#now every time I see bloom silver on my

[hanafubukki]

SILVER CAME HOME 💞💞💚💚 thank you for coming home sweetheart 🥹🌺

I have to tell you the story hahaha I haven’t laughed in disbelief in so long 🤣

*Pulling for Bloom Silver*

Me: Hey Silver, if you come home soon, I’ll write a sequel fic where Malleus is alive/awake…and is happy with his family *tempts with mal nui in front of sil nui*

*next pull, patterned coffin*

Me: wha-? *bursts into laughter* well, I guess I have no choice now andkdjdjhss

Well, I guess expect a sequel to this fic now (person who is sweating because she never planned to make a sequel to said fic)

[cozymoko]

Kamaboko boys reaction to, "I love you."

This includes: Tanjiro Kamado, Zenitsu Agatsuma, Inosuke Hashibira, Genya Shinazugawa

Pairing: All x Gender neutral reader

WARNING(S): none

HASHIRA VERSION KNY MASTERLIST

TANJIRO KAMADO

He smiled kindly, sneaking a peek at you through his dark, thick lashes. A field of unkempt sakura blooms blossomed along his round cheeks, tingeing them a faint pink. BA-THUMP! BA-THUMP! BA-THUMP! His heart cried out. Your words left him uneasy, embarrassed even, as they lightly tickled his chest. Despite his wishes, he could not speak for he was grinning far too wide to do so.

Training that evening proved to be quite the challenge for the young slayer as vivid pictures of you had obscured his mind, slowly but surely eating away at his concentration. Your words rang through his head like a silver bell, loud and persisting, furthering his desire to see you —touch you— He's getting red just thinking about it!

“T…Thank you for loving me. I really don't deserve you sometimes.” He whispered, leaning into your shoulder. “I love you too.” Tanjiro pressed a light kiss to your cheek, using his free hand to gently grip your unoccupied shoulder. A cheery laugh had escaped you at his chastity, nearly sending his heart into another frenzy. And to no one's surprise, you were enjoying every bit of it.

ZENITSU AGATSUMA

Oh my, you've made the poor thing faint. Stumbling over his words much like any other sweet adolescent. His fair skin held a warmth much like the sun, if not putting it to shame. Even with his lack of consciousness, that same lovesick grin had never fled his lips. Oh, and be a dear and close his mouth. We wouldn't want him to swallow any pesky flies, would we?

Upon his return from the land of dreams, Zenitsu was distraught. His body rested against the plush cushions of your futon with you seated by his side. He watches you gently rest a damp cloth on his burning skin, humming a feeble tune to occupy the silence. Zenitsu cleared his throat in hopes of "cooly" responding to your confession, but as you'd expect, he fails miserably.

“I-I love you too!!” He shouted, clasping your hands to his chest. “Wait, no — I love you more than anything!” You gently push him back towards the futon, tucking him beneath the sheets once more before lightly caressing his rosy cheeks. To him, words simply cannot convey his feelings for you. They are far too complex to describe. He's happy and he sure as hell wants you to know that.

INOSUKE HASHIBIRA

“Eh? The hell is that!?” Of course, he's confused, why wouldn't he be? Don't take it to heart, you expected this after all. (growing up in the wild does that to you.) Nonetheless, you can't help but feel a little bit annoyed by his statement. Just how clueless could he possibly be and why did you care about him so much? Two questions that you decided to indulge in another time.

Once you walked away, Insouke was quick to find Tanjiro and ask what this "love" thing was, seeing as you were so reluctant to tell him. At first, he finds it rather silly. Why do people use those words as a term of endearment anyways? He can just show you how much he cares! But with further convincing from Tanjiro, Inosuke shoves his inquiries to the side...for now.

“I ‘luove’ you, or whatever you said, too.” You gave him the most deadpan expression, using that moment to take in the immediate panic dancing across his gentle features. A snort slipped past your lips as you snaked your arms around his perfectly thin waist. At that point, you didn't know what you hated more, his obliviousness or his pretty face.

GENYA SHINAZUGAWA

“What...what'd you say?” He grimaced at the harshness of his tone as it was not his intention. He turned away from you, brushing his nose with the pad of his thumb in sheer hope of masking his embarrassment. But it didn't. You were able to spot the deep red creeping up the back of his neck to the tips of his ears. Scooting a bit closer to him, you rest your head on his back, rendering him stiff. But at that moment, you just didn't care.

Being as ill-mannered as he is, Genya hadn't expected anyone who didn't share the same blood to genuinely care for him. The boy has natural bitch repellent unbeaten in his DNA so surely even you are aware of the reasoning behind his insecurities. But, I suppose that makes him charming in a very questionable sense.

“You aren't too bad yourself...” which roughly translates to “I love you too so please don't take this the wrong way.” Genya needs as much love as he can get, though he refuses to admit it. As his partner you should go with your gut when dealing with him — if you think he needs comfort, a hug, then just do it — because at times, you seek to understand his emotions better than himself.

