#i remember drawing this and the hair was a nightmare to do

[yssai-nne]

tingyun from 2-3 months ago

went thru my procreate and saw this, kinda forgot abt this, tho i still like it😋

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Streetlamps & Stories

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You have a nightmare; Simon is there to comfort you.

A/N: Ngl this is completely self-indulgent and written in about five minutes. Not long either. No warnings, just some good ol' fluff!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

His hands stay at your back, keeping you to his chest as you take deep breaths, shaking a bit. Simon’s shoulders are to the headboard of the bed, slumping against it with no care about how it would begin aching with the length of his endeavor. If that was all that had to come out of this, then he welcomed that ache; that burn of muscle. The man stares at the top of your head and finds your situation far more pressing. 

Throat humming, Simon speaks softly in that graveled tone of his—you feel it reverberate in your bones long after he stops speaking. 

“Breathe,” his fingers drag along your spine, moving in a delicate pattern as he listens to you pause and fill your lungs with a deep breath, feeling your pulse through your skin. Not once does he keep his hands off of you—giving you a place to ground yourself; a way to focus on him, his touch. To see you draw comfort from it was better than any gift he could ever receive. 

“Good girl,” Simon mutters, dark eyes half-closed as he makes sure you’re not going to delve into a panic. His thumb runs each knob of your bone.

It was still night out—deep night. A kind of night that had everyone inside, even the less-than-savory folks; a small pattering of rain to the window was only the beginning, mist shrouding the streets and the sidewalks. The streetlights, the only source of illumination, created shadows along the ruffled sheets, where minutes earlier feet had kicked in a panicked stupor. 

Above all, Simon was a light sleeper.

You could whisper his name at any moment when his eyes were closed, and they’d snap back with a sharp utterance of a question. Tap him briefly on the shoulder or grab his arm? The man was already moving to reach for you, eyes roving the room. Was it healthy? Perhaps not, but it was the state Simon would be in until his death. A kind of hypervigilance that only grew when you were beside him in the very place he slept. 

While your form just as easily put him to bed, your fingers running through his hair creating a spell of their own, it was far from difficult to say you were an enabler of his habit. 

Simon just didn’t want you anywhere near danger, and when he was vulnerable, even his inner conscious knew to look for you. But unlike his nightly terrors, something different had happened tonight. 

Your soft voice hadn’t woken him, telling him to stop holding you so tightly and to let you stumble off to the bathroom—neither had your heavenly touch. 

Your whimpers had.

It was the most scared that Simon could remember being, as his body flinched awake; already alert and reaching in the dark. He’d heard the tiny mutters; the shuddering breaths as if trying to breathe properly. At first, his mind had gone to the worst things—an intruder, an unseen threat coming to get payback. But no, after jerking up and placing a hand to your side, curling over you as he scanned the room with blinking eyes…there was nothing. Nothing in the darkness, nothing to be spied on or seen hiding in the corners waiting to strike. Just cricket chirps and the settling of the house. The small patter of rain.

The man had been confused, admittingly, until you started shaking under the covers, and your sounds of distress got louder. 

Simon’s eyes had locked on your face, watching, and he’d understood in a millisecond.

Nightmare.

Hand setting itself to your shoulder, he had shaken you awake until your started eyes could lock with his—blinking quickly and lungs heaving. They were wide and unfocused, darting back and forth. 

Without a word, the man had taken you into his arms, shifting, until he could drag your body to his chest and hold you there in the relative blackness of night. Back to the headboard.

He’d not stopped watching you, even now.

“Sorry,” you stuttered out, voice hoarse. Your nose sniffles a bit, fingers still quivering.

“Don’t be,” Simon mutters, his cheek moving to rest on the top of your head. Around you, his arms tighten, a grunt stuck in his chest. “Not your fault.”

You take more deep breaths, trying to push back that sting in the very base of your eyes. A hand comes up, fingers capturing the underside of your chin to tilt it upward. It was like he knew what would come after, even if the times you’d seen him cry after his own nightmares were able to be counted on your fingers. He’d always said he’d had the same ones over and over again, and while they still scared him, they weren’t worth his tears anymore.

But that didn’t apply to you.

Brown eyes stay locked with yours, slowly shifting around the build of your face as the minutes move on. He blinks slowly, those lashes of his caressing his scarred cheeks.

You only let the tears dribble out when his lips carefully press themselves into your forehead. 

A thin sob hitches your chest, a tiny fight with your conscious, but Simon’s lips don’t move, and his hand travels to grasp the back of your head, thumb running back and forth across your scalp. 

He hums in the back of his throat, saying into your skin, “It’s alright. I’m ‘ere.” 

Your arms snake out, wrapping his waist and curling into him like an animal, wanting nothing more than to feel his skin and how his scars live under your touch. To hear his constant heartbeat, and to soak in the warmth of his flesh from an interrupted sleep. 

Simon’s soft voice grumbles out after a moment of your muffled sob. The sound made his heart clench in on itself. He was supposed to be the one with the nightmares, not you. “You want to talk about it, Love?”

Immediately, your head shakes, pushing deeper into his neck, pushing out a quick refusal. 

“Just hold me,” you whisper, tears wetting Simon’s skin, dripping down his chest. He doesn’t even think about commenting on it. 

He nods firmly, as if given an important order of the direst need, his head moving up and his arms pulling you ever closer, sheets around his legs. Grunting, he shifts you, an arm going under your knees and the other curling your shoulders. Simon won’t say he isn’t concerned, because he is. You’d always do that to him, especially when you’re crying.

He hates it when you cry.

You having a nightmare was rare, especially one that resulted in waking up to tears. Yet, he’d hold you just as you held him through his, knowing it worked when you whispered things into his ears until that was all he could focus on. Your touch, your…goodness. He didn't have the correct words that he felt truly expressed how much he wanted you to calm down, so Simon tried another route.

Your route.

“I tell you about my time in Finland?”

Stories.

Your thin voice moves out, lips at his pulse, as the long streaks of the streetlamps outside make dancing shadows over your bodies. 

“Yes.” A pause and Simon’s eyes stare at nothing as he hears you speak—feels the tight hold of your arms. “But tell me again.”

So, he does. 

He doesn’t tell you, of course, but if you asked, he’d talk until his tongue went black.

[jupiter-letters]

Dating Number 4/ Klaus Hargreeves would include☂️👻:

Fem! or GN! Reader TW: Brief mentions of addiction

A/N: I started Umbrella Academy a week ago and I’m obsessed, I’m almost done with season 3 and I can’t wait for season 4. I’d managed to fall in love with Robert Sheehan all over again and all that love has to go somewhere so here it is.

Waking up to little peppered kisses on your back and up your torso. If you don’t open your eyes he’ll just start blowing raspberries into your neck and on your face. Once he hears you laughing he’ll stop and flip you over. He likes being the first thing you see when you wake up. Some days are a little more peaceful and less silly, you wake to see him still asleep. A mess of curls and smudged glitter eyeshadow is the first thing you see. He’s at such peace and the most still you’ll ever see him. 

Putting makeup on each other, whether it’s going out or just playing around with new looks it doesn’t matter. Being able to experiment with new colors and combinations with each other is so much fun. On date nights you’ll pick outfits for each other, sometimes even just wearing each other’s clothes. Doing things like this with him leads to doing most things together. 

Why have him do things when you can do it for him? Or even with him? He loves having you wash his hair. Showers, baths? Of course we have to both be in there at the same time! Klaus is so touch starved any reason to spend time together he’ll take it,an added bonus is your company keeps the spirits away. 

You’re always in close proximity to each other, so your skin is always touching. Klaus just can’t get enough, physical touch becomes his middle name. He’s a natural affectionate person but just having you near is very grounding for him. 

He’ll draw on you with little glitter pens he carries in his pocket, he likes to call you his “canvas and his muse.” Even without the pens he’ll trace random shapes and words onto your arm or your back when you both lie in bed. Klaus also likes to play with your fingers when he’s bored.

Kissing!! He’s such a fiend for kissing my god, after that first kiss he’s finished. He always says he wants just one but it ends up escalating to a full on make out sesh. Doesn’t matter if you’re public or not you look too good it’d be a crime not to kiss you. Klaus doesn’t really give a damn about public embarrassment, if you wanted him to he’d run through central park naked, he would.

 Once he knows you’re ok with all the random bursts of affection he really piles it on. Neck kisses, shoulder kisses, nose kisses, not one day goes by where he doesn’t kiss you. He kisses like he wants to devour you, if he wasn’t able to kiss you that’d be hell on Earth. If you’re a fan of random kisses at the most inappropriate times he’s a professional. You’re driving, he’s gonna make out with you. Out shopping, kissing! Right now! Doctor’s appointment? Kisses under your jaw in the waiting room, he can’t help it, he's bored.

Helping him get clean, you and Ben have been pretty good influences in his life. Trying to keep him on the straight and narrow for the sake of his health. He wants to be present for you, he wants to be able to remember the things you do together. You help him find fun things to do without getting drugs involved. Taking your time and being patient with him means the world to him. He loves his siblings but they aren’t the best at helping him with it. They do try a little harder when you come around seeing how serious you are about helping him. You stay awake with him when his nightmares get too bad or when the withdrawal is really wearing him down. If it’s the ghosts that are bothering him you just tell them to piss off.(he really appreciates that)

Klaus begins to teach himself new skills to help you out around the house, cooking, cleaning you name it. He doesn’t do it very well but you appreciate the effort anyway. Chores become another activity for you both to do. He’ll even indulge in some of your hobbies just for the fun of it. 

Tattoos! He gets something on his wrist that reminds him of you, he can’t wait to show you too. If you get one related to him, god forbid a little number 4 on you he’ll cry. He does eventually tell you about the rest of his journey in Vietnam and Dave. Klaus wants to be sure you know he won’t compare you to him, He’ll always love Dave but he doesn’t love you any less. He’ll get really shy if you kiss his hand tattoos, there aren’t a lot of ways to fluster him so that’s a good one. 

Being surrounded by death and destruction most of his life really makes him appreciate what you have. The way you indulge in his antics and impulses makes Klaus feel so seen. You don’t feel real to him sometimes; late at night he’ll just lay his head on your chest and listen to your heart beating. 

When some crazy new developments or drama happens in his family you’re first to know. Luther tells him something very personal and secret and 15 mins later he’s calling you on the mansion’s phone. 

Luther: “This stays between us Klaus I mean it…” Klaus: “Of course Lulu I wouldn’t dream of telling anyone you’re dirty little secret” A few moments later… Klaus: “Babe you’ll never believe what Luther just told me!”

He’ll always be looking at you, wherever you are and whatever you’re doing you have his full attention. Klaus will just be gazing at you lovingly while five is trying to talk to him, eventually he’ll just ignore him and go to talk to you. You're his favorite person to talk to; he never gets bored with you.

Thanks for reading! Lemme know what you think. Please like or reblog if you like my stuff.

[meanbossart]

I LOVE DU drow and I love your art style! I also really like how you draw Astarion's hair, it looks flowy but still with his trademark curls.

Can you give any advice on drawing Astarion's hair? I find it a nightmare to draw. Whenever I free hand it, it just doesn't have the amount of curliness I want, and when I try to use a reference it ends up looking rather stiff.

