, before moving you and starting at your feet and ankles. They had swollen so much with each pound gained. You had started to fall asleep from his ministrations, so he quickly finished washing both of you before ushering you to the bed. He tucked you under the covers before joining you on the other side. You snuggle into his side before leaning up to give him a kiss. He kisses back, never one to deny you his affection. You try to deepen the kiss, hands running down his torso to his groin. You just passed his belly-button when he grabbed your hand and moved it back to your chest.

“Not tonight, my love.” he whispers. You recoil your hand as if burned. You don't give him a chance to speak again, rolling to face away from him and tuck the blankets around you. Charles is confused by this reaction, going to reach for you before seeing your shoulders shake.

“My love, are you crying?” he asks. You don't answer, simply moving even further away. You know it's childish, but right now you're too hurt to care. Everything you had been fearing has come to fruition. He no longer wants you, and it's only a matter of time before he finds another woman to warm his bed and wet his cock. You shrug off the hand he puts on your shoulder, and gasp when he grabs around your hips and pulls you back into him.

“Do not brush me off, my love. Tell me what is wrong.” he whispers. It was softly spoken, but a demand none the less. It was one of your own rules, to always speak when you were having an issue together.

“You don't want me.” you whine. He has to stop for a second and process what you just said.

“I'm sorry?”

“I said you don't want me anymore! You've pushed me away, and now you will go find a mistress and leave me with this child alone!” you yell. He flinches back at the volume of your voice, unsure what to do about the tears running down your face. He was never any good at comforting a crying woman, and he feared the further you get into your pregnancy the worse these outbursts will become.

“My love, where is this coming from?” his voice breaks, along with his heart. Had he done something to make you question his devotion to you? Your breaths start coming in quick rasps as you sob, and Charles quickly sits up to take action. He pulls you to his chest, commanding you to match your breathing with his.

“Breathe in, breathe out. You need to calm yourself, wife. Getting excited isn't good for the babe.”

His words resonate in your ears, and the thought of your baby calming you significantly. After a minute of calm breathing, Charles pulls away and put his hands on your cheeks, slowly lifting your face to look into your eyes.

“Tell me what is troubling my dear lady.” he says softly.

“The maids had said something to me. About what happens when a woman is with child. How husbands stop loving their wives, stop sleeping together and having sex. The man finds a mistress and leaves his wife to care for their child alone. Their marriage is over and I can't bear the thought of you never loving me.”

His cerulean eyes well with tears, they hang heavy on his thick lashes as his heart shatters in front of you. He knew these rumors were true, had witnessed the King himself doing so when Anne was pregnant. He could not condemn those men who did, for he himself had been unfaithful to his first wife. But to have his own wife believing such a thing of him ate at his pride. But before he could say something in retort, you continued speaking.

“And I know your appetite, for which I truly adore. So I force myself to try to keep you satiated, so you won't feel tempted to seek another woman. That is why I have been so tired lately.” you admit, so quietly he almost didn't hear you. At first he was angry. You were putting your health and the health of his child at risk for his sexual needs. He loves your devotion to him, but to do it at the cost of his child? But looking at the fear and anxiety in your eyes, he can't stay upset for long. He was validated in his guilt, it had been his fault that you weren't getting any rest. He made you feel like you could not say no to his advances.

“Oh god. Dear, my love, my sweet wife...” he whispers, kissing your face rapidly. You tense, confused as to what was happening. You expected him to be upset, accuse you of being insecure and crazy. You sounded crazy to your own ears now that you say it out loud. But here he is, covering your face and neck in kisses. Your eyes are wide, waiting for him to finish. He pulls back when you don't respond.

“My love. I adore you, and how you adore me. I love that you love to please me, I live to please you. You are bearing my son, the light of my life. I pushed you away tonight for your sake, so you may rest. It is time to start putting yourself first, my love. We can perform our marital duties,” he says those last two words with a smirk, “ during the day. I love you, and wish to have no other. I am more than capable of putting my needs aside so that my woman and my child remain the healthiest possible. I will seek no other woman, because I want no other woman. Do I make myself clear?” he says in a firm tone. It leaves no room for argument, yet still gentle and loving. It reassured you, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was yours. It was everything you needed, validation of your feelings and reassurance that your marriage is strong. You nod your head, putting your hands over his on your face and turning to kiss his palm.

“I love you, husband.”

“And I love you, wife. And I love my son, and any child we have after him. Now, it has been a long day, and you need your rest.”

He lays you both down, arm around your waist and hand on your burgeoning belly. He sticks his nose in your hair, both of you falling asleep contently, glowing with your love.

#charles brandon x reader #Charles Brandon #x reader #reader insert #fan fiction #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x reader

998 notes · View notes

annie-creates · 1 year

Text

One day in a year

Pairing: Lady Lesso x reader (kinda platonic)

Genre: fluff

Words: 900

Note: We got a hundred followers! Thank you so much everyone for the support, likes, comments and requests sent. Here's a birthday fic to celebrate. Maybe I can add another character to my repertoire? What would you think? Who should it be? <3

It started with rain. You hated rain. It got you all wet and cold but without the childish excitement snow did. The weather made you not want to get out of bed, but you were a big girl and couldn’t hide away from your responsibilities just because you didn’t like the climate. It wasn’t even a weekend so the pleasure of sleeping in wasn’t indulged to you. With a heavy sigh you got out of bed, choosing a dress to wear today and leaving for breakfast, hoping there was still some sweets left for you.

Due to your absentminded state you accidentally put salt in your morning coffee. Not realizing your mistake earlier than when drinking the disgusting beverage. That only sunk your mood lower, feeling like a lonely rowboat in the middle of a thunderstorm ocean. Not even the blueberry muffin could pick up your sore mood. You rather went to class earlier than needed, not wanting to risk any more troubles. That proved to be quite of use when you almost crashed into a pillar, obviously not paying enough attention to where you’re going.