[astralis-ortus]

beyond forever and eternity

✱ husband!bc x fem!reader

— love cannot survive on luck alone.

w.count → 0.8k genre → fluff warning → chan referred to as chris, quite the amount of kisses, mild cussing, and the usual very ew-you're-so-in-love behavior. also, reader is addressed as wifey twice! a.n → based on this request! but friends, i think you need to stop me from all this domestic chan thing because i!! am!! dying!! from!! all!! the!! cuteness!!ㅠ /j ⋆ see masterlist

the past year had felt like the best time of your life.

sure, the first 6 months were filled with one heck of an emotional rollercoaster—a bunch of final wedding preparations, taking care of all the confusing legal papers, making sure your new home with chris was up to both your expectations, and actually having the wedding within the span of 180 days made you wonder if everything was real.

the latter part of the year is when your new reality starts to sink in. some days, it happened when you woke up next to a softly snoring chris—curls as messy as a bird’s nest, yet you couldn’t help but tread your fingers through those dark locks. some others, it happened when you watch his back while he showed off his newly acquired cooking skill, giggling away while chris convinces you—though it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself—that eveything’s going exactly to plan.

other days, however, it happens simply when you caught a glance of the stack of beautiful silver bands on your ring finger, gleaming softly under the light of your cozy living room. you’d then look at your husband sitting next to you, faint crease decorating his forehead as his gaze focuses on a project he’d been working on for the past hour or so. you’d gently bring your finger to tap on those crease, immediately erasing its existence as chris shifted his focus towards you, gaze softening along the appearance of his dimpled smile.

being married to chris had felt like coming home—like he has always been everything you’ve been looking for and more.

“has it started?”

chris’ soft voice along with the warmth of his arm snaking around your waist swiftly snapped you out of your trance, gaze returning to your husband’s smile. you silently shook your head, instead wrapping your arms around his waist and gave into his warmth while allowing a content sigh to slip past your lips. “wasn’t paying attention, honestly,” you admitted, to which he immediately returned with chuckle.

“you’re sleepy?” he gently planted his lips on your forehead while running his palm on your side. “wanna call it a night?”

“no!” you whined, lips pursing in protest. “i’m not sleepy. besides, it’s only like 2 minutes till new year, and i want to spend the first seconds awake with my husband,” you playfully emphasized—and there it was. the rosy bloom across his face quietly surfaces despite chris’ attempt to play it cool, and it never fails to amuse you.

guess it won’t be hard for you to bet that you’ll never be the only one in love in this relationship.

“gosh, wifey,” looking at you with a scrunched nose, chris finally let the adoration bubbling in his chest win when he playfully ruffles your hair—which, of course, earns a string of protests from you, “do you really love me that much?”

“think so,” you stuck out your tongue, eyes twinkling as you decide to further tease your now-red-as-a-tomato husband. “i think i love you so so so much to the point i might pass out. i mean, how can i not? you’re charming, you’re adorable, you’re handsome, you’re hot as fuck—how do you expect me not to? i’m just—“

you haven’t been paying attention—but again, how could you? your gaze had been fixated on chris’ beautiful features, taking notes on every minuscule scar and freckles painted across his blooming face; but as the plush of his lips shuts off your rambling ones, warm hands cradling your equally warm cheeks,

you could hear the fireworks within you harmonize with the colorful blasts outside the window of your hotel room.

you know you’re lucky—despite believing in the concept of soulmates, you know there are universes where your path with chris’ remains as distant, separated parallel lines. you know that nurturing your relationship with chris will have its ups and downs. you know what you have now with chris will forever be both unbreakable and fragile,

and you’re determined to turn your every day with chris as special as it could be.

“happy new year, wifey,” he mumbled quietly, lips fixed into a smile as it grazed against yours when he finally pulled away. pads of fingers tucking the stray strands off your face, chris followed the kisses across your face—on your forehead, your closed eyelids, your rosy cheeks, your soft jaw, before he returned his lips home onto yours.

“thank you for staying with me—for promising­ your forever to me, and i’m looking forward to spending my eternity with you,” with a smile apparent on his lips, his gaze were soft as he tenderly peered into your glossy ones.

“i love you—more than words could ever explain.”

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

[feyhunter78]

Sidewalk Kisses

Art cred: mia_bobrhia

“No, so then we get to the next chapter, the one we were supposed to read before class, right? And this dumbass goes wait, who’s Ophelia again? We’re literally reading Hamlet; the book cover is that super famous painting of Ophelia, and he doesn’t even know who she is.” You rant, waving your hands wildly in frustration, recounting the drama from your last class as you and Miguel take the back way to your next classes. You’re walking down the cracked sidewalk, the large looming trees above, birds singing in their branches, it’s quiet, no one else is around.

Miguel hums in halfhearted acknowledgment, and you look over at him, slowing your pace.

“Sorry, I know I’m being dramatic, but it just pisses me off.” You say, and Miguel can see you curling in on yourself.

“Don’t apologize, I’m just enjoying listening.” He says, trying to blink himself out of the trace your beauty has put him in. “And looking at you.”

You look so pretty, your hair tied up, a few strands falling perfectly, framing your face, the sun on your skin, the flowers blooming on the trees and bushes behind you.

You give him a shy smile, looking up at him through your mascara adorned lashes. “You’re so sweet.”