Take care and thanks for the art 😊

THANK YOU though to be honest I'm shocked to find this ask in my inbox because every time I draw Astarion a war is waged between me and his hairdo. But sure, lets give this a shot!

First of all I feel like its a good idea not to be too attached to his in-game model hair when drawing unless your style is very realistic. The only reason why that dry-noodle helmet looks so regal and bouncy is because of the high-detailed graphics. Like you mentioned yourself and many of us have experienced, if you try and stick to it too closely in most art-styles it just ends up looking terribly stiff.

Instead, I suggest just keeping growth-direction and shape in mind and applying as much movement as you want to it when you draw it. Here's some things to remember that might help you with that:

-I employ the liquify tool a lot when sketching his hair because I never get it big enough on the first try, lol. This can also aid you with "distorting" more curliness into your lines if you aren't used to doing that right off the bat, just try not to become too reliant on it!

-I usually leave the areas around the ears and back alone but imply a lot of movement with the top and front of the hair, taking as many liberties as I want even if it's not entirely faithful to the model. I feel like the impression of curliness comes entirely from the silhouette of the hair and little fly-ways that I add, and everything else I just try to do without overthinking it too much for a more natural look.

In truth, I feel like a lot of times we get stuck on things like parting-placement, right amount of curl, which brush we're using yada-yada when in reality we are neglecting what actually makes a character's hair recognizable: Hairline, growth pattern, and shape. If you get these three things right I feel like everything else is entirely just stylistic choice. It's worth pulling away for a moment and checking on these things if you feel like you're continually unhappy with your outcome!

-Astarion has a hairline capable making most men over 30 cry. It's very low on the forehead and tight on the temples with the slightest hint of a widow's peak. As someone who drew a lot of big-foreheaded characters with receding hairlines prior, this was a STRUGGLE for me to get used to and a big reason why I felt like I couldn't get his hair to look "right" for the longest time.

-His hair swoops to the right side of his face in a fanning kind of shape and is the longest at the front and top. You can imply a strong part if you want, you can split it into sections, you can have it falling over his forehead or not at all - as long as it's going in the right direction you will probably be fine.

-A mistake I would catch myself making often was getting the shape totally wrong - making it too slick at the top and putting all the volume in the back when that's pretty much the exact opposite of what his hair does. IT'S ALL AT THE FRONT AND TOP, REPEAT IT TO YOURSELF LIKE IT'S A MANTRA: IT'S ALL AT THE FRONT AND TOP.

And lastly, if you absolutely hate how his hair looks or hate to draw it, you can forego all of this and just do whatever you want. These tips are only worth something if you like how I draw his hair specifically.

Hopefully this was helpful at all!

[lassieposting]

I like to think that once things have settled down post-game, Tav will start addressing Astarion's critically low self-everything issues.

Like, this man's obnoxious, vain exterior is a paper-thin sheet of ice over a bottomless lake of insecurities and negative self-talk, and we see that the whole way through the game. He's been taught to believe that his only value is in his body. He'll bitterly call sex the only thing he's good for. He's shocked if you dump another companion for him, because he sees himself as having nothing to offer but baggage. He knows, in an abstract way, that he's attractive, but he doesn't remember what he looks like.

Perhaps one evening he asks what they see in him, and when they ask what he thinks their answer will be, he's stumped by the question.

And Tav decides it's past time to do something about that, because there is so much about him that is worthy of love.

Consider: Astarion rolling out of bed at like noon, padding naked to the bathroom to wash and style his hair, and catching sight of something tucked into the frame of the mirror. It's a sketch of him, one of Tav's, and beside it, they've scrawled the words you're beautiful. He grins, and traces the charcoal strokes with a fingertip while he brushes his teeth, because that's not a difficult one to believe, and he's touched.

But then he starts finding more little sketches, and more little notes. When he reaches for the book he's been reading, there's one tucked into the page he's dog-eared - a little caricature of himself, curled up in an armchair reading a giant book, captioned you're clever. He snorts a laugh, a little self-deprecating. Loathe as he is to admit it, he's no Gale, and he has brain fog more often than not. But...well, he did graduate law school and pass the bar once upon a time, so technically they're not wrong.

You're brave is resting on his pillow when he comes back from splashing his face in the bathroom one night, still trembling from a nightmare. His eyes well up when he spots it, and when he crawls into open arms and buries his face in Tav's clavicle he mumbles that he doesn't feel very brave at all. That's a hard one to accept, but they will keep telling him.

You care about me... is simply sitting on a dresser one day. Two little drawings with that one; in the first, he's bandaging a cartoonish bump on Tav's head. On the back, though...he recognises that image, Tav tied up and spitting rage at him through the night, lost to their Urges, as he kept watch. In smaller letters, his own words are reflected back at him: ...even when that's an objectively stupid thing to do.

You never gave up is in the medical kit kept under the bed, the one stocked with salves and oils for the bone-deep ache of two hundred years of consistent injuries. Tav will rub his shoulders for him if he asks, he knows that. But, well, two centuries of hiding any sign of weakness makes for a tough habit to break. He touches the reminder gently, as though it's fragile, and after a moment's hesitation, calls them in for help.

And on and on they go, dozens of little notes, a tangible list of things they love about him. Repeated, sometimes, some more than others, as and when he needs to be reminded of them. Often accompanied by little drawings that make him laugh or snort or cry - snapshots at how Tav sees him. His ridiculous bedhead. His unflattering blood-drunk expression, gawking into the middle distance, utterly lost in the sauce. The way his ears will sometimes twitch in his sleep. The Sexy Side-Lean pose he didn't realise he tends to do in doorways. His dramatic readings of appalling erotica.

And gradually, he begins to believe them.

[vampiresfromxenon]

Kiss It Better

Astarion x gender neutral! Reader/Tav

Around 2.2K words 

Tags: Fluff, kissing, blood, soft!(ish?) Astarion, hurt/comfort, angst, 3rd person, no use of y/n

CW: Blood, deep wound on hand, existential thoughts (?)

Summary: After accidentally cutting your hand on your blade, Astarion is the only one in the camp to help you deal with it. You’ve been seeing him for awhile now, but this is the first time you’ve ever seen him actually care. Perhaps he does feel the same way about you…

~

With the daylight fading, you rest just outside your tent, wiping the blood off of your blade with a damp rag. As you sit there, shining it to perfection, you can’t help but analyze your reflection, thinking about the events that led you to having newer, fresher scars on your face. It’s been a few months since the start of this nightmare, since the start of having these things inside your head. The tadpoles weren't that bad to deal with, but your feelings were worse. 

You’ve grown to love all the companions you’ve met along the way, laughing and enjoying their company as you travel across the land, searching for answers, for a cure. You all keep each other safe in one way or another, and while you hate to get too attached, knowing this won’t last forever, you feel as though you found your family, especially since you can’t remember your real one. God, your real family. One you once knew but now have no memory of. Your past is a mystery, and it haunts you, much more than the gnawing idea that you could become a mind flayer at any waking moment. 

You want to remember. Oh, so desperately do you want to remember, but you can’t. That is not an option for you. And besides? What good would that do you now? You can only confront the horrors that lie before you. The thought of losing your friends, the thought of losing yourself. The thought of losing… No. You can’t bear the thought of losing him.

You find your heart sinking in your chest at the thought of him turning into a mind flayer. Your chest aches at the thought of where you promised you’d stab him if, Gods forbid, he turns. Looking into his eyes and seeing nothing, no life, no character, but a vessel. A vessel for these wretched things. It was becoming too much to handle. Your body begins to tremble from these false images enveloping your thoughts, these twisted and sickly ideas corrupting your mind for far too long. You’re so distracted by these terrors that you fail to notice the fact that you started to scrub the blade harder, or even more pressing, the fact that you dropped the rag. 

In one swift movement, your palm forcibly glides across the blade, drawing both blood from your palm and a string of curses from your mouth. The images disappear, fleeing your mind as you pick up the rag and crush it into the palm of your hand to stop the bleeding. The blade was no longer important in this moment, tossed off to the side for later. You storm into your tent, clutching your hand, searching for any sort of healing potion or power that you could find. Shadowheart and the rest of the camp had left to explore the town for the night, leaving you all to your lonesome, or so you thought. 

You sit on a cushion, exasperated and upset with yourself and your doomed existence. Removing the cloth, you take a closer look to see just how bad the wound is, trying to ignore the stinging feeling. Distracted by the blood, you fail to hear a visitor’s light footsteps approaching. 

“Oh dear, what happened to you?” A charming voice rings out. 

You turn to see a pale, slender elf standing in the opening of your tent, his white hair perfectly styled as always, his piercing red eyes invading your soul. Shoving the rag back into your burning palm, you attempt to hide your mistake, though you know he smells the blood from miles away. 

“I had a moment of clumsiness, nothing more.” You stated in a nonchalant tone, attempting to downplay your embarrassment. 

You turn your hand away from him, your eyes drifting around your tent, avoiding his gaze. He slowly approaches you, kneeling down on the cushion you are sitting on. He moves his head to meet your gaze, not wasting a second of eye-contact. 

“Mind if I take a look, darling?” He purrs, asking more nicely than usual. 

Your heart begins to race as he leans over you a little, prying into your personal space. If it were anyone else, you would push them away, but he invited himself in so much that you couldn’t help but miss it when he left. However, in this moment you did not want to feel this vulnerable, this embarrassed at your mistake; you couldn’t help but push him away just a little. After all, he is not known for having the best 'bedside manner’, if any at all. Meeting his eyes, you give him a knowing look.

“I’ll be alright on my own, thank you, Astarion. Besides, I thought you went into town with the rest of the camp?” You inquire, suddenly aware of just how much your feelings of being alone may have been an illusion. 

“I had no need to go, and honestly I couldn’t take any more of Gale’s whining about ‘needing to eat magical artifacts’. I know everyone complains about my diet, but let’s be realistic here for just a moment…” He looks away smirking, proud of his own snarky comment. Turning back to you, there is suddenly a shift in tone on his face. While he still has his typical look, one that is oozing with flirtatious energy, he looks a bit more serious, concerned even. You’ve never seen this side of him before, and it shocked you considering just how insignificant he’d find a wound like this normally. 

“Let me see it, please.” His voice was low, softer than usual, but commanding. One of his hands reaches across you, his hand ghosting over yours. You can’t help but lift your bloody hand so his palm touches the back of your hand. Never breaking eye-contact, he pulls your hand closer to him, gently pulling the rag from your white knuckles. Looking down, he notices just how bad the cut is, taking up most of your palm. 

“Oh, my dear… How did you do this?” His voice is more concerned now, his thumb gently rubbing circles into your wrist. His eyes soften, and you can’t help but think back to what put you in this mess to begin with. Your body trembles once more, eyes breaking his gaze as you stare down at your hand. 

“My hand slipped while cleaning my blade. It’s alright, I just need to wait for Shadowheart to come back…” You trail off. 

“Why wait for Shadowheart? I can make you feel better, you know…” His free, slender hand reaches down and grabs your chin, gently raising your head to face his again. You blush from his touch, his willingness to command your body. Your mouth falls open a little, unsure of what to say or how to respond to such a comment from him. You were used to his flirting, but this unlocked a whole new feeling in you. He could sense your speechlessness, and so he did the one thing he knew how to do best: make you even more flustered. 