Students started to pour in just like the rain outside the window until the bell rang and you made sure everyone was here on time. You looked around your table, looking for your prepared materials for this lesson but finding none. You must have done the preparation, where did it go? You wouldn’t forget about such a thing…

“Ma’am, what about the test?” one of your students reminded you.

“A… test?” you asked confused until the realization downed on you. “Oh, the test! Well, I thought maybe we'll go over the study material for the test once more today and we’ll take the test next class.”

You tried to save the situation, which was celebrated by some, booed by others. You could tell who was happy to have more time to study and who wanted to be done with it already. How could you forget such a thing? You never forgot what you planned to do next time in class, let alone when you planed a quiz! You had to improvise the whole lesson and the ring announcing end of class was probably more freeing to you than it was to your students.

By the time of dinner you had changed your dress since you spilled your lunchtime cup of tea on yourself, two broken nails from trying to open some jars which normally wasn’t any problem for you and a scraped knee due your fall over the rocks in the garden. It was safe to say your day was completely ruined and you were ready to just lay in bed hidden under the blankets waiting for it to pass.

“Can’t I have just one day in a year to be perfect? Just one…” you whined to no one in particular, hoping to sleep the rest of the day away.

Your intentions were interrupted with a knock on your door. Why would anyone come to visit you this late? Can’t the universe just leave you alone already? Giving up on your hopes for a peaceful night, you got up and open the door, not expecting Lady Lesso to stand behind it. But there she was, graceful as always with her long coat and shiny cane. Sometimes you wondered if she was a daughter of a fairy of some sort.

“Can I help you?” you asked concerned, if she was here, it couldn’t be anything good right? Your day was already full of unfortunate events.

“I’ve noticed you haven’t been your usual annoyingly cheerful self today.” Her voice was completely blank as was her face. “And even tho I usually enjoy a piece of quiet, it was weirdly disturbing.”

“Uh… thank you..?” you didn’t know why she’s telling you this. “Did you come all the way here just to tell me you… didn’t like my unhappy mood?”

“Not entirely. I also came to give you this. Guessed it might help to cheer you up today.” She thrusted a small package into your hand turning on her heel. “Good night Y/n.” before you could say anything she already left.

With an inept shake of your head you got back inside your room, inspecting the parcel she gave you. It was packaged in a festive paper neatly tucked around. For a moment you contemplated if it was some type of prank. Will a bomb of glitter go of the moment you tore into the present? No, you were very certain Lesso was not one for glitter. Maybe a pocketknife will jump out and pierce your heart… But would she go all the way here just to slaughter you? You didn’t have any beef with her lately, did you?

With a shrug of your shoulders you opened the gift, a little note falling out on the ground. You picked it up, opening the piece of fancy paper. Happy birthday Y/n. That was all the note said, yet the three words warmed your heart up. She remembered your birthday. And she even gave you a gift. And not just some gift, but a rare edition of your favorite story book in your native language you have never seen before. You hugged the book to your chest, a genuine smile making it’s way to your face for the first time today. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad birthday after all.

#lady lesso x reader #lady lesso #lady lesso fluff #leonora lesso x reader #leonora lesso #lady leonora lesso x reader #lady leonora lesso #the school for good and evil #school for good and evil #tsfgae #sge #fanfiction #fanfic #birthday #celebration

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pleasantlycrazyworld · 1 year

Note

That college fic was wonderful! I was thinking what if billy brought reader flowers if they were stressed?

I don't know if you wanted the reader to also be in college, If you did let me know and I can write this again with them in college

I hope you enjoy if you do please reblog and comment

Billy knew you were beyond stressed and hated that you weren't letting him help. Lately, you've been working overtime at your family business to try and save more money to move out but it seems like the more money you bring in the more things go wrong. The first time you were close to having all the money you needed your brother got sick, and the second time your car broke down. It felt as if the world was against you and all Billy wanted to do was help you feel better.

It was supposed to be date night tonight and when Billy was getting ready you called trying to cancel. "I know it's date night but I was able to pick up an extra shift tonight and I really need it." His brows furrowed What kind of excuse was that? You knew how long he had this planned. He couldn't bring himself to get mad at you, however. "I understand sweetheart...we can just reschedule." He tried to hide this disappointment in his voice, but you could hear it, bringing tears to your eyes. "I'm so sorry I promise I'll make it up to you" He hums and says goodbye before hanging up.

Instead of moping around the house, he still wanted to see you. But before then he needed to make a few stops.

First, he stopped at the gas station and picked you up your favorite slushie and candies, then he stopped at the flower shop and got the biggest bouquet of your favorite flowers. Then he's ready to head to you.

He arrives at your work and makes sure to hide as many of the gifts as he can so it's a surprise. You see him walk through the door and a confused but excited look graces your face making his heart skip a bit, he'll never get over the way you get so excited to see him no matter what.

"Hello gorgeous" he coos, "I have a few things for you." He chuckles at the quiet squeal that passes your lips as you rush over to him. First, he shows you the candy and slushie, and that only made your face light up, "Aw Teddy bear you didn't need to get me these!" you exclaim as you rise to your tippy toes to kiss his cheek. "That's not all baby," he says softly as he steps back to pull out the bouquet.

He smiles seeing how your jaw drops at the sight of your favorite flowers. "Billy... these are beautiful" you start to tear up as you grab them from him. "They're nowhere as beautiful as you are," he says with a smirk. You roll your eyes and smile up at him, "Thank you" There is a small pause before you make a decision he wasn't expecting, "Hold these for me. I need to go clock out." He's brows furrow, "Clock out? But you picked up an extra shift"

You nod, "I know but I already had plans with my teddy bear. The job can wait, we have dinner plans" As you walk away to clock out Billy blushes slightly and smiles to himself. He knows you're struggling but it means so much to him knowing that he means more to you than some job.