It’s his turn to be shy, and he ducks his head. “It’s easy to be sweet to you, you deserve it.”

You smack his arm playfully, full on beaming at him now. “Shut up, I adore you.”

I love you. The words sit on the tip of his tongue, poised, ready for action, but he chokes them down. “Now who’s being too sweet?”

You giggle, and it’s like music, like bells, like everything he’s ever wanted to hear. He loves to hear you laugh.

Miguel wants to kiss you, but he knows once he starts, he won’t be able to stop, and you both have classes to get to.

“Yeah, yeah, but anyways, so Dr. Wrinkler is like young man she is the very reason we’re reading this book. And dumbass just says I thought we were reading Hamlet because of Hamlet. Literally starts arguing with the professor! And I’m just sitting there dumbfounded, but also happy because I didn’t actually read the chapter before class, so I don’t mind him wasting class time.” You admit, giving Miguel an impish smile.

“My girlfriend, the ever-diligent student, is secretly a rule breaker, who would’ve known?” He jokes, glancing over at you when you stop dead in your tracks. “What’s wrong?”

You smile and go up on your toes, pressing your lips against his cheek. “I just don’t think I’ve ever heard you call me your girlfriend before; I like it.”

His cheeks warm and he ducks his head. “I…I like it too.”

You coo at him and smother his face with quick kisses, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him down to your height, angling your lips against his in a way that feels both romantic and wildly inappropriate. His head spins and he can’t stop a whimper from escaping when your nails graze against the nape of his neck, and your tongue traces the seam of his lips.

You smile against him, tangling your hands in his hair, manicured nails massaging his scalp, his glasses digging into the bridge of his nose a bit. He doesn’t care, you could devour him, break him into tiny pieces, melt him down, mold him into something new, whatever you want as long as you keep kissing him.

His hands go to your waist, pulling you closer, instinct taking over as he explores every inch of your mouth, the tip of his tongue running across yours, his grip tightening when he feels your breathing speed up.

You break away, breathing harshly, leaning into him like your knees are weak. “You’re um—you’re really good at that.”

“Only with you, mi dulce.” He says, and it’s not a lie, it’s the truest thing he knows. He likes kissing you, it comes naturally, everything he does you like and vice versa, there’s no wrong moves with you. “You inspire greatness in me.”

“Who knew you had such a silver tongue?” You tease, looking up at him with your pupils blown wide, your hands trailing lower, caressing his broad back.

Maybe he could convince you to skip class?

“If you would let me, I could show you more of it.” The words are honeyed, far smoother than he thought they would be, and Miguel holds his breath as he waits for your response.

Your breath catches in your throat and blink at him, stunned, flustered, lips parted in shock, or maybe anticipation? It’s an intoxicating expression, one that fuels him, fills him with courage.

“Déjame mostrarte cómo me has inspirado, mi musa, déjame arrodillarme ante ti, pintarte, tocarte, adorarte.” He whispers, drunk on your reaction, on the feeling of all your attention focused solely on him. Trsl: Let me show you how you have inspired me, my muse, let me kneel before you, paint you, touch you, worship you.

“Oh…” You breathe out, as you tilt your head subconsciously, your eyes flickering down to his lips.

He doesn’t need any other instruction, and he closes the distance, humming at the way you melt into him. He could do this forever, just you and him in the quiet of the day, sheltered by the shadow of the trees.

A sharp wolf whistle breaks you two apart.

“Damn, y/n, is that Honor Council approved?” Kelsy, one of your sisters’ calls, making you turn on your heel.

“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me, Ms. Honor Council Chairman?” You call back, rolling your eyes playfully.

“It’s not, but we’re going to be late for class, so I’ll excuse it.” Kelsy says, linking her arm with yours and pulling you towards the direction of your class, casting a sympathetic look over her shoulder towards Miguel. “Sorry lover boy, gotta steal your girl, good grades and all that.”

He just nods, feeling back in that daze from before. It’s only the sight of you blowing him a kiss that breaks the trance, and he forces himself to head to his own class, the feeling of your lips on his still lingering.

I KNOW THIS ONE IS SHORT BUT I'M TRAINING THE NEW GIRL AT WORK SO I'VE HAD ZERO TIME TO WRITE + EDIT, SO THIS IS ALL I'VE GOT TILL SHE CAN STAND ON HER OWN SO SORRYYYY

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer, @denzmallows, @36namey, @scoobysnakz, @ihateuguys, @idkbros-world @smartyren, @deputy-videogamer, @blackrose8425, @amberpanda99, @marshhbs, @queerponcho

[forlix]

"i did a thing." or, hyunjin needs an expert opinion about his newest piercing.

words・1.4k / pairing・idol!hyunjin x gn!makeup artist!reader / genres・fluff, established relationship / author's note・takes place in the same universe as places, places! and crying lightning but can be read on its own. @astraystayyh your children are back :’)

The parlor door jingles. Hyunjin emerges onto the chilled pavement with his phone pressed to his ear, and you pick up on the fourth ring.

“What is it? I’m busy.” The way your voice shrinks substantiates this claim, like you’ve darted to the other end of the room promptly after accepting his call. “And you’re on speaker.”

