elaci - Tumblr blog

elaci · 16 days

Text

The Lethal Light

Daily fixes to the whole 'sun allergy' thing once life has settled, and the intimate love that shines through the boarded windows regardless.

cw; morning sex, unprotected sex, domestic astarion, chores :( i dont know why shakespeare invaded my bones and wrte the most wannabe poet erotica ever but i gift it to you nonetheless because god may smite me down if i do not.

Astarion x reader | 18+ mdni | req rules ⁞ request here | crossposted on ao3

The recipe of friction and carnal lust that creates such a heat between you and your cold-poisoned lover is a narcotic type of addiction for the both of you.

Astarion, blood running cold through his body, heated only by the fire-hot lust that radiates from your skin. The blessing of fever against his lips with each kiss he trails down your body. His lips tingle with the sweet ecstasy of your yearning: he touches you like a man in love and falls deeper with every jerked movement your body responds with in turn.

You, in the sensory heavens as Astarion's fangs tease at the base of your neck: cold ivory skin gliding over your pulse point, feeling the liveliness of your very being. His lean figure over you, caging you against the wiry mattress in such a way you feel both safe and insatiable. Every nerve that coils every bone in your body is rigid. You feel your most alive in the arms of the undead.

Sex before dawn breaks, to avoid the sun flitting in through your netted windows. Your nails, your teeth, your tears: only they mark your lover. No new scars will come, not from the sun or anything else twice as harsh. You no longer need him to wake you early: your body wakes itself to beat the sun and bathe instead in love.

The slow rolling of hips, Astarion stretching you out and unravelling every inch of your being. The freedom you feel in his possession: euphoric and unearthly. The way his cock fits inside of you, the way you squeeze around him in recognition of his size. His gentle, sweet and all-addictive size.

"Oh, sweet darling," the honey that leaves his lips in worship of you. "You are so perfect."

Call this rogue a cleric, and you his eternal god to which he would pray on broken knees.

Yet you have no such demand of him, beside the fingers that pull at his hair when his lips trail down the canvas of skin of your neck and latch on to one your hardened nipples. His hips still snapping against yours, his pace quickening: the chase of a shared climax begins.

A race against the dawning sun.

His balls slapping against your ass, your heart thrumming from your chest to his. The threat of dawn, and the song of his moans, and everything warm and sweet in this world. Your orgasm washes over you in waves, much like those that crash against the shore not far from your home. You see stars despite the looming morning sky, your entire body clenching as roll after roll of ecstasy cleanse you. Birdsong starts outside.

Astarion fucks you through your orgasm, and promises (with a gentle kiss to the flesh of your throat) that he's not far behind you, and that he loves you so, and how you can last just a little longer for him, right?

A hand of his reaches between your legs to toy with you further, because deep down Astarion has a streak of sadism in his soul, and he loves watching you fucked so senseless you forget your own words. The sight, in fact, is enough to lull his orgasm over him: so he flexes his hips as far forward into yours he can, and allows himself to release an ungodly load deep inside of you.

“Take me,” Astarion exhales. “You take me so well, darling.”

A minute is spent in recovery, Astarion encased between your thighs, seated so deep inside of you that you grieve the loss of his length when he begins to slowly pull out. He feels it before you do, the gentle morning sun coming through the window. Onto his back the light shines, and as quickly as it comes, you’re rolling the two of you over and shielding his body with your own.

A knowing smile crosses your lips, Astarions hair dishevelled beneath you. If the sun weren’t so insistent on gifting the earth with a new morning and a sick blue sky, you’d ride him into the evening and right through the night. Though of course, the world has always tended to be unkind to the two of you, and you’re forced to skulk out of bed and to the windows, pulling closed the heavy textured curtains and once more caging the room in silence.

A candle is lit on the bedside, and you see Astarions face only by the dull flame. Orange highlights of his cheekbones and kiss-swollen lips. You can feel him dripping out of you as you stand watching him.

Astarion looks sullen, despite the previous shared euphoria. You always make a point of aftercare with him, and he reciprocates in kind: though you don’t think his sudden frown is weighed down by memories or tight skin.

“Love?” You try, Astarions eyes meet yours: a deep and beautiful red.

“It’s not that,” your beloved offers, leaning back on his elbows to watch you. “It’s this, you do too much for me. I deny you even the sun.”