Tagging: @b-ritney

If you want to be added to the tag list for when I write for billy let me know!

#billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove #stranger things imagine #gracie writes #anon asked #requested #stranger things fluff #stranger things #my writting

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naradivision · 9 months

Note

Hello! uhhh 🏠 for Fusau

🏠 for a moodboard about my muse’s home aesthetics

I rechecked with @hypster-weebster and verified that this ask is for my moody ex-tycoon, Saigo-san. Well, I’d like to say you totally hit the jackpot there! His house is so far the most interesting one and can be called the Miraitabi meeting place.

So...

❖ Welcome to 『Ajisai Residence』 ❖

Mun’s note: I listen to this song for aesthetic and inspiration in regard to his house's idea 🎶

Warning: somewhat long tidbits below

His place is very well-known among the neighborhood as the “Ajisai Resident” because this area is seemingly surrounded by the lavish number of hydrangea (紫陽花). No one knows why there’s so many of them —Maybe someone intentionally planted them there?

This place isn’t originally his estate. He inherited it from his late mother and she had bought this place a few years before her death.

His uncle, Shūkaidō Minazuki, is the one who brought up this place to him, but the main reason why he decides to move in is because he wants to know more about his mother

This mansion was built in the taisho-roman style which is a mix of beautiful western and eastern retro fashions, so in order to save its grace; he had to go through several contacts with talented remodelers, architects (hopefully, involving WHITE CO.), and traditional craftsmen to revive this place against the tide of time

Yes, like any ancient residence with obscure history; this mansion was rumored at one point to be the ‘haunted’ place. Some passersby indicate their sight of the mysterious lady with long hair and white kimono by the mansion’s window from time to time

However, this rumor soon fades away after he has moved in with his attendant (Bodyguard in disguise), and Saigo himself swears to never encounter any superstitious phenomenon during his stay there. Also, he strongly doesn’t believe in ghosts to begin with

Ergo, this causes some of his clients beg him to accept their believe-to-be stigmatized properties into his care —And that’s maybe why he called his MC name “Tsukumogami” out of annoyance ...By the way, no one knows whether the ghost they saw is the real thing or not

Not only its mysterious atmosphere, this mansion also has so many secret passages built in almost every nook of it. But so far the only one who seems to remember all details of this mansion beside the rightful owner like him is his attendant, Chishio —He is the one who takes care of the security system there

Chishio’s personal room is also hidden in the basement and he seems to enjoy using those secret bypasses to jumpscare other people on a regular basis, both visitors ...and thiefs. Honestly, knowing this man... He is way scarier than ghosts. R.I.P. those burglars in advance

All three of Miratabi crews establish an agreement that they’re going to have dinner together at Saigo’s place for the sake of team bonding (Of course, this was Asahi’s idea)

P.S. More delicious bonus: The “Hydrengea” is also the symbolic crest of his uncle’s household, which I plan to reveal A LOTTT later... I’ve already mentioned few of them somewhere and the members of this weird family are all named in the theme of ‘flowers’.

Thanks for the ask :)

#hypmic oc #hypnosis microphone oc #nara division #miraitabi #saigo fuyugami #saigo aesthetic #house aesthetic #moodboard #moodboard meme #mention of minazuki fam #a.k.a. the house of rain #btw they aren't the new division #oc ask #asks #hypster-weebster

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shallyne · 1 year

Text

SJM Romanceweek Day Seven

Office Crush

I wouldn't dare ending the week with any other ship than my comfort ship. FEYSAAAAAAND! For @sjmromanceweek edited by @midnightgoldstone

Words: 2,783

TW: none

Feyre and Rhys have little crushes on each other and one day Rhys is brave enough to talk to Feyre

Feyre looked at the little piece of paper in her hand. She had turned it and just stared at it, for nearly an hour now, in awe. Awe, and maybe a little bit of shock, because never in her life would she have thought that she would hold this tiny scrap of paper in her hand. It felt sacred, it felt holy. It felt like she held her hopes in her hands. She smiled again when she saw what was scribbled on the paper: Rhysand’s phone number. Feyre took the phone from her nightstand, hoping that she could turn it on now. Her battery was dead when she met Rhysand today, so he had to quickly write his number on a ripped piece from an old bill. They had then parted ways but now that it was charged, she could save his number and text him. Today was the first time they had talked at all. They worked in the same office building but Feyre had just started there a few months ago. Which was enough time to develop a huge crush on Rhys, who was her boss' son. She just watched him sometimes from afar, how effortlessly he seemed to sway people and how his movements seemed so graceful. Today, he stopped at Feyre's desk and started talking about the band shirt she wore under her blazer. A blush had crept on her cheeks, bracing herself for a scolding but he had complimented her and they quickly fell into a discussion about music.

Feyre's smile didn't falter as she typed the message.

>> Hey! It's Feyre, from the office. My phone is fully charged again! It was nice talking to you today

She pressed send before she could change her mind and change things forty times before she sent the exact same text as before. So Feyre just looked at the message and watched as sent turned into seen which turned into writing… she panicked and threw her phone on the foot of her bed, hiding her face in the pillows. She didn't dare look up when her phone vibrated.

Rhys was only half listening to the conversation that Cassian and Mor had during dinner. Knowing his brother and his Cousin, half of it consisted of flinging insults at each other. The whole time Rhys was acutely aware of the phone in his pocket, waiting for a message from a specific person to arrive. Rhys had watched Feyre a few times across the office since she had started at his father's company. He often planned to talk to her but he always found himself suddenly nervous and focused on other tasks, cursing himself when Feyre left the office. He was an idiot. Then he saw her wearing a shirt of his favorite band and prayed that it wasn't just an old or borrowed shirt, he took that chance to talk to her. Rhys finally asked for her number but Feyres battery was dead and Rhys had forgotten his phone in his car, so he quickly wrote down his number. He then had to leave for another meeting and when he was done, Feyre already went home, to his disappointment.