Hyunjin ducks into his car and sits back against the nylon with a grateful sigh. He finds himself constantly ill-prepared for Seoul’s Januarys. “Busy with who? Remind me.”

“You wanna say hi?” You ask the person in your company. Who is it? He hears them ask, to which you answer: Hyunjin. You say it softly, in the sense that you’re far away and speaking under your breath, but softly, in the sense that your tongue caresses every syllable of his name with that tacit fondness he’ll never tire of.

He notices the ditzy smile on his face only when he glances into his rear-view. He’s long given up on wiping it off.

A familiar voice drifts into your receiver. “Mr. Hwang!”

Ah, that’s right—you’re working on Aespa’s new music video for the next two weeks. Today must be the first day of filming.

“Hey, Ningning! How are you?”

“In a predicament, honestly. I have the biggest crush on my stylist, but so does this other guy…”

“Damn, sounds tough. Best of luck.”

“Oh, I won’t need luck. I said predicament, not competition.” 

His jaw hits his wheel. “Okay, we’re boxing. Let’s go. Earrings off.”

“Say less!"

You’ve withstood enough. “Alright, nobody is boxing anyone—do not touch your earrings, Ning, what’s wrong with you? God, Hyunjin!”

Now you say his name sternly, hopelessly, like he’s just knocked ten years off your lifespan. He almost likes this version more. He fell in love with you listening to it, after all.

“Did you call for any reason aside from threatening my clients?”

Oh, right. He did.

Hyunjin glances into the rear-view again, intentionally this time. He moves aside a lock of maroon hair to review the silver studs glinting off his right eyebrow.

He smirks.

“Am I allowed on set?”

Half an hour later, Hyunjin reaches the filming site and runs into a few staff members who are so surprised to see him they nearly forget to question what he’s doing there.

But they do their job, and he humors them, utters your name and the word “boyfriend” back to back. Then he watches their eyebrows disappear into their hairlines and basically prances into the dressing rooms.

He loves that everyone knows you. He loves that everyone knows that he loves you.

You were out of bed before he opened his eyes this morning, and he blooms at his first sight of you today, alone in the lounge, curled up on the couch and browsing through your phone. Eyeshadow stains your fingers and a pen sits behind the cuff of your ear. Your figure is framed in a (his) white cardigan with a red heart stitched over its left lapel. So professional, so pretty, that he doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he uses his words instead.

“I did a thing,” he says, plopping onto the cushion next to you.

You look at him, shut off your phone. “I figured.”

“Promise me you won’t get mad.”

“No.”

It was worth a shot. “Can you blink, at least? You’re scaring me.”

In turn, you stretch open your eyes and hold them there. “A blink would be more than you deserve right now.”

Insufferable. He unleashes a bashful laugh and singular clap and looks back at you just in time to see a matching smile on your cordate lips. And to see you blink.

“Seriously, though, no more suspense,” you plead. “What on earth did you do? Should I be worried?” 

You tuck your hand around his bicep and tug lightly at his arm, and his insides pirouette at the gesture.

“No, no,” he answers, letting you pull him close, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I was being dramatic. It’s nothing, really.”

You catch him as he’s trying to leave. A light finger hooks beneath his chin, an anchor to keep his face a mere few inches away from yours.

You look him in the right eye, then in the left, your expression stoic, scrutinizing. He doesn’t remember where he looks, in the meantime. He’s slipping and sliding out of his right mind, drinking in your long lashes and curved cheeks, wondering what heroic deed he performed in his last life to be able to study beauty in such proximity in this one.

“It’s not nothing, is it?” You query, tracing the tip of your pointer finger over Hyunjin’s cupid’s bow.

“No,” he exhales. “It’s not nothing.”

“Did you get it on your face?”

Of course you already know.

He nods, and the finger moves to his lower lip, gently indenting the glossy plush. 

“Hot or cold?” 

“Cold.”

The finger runs over the bridge of his nose, then the perimeter of its prominence, like the drag of a feather. 

“Warmer.”

You lift a brow, give the side of his face a small nudge, and say, turn. The word comes out in a very stylist-esque manner, and you and Hyunjin realize this at the same time, judging by the synchrony of your quiet chuckles.

“Force of habit,” you murmur, and move his hair out of the way and lean in to examine his ear. Nothing new there. He turns his face the other way before you have to ask. Nothing new there, either.

When he looks at you again, your gaze has locked onto his eyebrows. You cock your head slightly to one side as it dawns on you what he’s done.

“Warmer,” he offers anyways, his smile small, his pulse rapid.

With a flourish of movement, you push his purple locks all the way off his forehead. Hyunjin holds his breath. Your expression goes blank. 

But it’s not blank, not really. One just has to know where to look. (He does.)

Your eyes darken fast as if caught in a solar eclipse, your pupils doubling in size, your irises quivering slightly. Your mouth opens, then closes, then purses into a thin line as if suppressing something explosive. Your cheeks blush at their very outskirts, along the edges of your face and the slants of your cheekbones, like how the first rays of sunlight always skim the mountaintops first.

He hardly notices the finger you bring to brush over the studs, so carefully he doesn’t feel the contact.