“Would you like me to kiss it better?” He asks in his normal, teasing tone. This offering catches you off guard, breaking your immersion in this intimate moment. You can’t help but laugh, thinking now that he was only just charming you like he does everyone else. Continuing to laugh, you call him out. 

“Very funny, Astarion. Hilarious. Need I remind you of when I was opening up to you not that long ago and you said almost the exact same thing? Seems to me you’re running out of tactics here.” You roll your eyes, not amused by his antics.

You feel his grip tighten on your bleeding hand, pulling it closer to him. Looking to see what he is doing, you connect with his eyes one more time, seeing an almost predatory look. You stop laughing, your face heating up once again, your heart pounding as his soft lips connect with your wounded palm. It still stings, and you wince a little at the contact, but you can’t seem to look or pull away from him. He kisses all along your palm, and you can feel him gently sucking at the blood. Not only was he kissing you better, but he was feeding on you. 

If you weren’t so attracted to him, you’d be much more upset. Instead, you sit on this cushion while the vampire of your desires kneels before you, kissing and sucking at your wounded palm. You can feel his tongue lapping at your skin, his fangs ever so slightly poking out from behind his lips. Yes, he was feeding, but was he… actually kissing you too? His hands continue to massage the back of your hand and your wrist, trying to provide you comfort without completely invading your space. Eventually he stops, planting a final kiss on your wrist, his mouth covered in blood. He licks his lips, and you can’t help but tremble now but for a whole new reason. 

“Better?” He asks, smiling enough to show his fangs this time. 

“You just wanted an excuse to suck at my hand, didn’t you?” You raise an eyebrow, an attempt to see through him.

“I am always looking for any excuse to suck at any part of you, my sweet.” His voice is low once more, a rumbling laugh escaping his lips.

He finds a section of the rag not absolutely soaked in blood and pushes it back into your, now much cleaner, palm. Your whole face is flushed now, unable to think of any more witty remarks or comebacks. For the second time in just a few small minutes, he found yet another way to leave you completely speechless. The sly vampire decides to take advantage of your silence once more. 

Letting go of your hand, he leans forward, his lips connecting with yours. It’s soft, gentle, and new. To be fair, while you have spent a few intimate nights together, this moment here alone feels so much more real, so much more genuine. Almost as if he was kissing you… because he wanted to. A real, genuine want. His hand caresses the side of your face, his other landing on the small of your back as he continues to kiss you. Without hesitation, you lean into the kiss, your body elated by his touch. It’s not long before he deepens the kiss, his tongue parting your lips, wanting more from you. 

He tastes of iron, what more could you expect, but for once you don’t hate the taste. You invite it more into your mouth as he continues to lean even further over you. He begins to push you back, your body relaxing into the cushion. He breaks from the kiss, planting small kisses on your face, trailing them down your jaw and to the side of your neck. You can’t help but close your eyes, softly sighing as he kisses at your skin, sucking softly, his fangs once again poking you. He had been feeding off you almost every night now for weeks while you were dead asleep, and while it was unusual for you two, it was so much more enjoyable to experience it this way. He lifts his head, meeting your eyes as a way of warning you he was about to bite. He opens his mouth, his fangs protruding, ready for the taste of your flesh and blood. 

“Helloooo? Astarion? Tav? We’ve got some goods!” Yells out Karlach, just a few meters away from your tent.

Shit. He sits up, kneeling over you, looking dissatisfied. You sigh and throw your head back into the cushion, frustrated. His cool hand caresses your cheek before tracing down your arm. He leans in close to your face one last time, his breath warming your skin. 

“Shall we finish this later tonight, my love?” He purrs, not even remotely finished with you.

You nod, still unable to speak from the last few eventful minutes. He kisses your cheek before standing. “Find me in the woods at our little spot, just after everyone has gone to bed. Don’t keep me waiting.” He flashes one last cheeky smirk before exiting your tent. 

“Hello, Karlach. Gale find any boots to devour today?” He quips, and you can’t help but laugh when Gale offendly responds.

The camp erupts in conversation, and you find yourself leaving your tent after a few minutes to track down Shadowheart. She heals you in her tent, though she has quite a few questions. Giving vague enough responses, she accepts them and lets you be on your way, but she’ll definitely be curious about it for a while. 

No matter, the only thought you could think of now was what Astarion had planned for both of you tonight; you knew exactly what was going to happen, but there was this whole new sense of excitement now that you could tell there was something deeper, real, and authentic going on between you two. You lie there in your tent, waiting for the snoring and sleep talking to begin to resonate throughout the camp, eager to scamper off into the wilderness with the elf you adore.  

-

Author's Note:

Hello! I haven't written any fan fiction in a loooooong time, and none of it was ever good to begin with- I've been struggling with writer's block for awhile now, and this was the first thing to break me out of it... lmao. I am very new to BG3 in general honestly, and I just barely started act 2. Please no spoilers, but also if Astarion is sorta OOC, I hope that explains why too :)

I've only had Astarion for what, two, three weeks now, and this man is just so whewww. I thought of this fic idea right as soon as I started a longer drive, and I started recording my thoughts on video so that way I wouldn't forget anything before I could start writing hahaha- I blushed so hard writing this, hope y'all feel the same

Hope you enjoy!

[trendywaifus]

suffering from nightmares/having trouble sleeping properly due to stress? say no more! cw: mention of panic attack. mention of fake character death. spoilers. angst to fluff. fem!reader

ACHERON is a light sleeper, so anything can rouse her from her slumber. she likes to spoon you and prefers you to be near the wall while she’s closer to the door to protect you if anything happens. if you’re having a nightmare, stirring in her arms and mumbling incoherent words under your breath, acheron will immediately wake up and know what’s going on. she won’t wake you. no, she’ll hold you tighter, pressing your back into her front, occasionally kissing the nape of your neck and softly whisper in your ear, talking you through it. “ you’re not alone, i’m here. “ and “ shh, it’s okay my love. you’re in my arms right now, you’re safe. “

if you’re having trouble sleeping, acheron will stay awake and talk to you about anything you want. if you just want her to talk that’s fine, she’ll just ramble on about some philosophy or if she remembers, she’ll recall some funny one-sided interactions she had with random people. you don’t wanna talk and just want her to hold you until you fall asleep? no problem! she’d quietly lull you into her strong arms and rests her chin on your temple. her calloused hands rub your back, occasionally drawing non-existent shapes against it. ngl, i see acheron unconsciously rubbing your ass and shyly apologize once she realizes what she’s doing (please continue).

if you’re having a terrible nightmare and wake up into a panic attack, struggling to differentiate what’s real and what’s not, that’ll be one of the rare times where acheron is scared to death cus ur her baby frfr.

(don’t attempt what acheron’s doing because people react differently during panic attacks and some do NOT want to be touched while having one. verbal redirection and MAYBE minimal touching is okay. )

“ (name). (name)! look at me, hey. “ acheron grabs your wrists, trying to hold you still while you hysterically sobbed and trembled. you frantically tried to escape acheron’s firm grip, shaking your head. “ i-i ha-have to get out of here—i-i can’t be here—you don’t understand!”you babbled, struggling to kick off the sheets and scramble out of the bed. she’s quick to pin you down against the mattress, straddling your hips to prevent you from escaping and hurting yourself.

“ you have to calm down. do you know where you are now? can you recognize me? you need to look at me. i’m begging you. “ acheron pleads, voice nearly cracking as she desperately tries to connect her amethyst eyes with yours. for several minutes, she tried to reorient and reassure you as you struggled to fully grasp reality. once you tired yourself out, it took some time for your lover’s voice to finally reach you.

“ that’s right, calm down. deep breaths, focus only on me my precious girl. no, no, don’t look over there, only at me. “ she whispers, releasing one of your wrists to brush the strands of hair sticking to your sweaty forehead and caressed your face lovingly, wiping the tears away with her thumb. “ i-i’m sorry, “ you choked out, “i didn’t mean to—“

“ it’s alright. you need’nt to apologize. i understand, my love. night terrors are truly horrible. “ acheron dips down to firmly kiss your forehead. she removes herself off of you and protectively pulls you into her midst. “ you nearly scared me to death but i know it was nothing compared to what you were experiencing in that nightmare. i promise that who or whatever is the cause of that dream, i’ll reduce them into nothingness if my blade can reach them. no, i’ll make sure of it. “

BLACK SWAN doesn’t sleep, she’s a memetic entity after all. if time allows her to, expect her to lay in bed and cuddle you while you sleep. her nimble fingers would comb through your hair, while your head is settled on her generous chest. you prefer to sleep on top of her because her presence is so soothing. that includes her voice, it’s so smooth and low, it’s like water when she hums and whispers sweet things into your ear. unfortunately, that still isn’t enough to escape from nightmares. as a memokeeper, black swan knows when you’re having a nightmare. she’ll enter into your dream and save you from whatever’s troubling you. when you wake up, she’d stroke your back and kiss the side of your head tenderly. “ that was quite the nightmare, wasn’t it? was i there to save you, my dear? “ black swan softly asks, sliver of tease in her voice.

you can’t sleep? that’s no good. sure she has the ability to ease your mind and body but physically comforting you with her touch is simply better. your cute sighs of content and the feeling of your body melting against hers is a savory memory to have. if you wish to talk, she’ll talk about the memories she witnessed, her favorites which is the ones with you in it, and then the downright ridiculous ones that she had collected from others. oh? don’t feel like talking and just want silence? that’s fine. she’ll simply hold you close till’ you fall victim to sleep—which won’t be long because her touch is sooo therapeutic and this woman knows it.

of course there will be times where she won’t be there with you due to her duties but if you call her name, especially with urgency, she’ll do her best to come to you as soon as possible.

“ bl-black swan! “ you hurriedly called out into the darkness, breath irregular and tears threatening to fall from your eyes. another night, another nightmare. you thought, running a shaky hand over your face. after a few minutes of waiting, there was still silence, no familiar weight on the bed, no angelic voice confirming her presence, no arms reaching out to embrace you—nothing.

“ sh-she must be busy. i’m foolish to think she would come the second i call her. “ you hide your face into your hands, sniffling.

“ it’s not foolish, my dearest. you musn’t think that, “ a gentle voice says in front of you, as the mattress softly dips. “ i heard the frantic call of my name and i did my best to wrap up some matters as fast as i could. i’m a little late, my apologies.” warm hands grasps your hands, slowly peeling them away from your face. once your watery eyes finds hers, black swan offers you a beautiful warm smile. “ there’s my pretty darling, come here. “ as if you were the most fragile thing in the universe, she delicately pulls you into a embrace and presses a quick kiss right below your brow. she sways you in her arms, humming a soothing tune you don’t recognize.