After some drinks, Rhys said goodbye to his family, Mor and Cassian pressing kisses to his cheek, and went to his bedroom. He checked if there was a message he maybe didn't hear, but nothing. Sighing, Rhys threw his phone on his bed before getting rid of his jacket and the tie he already loosened during dinner. He had just opened the second button of his shirt when his phone vibrated. Rhys hurried his bed and snatched the phone up to open the message.

Unknown Number:

>> Hey! It's Feyre, from the office. My phone is fully charged again! It was nice talking to you today

Rhys smiled as his eyes roved over the message again and again, abandoning the last few tasks of the day as he thought about a response. He started writing his response a few times but he deleted and rewrote it because it just wasn't good enough for Feyre. He probably would have spent all evening putting together a response but when he saw that Feyre was online, he put himself together and just answered.

>> Feyre Darling, I'm glad to hear back from you. It was a pleasure talking to you, I hope we can repeat that soon, preferably not between meetings and with a cup of coffee in our hands

He was surprised that the sent under his message immediately turned into seen and she started writing. Rhys let himself fall back in his bed and waited for the message.

Feyre Archeron:

>> a pleasjre indeed! Your calendar is probably packed, so just tell me when you want to grab a coffee

>> pleasure* sorry I have paint on my fingers

Rhys chuckled as he typed his response.

>> My calendar IS packed but I'll always make time for you

Feyre let out a huff when she put the coffee pot back into the machine and picked up her cup. She was tired and even though it ran deep, she wouldn't change anything about it. Rhys and Feyre started texting frequently as he was away on a trip for the last few days. Last night they lost sight of time and when Feyre took a look at the clock, it was suddenly four in the morning and they still talked for a full hour afterwards. Yes, she was tired but if that was the price she had to pay to talk to Rhys, then so be it.

She was glad that there wasn't much going on in the office today. Two days after Rhys went on a work trip, her boss had to travel somewhere too. He took quite a team with him on this trip but Feyre wouldn't ask questions because that was not in her pay range. Since the boss was out, there also weren't any meetings which meant there weren't a lot of people running around.

Grabbing the cup like her life depends on it, Feyre went back to her desk. She threw a quick wave to Aranea as she passed her desk. She's in her mid 50's and one morning they started talking. Aranea told Feyre that she started weaving after she lost her husband and Feyre in return told her about her painting. They became quick friends who gossiped during their breaks about half the office and sometimes, Feyre even joined Aranea when she took her dog to the dog park.

When Feyre neared her desk she was greeted by the familiar sight of Rhys's backside. Shit, shit, shit. She took the time he was typing something on his phone to check her reflection on a glass panel beside her. She should have washed her hair this morning but she wanted to take the time to sleep. Why did she use the time to sleep?! She was tired either way! Feyre fixed her hair as best as she could and then put on her most welcome smile. The moment she turned around, Rhys put his phone down and looked back, directly at her. Feyre's smile became softer as she stepped closer, "Rhysand!" she said.

"Are we back to Rhysand? I thought we left that behind us," Rhys said, humor dancing in his eyes.

Feyre took a sip of her coffee. Did they? They definitely did in private but now they were at work and Feyre assumed here they kept it all strictly professional. She didn't even expect to talk to him during their work times. It was almost like Rhys could read her mind as his gaze became softer and he said, "Rhys is fine."

"Okay, Rhys," Feyre said. "I did not expect you to be back today."

He shrugged. "We seemed to pretty much agree on most things so I was able to fly home earlier," he told her. "I landed about an hour ago."

"And you're already working?" Feyre asked, grinning.

Rhys snorted. "No. I'm here to take you out for lunch."

Feyre looked around the office. The few people that were working did not seem to listen to their conversation. "Rhys-"

"It's just lunch, I promise. As innocent as you want it to be," he said. Feyre rolled her eyes and punched his arm, but she smiled and said, "Alright. Lunch, then."

He smiled brightly and turned her towards the elevators. Feyre quickly put down her cup as he took her hand and pulled her with him. "Now?" she asked. "I can't just-"

"As far as it looked to me, you're done with everything. It's just waiting until your shift is over now. Don't worry, you'll get paid and you won't get in trouble," Rhys said and pressed the elevator button. Feyre threw him a doubting glance and the smug grin that she saw so often was plastered on his face. "I'll make sure of it, I promise."

Rhys did not let go of Feyre's hand as they entered the empty elevator and he pressed the button. He continued to not let go of her hand as he led her to his car. On their way Rhys told her about his flight and the people he met at the meetings.

The restaurant he took her to was wholly different from what Feyre had expected. It wasn't big and fancy, it was a small, cozy restaurant on the Sidra. Feyre was glad because it took away a big part of her nervousness, especially as they entered and Rhys greeted the owner with a hug. She introduced herself as Sevenda and got them a table with an overview of the Sidra. Rhys smiled brightly at Feyre, "Be ready to taste the best food ever made."

"That good?" Feyre asked, smiling.

Rhys's smile didn't falter as he said, "You'll see."

He was right, it was the best food Feyre had ever tasted and Feyre told Sevenda as much when she came checking on them. During their meal, Feyre asked Rhys some questions. After he answered them, he then turned the attention back to Feyre and asked her about the painting she was working on - the painting she had worked on as they talked late at night. She hadn't told him what she was painting and she wouldn't tell him now that it had turned into a portrait of him. She told him about her progress though and he listened as she started talking about unnecessary details. He smiled even though Feyre would think she'd sound like a madwoman.

"What?" Feyre asked when Rhys looked over at Feyre for the fifth time without saying anything.

Rhys put down his fork and wiped his hands on the napkin. "Are you free on Friday?"