He’s too busy basking in his victory.

Neither of you say anything for a long while. You lean back, then right, then left, your hand pinned to his hairline, your gaze superglued to his brow. He simply sits still, feeling like one of your French girls, simpering, simping.

“You really did it,” you finally say.

“I did,” he chirps. “Any notes?”

At the next part of your lips, your waiting smile overtakes them at long last. You duck your head to conceal it like he hasn’t already melted at its mere image. You deliver your answer to your knees.

“No?” He repeats incredulously, teasingly. “That’s a shame. I really could’ve used an expert opinion.”

You roll your eyes hard enough for them to tug at your sockets. His boyish grin wipes away your feigned irritation like warm cotton.

“Fine,” you grouse. “Look at me.”

He does. You look back.

“It's nice," you deadpan.

Your resolve wobbles.

"Complements your face…shape.”

The ‘p’ sound pops, and you lose your shit.

The sun fully risen now, you bury your burning face into your hands, your shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Meanwhile, the raucous cackle that leaves Hyunjin’s lips causes the intern hurrying past the lounge outside to jump so high he actually lets go of his coffee cups before snatching them back out of the air with a relieved groan. He doesn’t get paid enough. 

You think you’re getting paid too much. 

“I love it, Hyun,” you whisper. “You’re beautiful. I don’t tell you that enough."

His heart beats so rapidly he thinks it might take off into a sprint; his laugh dwindles into a ditzy smile, one he’s long given up on wiping off.

“You know nothing about that word,” he replies, softly.

You bring your lips to his. His fingers wrap around the crook of your elbow. Yours begin curled in the silken hair at the back of his head. The pen behind your ear falls into the cracks of the couch.

“I’m still mad at you,” you sigh against his mouth, your own statement debunked by the inevitable drift of your touch back to the metal lodged in his face.

He doesn’t need to call you out. You do it yourself: “Ugh. I’ll be mad at you later.”

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・ @automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8

© forlix (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[thatacotargirl]

The Daughter of Day (1)

My third and final active fanfiction is here! This is The Daughter of Day, a series exploring a new Court and a triad, because why not!

I hope you enjoy this introductory chapter - and keep your eyes peeled for the next instalment 🌟

This story is set after A Court of Silver Flames.

My inbox remains open for oneshot/imagine requests.

A Reader x Feysand Fanfiction

🎶 "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine - you make me happy, when skies are grey - you'll never know, dear, how much I love you - please don't take, my sunshine, away" 🎶

Helion held his newborn daughter, bundled in his arms in a yellow blanket, as he swayed gently around the nursery. He had had no intentions of becoming a father anytime soon, but when the baby's mother arrived at his doorsteps, he had fallen in love on the spot - those chubby cheeks and shining round eyes that peered out at him had captured his heart and soul.

Now, he couldn't imagine life without her.

Placing his daughter into her bassinet, watching her sweet eyes grow heavy and blinking, he set her floating celestial mobile to turn and tucked her in. Stroking her cheek as he watched her slowly fall asleep, he vowed to love and protect her for always. She would want for nothing in this life, he would make sure of that.

25 years later - Reader POV

"Y/n, are you ready?"

You can hear your father calling out to you, interrupting your reading. Grumbling, you grab your bookmark and note the page, before setting it down on the coffee table. The middle of a chapter. The worst place to stop reading.

"Yes, yes, I'm coming".

As you exit the sitting room and join your father's side, you see the look he gives you in response to your attitude. His eyebrow still raised, he stays silent as he opens the front door and gestures for you to leave the palace. You walk ahead of him and towards Xalan, your pegasus. Your father had gifted you Xalan on your 10th birthday and the pair of you were thick as thieves; much to his horror. You had Xalan wrapped around your little finger and often got yourselves into all sorts of trouble that Helion would have to rescue you both from. One time, you'd ended up in Thesan's bedroom in the middle of the night - and nearly gave the High Lord a heart attack before Helion was able to arrive and scoop you away, profusely apologising. He still apologises every time he sees Thesan for the embarrassment.

You mount Xalan and wait for your father to join with Meallan. Once you are both comfortable, he gestures for you both to take flight.

"This is a diplomatic meeting, y/n, so you have to be on your best behaviour. You are the heir to the Day Court, which means you represent the Court and me".

You don't reply. There's no need to, really. You will sit demurely and smile, speak when spoken to, and daydream otherwise of what life could offer you if you could just break free.

You had everything you could possibly want at the Day Court, your father made sure of that. But it didn't quench the desire in you to explore and see new horizons. 25 years in the confines of Day, only being able to satisfy your curiosity of Prythian by reading historical literature, was really taking its toll. You didn't mean to start acting out, but the boredom was driving you insane.

As you begin your descent into Velaris, the Night Court's City of Starlight, you can't help but notice the colours. The Sidra, the river running through the city, looked like it contained iridescent starlight. Flowers bloomed in deep blues and purples in people's front gardens. The mountain ranges in the distance seem to sparkle even in the daytime. You can hear people bustling about the streets, happy chatting and laughter fill the air.