A step towards him, your legs weak in every perfect way.

“You deny me nothing, Astarion. I never fancied the sun, all it does is burn and bite.”

“Much like me,” a smirk.

“I much prefer you, my love” you stalk over to his side of the bed, and use the candlelight to find our hand cupping the side of his face. “Though if you do feel ever-so useless, you can remedy your woes by getting started on breakfast.”

A kiss pressed to his lips, one not laced with lust but rather a doting love only he could pull from you. You hope to die with the taste of his lips on yours.

“Very well,” Astarion feigns a sigh. “Put me to work then.”

You’re quick to clean yourself up and find some clothes to slip into, and sneak a peek at Astarion as he readies himself for the day. Your lover, perfect in any, every and all ways.

You’re first into the kitchen, drawing the curtains tight just as Astarion walks in. His hair curled neatly around his ears, clothes unmarked and day-ready, despite your eyes being the only ones to lay gaze on him. You’ll be undressing and retreating back to bed within a few hours anyway— ready for a night out with friends. With family.

Still, Astarion readies you some tea, and you pull on some boots and head to the door.

“Door,” you hum.

“Mhm,” a distracted reply. You turn to see Astarion fussing over your collection of teas, though far from the danger zone. You open the door, letting just a little natural light flood the room, and close it swiftly behind you after stepping out.

The morning is cold, and the sky littered with clouds you don’t doubt will bring rain in the days to come. You don’t mind so much, not when your rainy days are spent in his arms, but you hope the crops can handle the extra shower just fine. Mud laces the bottom of your boots as you traipse through your garden. The rising sun is a warmth against your skin, incomparable to the warmth love Astarion feeds you with.

You reach your fruit plants, and scour them for a ripe breakfast. Long gone are the days of scavenging for each meal, so you take your time evaluating each fruit for one that is perfect. You silently thank the sun for at least aiding in the growth of such sweet fruits, pick one that looks good, and take a bite out of it as you turn to retreat back inside.

“Door,” you call out as you push the handle in, peeking your head inside to make sure your love is out of the way, and then duck inside without a moment to waste. “Gods, it’s getting colder out there. Do you think you could fix me something warm to wear, love? We can shop for some fabrics tonigh—”

You stop in your tracks, the sweet nectar of your homegrown fruit stuck to your bottom lip as you listen out for your lover. “Astarion?”

Silence, darkness, every candle that was once lit is now snuffed out. Your heart races, you can’t place his presence. At least, not until his hands are snaking around you from behind, and his lean frame is turning you to face him.

A kiss, hungry. Astarion licks the nectar from your bottom lip and savours it with a gentle groan that falls from his mouth to yours like a song unsung. Within only a moment, your back is pressed against the door you had just come through, and Astarion is nipping at your pulsepoint like he’s testing the waters. The shallow, always-wanted water that is getting a taste of you.

“Quit sneaking up on me,” you reprimand as his tongue glides over old bite marks, sensitive even now. “You're gonna age me with all this stress."

He laughs, a low rumble in his chest that sets fire to your blood.

“As if I'd let that happen," his voice deepens. "You, my love, are going to live forever."

A nice thought. One you let him indulge for a moment.

Astarion pulls away with a kiss to your lips, leaving you mourning his touch.

"Come back to bed," he urges, his breath fanning over your face. "Let me taste you again."

"We just got up."

Astarion tsks, unbothered by your half-assed argument. His gentle hand slips into yours, and without a second thought, he's pulling you back to your shared bedroom.

A glance over his shoulder at your shadowed frame, "we have all day. I've got to clean up the mess I made of you."

The first time you had shared soul and body, you had awoken under the sun. Bathing in the light, unaware of the fleeting joy the sun could bring. You had watched Astarion stand, arms extended, to take in as much of the scorching morning heat as possible.

And even then he was conflicted.

It may not be the sun, or the lethal light, but at least now you can wake besides Astarion just to return to bed with him—

—and still feel just as warm.

#astarion smut #astarion x reader #astaron ancnin x reader #astarion ancunin smut #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate smut #bg3 smut #bg3 x reader #astarion x you

203 notes · View notes

elaci · 16 days

Text

don't tell me he doesn't take naps on his balcony

13K notes · View notes

elaci · 18 days

Text

Honey Honey

Your lover Valeria insists sweet pet names don't suit her, you disagree.