"For what?" Feyre asked, as if she didn't know what came next.

"I want to take you out on a date," Rhys said. He played with the napkin and Feyre had the sense that he was nervous; she had never seen him nervous. She smiled softly, "Isn't this a date?"

"Is it?"

"A lunch date."

Rhys huffed a laugh, "It is, I want to take you out on a proper date though, let me be a gentleman."

"I don't know, you already are a gentleman," Feyre said. "But I'm free Friday evening."

Rhys's eyes shone like a thousand stars as he answered, "Perfect, I'll pick you up at seven." He put down the napkin that he nervously played with, "I can't wait."

Rhys had parked a street down from Feyre's apartment because he was way too early. He didn’t want to leave her waiting and left early in case the traffic would be a nightmare. It wasn't, the traffic was fine and he still had half an hour until he was supposed to pick her up, but he would not stand on her front step thirty minutes early like an idiot. He also didn't want to risk her seeing his car already outside and stress her out, so he just parked the street down and waited. He looked at his phone but he didn't actually read anything - his thoughts wandered back to Feyre whenever he tried to focus. He sighed and looked at the time. Twenty nine minutes to go. Rhys sighed and looked at the ceiling of his car and though it seemed impossible in that moment, he managed to kill the next twenty nine minutes and parked perfectly on time in front of Feyre's apartment building. He took a deep breath and got out, walking towards the front door. He definitely should get his shit together soon. Rhys never was that nervous when he went on a date and he didn't want to creep Feyre out.

To his surprise, halfway on his way to the front door the door already opened and Feyre slipped out. She was slightly out of breath when she said "Hey!" Feyre smiled at him. "I saw you parking and already came downstairs."

Rhys couldn't answer directly. He felt like someone knocked the air out of his lungs when he took a look at Feyre. She always looked stunning, but tonight she looked drop-dead gorgeous. So, Rhys just smiled until he found words again, "We should get going, I made a reservation." He held his arm out for her to take and she did. As they walked down the three stairs in front of the building, Rhys spoke into Feyre's ear, so close that he could smell her lilac and pear scent, "You look exquisite, Feyre Darling."

Feyre looked up at him, still a smile on her lips, not trying to hide her blush and answered "You too," she tightened her grip on his arm. "Look handsome, I mean."

"Oh, I know," Rhys smirked. She slapped his arm with her free hand but laughed. The sound reverberated through him and was nearly his undoing, but Rhys caught himself and opened the car door for Feyre.

As they were driving to the restaurant, their conversation was easy - as if they never did anything else.

The whole evening felt extremely easy and comfortable with Feyre. They talked about everything, Rhys talked about his family and Feyre talked about painting. They talked about college and jobs and dreams. Everything.

That evening when Rhys brought Feyre home and was about to get back to his car, she asked him to say. He did.

Feyre could not sit still. She couldn't even stand still at this point. She was walking and jumping and dancing through Rhys's apartment, waiting for Mor, Cassian, Azriel and Amren to arrive. Feyre adjusted the vase with the bouquet of flowers that Rhys got her at least five times. Not because they looked out of place anywhere but because she needed something to do.

Rhys just entered the living room, the only sign that he saw that the vase was moved again was a little smile and a quick gaze in its direction. "Mor is on her way upstairs," Rhys said, stopping in front of Feyre. She smiled, put her hands on Rhys's arms and pressed a quick kiss to his mouth. "Remember that we're waiting until they all arrive to tell them."

Feyre rolled her eyes, "I can be patient." Rhys just chuckled and pulled her closer, kissing her again. Longer than before, softer and patient.

"Stop the smooching, I want to hear about your trip!" Mor interrupted them. Feyre pushed Rhys away, turning to her best friend. "Rhys proposed to me!" Feyre said, grinning brightly.

Rhys muttered something under his breath. Feyre didn't pay much attention to it as Mor threw her arms around her. *Oh my god, congrats! You said yes, didn't you?"

"Of course I did," Feyre said.

Mor laughed as she walked to Rhys and hugged him "What a surprise!"

"Actually we wanted to surprise you all together," Rhys chuckled and looked at Feyre, who grinned and shrugged in return.

"Surprise us with what?" Cassian's deep voice sounded from the entrance. He entered the living room, followed by Amren and Azriel. Amren snorted, "Did Rhysand finally propose or what?"

Feyre and Rhys looked at each other, which was enough for Cassian to let out an excited "Whoop!" followed by him picking up Rhys. Amren walked over to Feyre, taking her hand and inspecting the sapphire ring. She nodded approvingly and said, "Congrats, girl." Azriel hugged her next, congratulating her. Then it was Feyre's turn to get picked up by Cassian. She squealed and slapped his shoulder. "Let me down, you maniac!" she laughed, all the while Mor already opened the champagne.

As they all settled in and calmed down, Feyre slid her arms around Rhys's waist and watched them all, proud to have found her family.

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redskull199987 · 2 years

Text

Save Haven

Silco x gender!neutral Reader

Word count: 0.7k

Warnings: none, this is fluffy

Summary: Meeting Silco in office, after a long day of work, always helps you to calm down...

Masterlist

I walked into the direction of Silco's office, trying to ignore my racing thoughts. Silco had asked me to see him. He only did that if something was wrong. I was nervous, knocking onto his door.

"Don't worry"

I looked up surprised, as Sevika granted me a smile, before leaving Silco's office. I furrowed my brows at her, before stepping inside and closing the door.

"Hello, my Dear", Silco smiled.

"Silco", I replied. My eyes wandered up to the ceiling. My eyes met Jinx' and she grinned at me, waving her hand.

"Jinx, my dear would you grant us some privacy?", Silco asked, eyes wandering up, before Jinx landed on his desk with a heavy thud. I always wondered how his table survived her stunts.