Landing with a gentle thud before a riverfront house, you carefully guide Xalan to a stop and follow your father to a grassy sideline where the pair can graze happily. Once both pegasus' are settled, you watch your father round to the door and knock heavily.

"Helion, welcome!" comes a booming voice as the door swings wide open.

"A pleasure as always, Rhysand".

You see your father embrace the High Lord of Night as you stand behind, awkwardly. As Rhysand pulls away, he looks behind Helion to see you standing there. Helion notices Rhysand's wide eyes and turns to introduce you.

"Rhysand, this is my daughter, y/n. I thought it was time she learn the ways of the business, since she will one day take over from me after all", he laughs, guiding me to stand in front of him. Rhysand kindly takes my hand in his, shaking it gently.

"Welcome to Velaris, y/n". He smiles at you with kind eyes, which you return, before shyly pulling your hand away and tucking it behind your back.

"Helion, I had no idea you had a daughter?"

"Yes, well, I tried to keep her out of the spotlight to let her have a normal childhood; but she was getting restless in Day".

So he had noticed.

"Do come in, both of you".

Rhysand opened the door wider and moved, allowing you both passage into his home. You noticed the paintings that adorned the hallway, stopping at one in particular. It was one of your father, in the midst of the war 45 years ago, wielding his Spell-Cleaving powers with Hybern's army visibly falling in the distance. You had read about your father's role in the war, but only through reading the history books in his library. He never spoke of it, no matter how often you asked.

"Remarkable, isn't it? Feyre, my mate, painted this from a memory of your father during the war. He was a force to be reckoned with, took down nearly half the army on his own".

You turned to Rhysand with a gasp.

"Really?"

He looked at you, his face shrouded with confusion.

"He was formidable, y/n. Really, Prythian wouldn't be standing if it wasn't for him".

You turn back to gaze at the portrait, lost in thought. If your father had powers strong enough to single-handedly take down half an army, what could yours do with the right training? Helion was reluctant to let you do more than basic healing spells, worried that you would accidentally hurt yourself with your powers if left to your own devices. You could feel the power in you, strumming through your fingertips, begging to be wielded.

"Y/n?".

You turn and see your father standing in the doorway, silently beckoning for you to join him in the office. You sigh, thoughts of powers ebbing away, as you join him to discuss peace-making treaties with the mortal lands.

After you had been introduced to the rest of the Night Court, and they had gotten over the shock of Helion's 25-year-old daughter making a sudden appearance, the meeting carried on as normal. You mind wandered often, to the streets outside of the house, to the painting of your father and the power you could feel exuding from it, and you could feel yourself getting restless.

When the meeting was finally finished and you and your father had began the flight home, you couldn't help but wonder what your life would be like if you left the nest of the Day Court. And, as you watched Xalan in flight, his wings outspread through the sky - you realised it was time to spread your own.

"Father".

"Yes, sunshine?"

"I'd like to take a trip".

"Where would you like to go, my love? We could visit the continent, if you'd like?".

"A trip on my own, dad".

You can feel your father's gaze piercing you, but you refused to look up and meet his eyes.

"On your own?"

"I'm suffocating, dad. I need to live a little. Please. Just for a few weeks, just some distance from Day, so I can learn and explore and have fun like any other 25-year-old".

"But you're not any other 25-year-old, you're heir to the Day Court. You are a target".

"Then let me go somewhere where I'm not a target, where I can be protected. Please, dad".

You can feel your eyes pricking with tears, and not from the blowing wind. Your head is still bowed, but you know your father can sense them, can sense your heartache. He remains silent for a few minutes.

"I can, perhaps, ask Rhysand if he would grant you permission to stay in Velaris for a short while".

"Please, dad. Anything".

You meet his gaze and can see the pain in his face. His heart torn between keep you safe, but keeping his promise to you to want for nothing. And, it was becoming more obvious to him now, that what you wanted was to leave.

"Ok. I hear you. I will send a request to Rhysand when we are home".

[miel-ji]

{12:01 am}: Han Jisung

“Babe babe babe!” Jisung called out to you excitedly as soon as he got through the door that night. He fumbled taking his shoes off at the entrance, almost tripping himself in the process before beelining it straight for your bedroom where he knew you were waiting. He flopped down on his stomach beside you on the bed, causing you to bounce slightly. “Did you see my stage today?”

“Yes, I did my starboy,” you giggled at his energeticness and cupped his cheek to pull him up to plant a kiss on his soft lips. You could feel him relax against your touch as his body sagged into the bed. When you pulled away, he was gazing up at you through his silver bangs, the love in his eyes making them shiny. You brushed the hair out of his eyes, trying to ignore the way his heart eyes made you blush. “You always make me proud, Sungie.”

Now a slight pink bloomed on his round cheeks that were still adorned with little star stickers, and you took the time to brush your thumb over each one. His eyes fluttered shut, only opening again when you pulled away. “I have a surprise for you,” he whispered, now with a cheeky smile.

“Mmm, should I be worried?”

“Depends,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “How do you feel about being my stargirl?” He wiggled his eyebrows at you before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the star sticker sheet. “I couldn’t help thinking how cute you’d look with the stars on your face, so I brought them home to test that theory.”