“ if you wish, allow me to erase that awful nightmare from your memories. “

FIREFLY is a sweetheart when it comes to you, her precious love. she puts you before herself and she’ll continue to until her very being fades away. so if you’re awake, she’s awake. you’re asleep, she’s asleep. in bed, firefly wants to face you while holding your hand, it grounds her and she hopes it does the same for you. when she’s on missions, you’re always on her mind, she has you to come back to after all. if you’re having a nightmare, firefly is quick to notice it and wake you up, greeting you with a sweet smile reserved only for you as your eyes flutters open. “ it’s just me, (name). “ she’d whisper, brushing the messy hair away from your tired eyes. firefly leans down to land a chaste kiss right between your eyes.

having trouble sleeping? that’s okay, firefly will do her best to entertain you while you’re up. if you want to talk about anything, go ahead! she’ll listen and share her thoughts with you. she herself doesn’t really have any fond memories to share except the ones she has with you. oh, you don’t want to talk? okay, let her hold you then. because of her fire element, she’s warm so i can imagine her protectively enveloping you in her arms, legs tangling with yours, and nuzzle her nose into your temple. your ear is pressed against her chest, the soft rhythm of her heart is all you hear besides her faint breathing.

unfortunately, firefly won’t be there all the time with you because of her missions, so nights by yourself are a little common.

with a heavy heart, you lift your head from the pillow, sitting up. cold sweat rolls down the side of your face as ominous darkness swallows your form. “ a nightmare. “ you murmured, glancing to the empty side where your missing lover should be. she’s on a mission and is expected to come back soon. you exhaled deeply, snatching your phone from the nightstand to look at the time. “ its nearly one in the morning. i need to sleep before—“

“ you’re awake. “ a deep, low robotic voice observes, heavy footsteps entering the shared cabin along with the sound of shifting metal. your drowsy gaze turns over to the looming, large mecha walking towards the bed, it’s blue slits glowing in the darkness. “ well, i was sleep but i can guess you can see how that went, sam. “ sam’s large metal hand reaches out to gingerly touch your cheek, it felt warm and comforting against your skin. “ yes, i do. would you like for me to get you a glass of water or anything that you desire? “

you rest your hand over sam’s, giggling, “ no, i just desire you and you. “ your hand then points at the mecha’s chest. sam pauses before a bit, taken back by your gesture and chuckles fondly. they retract away and takes a few steps back. “ as you wish, my love. “ blue lightly highlights sam from head to toe and wisps of flames wraps around its form. not a moment later, firefly emerges from the short-lasting flames, smiling warmly at you.

“ it’s nice to also see you again, firefly. “

ROBIN is another sweetheart! she makes sure you’re all comfortable before anything else. much like firefly, she loves to lay in bed while facing you. robin adores your pretty resting face and often times retrains herself from touching you. if you’re having a nightmare, which is rare because of robin’s angelic presence, she won’t wake you up, instead, she’d sing a soft tune and stroke your hair. “ don’t worry my muse, “ she whispers, dulcet voice filled with love and a hint of sadness, “ you’re not alone. when you wake up, i’ll be here to comfort you with open arms. “

can’t sleep? no worries, if you want, she can relax your body so you can sleep! oh, you don’t want to? you want to just talk to get your mind off of things? okay, robin will listen to whatever you have to say with a fond smile. she’ll gladly give you a response if you want her thoughts. if you want her to talk, she’ll talk about her tours, songs she’s writing (excluding the ones that are about you cus it’s a surprise ;)), and her brother! don’t feel like talking? that’s fine, she’s gonna admire you until sleep overtakes her.

robin absolutely hates it when you have terrible nightmares, it breaks her heart to see you in a state of distress.

“ sweetheart, are you alright? “ she asks worriedly, touching your shoulder and tilts her head to the side to see more of your face. you breathed heavily, casting her a tight-lipped smile that didn’t reassure robin one bit. “ mhm, “ you bring her into a hug, burying your face into her shoulder, breathing in her lavender scent. “ just a small bad dream. don’t worry, robbie. “ you muttered, holding back a sob. it was just a small bad dream where your lover dies right in front of your eyes is all.

her wings flutters with sadness as your body trembles against hers. she wraps her slender arms around your frame, softly frowning. “ a small bad dream that left you like this? please don’t lie to me, love. i want to help you. “

“ you already are, “ you hold her tighter, voice evidently cracking, “ by being here with me.” robin feels warm tears stain her nightgown, her lips pursues.

“ no—please, allow me to see your face so i can wipe your tears away and ease your mind. “

after a brief moment, you tentatively pull away from her shoulder, letting her see your teary face. her jade eyes glosses a bit. robin cradles your cheeks, brushing away the small droplets of tears with the stroke of her thumbs. she leans forward and rests her forehead against yours. a warm feeling whirls in your stomach and spreads through your body like a wildfire. your tense muscles relaxes and your troubled mind gradually clears. your lover places a lingering kiss against your shaking lips, silently promising you that it’s going to be okay.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Nightmares

The start of my Astarion rabbithole begins here...

Summary: You can't sleep without Astarion. Even still, nightmares continue to haunt you but Astarion vows to do all he can to ease your pain.

“Yes darling?” Astarion asks the moment he feels your face collide with his back, lifting his gaze from his book. Your arms wrap around his waist, pressing his body against yours and Astarion will never tell you how much he loves that feeling. No matter what you bribe him with.

You incoherently mumble something in return, burying your face into the back of his shirt.

“I can’t quite make out what you just said, dearest. You’ll have to speak up a bit more,” he bites back a laugh at how you give an angry grumble in response and closes the book, gently prying you off him.

Turning around to face you, he presses a kiss to the top of your head before tilting your chin up so that he can press another kiss to your lips, his cold slender fingers gliding over your warm skin. The tip of his index finger traces along your jawline as he hungrily kisses you deeper, his other hand tangled in your hair.

You kiss him back with equal fervour, eyes closed. His fangs graze your bottom lip, drawing a hint of blood which he immediately licks up, letting out a soft moan at the sweetness that floods his tongue.

“You still have not told me what it is you desire, my sweet,” he nuzzles into your hair, arms wrapped tightly around you. His book lies on the ground long forgotten, all that he can think about is how nice you feel in his embrace, as though you were made for it.

“Cuddle,” you yawn, rubbing your eyes. “Can’t sleep without you.”

“You miss me that much, dearest?” He teases. “Come along then, you need your sleep.” He pretends as though your words haven’t set his ears on fire, that the sudden rush of warmth in his chest wasn’t caused by your proclamation of how much you wanted his presence and gently guides you back to your tent, barely remembering to pick his book up.

Once he’s tucked you into your bedroll, pushing hair out of your face before you start sneezing from the tickles, he removes his tunic and gets comfortable by your side. The moment he lies down, you snuggle up to him, burying your face in his chest. Your body curls up, fitting against his like a puzzle piece.

“Good night, Astarion,” you murmur drowsily.

“Good night, my sweet,” he runs his fingers through your hair, the motion lulling you to sleep like it always does. He relishes in the way your hair smoothly parts for his fingers, the softness of the strands brushing against his skin. Ever since he introduced his hair routine to you, your hair condition had been improving and he was pleased with how much you loved to show it off to him.

It doesn’t take long for you to drift off, lips parting slightly as your chest gently rises and falls with each breath. Astarion enjoys this part of your nightly cuddles the most, it reminds him of why he fights so hard each and every day. If he had to withstand the exhausting hikes, fights and idiocy of the rest of the party just to see the small smile of contentment on your face when you slept, he would do it for an eternity without hesitation. All that mattered to him was that you were happy, safe. Free.

He gently hums a tune he remembers you humming before, resisting the urge to kiss you over and over again, knowing that it would wake you up. His fingers dance along your back, tracing the scars that mar it. He’s long memorised each and every single one of them, whether it be from the passionate nightly activities or simply cuddling, just like tonight. Even though you find them disgusting, he finds them beautiful. They are signs of what has failed to kill you, of what you’ve pulled through. They told those who saw that that you were strong, that you were a survivor.

He finds himself tracing over the thin scar lines along your arm that wrap around like vines. You’ve never told them where you got them from, each time he tries to breach the topic you shy away, changing the subject with a laugh. He knows glimpses of your past from the nights the two of you have sat together under the moonlight, talking about whatever came to mind at the moment, but he never quite got the full picture. You purposely avoided talking about certain things and he never once probed further out of respect for your privacy, but moments like this make him wonder what someone as cheerful and bright as you had been through to become a completely different person when such topics were discussed.

Still, he won’t push you further than you’re comfortable with. You’ve never done it to him, even if it clearly frustrated you how little he was willing to divulge and he respected you for that. You would tell him about the scars on your arm when you were comfortable with it, he knew, and he could wait. He was a vampire spawn, he had the time to wait.

You shift in your sleep, eyebrows furrowed and fingernails digging into the bedroll beneath. A nightmare .

Astarion gently rubs your back, whispering sweet assurances into your ear and pressing his forehead against yours, hoping it will calm you down. The whimper that escapes your lips breaks his undead heart and he wishes he could enter dreams, just so that he could fight off whatever nightmare was plaguing you tonight.

“It’s alright, love. It’s just a nightmare,” he whispers, despising how powerless he is. “I’m always right here, right by your side.”

“Star,” you whimper, eyes cracking open. “Help. Hurts.”

He desperately presses more kisses to the top of your head, holding you tightly. “I’m right here, I’m right here.”

He repeats the three words over and over again like a mantra, cradling you as you cry into his chest, sobs wracking your body. His hand rests on the back of your head, his body curled around yours to shield you from the world.

“Let it all out. No one else is here,” he murmurs. You cry even harder at his words, gasping between each sob until you have no tears left to give. He ignores how your fingernails have dug into his shoulders so much that you’ve drawn blood, far more concerned about how you are feeling.

“I’m sorry,” the words feel thick in your throat. You wipe your eyes, looking up at him with such pain in your eyes and sniffle.

“Don’t be, love. We all need a little space to cry.” He presses his lips to your warm, tear-stained skin, willing all your pain away.

Wrapped in his comforting embrace, you slowly drift back to sleep with the feeling of his hand rubbing circles on your back. Once he’s sure you’ve properly fallen asleep, he lets himself slip into a meditative half-trance, but always keeps an ear out for you just in case. He won’t ever leave you to face your demons alone. You’d do the same for him anyways, he’s just repaying the favour, right?

You reach out towards him in your slumber, throwing an arm around him so that you can pull him closer. Your breath tickles his skin and something within his chest squeezes, taking his breath away.

I love you, his lips form the words but no sound comes out. Watching your now peacefully slumbering form, his undead heart comes back to life but words still fail him. For now, he’ll resign himself to practising the words so that when the moment comes, he will be able to say them, and know you will say them back.

[charliemwrites]

Part 6 of childhood friend Simon

“You missed a spot.”

“Like hell I did.”

Simon’s eye twitches as you snort, turning back to your phone. “Some sniper you are, blind bastard.”

The silence stretches for one, two, three…..

“Where?” he sighs.

“Left side of your jaw.” You gesture at the spot just near where it curves, a few centimeters from the corner. He runs his thumb over the spot and finds a patch of stubble.

“Fuck.”

“‘Like hell I did’,” you mock.

He narrows his eyes, points threateningly. “Watch it or I’ll shave an eyebrow.”

You snort, unconcerned. “Remember that time I did shave my eyebrows?”

He smirks as he runs the razor over the bit he missed, double checks he got it, then rinses in the sink.

“Wasn’t it because of some stupid YouTube video?”

“Yes, and I still have nightmares about having to draw them in.”

He nearly snorts water everywhere trying not to laugh, quickly wiping his face off with the towel you hand him.

“Didn’t your mum start calling you caterpillar girl?”

Your mouth drops open, scandalized.

“Simon Riley you swore you’d never bring that up again!”

He laughs outright as you chase him from the bathroom, whacking him in the arm. When he puts his hands up in mock surrender, you give him one last swat for good measure.