This is a birthday gift for my sister-from-another-ister @lotties-ashwagandha go and wish her hbd for seven years of good luck, and also check out her valeria fics xxxx

Valeria Garza x reader | req rules ⁞ request here

“No.”

“No Honey?” You parrot, fingers carding lazily through your Valerias hair. “Why no Honey?”

A scoff, and a gentle jab to the ribs through your pyjama top. The warmth of Valerias body is a privilege not once lost on you, to be so close to someone so feared, it’s narcotic. Still, she inhales as if your presence is the gift of life, and speaks through pursed lips.

“Honey is sweet, domestic. I am not.”

“You’re sweet to me,” you try, laying a hand on her arm and resting your cheek against it. There's a warm silence between you, an understanding that really, Valeria isn't sweet. You know there's a knife under her pillow and a gun in the bedside drawer, and you know she’s felt the warmth of blood on her hands before. You wonder how it compares to the warmth of your skin.

Valeria scoffs again, and rolls over to face you more intimately. A nail drags slowly up the skin of your arm to your neck, and is soon replaced by the gentle pillow of her lips. She hums against your pulse, an attempt at distracting you.

“Leave the nicknames to me, hm amor?” A kiss made short by a smile.

You close your eyes, bathing in the light of a love so soft for just a moment longer than you should. You want to argue your case, explain until your vocal cords snap just how sweet of a name your Valeria deserves to be called. You’d sing praises of her gentle side until the sun collapsed, if she’d allow it.

“I wish you’d let me dote on you,” you hum, voice ghosting away as her hands lower from your neck to your chest, and soon after to your waist.

Valeria, her touch burning, whispers into the air that feels a little heavier than before.

“I wish you’d shut up and let me have you.”

And of course, because she can be so sweet, you oblige her every wish.

Something catches, and you find yourself pending every waking hour trying to prove that the sweet honeyed love of Valeria Garza is worth vocalising. It starts the morning after, when you open your eyes to find Valeria already gazing over you. Sex-toussled hair and tired eyes, a domestic beauty clings to her, you take a moment to appreciate the sight before opening your mouth to speak.

“Morning,” you offer, “Honey.”

Silence, and then a startled look from your lover. She flashes a knowing smile at you, and then forces her lips into a scowl. A feather pillow hits you with a thud.

“Don’t start this,” you hear Valeria groan as she hauls herself out of bed. “I’ll leave you.”

An empty threat, one that brings a smile to your lips as you watch her sulk off to the shower. Despite the want to join her, you manage through her outrageously large home and find the kitchen.

You could still get lost in this place. Your bare feet against the tiles soothe the heat from your ministries last night, but the scent of your love doesn’t ever subside. As you boil some water and watch the world go by through the kitchen window, you’re dealt her scent that lingers on your clothes. Rough cedar cologne she wears in place of perfume, but a hint of vanilla that peaks through from the lotion she uses. Again, narcotic.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice Valeria creeping into the kitchen behind you. You jump when she wraps her arms around your waist and sits her chin on your shoulder, her wet hair sticking to your bruised neck.

“Watch your back even here,” she growls. “I have idiots working for me.”

The house is empty for the next few days as Valeria deals with a big upcoming import, but she chides nonetheless. Self defence has been drilled into you since your first date, she had once claimed her love language to be keeping you alive and in one piece.

“Thanks for the heart attack,” you roll your eyes, and smile as the water finishes boiling. “Tea or coffee, hon?”

“Mm, coffee,” Valeria kisses your shoulder, and then catches on to your wording. In one fluid motion, she spins you around and has your back pressed against the sharp edge of the counter.

Something dark in her eyes. “No Honey.”

Valeria takes her coffee black and bitter. She bites, and bares teeth at anyone who tries to sweeten her up. A life of excessive hardship and dark sour days leaves little room for sweetness– you know that. You also know your lover, like the back of your hand. You could rebuild her with your eyes closed. She is sweeter than most.

You reach to the side as best you can with Valeria’s arms caging you in, and grab the honey jar you keep for tea. Valeria watches with a frown as you pop off the lid, and dip your finger into the nectar, bringing it to your lips.