You bit your lip to try and contain the smile that threatened to split your face and make your cheeks hurt but still failed as they turned up at the corners, “of course I’ll be your stargirl, baby.”

He mirrored your wide smile as you both sat up on your knees and faced each other. You adored the nail polish that he wore as you watched him carefully peel the stickers from the pack one by one, thinking back on all the times he’d ask you to paint them for him. It was always a battle trying to get him to hold still for that long as he excitedly wiggled in place or complained it tickled too much when you’d blow on them to dry it faster. But he still would ask you to paint them every time, and how could you tell him no?

His lips formed a pout as he thought about the best placement on your face. “Hm, I think these colors go with your eyes,” He said as he gently placed them at the corners of your eyes in threes. He sat back and admired his work, “I knew it, you look the cutest babe.”

“I do?”

“Mhmm,” he nodded proudly.

“Cuter than you?” You teased.

He scoffed, “ is that even a question? Of course, you’re cuter.”

“I’d have to disagree,” you smiled as you held his face in your hands and squished his cheeks. He clutched your wrists and stroked his thumbs over the back of your hands, and he leaned in to steal another kiss.

“I’d say we’re the cutest.” He muttered against your lips before pulling you in deeper.

[angelcqre]

no grave can hold my body down • i

Your husband has been dead for three weeks, four days, and twelve hours.

Every glance at the clock reminds you of the fact. Reminds you that you’re damned to a life without Simon - a life without stupid jokes and his hands around your waist and the weight of his stare when he thinks you don’t notice him looking.

When Price had come, hat in hand, you’d screamed. Clutched at his shirt and screamed and hit at the broad chest until he’d had to hold you still, support you as you bawled your rage and grief into his shoulder. You’d always told Simon that you supported his work - even if it was hard, even if you hated it. He was a hero. He saved the world from the bad guys.

Three weeks, four days, and twelve hours.

You buried an empty coffin last week. Price hadn’t told you where his body was - you didn’t ask. You didn’t want to know. Had watched the coffin descend into the ground, gripping your best friend’s hand white knuckled and firm.

The thing in your yard now is not your husband.

It looks like him - broad shouldered and tall, the pale blond hair curling past his ears the same as always. Even the way it stands, steady and heavy as if the world weighs upon its shoulders, screams of Simon. The mask illuminated by the moonlight, silver on bone on black, is his mask, is Simon’s.

But it isn’t him.

Tonight is the second night it’s stood there, and every time, it gets a little bit closer to the door. Gone by sunrise, you wouldn’t even have noticed it if you hadn’t gotten up in the middle of the night and caught sight of it last night.

Tall. Broad. Hands curled loosely into fists as it stares up at you, highlighted by the full moon.

You watch it now from the safety of your bedroom, phone clenched in your hand, but - who would you call? Who would believe you? What would you even say? You watch it for what feels like forever, the blanket of two in the morning leaving the entire scene feeling hazy and thick.

You go to raise your phone to your ear, to call - somebody, Soap maybe, he’d promised he’d come if you needed him (though he’d said it a bit more intensely than you’d known what to do with), one of Simon’s brothers to come and get you and -

It takes another step forwards in the span of a blink. One moment it’s in the middle of your yard, the next its boots are in your daffodils, crushing the delicate blooms that you’d spent hours planting in careful little rows.

Mud stains its jeans, and you can see the fluid, thick and black, that sludges from the center of its chest. It waits. Patient. He’s always been able to out-wait you, infinite patience to your nervous energy.

What choice do you have but to let it in

Your bare feet on the stairs of the home you’d built with him are quiet, soft, the floor cold beneath you. You move like you’re in a dream, tugged along by a narrative you can’t quite grasp, merely a tool for the story. You couldn’t fight it if you tried, so you don’t.

There’s a knock at the door. It’s almost funny, how proper that knock sounds, how polite, as if you haven’t seen Simon knock down doors like it was nothing, all broad power. You know it could get through with ease. Considerate of it to knock.

[crheativity]

Congrats for your 200 followers, hopefully you will grow more!

Can I request Silver at 7 pm? Cuddling with him in MC room, specially since how busy he can be as Malleus guard. Hopefully this is fine.

WARNINGS: ametuer poetry lol

COMMENTS: Hey Anon! Thank you so much for the request! I hope you don’t mind but I changed it slightly to make it just a little more SFW as this request is right on the edge of what I’m comfortable writing. Also, the poem is selected lines of a sonnet I wrote a couple years back, bc that was a thing I used to do often. As such, it’s not very professional, so sorry if the poetry isn’t the best. Thank you! :D

It had been a while since you’d gotten to relax with your boyfriend. I mean, he was awfully busy. You supposed that was a fair price to pay for someone as sweet and good as Silver.

But in the rare moments - in between his and your studies, random bouts of sleepiness and monitoring Malleus’ wellbeing, miraculously, you were able to make things work. You never seemed to have the time for any big, romantic dates. It was a rare occasion indeed where you had dinner at the Mostro Lounge, watched a movie at the cinema or went shopping together.

That didn’t stop either of you from having dinner at Ramshackle, watching movies at home or going on errands to Sam’s together. Your “dates” were often smaller, and even more sweet than anything else you could imagine doing.