“Assaulting a military officer is illegal.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re legally dead, aren’t you? So wouldn’t that be desecrating a corpse?”

“I’ll have to ask Laswell.”

“Or we could ask Johnny. I bet he’ll know.”

The implication of Johnny knowing versus having an opinion is not something Simon’s equipped to parse before his first cuppa.

“Johnny’s just gonna side with you.”

You shrug - because it’s true. Johnny may be Simon’s (other) best friend, but he’s also a shithead that takes every opportunity to fuck with Ghost. And with you around “protecting” him, he’s been an absolute bastard.

“Then we’ll ask Gaz and John too,” you offer as you step into your shoes.

You’ve been lining them up next to his boots off to the side. The contrast of big, black leather next to your much smaller trainers would be almost comedic if it didn’t make his chest warm.

A reminder that you’re here with him, in a place he usually spends all his time wishing to see you. He’s called you countless times on the same bed you’ve been sharing for the past week. And now you’re wearing his official SAS hoodie (complete with his name on the back) and invading his wardrobe, about to go with him to breakfast in the mess.

Johnny, in a shocking twist, doesn’t think it’s desecrating a corpse to smack Simon.

“Well, he’s Ghost, aye? So it’d be exorcising him, no?”

Your eyes go all big as you turn to Simon with unholy delight. He makes a mental note to throw Johnny onto the mat once more than usual during their next spar.

That’ll have to wait though, because he’s promised you range time and then the obstacle course. Johnny tags along, interested to see your marksmanship when Simon’s talked it up so much.

He watches on, pride bright and hot in his chest, as you walk through all the steps he’s taught you. It’s even his favorite gun in your steady hands, fingers elegant as you load, chamber. Click the safety off and settle into your preferred stance.

The first two shots hit the target, though off to the side, the second closer to center than the first. You pause, take a breath before he even says anything. Then fire again. And again. And again. Until the mag is empty and he brings the paper target back.

A neat cluster of 15 holes, dead center.

“Atta girl,” he rasps, tugging you into his side and pressing a kiss against your hair.

“I did good?” you ask, beaming.

“Lass, even those first two would have been the end of some poor sod,” Johnny chimes in, patting your shoulder. “Guess the LT isn’t such a bad teacher after all.”

Simon narrows his eyes. “Was that even a question?”

Johnny shoves the ammo box at you. “A pint says you can’t do it again.”

“You’re on!”

—

The obstacle course is slightly less of a success.

“Oh, hey, Si,” you giggle, clinging onto the rope for dear life. “Ya come here often.”

He snorts. “Did you get stuck?”

“No!” You huff, scowling. “Im just… hanging around.”

He’s enjoyed watching you navigate the course - more importantly, he likes that you enjoy climbing around. Even if he’s had a small heart attack every time your foot slips or you wobble.

“Oi, you’re holding up traffic,” Gaz huffs, rapping his knuckles against your foot.

“Do you mind?” you call back. “Im telling Simon bad jokes.”

“Oh, by all means then.”

Simon snorts, jerks his head for you to continue. Johnny laughs as you shimmy along, laughs harder when you almost fall flipping him off.

Once you make it to the other side, Gaz climbs up after you and starts demonstrating how to do the next section. Simon and Johnny follow along, the latter cheering you on.

Movement from the corner of his eye draws his attention; Price, determined set to his shoulders. Simon recognizes the glint in his eye.

“Got ‘em?” Simon asks, hopeful.

Having you spend all day with him on base has been a subconscious fantasy come true. You, close by and safe, under 24/7 guard. But the circumstances have made his skin crawl, made it difficult to enjoy the novelty. Woken him up in the small hours of the night and hug you as close as he can without waking you.

“Fuckin’ got ‘em,” Price confirms. “Laswell’s got the docket prepped. All that’s left it briefing and prep. You can be wheels up in a few hours.”

Simon cracks his neck, anticipation sparking in his veins. His gaze slides to you, to his teammates helping you down from the wall. Price follows your gaze.

“You good for this one, Simon? Got your head on straight?”

Simon flicks him a look. “You know I’m good.”

“I know Ghost is good. What about Simon?”

He blinks, gaze going back to you. You can tell already even from a distance, by the set of his shoulders, that something is going on. You’re still relaxed, but there’s a questioning curve to your mouth as you stop at his side, fingers curling in the sleeve of his shirt.

“Something happened?” you ask.

“We found the group targeting you.”

“Oh!” You arch your eyebrows, eyes bouncing between him and Price. “You’ll be taking care of it, then?”

Simon turns back to Price, a silent “well?”.

“We’ll discuss strategies during the brief.”

You perk up. “Do I get to come?”

“Might as well,” Price sighs. “Let’s go.”

—

In the end, of course Simon is going to go. You’re his girl, always have been. He trusts his team, but when it comes to you, he’ll see this done right. And the only way to be sure, the only way to have peace, is for him to eliminate the threat himself.

Johnny’s coming along, of course. The slightest bit of tension in your shoulders eases when Price decides it. Simon presses his thigh into yours.

When the brief is done, strategies and timelines set, you follow him back to his barrack. He gears up while you sit on the bed, idly inspecting his vest while he straps into everything else.

“Nervous?” he asks.

You tilt your head back and forth considering. “Not more than usual before you leave. It seems like this is pretty standard for you, more or less. Why, should I be nervous?“

He snorts. That’s his girl. “No.”

You hum, picking at the Velcro of his SAS patch. He pauses, watches your face. You’re not anxious, but there’s… something.

“What’s up, buttercup?” he asks, chucking you gently under the chin.

“I…” you pause, hum. Try again. “I don’t like that you’re going out just because of me.”

He frowns, settles on the edge of his bed. You lean with the dip in the mattress, pressing warm and solid against his side.

“I feel like… like I messed up somehow, and now you have to fix it for me.”

He blows out a breath, yanking the mask off. You tilt your head to look at him, eyes soft, the tiniest frown on your face. He peels his glove off too, to cup your cheek. Revels in the warmth and smooth skin against his scars and callouses, always a little surprised when you lean into it.

“I’d get you world peace if you asked for it,” he replies.

“You’d be out of a job,” you half-joke.

“You are my job, daft thing.” He shakes his head, leans in until he can thunk his forehead gently against yours. “You’re what brought me back from the grave. Knew I still had work to do, that you still needed taking care of.”

You sniffle a bit. Always do when he digs up the words to remind you how much you mean to him. Not that he thinks you ever doubt it. How could you? But sometimes, he thinks, it bears repeating.

“You haven’t made a mess, luv. But even if you did, I’m always right here with a mop, yeah?”

He’d burn alive just to keep you warm. Drown to fetch you a glass of water. Anything, everything. Just so long as you’re still here, still his.

“I’ll take care of this and then come home to you. Due for a holiday anyway.”

You close your eyes, a faint little smile tilting your lips. He can’t look away. Never can.

“We can go on that camping trip you’ve been talking about,” you say.

“Yeah, luv. Toast marshmallows like the old days.”

You hum, a proper smile finally blooming across your face.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Promise you’ll come back. Both of you.”

“Promise. Be good for Price while I’m gone.”

You open your eyes, a mischievous sparkle in them. “We’ll see.”

—

You see him off on the tarmac, serene and assured. Stripped of faith and belief, there is one certainty in your life, always and forever. And it’s Simon. He’s going to come home to you, because he promised he would.

“Raise hell, Si.”

“Already raised the dead,” he muses, hell shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Aye, I’ve got just the C-for it.”

You groan at the joke, but don’t deny Johnny a parting hug and peck on the cheek. “Look out for each other.”

“Will do, hen.”

You don’t hug or kiss Simon. Don’t need to, you’ve said your goodbyes. You squeeze his hand and then step back as he heads for the plane with Johnny chattering all the way.

“Alright, little miss?” Price asks when it’s just the two of you.

“Always,” you reply, turning to smile at him.

You have to be, for Simon.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

heya hiya bbg!! since you are writing for bucky i might as well do 10 y/o me some justice <3

i weirdly remember this dream i had (most of my requests are my delusional ahh dreams oml😞) where reader basically calms him after a nightmare like asking him what happened, if he wants to talk abt it, humming/singing to him, trying to cheer him up, etc etc

v cute v fluffy <3

hopefully u can get to this soon! have a great week/end!

-🪐

angel my bbg hi!! love it love it love it!! thank you for requesting, hope you like it 💌

UNRESTED.

bucky barnes x fem!reader

word count. 647

warnings. reverse comfort bc I can’t stop myself from writing it, nightmares but no description. it’s just fluff and comfort

It was no secret that Bucky didn't sleep well, often tormented by memories, leaving him with minimal hours of uninterrupted rest. Most nights were the same, him restlessly tossing in bed, murmuring and jolting as though he's stuck in the past - reliving it all over again.

Tonight was no different. You were nudged awake by your boyfriend sleeping to the right of you, his twitching movements hustling the mattress and snatching the covers. You check the time on your phone and sit up slowly, adjusting beside Bucky. 

You extend a hand, hesitantly reaching for him. You place your palm over his shoulder, the sheen of his cold sweat permeating your skin. "James," you whisper, trying not to startle him. "James," you try again. 

He abruptly sits, lids flinging open, a deep, heavy inhale filling his lungs. "God," he murmurs, brushing a hand down his face. His breathing is ragged and strained, shoulders tensing under your touch.

You brush your hand down his back, stroking over him smoothly. "You're awake. It's okay," you coo, drawing circles over his scarred skin - trying to refocus his mind.

He sighs, dropping his head in his hands, his breathing beginning to even out. "Was the same one again," he mumbles, his voice soft and saddened against his palms.

Your touch remains warm, trailing over him lovingly. "It sounded like it," you whisper, your tone gentle. "I'm sorry, love."

You slip your free hand into his metal one, carefully pulling it away from his face - your thumb brushing over the vibranium. You bring him to your lips and press a kiss on the back of it. You continue to hold him like that, one hand grazing up and down the curve of his back, your other holding the metal on your lap - trying to bring him back as such. 

Bucky turns to look at you, his face knowing. The sight of your sweet features gently lit up in the moonlight, slowly putting his mind at ease.

You meet his downcast gaze, your eyes pooling with empathy. You give him a weak smile before resting the side of your head on his left shoulder, cheek skimming the scars. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" you ask.

He copies your movement, resting his head over yours - the side of his face propped on your crown. "Not yet," he mutters in response, exhaling a steady breath. 

"That's okay," you whisper back, turning to place a kiss on his upper metal arm. "We don't have to right now."

There's a moment of comfortable silence - the only sounds of breathing and the heavy pitter-patter of rain against the window. You continue to hold Bucky, waiting for him to pull away. But he never does.

"Sorry for waking you again,"

"James," you comfort, sweetly cooing at him. "You never have to be sorry for that... I was already awake anyway," you lie - trying to make him feel better. 

You keep a grip on him as you lean back against the mattress, pulling him with you, which he adjusts immediately, cuddling into your side - his arm draping over your middle. You slip your arm under his head and wrap around it, almost like you were cocooning him. Protecting him. Just you cradling his head safely in your arms.

"Thank you," Bucky mutters, his words muffling against your skin as he presses a kiss to your shoulder.