"Will I see you later?", she asked, putting her legs into his lap.

"Of course, dear", he smiled, "I hope you don't mind, I was planning to bring Y/N along for Dinner"

Jinx giggled and clapped her hands:"I'd love to have them over"

She laughed again and jumped up. She came over to me and gave me the biggest hug in the history of hugs, before leaving us alone.

The door closed and I breathed in shakingly. I turned back around and caught Silco starring. His eyes followed my every motion.

"Come here"

His voice was soft and not demanding. It sounded more like an invitation than an order.

I gulped and walked past his desk, stopping in front of him. His eyes lingered on mine for a second, before he looked down at my hand. He reached out for it and softly interlaced our fingers, like he had done it before countless times. I felt him squeeze my hand, pulling me slightly closer to him. A silent plea for me to come closer.

I smiled and carefully sat down on his lap. Silco's eyes wandered over my body, before his hands settled on my waist. I put mine onto his shoulders, but they slowly wandered up, grasping his neck.

Silco chuckled and leaned in closer. His lips graced mine, as he leaned his forehead against mine.

"I missed you", he mumbled.

"Is that why you asked me to see you?", I wondered.

He only nodded, before finally connecting our lips. Even if we had kissed countless times before, I would always feel that firework erupting inside of me, when his lips touched mine.

I felt his hands gripping my waist tightly, pulling me even closer, as he deepened the kiss. Reluctantly, I pulled back for air.

"Someone really missed me", I breathed quietly.

A chuckle left his lips as he pecked my forehead.

"I did, my dear. And as you already know, I was hoping that you'd join us for Dinner later"

"It would be my pleasure", I mumbled against his lips.

His mouth curled into a smiled, as he reconnected out lips. This time, it was more passionate. It felt like, he needed me to survive. Like he was drowning and I was his saving oxygen.

"I love you", Silco mumbled and suddenly pulled away.

His hand rose to caress my cheek and I Ieaned into his touch. I put my hand on top of his. "I love you too", I mumbled shyly.

Silco pulled me into his arms, his hug even topping the one that Jinx gave me earlier. In his arms, I felt save. It was a strange thing to say. Feeling save in the arms of the man, many people of the Undercity feared.

But for me, he was more than just a Kingpin. He was my save haven. A home, I could always return to. He and Jinx had become my family.

"Let's go", Silco mumbled and pulled me from my thoughts.

I smiled and slowly got up. His hand lingered on mine for a second, before he broke contact to grab his coat.

Once, he had all his things together, Silco smiled and put his arm around my waist. He carefully kissed the top of my head, before guiding me out of the office, that I was so scared to enter, just Minutes ago.

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whimsicalworldofme · 2 years

Text

Saving Grace: Chapter Twenty-Eight

Everyone’s feeling the after-effects of playing Never Have I Ever.

“How are you not dying right now?” Grace gave Steve the stink eye as he brought her some ibuprofen and a glass of water. The lights were still off in the bedroom and the blackout curtains were still drawn, but there were slight cracks through which sunlight seeped inside and made her head hurt. It wasn’t the worst hangover she’d ever had, but it was still a headache. The only thing remotely close to distracting her from it was the sight of her boyfriend in just his boxer briefs. “You drank more than me.”

“Apparently I can get drunk but not hungover,” he flashed an apologetic smile, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her and holding out the pills, waiting for her to take them from him before offering the water. “Um…I didn’t propose last night, did I? Everything’s a little fuzzy.”

“Propose?” Grace chuckled, then winced, her head killing her. She took the pills with a sip of water. “No,” she said. “But you did ask why we weren’t already married. In front of my dad.”

“Oh,” he cringed. “Bad move, huh?”

“I thought it was cute,” she admitted shyly, passing the glass back to him. “We have been together almost three years. I don’t think it’s unreasonable that it would come up.”

“Yeah?” He brightened. “Hm,” he set the glass on the nightstand, leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “I don’t know,” he teased, “I don’t know if I could marry a woman who forgot to give me a birthday present.”

“I didn’t forget,” Grace shut her eyes and rubbed her temples, trying to will away the headache. “I planned to give your presents to you after dinner when we were alone together. What I didn’t plan on was you getting too wasted to do anything after the party. They’re on the shelf in my closet if you want to get them.”

Like a child on Christmas morning, Steve popped up off the bed and hurried to Grace’s closet, which she didn’t keep all that much in, since her own room was just upstairs. He insisted however that she keep some clothes there, that way she wasn’t returning to the penthouse disheveled, rumpled, and clearly love drunk.

“How’d you get this up here?” He called from the closet, making her roll her eyes, noting her head didn’t hurt as badly after getting some water in her. “Did you bring your stepstool down from your dad’s kitchen?”

“Ha ha,” she grumbled as he came back into the room. She opened her eyes and saw the stack of wrapped gifts in his hands, looking so much smaller when he carried them. Everything looked smaller in his hands. “If there was any justice in this world, you’d be suffering worse than me right now and unable to joke about my height. Open them top to bottom.”

“Is the noise going to bother you?” He asked, sitting back down on the edge of the bed beside her, the stack of gifts in his lap. “I can wait until the hangover is gone.” He hesitated. “About how long does that take?” He asked, his face screwed up in confusion. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been out with people drinking, so I don’t actually remember. Do you want an ice pack? I heard those help.”

“The headache is already going away,” she assured him, propping herself up. “I usually get over them fairly quickly. Thank my dad’s genetics for that. C’mon, open ‘em. And no saving the paper,” she pointed a finger at him.

“You know I can’t do that,” he laughed and set the stack of gifts on a space of the bed between them before grabbing the first one and gently prying it open, keeping the paper pristine. “Oh wow,” he pulled out a set of artist’s charcoal and a new pocket sketchbook. “These are great quality,” he flipped the charcoal package over and read the back label. “And this sketchbook. Is this cover actual leather?”