If it weren’t to prove a point, the sight would seem sensual. Maybe in another life you’d use the example to initiate a long night with Valeria, but as you clean your finger of the honey, your focus is on her heart rather than body.

“Not half as sweet–” you press a chaste kiss to her unexpecting lips, “–as this.”

“You’re crazy,” Valeria tsks.

“And you, underneath that shell of rain and woes, are a sweetheart.”

She rolls her eyes, but ultimately concedes to your tooth-rotting doting. Her forehead presses against yours, and another kiss is shared between you.

“So you know,” Valeria’s voice is quiet. “I will kill anyone who hears you call me that.”

Another lie. There's a soft part of her that loves showing off your affections. Still, you play along, and speak gently in the quiet morning light of your love–

“Yes, Honey.”

#valeria garza x reader #valeria garza fluff #valeria garza #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod x you #call of duty x you #valeria garza x you

161 notes · View notes

elaci · 2 months

Text

One For The Road

The morning after what's meant to be a one-night-stand, Nat convinces you to stay in bed a little longer.

cw; mentions of drunk sex, thigh riding n pussy eating as god intended

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader | 18+ mdni

Nat, she told you to call her.

The woman whose taste still stains your lips, whose touch still burns your skin and voice still purrs in your memory. The woman whose bed you wake naked in, with her arms snaked around your waist.

She’s warm in a way that makes you think, for a moment as you wake, that this is familiar. You’re more comfortable than you’ve been in months, her bed plush but firm enough to support you and the gentle ache of your body after her extensive ministrations the night before.

The sun has long risen, and shines through her window in such a way that the room is bathed in radiant golden hues. You turn a little, still half-drunk on sleep, and take in the sight of Nat as she sleeps soundly. You know you should get up while you can, leave without the awkward goodbyes that follow a one night stand, but her skin is so soft and her arm such a comfort around your waist that you feel wholly stuck in place. You wonder if you could get away with closing your eyes and drifting off for a few more minutes.

“Better not be thinking about leaving me,” her voice breaks the morning silence. You turn your head and meet her eyes, tired and heavy with sleep but still boring into yours under the morning gold.

You offer her a gentle smile. “Go back to sleep,” you hum. “I’ll get out of your hair and call you later, yeah?”

You aren’t sure you even have her number saved in your phone, or where your phone is, for that matter. Despite the pang in your chest at the thought of never crossing paths with Nat again, you take the high road and move to get out of bed. Her arm tightens around your waist before you get the chance.

“Nope,” she mumbles, pulling you into her body. Skin against skin, it brings back memories of the night before that you doubt you’ll rid the taste from your lips. Nat manages to press a kiss to your collarbone. “I’m not done with you.”

She kisses you again, and again, peppering open mouthed kisses across the expanse of your chest, each time eliciting a shiver in their wake.

Your judgement isn't clouded by alcohol anymore, you can feel each trace of her lips like fire against your skin as she trails soft kisses up the column of your neck. Every breath sends your blood rushing south. You can barely manage the words you speak, drunk once again with desire.

“I thought…” you gasp when she bites at your pulsepoint. “You said last night was a one time thing.”

Nat pulls away to look at you with raised eyebrows, you grieve the loss of contact. “You think I tell the truth when I’m drunk?”

She traces a nail down your bare chest, underneath the sheet that covers the two of you, tracing invisible designs against your rib cage until your skin feels impossibly tight. You’re lost for words again, and she takes advantage of the moment, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips.

“Stay, and let me taste you again,” her tone is steady. “Or get out of my bed, you gorgeous piece of shit, and make breakfast.”

Your mind betrays you, throws away all rules and notions of a one-night-stand and moves your body on your behalf. You’re catching her lips in a kiss before you can register the hand that slips from your stomach to your thigh. You taste alcohol, and the remnants of a cigarette you barely remember her slipping out of your arms to smoke on the balcony. She takes your bottom lip between her teeth and bites down, shooting the most beautiful pain right from your lips down to your pulsing core.

Her grip is strong on your leg, fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh as if she’s trying to stake her claim on you. It’s a feeling that drives lust through you like electricity: the notion of being desired, owned. When she pulls the sheet off of the both of you and climbs over your naked frame, you feel like a woeful miscreant for ever thinking of leaving this bed. Your heart beats so hard it almost hurts. You wonder if, when her mouth latches onto one of your peaked nipples, she can feel the thrum of your heart against her lips.