Your fingers graze up into the short hairs at the back of his head - nails soothingly scratching his scalp. "Of course," you murmur back, whispering into his forehead.

Both of you stay like that, listening to the night storm, cuddled and huddled under the covers - his hand slowly making its way up to your heart. He rests his palm over the organ, using the faint thumping to ease him back to sleep.

[anthonys237thfreckle]

erm hey pookie, I have the memory of a goldfish and I can’t remember if I sent the request I wanted to or not so I’m so terribly sorry if I have but I’ve read literally everything in your account today and I’m in love BUT could you maybe possibly do either super fluffy with Javi like at home comforting him after a storm, cooking him a good meal, relaxing and unwinding in like a warm bath, helping take care of him

(and maybe a lil smoochy smooch and grabby hands ending but that’s totally up to you)

hey pookie! here’s your rec! i was thinking of doing this a while ago lol. but thanks for the req!! i love it sm!!

wait this is actually kinda bad guys beware

Twister-Love and Care - Javier ‘Javi’ x F! reader

‘with a storm in my mind, you would understand why

they all name hurricanes after us’

A Potion For Love by AURORA

—

prompt: today’s storm really took it out of Javi, but his girlfriend helps him relax

TW: mentions of storms, thunder, swearing, nightmares, some angst but its a fluff piece!!

The soft pitter-patter of the rain was a relaxing backdrop, contrasting the EF3 storm you two just chased. Javi parked the car in the driveway, ushering you to get inside so you wouldn’t get wet. That was the first thing he said since the chase was over, his eyes trained on the dirt road, darkening with each drop of water. His hands, both of them, gripped the steering wheel when he was driving home, not the usual one-hand-on-the-thigh thing he did, which you could never get enough of.

You flipped the switch to your warm-tinted lights, illuminating the once dark house. Everything looked warm and inviting - you made a rule for ‘no big lights’ in the house - especially if they were cool toned, and Javi thought it was ridiculous at first, but now he can’t imagine their home any different. You kicked off your shoes, hearing Javi do the same behind you. Looking over your shoulder, you saw his eyes out the window, the rain growing harder.

“What’s on that pretty, disgustingly educated mind of yours?” you chuckled, cupping his face and turning it to face yours.

“Scott’s the disgustingly educated one” Javi chuckled softly, a small smile forming on his face, his concerns momentarily washed away when he saw his girlfriend’s smiling face. “ ‘s just..” his face darkened again, a storm behind his eyes, a shuddering sigh escaped his lips.

“We- that storm. It felt really real. Too real, and-” he hesitated “I just, it’s a lot, I don’t really wanna talk about it”

You nodded, caressing his freckled cheek, his skin glowing in the low, warm light. You can’t imagine how hard it must have been for him, in the dark, not knowing anything about everyone’s conditions. It was only when you and Kate emerged, battered and bloodied from the raging storm, that he knew who lived and who left…

“You don’t have to, baby..” you said softly, your hands snaking to his shoulders, squeezing them softly. Javi leaned his body against yours, closing his eyes. “You’re really tense..” you remarked, kneading his knots in his toned muscles; Javi groaned.

“How about we take the night easy…” you whispered, rubbing his arms. He nodded, wrapping his strong arms around her waist, leaning on him. You laughed, bringing him to the couch.

“What do you want for dinner?” you asked softly snuggling up under his arm against his chest, your head tucked under his chin. One of your hands found his bicep, squeezing it in a comforting manner.

“Anything, really..” Javi sighed, drawing little stars on the skin of your waist. “Something warm…” He nuzzled your hair, breathing in the scent of your shampoo.

You smiled, cupping his cheek.

“Why don’t we make a date night out of this? Like a lazy night in?” She smiled up at him, pecking his cheek. Javi opened his eyes, meeting your own.

“That sounds.. amazing. It’s just what I need right now” He sighed softly, pressing a soft peck to your forehead in return.

Smiling, you got off the couch, leaving Javi whining for your warmth. You giggled, moving to the kitchen to see what they have.

“We have… feta cheese, tomatoes, half a zucchini, coleslaw..” You listed off the food in their kitchen, when she had a revelation “How does pasta sound?” She looked over at Javi, who was still on the couch.

“Like heaven” he said “wait, no, that’s you” he smiled tiredly. Even if he was mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted, he was still a flirt.

You walked over to the couch, pulling him to his feet and dragged him to the kitchen, which was essentially you silently saying ‘cook with me’. He was used to this, but loved it so, so much.

So you both chopped, diced, stirred, kissed in the kitchen - Javi was helping you with the alfredo sauce, you added some spinach for some iron. Pasta was always fun with you, because you never chose the boring, basic shapes. Who needs penne when you have star shaped tortellini? The farmers market was a wild place for artisan pasta shapes.

They boiled their pasta, Javi stirred the sauce, you pressed a kiss to his shoulder, moving in front of him, your body between his and the stove. One of his hands went around your waist, you held the spatula he set aside to wrap his arm around you,and stirred the sauce.

“This is nice..” he murmured into the shell of your ear, nuzzling your neck, pressing soft, chaste kisses to where your collarbone met your neck. You leaned your head back, to the side, giving him better access with a grin.

Once you set the pasta in the oven to bake, Javi picked you up bridal style, earning a squeal-like laugh from you. He brought you up the stairs and set you down on the bathroom counter, and you smiled.

You pecked his freckled button nose, turning on the hot water in the bathtub, and sat back down on the counter, wrapping your legs around his waist. The water running provided a nice ambience.

“You better hop in with me” Javi murmured, causing you to nod and chuckle as his hands rubbed your sides soothingly, tickling a tad bit.

You both just exchanged chaste kisses until the water was ready. Slowly stripping each other, you both got into the water, Javi settling you in his lap again.

It was this non sexual intimacy you both loved- there’s nothing purer than a bare body, and you both understood that. You relaxed against his chest as you straddled him momentarily, before lifting your head off his shoulder and running a hand through his curls. Meeting his eyes, he pulled you closer to him by bringing you nearer by the waist.

You both stared into each other’s eyes for a moment- the water still, only the occasional drop falling from the tap to the tub, causing a tiny splash. The silence was comforting to both of your bruised, yet healing souls.

“I’d be lost without you” Javi murmured, his voice holding a passion. “You’re the light in my storm”

You pulled him in for a soft, gentle yet passionate kiss. One that said everything you needed to.

After sitting in the bath for a good 20 minutes, you both got out, shivering slightly as you two reached for the bathrobes.

After you both got out of the water, changing into some bathrobes temporarily. You briefly did your skincare, lathering some moisturizer onto your boyfriend’s face.

Pulling him to your shared bedroom, he let the bathrobe fall to his lower back as he lay down on his stomach, leaving you to straddle him from behind.

You began kneading his knots out, which earned some quiet, satisfied sighs from Javi.

You smiled softly, seeing him go limp just so he could relax and unwind after a very exhausting day.

Once you were done, you lay down on his back and pressed a kiss to his freckled shoulder.

“Come on, dinner’s ready…”

Going downstairs, you spooned the pasta onto two plates, Javi brought the sweet tea out from the fridge, slicing some lemons and dropping them in the glasses full of the amber liquid. Sitting down, you both clinked your forks and started to eat your nourishing meal, warm food sliding down your throat leaving you two with smiles (and some remnants pasta sauce) on your lips.

Once dinner was done, Javi helped you rinse everything and pop it in the dishwasher, turning it on to let it run until it was done. The completists in you two were satisfied - the kitchen looked spotless.

Changing into some actual clothes, you stealing one of Javi’s shirts, you two settled in bed. The covers were warm, having put them in the dryer for a couple of minutes before to make sure they were comfortably toasty.

“Jesus Christ…” Javi sighed as he got under the covers with you, immediately seeking your body and pulling it closer to his own, strong, defined arms wrapping around your hips and lower back. He pressed a few kisses to your hair and forehead, you doing the same but with his cheeks, and nose.

Your hand ran through his curls, earning a noise of ecstasy from him. He pulled you impossibly closer, causing you to throw a leg over his waist - a casual business.

“Goodnight, (Y/N)” he murmured into your hair.

“Goodnight, Javi” you responded, voice muffled from your head nuzzling his chest “Love you”

“Love you too” he murmured, his voice sounding lazy and sleepy.

And with that, you both were too tired to go onto a conversation like you usually did at night. Instead, you both fell asleep to the soft pitter patter of the rain.

[clownpalette]

Drawing more characters from my nightmares 👹👹

This lady was doing a tour of some workplace I think?? It kinda looked like a hotel

I never found out what was in the attic :(

The elevators were something else tho..

Oh god this one was the worst. The drawing is pretty self explanatory. The people speaking on the radio were inside the clock. The person in the cell was... More than sick. Don't mind the lazy drawing.

- now I remember the person wanting the help had dark blue hair, but uh not changing it now

" Haha we're so evil! "

" I know right??"

No context needed. Just them.

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

the great war - astarion

a/n: i finished baldurs gate 3 last night for the first time and i just. i couldn't stop thinking about the fact that this is a game where all you do is fight and kill people and spend months thinking you'll die. and no one mentions the fact that those things woudl give you ptsd. so here's what i came up with! warnings: cursing, smut, angst, nightmares, ptsd, crying, MASSIVE spoilers for baldurs gate 3. like explicit details about the ending. general content warning for mature themes and such word count: 2.2.k summary: the four things you tell your companions you've been up to when they ask at reunions. pairing: astarion x gn!reader now playing: the great war - taylor swift "that was the night i nearly lost you/i really thought i'd lost you/we can plant a memory garden/say a solemn prayer, place a poppy in my hair/there's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair/and we will never go back"

Painting

He asks you to teach him to paint on a cold, rainy day. He’s spent hours watching you meticulously replicate various memories and scenes you want to be forever permanent. You paint your old friends.

You paint Gale and Tara curled up on one of the chairs in the Elfsong Tavern.

You paint Astarion with a goblet in his hand, wrinkles crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

You paint Karlach and Shadowheart laughing by the fire.

You paint Astarion in the early morning, his arm draped over his eyes as he rests.

You paint Wyll and Lae’zel sparring as Scratch watches, running around them like an excited toddler.

You paint Astarion sitting by the river, his feet submerged in the water. You remember how peaceful he looked.

But now, he stares at the canvas in front of him with a frown.

“What’s wrong?” You ask gently as you work.

“You’re so good at this,” He whines, “It’s infuriating.” You can’t help yourself. You lean over and gently kiss his cheek. The pale elf’s ears grow red.

“It’s all about practice and time, love.” You remind. “Besides, I also draw a lot. That helps.” You confess. Astarion looks at you curiously.

“I’ve never seen any of your drawings. Not recently, I suppose.” He recalls scattered parchment across your tent, but he couldn’t recall seeing you draw in the past few months. Your heart skips a beat.

You’ve revealed yourself.

You rest the paintbrush and the pallet down, before going to your bedroom. You come back and hand him a sketchbook. He sits down on one of your chairs before taking it, beginning to flip through it.

The pages are full of so many things.

His heart aches just looking at it.

The first few pages are normal. You’ve drawn Astarion, your companions, Scratch..

And then, he starts to see the dragon you fought on top of the Netherbrain. Right beneath it, Arabella grins back to him.

The amulet of Bhaal sits in one corner, and Halsin widdling sits in the other.