Grace nodded, grinning giddily, eager to see how he would react to the rest.

“You went overboard, didn’t you?” He raised a brow at her.

“Just open the next gift,” she plucked it off the stack and held it out for him.

They had a standing rule about birthdays and Christmas, that gifts should be kept to a limit and under a budget of a hundred dollars total. It was something they’d implemented after the iPad. Grace had opted to ignore the rules just this once. Steve had been eyeballing art supplies for months, wanting to experiment with new mediums and styles, but he refused to spend the money on the supplies when he could buy more practical things or save for a house, something he’d been doing ever since he moved in to the tower. Grace watched happily as he opened one gift after the other, revealing colored pencils, paint pens, oil pastels, watercolors, acrylic paint sets, high quality paintbrushes, larger sketchbooks and pads of paper made specially for watercolor or acrylic paints, a tabletop easel, and several palettes for various types of paints.

“Grace,” he murmured her name, completely overwhelmed.

“No, no protesting that it’s too much,” she insisted. “You never would’ve bought this stuff yourself and it will last you forever, so it’s not too much.”

“What else could there possibly be?” He asked, plucking up the last box. He held it to his ear and gave it a gentle shake. “I’ve already unwrapped everything on my art supply wish list.”

“Maybe it’s something not on your wish list,” Grace replied.

She had come out from under the covers, her hangover headache gone. While he pondered over the last gift, she set about organizing and stacking the opened ones, setting them aside so he could put them in his art studio, which is what he called the spare bedroom. He’d bought a secondhand easel off the internet and found canvas artwork at thrift stores to paint over so he didn’t have to pay full price for new ones. Those and his art supplies were stashed in there, along with an old writing desk and his collection of art books. Grace had wanted to do the space up very professionally so it would be an actual art studio, but he wouldn’t let her.

“Are you going to open that or just keep shaking it?” She giggled, seeing him still holding the box to his ear.

“I’m trying to guess what it is,” he said, his face all scrunched up. His expression made her giggle harder. “Well, I can’t figure it out, so I guess I’d better open it.”

Grace watched, trying not to wiggle eagerly in her seat, as he gently peeled off the tape from one of the end seams on the paper and slid the box out. She snatched the paper away from him so he wouldn’t waste time neatly folding it, balling it up and tossing it aside to be dealt with later.

“You’re very excited about this one,” Steve chuckled. “Makes me wonder what exactly is in here,” he set the box in his lap and lifted off the lid, revealing a sealed envelope with the words ‘open me’ written on it. “Ok,” he cast a curious glance at her and she just grinned. He picked up the envelope and tossed the box onto the floor to join the wrapping paper. He slipped a finger under the flap and pried the envelope open. “Whoa,” he turned bright red but a smile lit his face as he pulled out a set of wallet size photos, alternating between gaping at them and gaping at the woman in his bed, in nothing but one of his shirts, then back again.

“Do you like them?” She asked, feeling very shy all of a sudden.

“Do I—whoo,” he let out a bit of a gasping breath. “This is,” he shook his head and looked at her, his cheeks and the tops of his ears red, “wow.”

“You’ve been saying you want sexy pictures for a while now,” Grace stared at her hands as she clasped them in her lap. “It took a while to find the right boudoir photographer, you know how the whole privacy thing goes, being who I am.” She shrugged.

“I…what…,” he tried to formulate a thought but couldn’t manage to string the words together. “Wow.”

He couldn’t keep his eyes off the photos fanned out in his hand. Hopping up from his seat, he went to his dresser and pulled his wallet from the top drawer he kept it in. Opening it up, he placed the photos carefully in one of the little card pockets. He pulled the top photo back out to look at it one more time with a smirk before putting it back, slapping the wallet shut and putting it away.

“I think the one in that set I bought you for your birthday is my favorite,” he grinned, coming back over to the bed and kissing her before sitting back down. “Thank you,” he kissed her again. “For all my gifts. They’re perfect.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiled happily into his kiss. “I hope you make lots of beautiful art with the supplies.”

“Do you have work today?” He asked, leaning over her and grabbing the stack of art supplies, pulling them into his lap. Grace shook her head no. “Any plans with your dad?” Again, she shook her head. “I have an idea on how I’d like to break in some of these.”

“Oh?” Grace pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She had an image of the two of them sitting together in Central Park, sitting on a blanket and enjoying charcuterie and wine while he sketched and she read the next novel on her tbr pile. Just thinking about it, she could feel the sunshine on her face. “I’m free all day, so whatever you want to do, I’m in.”

An impish smile passed over his lips and his gaze fell momentarily to the supplies in his lap. He pulled the charcoal and a larger sketchpad out from the pile and set them on the nightstand on her side of the bed before getting up, the rest of his supplies in hand.

“You stay there,” he instructed. “I’m going to make you breakfast in bed.”

“Are you going to tell me what your idea is?” Grace called after him as he got to the bedroom door.

“You’ll see,” he winked at her before slipping out the door.

There didn’t seem to be any point in arguing with him. When Steve got an idea in his head, he had to make it happen. Her headache gone, Grace nestled under the covers and attempted to get some more rest. With the headache fading, she could listen happily to her boyfriend out in the kitchen, playing music lightly on his phone, pulling pans out of the cabinets, chopping things, and mixing. Soon she could hear the vent fan going and the light sizzle of something cooking. Sleep evaded her, so she decided to do a quick check of her phone. Her father had sent a text asking to be reminded to never play another drinking game again which made her snicker. He’d done almost as many shots as Steve, but he didn’t have the benefit of serum to prevent the hangover.

He's probably on death’s door. I should go check on him.