“God,” starved, she presses a kiss to your other breast. “I should tie you to this bed, keep you here until you’re too fucked out to remember your own name.”

“Nat—” you try, entranced by whatever spell she’s washing over you. Her kisses trail down your stomach.

“That’s right,” she groans against your hip bone. “Let me make you mine.”

“Yes,” you vocalise your consent, but Nat tuts.

“Say please.”

“Please.”

With not even a second to spare, Nat is delving between your thighs for a taste of your lust. She groans against your pussy, already high off the taste she’s gotten, and latches her lips onto your clit in an assault fueled by need and need alone. She’s a woman with a mission, and you feel dizzy with desire for more already. You want her inside of you, her body as tightly pressed against yours as she can manage. You ache for every inch of her. For everything.

For now, though, she does what she knows you need. Your hand snakes down to grab at her red hair as her tongue works violently against your clit until you’re a writhing mess beneath her.

Once you’re close enough to the edge that you’re seeing stars, Nats scalp must burn from the stress of your pulling. Trying anything to get closer, become one with the woman so pussydrunk she’s moaning against your clit like she’s the one being unravelled.

Being as coy as she is, however, you can feel her smile against your pussy as you come close to orgasm. Just as your toes curl and a sobbed moan starts to break from your chest, Nat pulls away and leaves you bucking your hips into the air for any semblance of stimulation. You could cry.

“Had to punish you somehow for thinking you could sneak away,” Nat pushes herself up to your face, you can see a gloss of your arousal coating her lips and chin from her messy ministrations. “Sorry.”

You’re about to comment, through babbled words, that she doesn’t sound sorry when her lips meet yours once more. The kiss is messy and harsh, your teeth click together and tongues meet and you can taste yourself. She is one to share, after all. The taste of your lust mixed with the intoxicant of her lips is almost enough for you to forgive her for your ruined orgasm. Almost.

When Nat pulls away, wiping her lips with the back of her hand to maintain at least a little composure, she catches your frown and mirrors it with her own.

“What’s wrong?” She pouts, her tone mocking in a way that makes your body ache to be filled by her.

“You know what’s wrong.”

Her frown fades, and her replacing smile worsens your ache. Her chest heaves with laboured breath as Nat repositions herself, straddling one of your thighs and lowering herself against your skin.

She must have gotten off on your taste alone, because she’s wetter than you’d think reasonable. A slut for servicing you, it seems.

You lay in silence, looking breathlessly up at the woman from the bar as she starts ever so slowly rocking her hips. The sharp inhale as her clit grinds against your skin, made easy by her arousal that coats your thigh. Part of you wants to take control, grab Nat's beautiful hips and hold her down against your thigh as she rides you until her vision is tunnelled and blood boiling. The other part of you, the part that wins, can’t move an inch at the sight of the redhead using your body as nothing but a tool to get herself off with.

The sweetest of moans fall from her lips and into the air around you, a song of pleasure you doubt you’ll ever forget. You think if this goes on long enough, you could come from the sight alone: how her body moves as she rides your thigh, the bounce of her peaked breasts as her pace quickens and sounds get louder and skin gets hotter. If you’ve died and gone to heaven, you pray there’s no such thing as resurrection.

The jolts in Nats movement are a testament to her impending orgasm, she’s close, and you can tell. You almost want to buck her off you as payback for ruining your orgasm just before, but every thought of revenge is washed clean from your mind when she reaches down and slips two fingers inside of you without warning.

“You’re gonna come for me,” she bites, hips rocking against your thigh at an ungodly pace. “You’re going to come with me.”

It’s no request. It’s an order.

Nats fingers are skilled, she scissors them inside of you and circles your clit in tandem with her thumb. It’s a celestial experience, the devotion of her fingers inside of you, curling to meet your g-spot as she abuses your clit in the same motion. The sight of her losing herself as she rides your thigh to the end of her sanity— the mess of her hair and glaze of her eyes as he watches you.

“Come.”