This pattern goes on and on, back and forth. A horrible thing is followed by the warmest memory you can reach in that moment.

Unconsciously, Astarion’s arm wraps around your waist and pulls you closer. He goes through the book, and as the horrors you’ve drawn become worse, he notices that a familiar face he now recognizes as himself fills the pages.

He closes the book and puts it to the side. Then, he glances up to you. He pulls you closer, so you’re standing between his legs. You admire him for a long time but neither of you say much. You just admire each other as you quietly ponder everything that you’ve been through

2. Fucking

When you aren’t painting, you’re fucking—You cannot help yourself, and at this point, it’s sort of embarrassing.

You and your darling Astarion live in a roomy but peaceful house where no one can just stumble upon you, they must be looking. You have a small sunroom for your paintings, even an alchemy lab, and of course, Astarion spends most of his time in the study he has made himself.

But that doesn’t stop the pair of you from trying to fuck to death.

Astarion bakes you various delicious treats, and then lays you down on the table to enjoy his own treat—His tongue laps up the sweet nectar that he has found himself genuinely craving you, as if your cum was a lifesaving elixir.

And of course, while he works in his study, your mouth warms his cock, teasing it—When you get too cheeky, he pulls your hair with his fingers, telling you to behave.

One particular night, his teeth graze your neck as he thrusts into you, gripping your hands as he listens to the euphoric moans leaving your lips. He thinks he can probably spend the rest of eternity chasing those moans.

“Astarion,” You breath out, squeezing his hand, and he just lets out a breathy chuckle.

“I know, darling, just wait a few more minutes for me..” he says softly, “Just really feel everything I’m giving you,” He says. His voice is not unkind, and he is focused on giving you what you want.

You fought a Netherbrain for Gods sake, you can at least take a few minutes to enjoy the feeling of your spouse fucking you.

As your moans become whinier, and Astarion feels himself about to cum too, so he bites the shell of your ear, a quiet sign to let yourself go.

And you do—In the midst of a chorus of moans and pants, you take a second to recognize the fact that you’re alive. The two of you are breathing and you’re not mindflayers, and you’re in love. You never thought the feeling of your lover’s cum dripping out of you would be damn near inspirational.

He stays on top of you for a few minutes, and you can tell he’s feeling the same things you are. But eventually he rolls off of you and rests comfortably on his stomach. Your hand comes over to his back, starting to trace those scars.

Those scars that haunt him.

You cannot help the next words that leave your lips.

“Do you ever regret not becoming the Ascendant?” You ask quietly. His eyes study yours. He answers with another question—

“Do you ever regret not taking control of the Netherbrain?” he asks.

Your answer is simple. Unspoken. Obvious.

You just smile gently to him and lean in, kissing his head.

3. Late Night Tea

Astarion doesn’t sleep. Not because he doesn’t want to, but that’s how elves work. But he doesn’t mind laying next to you as you sleep and he meditates.

But mostly, you never sleep through the night.

Sometimes it’s something small.

Raphael’s laughter haunting you. The snake that threatened Arabella in the grove. The sewers of Baldurs Gate.

Other times, it’s intense. It’s vivid and leaves you sobbing and panicked.

Orin with a knife to Gale’s throat. Gortash experimenting on Karlach. The Emporer sucking Wyll’s soul from his head, or sometimes you’re just stuck in the Astral Prism, unable to get out.

Tonight, You’re in Cazzador’s dungeon. You’re standing in the middle of the circle where he attempted to preform the ascension ritual—But this time it’s different. Your companions are levitating, suspended in red magic. When you look behind you, Astarion is there. He’s shirtless, suspended midair.

Your heart drops.

You run over to him, as fast as your feet will take you, but you are halted just a few feet from him, crashing into an invisible barrier keeping you from your spouse. You cannot reach any of your companions, but their faces are all twisted into the same look—A melted, tense look of pain and terror.

You look back to the center of the room and.. You see your dream vistor. The façade the Emperor put on to try and trick you. They hold Cazzador’s staff, and their eyes glow deep red. You charge at the dream visitor, your hands clawing for the face before—

You wake up, sobbing and breathless. You have to take a moment to realize that it is over, that you’re not in that dungeon deep beneath Cazzador’s estate, and instead, are in bed, lying with Astarion.

You sit up, and when you glance over to him, he’s awake, looking at you with this worried expression. It makes him look younger than you’ve ever known him.

“Astarion—” You start, the words getting caught in your throat.

His hand comes over to your cheek, cupping it gently.

“Shh.. Just breath.” He requests gently, wiping your tears gently. His other hand finds yours. “Come along,” He says softly, tugging on your hand, pulling you along to the kitchen. The sun will rise soon. But Astarion leaves the windows open, sensing it will help ground you.

He starts to boil water for tea, as you sit at the table, staring out the window. Your hands wipe away your tears. Astarion brings two cups of tea to the table and sits next to you.

“Thank you.” You say gently, and he smiles gently to you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You shake your head. Then you ask—

“Do you ever get nightmares?”

Astarion tilts his head, admiring you for a few moments as he debates his answer.

“Yes.” He takes a sip of his tea.

“Why don’t you ever wake me up when you have them? You always seem to help me, why not wake me up?”

Astarion slides off the chair and kneels by your side. He kisses your hand gently, looking up to you with those gorgeous red eyes.

“When I wake up and realize that Cazzador is dead, that it was just a rather dull nightmare.. When I remember that you’re safe and by my side, I’m okay.” He says gently. “As long as I can realize you’re safe, I can calm down.”

You kiss him deeply, and you never want to let him go.

4. Growing Back Together

It takes a long time to find all the pieces of yourself that has been scattered throughout Faerun due to the parasite. It takes a long time for Astarion to unlearn two hundred years of abuse and torment.

The two of you become less frail as you grow comfortable. Your stomachs are full of warm soup and bread and rich wines, and as you lose that familiar and constant hunger, your brain begins to clean up, as if it’s repairing itself, mending the walls and putting pictures back together.

You and Astarion spend your time trying to grow together. He teaches you how to play cards, and you accuse him of cheating every single time. You know he is. He won’t ever admit it to you.

You face the inevitability that Astarion will outlive you. That you will grow old and sickly, and Astarion will be left all alone. He will outlive not only you, but your comapnions, too. It will be just him and Withers one day.

And at first, you try to convince him to move on after you die. You tell him that he will have the opportunity to see this wild future, a future that no one can possibly predict. You tell him that he might be able to fall in love with other people, and that he can live this phenomenal life in your name.

But he argues back. He tells you he has no desire for people to forget the battles you fought, that he has no need to hear the very real adventures he went on become a fairytale, a legend that no one truly believes.

He has no need to outlive his friends, loved ones, or even future children you might have with him.

“There’s no desire to live a life without you. You are what makes my life worth living.”

And that is what convinces you. You agree that when you’re old and wrinkly, and you are near the end, Astarion will hold you as the sun rises. That way, the pair of you will die together. There will never be a day the two of you know without each other.

But for the time being, you spend long nights in front of the fire, talking about anything and everything.

One night, Astarion slips a gold band onto your finger and asks you to solidify the legend of the Vampire Astarion and the Savior of Baldurs Gate, in front of your friends, in front of the Gods, and to each other.

How could you say no?

But the two of you, being who you are.. You cannot just rent a venue, buy a few fancy outfits, get a cake, and have a party. There needs to be a special twist on it.

So when Withers sends out invitations for the five year anniversary of your defeat of the Netherbrain (after six months and then a year), you and Astarion look at each other, and realize what must happen.

To declare your love for each other in the place where your love started, it’s the perfect fairytale ending the two of you deserve.

Withers agrees to turn his celebration into a makeshift wedding, happy to indulge you in your mortal celebrations, especially because he knows things you do not know.

So, in that pretty clearing in the forest that he lead you to when you thought you might be illithid by morning, you marry him. You marry him and never look back, do not think twice, and you dive headfirst into it.

When you get back to your house, you spend days buried between silk sheets.

Dirty tea cups sit on the table.

An old game of cards lays abandoned on the desk of his study.

A painting of your wedding hangs on the wall.

The Pale Elf gets his happy ending.

You can hear your own thoughts, there is no tadpole invading them.

And neither of you have flinched in years.

[luveline]

I love your writing sm!!! would you be willing to do something with Spencer where he calms reader down from a nightmare ? thank u so much!!! have a good day ❤️

thank you sm! ♡ gn!reader

cw drug use mentioned

In the dream, Spencer lives. 

Surprisingly. So many of your dreams are made of his demise. In one dream he gets killed in a cemetery, crying and alone and strapped to a chair. In another, a needle stays stuck to the crook of his arms as he slips into a too-heavy sleep. Sometimes he dies bleeding out from his leg, other times he makes it to the hospital long enough to feel the building crumble beneath him. 

You wouldn't want Spencer to stop telling you things, but every ragged chapter of his life acts as nightmare fuel. Every sentence, every line. Here he's lonely. Here he's afraid. 

Here, despite everything, he's alive, because this is the dream where you die first. 

You die like the snap of a firecracker hitting the ground and find yourself inverted, flinching up where gunpowder spilled down, your hand knocking into the soft of Spencer's stomach as you gasp for air. You're dead. You're dead, and Spencer's alone, and no one is going to look after him now. 

"Y/N?" His voice. The plastic and wood scrape as he grabs his glasses and shoves them on. "What? What's hurting?" 

You put your hand over your heart and will it to stop pounding so hard. It aches like a new bruise. 

"Baby," Spencer says softly, curling his arm behind the small of your back. He pulls your bodies together, tucking the sheets up your legs again with the other. 

"Bad dream," you say, wishing you'd woken crying. At least then you'd know what the emotion is under all your abject panic. 

"Just breathe… just breathe." He takes a slow, deliberate breath for you to follow. When he speaks, it's calm as the summer sea. "Another one. I'm sorry, you've had a lot of these lately, huh?" Spencer brings the hand furthest from you to your cheek, encouraging your cheek against his chin. "You want to tell me about it?" 

"I died." 

It must surprise him. For once, he doesn't have anything to say immediately. He turns his face in to kiss you, not fussy about where his lips fall. A slow, steadying kiss. 

"Those ones are some of the hardest," he says sympathetically. 

"I didn't… it didn't even matter. I hit my head and I woke up. But I…" How to explain it? "Spence, there was this split second where I thought I left you alone." 

"Don't worry about me," he says.

"But I do worry about you. I know you can look after yourself better, but– but people have let you down. I've let you down." 

Spencer's smile is audible, a lilt to the dulcet murmur he presses into your hair, "You're the last person I'd say let me down... You know, nightmares aren't scientifically quantifiable, there's no statistical data on what it means to have a bad dream, but. There are hundreds of thousands of books about it, and more than you'd think tend to agree that after you've had one, the fear remains. Like a bad cell. You can't remember it and it sticks around despite it." 

You wait for the silver lining. 

"So?" you ask. 

He chuckles quietly. "So, I know it sucks, but it's a good thing that you remembered it. Want me to tell you what the books say?" 

"About what it means?" you ask. 

"They say it's transitional. You're saying goodbye to something. Starting a new chapter." 

Spencer turns your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. Dead morning light floods the room like a splash of milk into tea, illuminating the small apples of his cheeks, the thick triangles of his lashes behind his glasses' lenses. He looks woefully handsome considering the hour, and, to your relief, he's completely unafraid. 