With a heavy sigh she got out of bed and went to the dresser to pull on a pair of her own pajama shorts. Shuffling out into the living room, she saw Steve standing at the stove, checking on a pan of something. The whole apartment was starting to smell heavenly, like sausage and coffee. The zip code had changed, the apartment was bigger and fancier, but it felt like home, and Grace took a second to savor the comfort of it and the bliss of the familiar sight of Steve in the kitchen. His lack of clothing added to the delight of the moment.

“Hey,” he caught sight of her as he turned to grab something off the counter. “I told you to stay in bed.” His brow furrowed in mock sternness. “Don’t make me carry you back there,” he pointed at her with a spatula.

“My Dad is suffering the ill effects of his own hangover,” Grace said as she came up to him and put her hands on his shoulders. “I thought I’d do the good daughterly thing and see if I can help him. After the trauma we put him through last night, I figure it’s the least I can do.”

“I had a feeling he’d be suffering this morning,” he conceded. “I already made something for him, since Pepper’s not home to take care of him.” He had already put together a few sausage and egg sandwiches on English muffins and sealed them up in a plastic container, which he held out for her. “Ours will be ready in fifteen minutes. I expect you to be back in bed by then.”

“Look at you,” she giggled, taking the container before going onto her tiptoes to give him a quick peck on the lips, her eyes flashing mischievous intent. “Giving orders.”

“I am a captain,” he laughed. “The title isn’t just for show, you know.”

“I know, I know,” she cupped his cheek before giving him one more kiss and bouncing away. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes or less.”

One of the benefits of living in a skyscraper where both her family and her boyfriend resided was the fact that she could travel from one apartment to the other, in her pajamas and barefoot, without judgement. Slipping out of the elevator and into the penthouse she made her way to the master suite, knowing she would find her father there. Sure enough, Tony lay sprawled out in the center of the bed, a sleeping mask over his eyes. She always found it oddly amusing that he slept in regular cotton pajama pants and tank top, like a normal person. For some reason, as a kid, knowing her dad was a billionaire, she had this expectation that he lived in luxurious clothes twenty-four-seven. Designer jeans and suits during the day, silk pajamas at night. None of that was true and she loved it about him.

“Dad?” she said and he let out a deeply pained moan. “You just had to go toe to toe with a guy who can’t get a hangover, huh?” She snickered.

“Uuugh, fucking serum,” he groaned and massaged his temples, the sleep mask still covering his eyes. “How is there no hangover cure by now?”

“I’ve got the closest thing,” Grace said, sitting down on the bed side him. Gingerly, she lifted the mask off his eyes, making him wince. One eye opened and he looked up at her, absolutely pitiful. “Steve made you sausage and egg sandwiches. Greasy and full of protein, the best thing for a hangover.”

“Bring me painkillers?” He pleaded.

“Of course,” she smiled and gently lowered his mask back over his eyes.

“Thankoo,” he mumbled.

Setting the container with the sandwiches down on his bedside table, she got up and made her way back out to the kitchen to retrieve some water and ibuprofen. When she got back into the room, her dad was sitting propped up against the headboard, an egg sandwich in hand, half gone already, the container in his lap, and the mask still over his eyes.

“You said Rogers made these?”” He asked, clearly not looking at her since his eyes were still covered, as he took another bite. “This is delicious.” He said with his mouth full. “I hate him.”

“You hate him?” Grace asked with a laugh, sitting down beside him again. She set the glass and pills down on the nightstand before gently prying the sleep mask off her father’s face. He squinted and frowned but didn’t fight her about it, unwilling to put down his sandwich. “Why do you hate him?”

Tony took another bite of his sandwich, one cheek puffing out like a hamster.

“Well for one thing, he’s doing unspeakable things to my daughter,” he huffed.

“He’s doing very nice, consensual things to your daughter,” Grace corrected and watched her father gag. “Drink some water and take your ibuprofen.”

With a withering glower, he set what remained of his first sandwich back in the container on his lap and grabbed the glass of water and ibuprofen pills, popping them in his mouth and downing the whole glass, setting it back on the table with a clunk. He scooped up the last bit of his first sandwich again.

“I hate him cause this sandwich is perfect,” he scowled. “Everything about him is perfect. S’why my dad loved him more than me.” He rolled his eyes and let out a scoffing laugh as he finished the first sandwich and went for the second. “Why can’t he be human like the rest of us?”

Grace felt a tight ache in her chest, knowing that her father felt truly insecure despite his joking tone. She crawled across the bed to sit beside him and laid her head on his shoulder. Tony paused, sandwich halfway to his mouth, and looked down at her. He kissed the top of her head before going back to eating.

“You know Steve isn’t perfect, right?” She asked gently, glancing up at him. He scoffed. “He has his strengths just like you have yours. You can’t make an egg sandwich, but he can’t program AI or build tech like you do. When you really look at it, you’re both just guys who want to help people and have assistive tech to do it, you’ve got your suit, he’s got the serum.”

“Seems pretty perfect,” he huffed around his final mouthful of sandwich.

“He snores,” Grace stated simply. Tony froze midchew, pulling away slightly so he could turn to look at her better. She lifted her head up from his shoulder and shrugged.

“You’re just making that up to make me feel better.”

“I wish I was,” she admitted. “It’s not, like, rattling the walls, but it wakes me up. A lot.”

Slowly, a shit-eating grin spread across Tony’s lips as he considered the flaw and likely whatever else might be imperfect about Steve.

“You can’t say anything to anyone about it, Dad,” she warned him. “Or I’ll be forced to reveal your secret flaws.”

“Grace Turner,” he feigned shock, “are you blackmailing your father? That’s not very shrinky of you.”

“I know how you operate,” she poked him lightly in the side, making him laugh. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.” She glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table, checking the time. “I need to head back downstairs. Are you going to be ok up here? Steve has plans for us for the day.”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug and kissing her temple. “Tell Capsicle thanks for the food.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Masterlist

Chapter Twenty-Nine

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