All it takes is a word, and you’re coming unmoored beneath Nat. Black spots flood your vision as you drool a string of ‘thank you’ into the sex-heavy air. Nat shakes against your thigh, so deep in her own orgasm that she doesn’t bother to pull her fingers out of you, working on muscle memory.

You just reach the brink of tears, overstimulated as Nat returns to her right mind. You’d bet on giving her the satisfaction of pulling another orgasm from you, but she comes right and pulls her fingers away just in time to let you breathe.

The sun's golden morning glow has since passed, you aren’t sure how long you’ve been away in Nirvana. Nat brings her fingers to her mouth and licks them clean, a pornographic sight that has your glossy eyes wide. Sweat coats both of your skin, breath shared between you are laboured and heavy, and the sun seems cold in comparison to the heat of your skin.

Nat rolls off you, leaving a glistening mess on your thigh and a cold loss at her missing heat against you. When she speaks, her voice is quiet and gentle. “You were perfect.”

Another kiss as she leans over and pecks your lips. A goodbye kiss, maybe— or a ‘thank you’. She moves away, swings her legs over the side of her bed to get up and rub at her eyes, sleep still plagues her.

“I’ll uh, get you some water and find where I threw your clothes last night,” she hums. “The shower is just through those doors, if you—-”

Natasha Romanoff is stitched silent by the hand that grabs her wrist, and the body that climbs over to straddle her lap. Your eyes, dark as they look down at her and lift her chin to force her gaze. The low words you speak by her ear, poison as you parrot her own words back to her.

“Nope. I’m not done with you yet.”

req rules ⁞ request here | crossposted on ao3

#natasha romanoff smut #nat romanoff smut #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #black widow smut #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #marvel smut #marvel x reader

2K notes · View notes

elaci · 2 months

Text

The Fruits and the Berries

You help Shauna see the sweet beauty that comes from the wilderness, despite the ugly of the past.

crossposted on ao3

Shauna x gn!reader | req rules ⁞ request here

Usually, when Shauna's eyes become stuck on the wild scenery outside, she’s quick to regain control of her mind.

It rarely happens anymore, once a month at most. She will be busy in the kitchen after entertaining your family for lunch, clearing dishes because she insists you don’t do it right. The running sink that she rinses plates in, the cold water against her hands, the breeze that comes through the open window in front of her— all the food shared between loved ones.

She will freeze, if only for a few moments, and within those moments she will experience her every last teenage year again in full. She comes out of it as quickly as she goes in, with nothing but shaking hands to show for the trenches her mind had just sunken into. She will take a breath, one deep breath that fills her lungs with clean warm air, and exhale it all to make room for more.

And when she returns to you, with that closed-lip smile that tells you ‘it’s happened again’, you pull her into a hug and kiss the gentle skin of her cheek and tell her, without words, that you’re there and she’s okay and that’s how it will be until the end of time.

You wish there was more to do. You’d wrench out your heart to replace the blackened parts of hers if you could, offer every last piece of yourself in service to her and rebuilding her love of life.

It’s late one night that Shauna tells you she doesn’t find much beauty in the outside world anymore. She’s fresh out of the shower, sitting between your legs as you comb your fingers through her damp hair.

“I’d stay inside forever if I could,” she hums, resting her cheek against your knee. “Feels like there’s nothing good out there.”

It’s too dark to glance out the window and see much, but even if you could, you doubt you could point out many things that Shauna could watch from afar and find beautiful. The thought pulls at your heart, a loss for the love of life is something you wouldn't wish on a heart as deep as Shaunas. You massage her scalp as she remains lost in thought, and silently put into action a plan to show Shauna at least the little things that make up such a beautiful world.

It’s not until a week later that you finally have the time. Life had gotten in the way of your planning, from work to family gatherings to date nights you wouldn't miss for the world, you’d been lost on a moment to set up. However, Shauna is pulled away one afternoon— she had promised to drop Callie off at a friends on the other side of town and mentioned running some errands on the way home, giving you just enough time to run around the house putting the final touches on what you hope will be something beautiful for the woman you love.

She steps into the home with a tired sigh, rubbing at her eyes as she picks up on the soft tunes of her favourite music being played from the kitchen. She can’t help but smile, curious as to what’s up your sleeve. When she rounds the corner into the kitchen, she catches you just as you are shutting the lid on an old picnic basket you'd pulled from the attic.