"Just don't say goodbye to me, okay?" he whispers.

You nod, fatigue pressing on your shoulders. 

Spencer gives you a quick, dotting kiss. "Thank you. Let's go back to sleep, yeah? Lay down." 

You curl up under his arm. His hand takes loop on your shoulder, drawing lazy, meandering circles until you're falling into a much quieter crop of sleep. 

[danikamariewrites]

Okay but being mated to Az, Cass, and Nesta but you don’t know and a foreign dignitary comes to stay at the House of Wind with the four of you and Rhys asks you to seduce/be flirty with them and the three of them are absolutely feral trying to keep their jealousy down

Just One Night

Nessian x Azriel x reader

A/n: I’ve been dying to write another fic with these four! They would absolutely want to kill Rhys for this especially Nesta.

Warnings: possessive Nessian & Azriel

Today is the day. Nesta had decided for the group that today they would tell you about the bond. She was just waiting for you all to get out of a meeting with Rhys and her sister. The last thing Nesta wanted was to confess the bond - and her love for you - in front of Rhys.

Nesta heard the angry footsteps echoing off the marble floor of her mates before she saw them. Setting her book down she tilted her head curiously at their disgruntled looks. The males dropped into their respective arms chairs letting out dejected sighs. Nesta stood with her arms crossed and a raised brow as she looked between the two.

“Well.” She said sharply. Azriel let out a low growl from the back of his throat. She felt his annoyance down the bond and looked to Cassian for an answer. Sighing through his mouth and rubbing the bridge of his nose Cassian bites out, “Rhys is having her seduce the emissary from Montesere. Cyrus Yarrow.”

When they looked up at Nesta those silver flames were dancing with anger in her eyes. Her left one practically twitching. “He’s having her do what?” She growled. Nesta turned on her heel, black dress flaring dramatically. Cassian grabbed her wrist before she could go give Rhys a piece of her mind.

Her fist balled. The first and only warning Cassian would get to release her. Letting go his open hand hovered cautiously. “Wait. She, just…she took the job. She knows what to get from the guy and we won’t let it get farther than that, yeah?” Nesta cracked her neck, letting out an annoyed sigh. “Fine.”

“You don’t want to be overbearing, Nes.” Azriel said. That deep, even voice relaxing her. “You’re right.” She looked back at her mates as Azriel waved her over. His arms open for her. Without hesitating Nesta sat on Azriel’s thigh, resting her head against his chest. “I know you’re impatient,” he says against her hair, “the Mother knows we are too, but we want to make it special for her.”

———

Pulling out the garment bag from your closet a knock sounded at your bedroom door. “Come in!” You hear whom ever enter, shuffling around the room. Nesta poked her head in your closet. You smile at her, “Hey you.” She gives you an equally dazzling smile. For a moment you swear something like love sparkles in her eyes.

Your heart leaped at the thought then quickly sunk. Remembering how in love she is with Cass. Blinking rapidly you plaster that smile back on your face. “What’s up?” You ask lightly. “I thought we could get ready for the ball together.”

You nod vigorously. “I would love that.” You and Mor used to get ready together - Feyre too - until she found Emerie. Usually when Rhys gave you a job for the evening you liked to get ready alone. Being alone lets you think through your plan for the night. Being with Nesta will be a nice change though. She was able to distract you from the awaiting nightmare of Cyrus.

Cyrus Yarrow was renowned for the females he chose to surround himself with. Always beautiful and charming. He was also quite demanding and handsy when he found something he liked. A shiver runs down your spine causing you to shake, your chin dropping to your chest.

Looking back up you saw Nesta had moved closer to your face. Her hand poised to draw with the kohl on your lid. “Are you ok?” You give her a small nod. “Stay still,” she giggled. A warmth bloomed in your chest at the sound.

———

The ball was in full swing. Nesta had stolen you for the first dance before you were swept away by Cyrus. Azriel had grabbed her waist before she could kill the male, dragging her into a waltz she could do in her sleep. Cassian was sending waves of calm to her down the bond. He stepped in for Az once the song was over. Also so Azriel could keep an eye on you for the night.

“Remember what Azriel said, Nes.” She gave him a curt nod, looking over her shoulder for you as they spin around the floor. “Hey,” Cass demanded, taking his hand from her waist to grip her chin. “She is fine. She is capable. I know the instinct to protect her and be by her is intense, we’re feeling it too. But tomorrow, he will be gone.” “Yeah.” She mumbled. Cassian pressed a quick kiss to Nesta’s lips before dipping her dramatically.

Azriel watched from the shadows as you entertained Cyrus. His party from Montesere was nothing like him. Kind and proper as they chatted with Mor and Feyre. His eyes bounced between the groups wanting to make sure that his court was safe. Feyre stood up straighter. A shocked and confused look pulling at her features.

He met his High Lady’s gaze and she tapped on his mental shield wasting no time in updating her spymaster. Cyrus no longer held the power they were told about. His Lord had stripped his title a week ago. This relieved Azriel. It meant he wouldn’t feel guilty about pulling you away from work and that Rhys wouldn’t give him a tongue lashing.

The Shadowsinger was about to step in and save you from Cyrus’s awfulness when a panicked feeling froze him in place. His shadows had reported Nesta and Cassian were safe. He even spotted them smiling and laughing as they danced.

When the realization hit Azriel that it was you projecting your feelings down the bond ran to you, sending his shadows ahead to pull Cyrus off of you. The look of disgust on your face had his instincts to protect you screaming at him to go.

Azriel drew Truth Teller, holding it to Cyrus’s neck. “Back away from my mate.” Azriel said practically roared. The fae around them stopped, gasps sounded through the crowd as they stared. You clung to Azriel’s arm through the whole ordeal. As the word mate left his mouth you stared up at Az, your eyes twinkling with love.

You had always had a crush on Azriel. But Nesta, you thought to yourself. No, you’d let her go. You have Az now. “Mate,” you repeat. Azriel stilled as the realization of the word he just spoke dawned on him. He slowly turned to look at you. The corners of your lip turning up at the his shock.

“Yeah, umm…” His gaze drifted behind you. You followed his gaze to find a stunned Cassian and a fuming Nesta. “Az?” You ask softly. The party had resumed around you as the couple stepped closer. Cassian placed his hands on Nesta’s shoulders in a calming manner. “Why don’t we all go talk somewhere else.” Cass suggested. “Why do we all,” you trail off as Nesta grabs your hand to drag you out of the ball room.

You kept looking between Nesta, Azriel, and Cassian as she leads you to the living quarters of the House of Wind. Her iron grip never leaving you. Entering the main living room Nesta drops your hand making a beeline for the bar cart housing one of Rhys’s expensive bottles of whiskey. Pouring herself a finger she downs the amber liquid in one go.

“I thought,” she started, her tone dangerously calm, “we wanted to make it special. To do something sweet for our mate.” Nesta flashed her perfect canines in a saccharine smile at the males. Azriel’s jaw tightened. His head dropped, clearly frustrated with himself.

You hold his hand with both of yours. Running your thumb across the back of his hand in calming circles. Nesta’s words caught up with your brain. Our, she had said.

You looked at her with wide eyes. “Our? As in all three of you are my mates.” Cassian couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah sweetheart. You have all three of us. We’ve been waiting to tell you and we wanted to make it special. Cyrus just got in the way.” You covered your mouth as happy tears lined your eyes. That warm feeling in your chest that appeared with Nesta earlier returning. The bond glowing fiercely as it branched out to all three of them.

You sink on to the plush couch taking in the information. You have been blessed with three mates. Each one you were madly in love with. And you get to love them all for the rest of your life!

Cassian came to sit beside you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders pulling you into his side. You could sense the apology on his lips before he could even say it. Cassian has always been too apologetic for his own good. You grabbed his hand resting on his thigh. “I’m not mad. I am incredibly happy to hear this.” Cassian’s head dropped to rest on yours. Azriel takes the spot next to you wrapping his arms around your waist pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You stare at Nesta who hadn’t moved an inch since you entered the room. You wave her over to join couch snuggles, tugging on the bond to entice her. Nesta ran at you. Jumping to straddle your lap and pushing Cass and Az off you. You hugged her tightly inhaling her scent of fire and steel masked by the vanilla and almond perfume she wears.

“I love you so much, y/n.” She whispered just for you to hear. “I love you, Nes. With all my heart.” You whispered back, just for her to hear.

[cynthiav06]

The entire Fandom needs to listen to this:

Percy having a thing for Rachel was so absolutely deserved like he should have been head over heels for her. Here's why?

First meeting? Runs her through with Riptide, and where anyone would have spent the whole time yelling and arguing, Rachel quickly gauged the situation, helped Percy hide, deviated the skeletons from their orignal path all at the same time.

Percy is so awed and he should be and Rick Riordan doesn't do justice to the whole thing.

It ends on Percy saying he owes her one, almost an indication that they would meet again.

Yet Percy is terrified of running into Rachel again because he isn't sure if he could answer all her questions, most definitely because he doesn't want to drag her into the whole thing. So much so that when he sees her at Goode, he calls her "my redheaded nightmare " .

Not only has he thought of her since they last met, but he may or may not have dreamed about her, not to mention he remembered her full name after listening just once.

When he does meet her again she yet again warns him about monsters hence saving both of them.

The most important thing is Percy, who all his life has been judged blamed ridiculed, and mocked is for the very first time understood so instantaneously by Rachel. She who has been put in mortal danger every single time she meets him doesn't blame him, doesn't judge him for it, and openly takes the blame for the burning school. Even Annabeth's first response to seeing the smoke is blaming Percy despite being around him and knowing well enough for 3 years; she chooses to blame him as if she doesn't know that it's never Percy's fault. Yet Rachel, someone who he has met only twice and that too for meager few minutes, understands him and his situation so well.

All the people in the Fandom ask yourself this: Will Percy Jackson not for all that he is be absolutely head over heels and in awe of someone like that?

He can barely give her any answers at the moment, but she agrees to a death quest to help him save the world.

Throws a literal hairbrush at the Titan King and stands her ground.

Stays by him and comforts him through his depressive thoughts about dying due to the prophecy.

Falls in love with him despite knowing he has little time left.

Does her best to help him while still keeping his mind off from spiraling into dark thoughts.

Rides a literal helicopter mid-apocalypse to get to him just to warn him of the dangers?

Percy would be so absolutely over the moon in love with Rachel, were Uncle Rick not so fixated on Percabeth agenda.

The last bit is for toxic Annabeth stans:

Rachel is a genius too.

She is ambidextrous and can draw with both hands and legs; probably has exceptional memory, and her composure and quick thinking are on par with Percy himself.

I hate bringing this to looks, but I will if I get to shut up toxic fans. Annabeth is certainly beautiful, and her grey eyes are quite unique, but Rachel is the most underrated and definitely the most beautiful out of all Percy Jackson females.

The woman literally won genetic lottery with red hair and green eyes, and the only reason Uncle Rick doesn't rave about her beauty is to not make Annabeth insecure.

Also, for those overly concerned about the Oracle celibacy thing, I will address that in my next post and how it's not a problem at all. (Now posted link is here:

Expect more Pjo-centric posts along with Perachel headcanons and more.