“What’s this?” The question comes out a touch more accusatory than she means it to be, but you aren't fazed.

“Date night,” you click the picnic baskets clasps in place and heave it from the countertop. You turn towards your lover, and take in her presence for a moment. “You look beautiful today, you know?”

Shauna frowns, unimpressed. “I’m wearing mom jeans.”

You grin, and twirl your free hand around, gesturing for her to do a spin. She stills for a moment, and then obliges, choking out a laugh at the absurdity of your doting. Shauna twirls, laughs, and laughs some more when you whistle and look at her with such a pure love in your eyes that it's felt in her bones.

And before another word can be spared from her beautiful lips, you’re taking her hand in yours and leading her into the back garden like a high school sweetheart sneaking her out of the house. You wonder, only for a second, whether your love would be so strong had you met in high school, before the woes of the wilderness caused her caution as you lead her out under the sun.

“We can’t eat inside?” She questions, and shrugs when you look at her. “Bugs.”

You don’t speak, but rather lead her into the grass, your shoes abandoned. You walk into the shade of the largest and most beautiful tree of them all, and gesture to the red-and-white picnic blanket already laid down. Shauna lets your hand go as you sit, and she crosses her arms.

“You planned this out?”

“I was a party planner in my past life,” you pat the blanket next to you. “C’mon, hon.”

And because she’s never quite had the heart to keep you waiting, Shauna huffs out a breath of faux resignation, and lowers herself to the ground beside you. Her hair falls over her face as she peers into the picnic basket you unpack, and he can’t fight the smile that blooms.

All of the fruits and berries she loves, wine, bread, cheese. A delicate feast of her favourites— you lay peaches out and fill a ceramic bowl with raspberries and blueberries alike. The dessert bread is paired with compôtes she has yet to try but still eyes when you visit the sunday morning markets. Strawberry wine in glassware gifted by your family for your housewarming party.

There's a sweet silence between you, filled only by the sound of rustling leaves and birdsong. Shauna is lost on words, though she feels in no rush to speak. You hum softly as you finish unpacking the basket, and push a small bowl into her hands.

“Cherries,” she speaks.

“Fresh from,” you pause, “the grocery store.”

Shauna chokes on laughter, smiling down at the bowl of ripe red cherries. She takes a moment of thought, and then looks back at you. “Why’d you do all this?”

You look between her and the bowl, and then over to the house you both call home. It takes a moment to find the right words, but you eventually open your mouth to speak.

“I love you,” you start. “And if you want to shut and lock yourself inside until the end of time, I’ll change the locks whenever they rust and drive spikes into the sidewalk so no one bothers us. But, I look around and I see the same beauty in the world that I see in you, and it truly breaks my heart to know you can’t see it too. I’d like more evenings under the sun with you, until we’re too old to sit on the grass and too grumpy to ignore the bugs. You have taught me so many things about the world, Shauna. I hope you’ll let me teach you about the stupid fruits and the stupid berries and how much I love them.”

The sun lowers a little, pulled to the horizon line on clockwork. It casts a beautiful gold over Shauna, and animates the way she looks at you. Right into your soul, she lays claim to every inch of your heart, and you allow it all the same.

Shauna nods. “Okay,” she says. “Okay.”

You reach over and run a hand through Shauna's hair, pulling it out of her face and in turn drifting closer to her. Your lips meet in a sweet symphony of wine and berries and a promise for another evening spent like this— learning to love the land and the hand that guides you through it. The kiss is long, and tender, and so full of love you need no picnic to sate your appetite.

And when you pull away, you have to wipe a tear from her cheek. You do so without thought, as you always will. You eat, and laugh, and kiss, and drink until all the berries taste the same and the sun sets entirely. When you finally decide to retire inside, leaving the mess of your ministries for sober you to pick up in the morning, Shauna is the one to lead you inside. You trip over your own feet a few times, and nearly stand on a jar or two, but make it inside with tired eyes and fuzzy brains.

Shauna slides the door shut, and looks at you. “Thank you,” she says. “I love you.”

And she locks the door, only until morning.

yellowjackets masterlist

#shauna shipman x reader #yellowjackets x reader #yj x reader #shauna sadecki x reader #shauna shipman #yellowjackets imagine

44 notes · View notes