Like right now, for example.

Currently, you and Silver were sitting close to each other on a couch. A blanket was draped gently over the two of you as you sat holding a book of poetry. The two of you took turns searching through it, before you each found one you’d like (whether it be funny, romantic or emotional) and read it aloud to each other.

Silver had been getting sleepy for a while now, although he was a little too stubborn to admit it. Or maybe he just wanted to spend more time chatting and reading with you.

That thought gave you butterflies.

Concentrating on the book, you flicked through, scanning the contents for any poems that stood out to you - ones you hadn’t read yet. Your eyes settled on one, a soft smile settling on your lips as you skimmed the contents.

Yes, this one seemed appropriate.

“Have you found one?” Silver piped up sleepily beside you. He’d started leaning on you gently, resting his head on your shoulder as his eyelids grew heavy.

“Yep, you ready?”

“Always.”

You smiled softly as you read aloud.

“I can still remember the day we met,

You held my hand and asked me what was wrong.

I don’t remember why I was upset,

But I remember your smile as you sung:”

You paused for a moment, skimming the lyrics and guessing how the melody is supposed to go. Softly, you sung the next verse of the poem.

“No matter what has happened dear sweetheart,

I am always here for you, it’s okay,

Like flowers, whose petals must come apart

So they can bloom, you will find your own way.”

Silver shifted next to you. His breathing was changing by the moment, his sleepiness finally starting to win the battle against his will to stay awake - to stay with you.

He was always here for you, much like the friend in the poem. The thought made you smile. You wondered if Silver could sing? That would definitely be something to ask him when he woke up. Maybe he could sing the poem to you next time.

You continued through the poem, reading through the last verse.

“Fast forward a few years, we were best friends,

“Best friends”… oh yes, and maybe something more.

We were “best friends”, with seemingly no end,

Until the day you knocked upon the door.”

Your mind wandered back to the day Silver had confessed. It was simple, but very sweet. He had come to visit you at Ramshackle. It was the only time you could remember seeing Silver nervous.

You brought your mind back to the last couplet of the poem as Silver continued to fight a losing battle against his sleepiness.

“You told me you’d find me, gave me this ring,

And every day since, I have spent hoping.”

You felt Silver squeeze your hand and glanced over at him just in time to see his eyes flutter closed.

Sleep had won.

You gently set the book aside and adjusted Silver into a more comfortable position against you, moving the blanket draped over you both to cover him more fully. You gently leaned against him and shut your eyes. One hand held Silver’s, your other floating up to your neck, where a promise ring hung from a chain.

Maybe your love was like poetry in more ways than you’d thought.

♥ Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it! ♥

[kieran-granola]

Sweet Sorries

(This is a little JayTim Chanukah gift for @silver-snow-77! Thank you for being a lot of fun 💕)

“We missed you at the Manor.”

Jason doesn't flinch but he tenses, his shoulders drawing up as he sets his helmet down on the table. Slowly, he turns around to find Tim sitting at his kitchen table all bundled up in a cozy sweater and scarf. The plate of sufganiyot that Jason cooked and abandoned earlier that day is waiting in front of him, the shape of it somehow accusing in the semi-darkness.

“Who’s we exactly?” Jason asks as he unholsters his guns. 

In the kitchen, Tim shrugs. “Alfred. Bruce. Damian. Me. Take your pick.”

Following his well-practiced routine, Jason unloads his weapons and puts them away in his safe. He'll need to clean them later — to make sure everything will be in working order tomorrow when he heads out into the streets again — but he's got more pressing concerns for now.

“You see me practically everyday, birdie.”

“We don't celebrate Hanukkah everyday, though.”

Jason shrugs off his leather jacket and sprawls on his couch to work on removing his boots. “Technically, for a week, we do.”

Tim's tongue clicks. “Jason.”

“Timothy,” Jason deadpans.

They stare at each other in silence for a minute, then Tim sighs. His shoulders droop, hurt clear on his face. When he speaks, his voice is thin.  “Why didn't you show up? I wanted to spend the night with you. I thought—I was hoping that you wanted to celebrate with me too.”

Shame and guilt bloom in Jason's stomach. Fuck. He's an asshole. He was so caught up in his insecurities, so worried about Bruce's judgment and Alfred's disapproval, that he didn't stop to consider whether Tim would be hurt by his absence. Stomach turning into a mess of knots, he kicks his boots off and stands up. 

“I'm sorry. I was planning to go. I mean—” he gestures to the plate of pastries, “—I even baked. But then I just… I don't know. I couldn't do it.”

Tim bites his lip. “You got scared.”

“I guess.”

“You could have told me. I would have spent the evening with you, we could have—”

“No!” Jason blurts out. “No. It's—You shouldn't have to skip family celebrations just because you decided to fuck the local pariah.”

Tim goes stock-still, his expression smoothing out into an impenetrable mask. “Is that what we're doing? Fucking?”

Dozens of memories flit through Jason’s mind — Tim's smile over shared fries, his strong fingers digging bruises into Jason's hips, heated debates in front of the TV, and days spent curled up together in bed — and his heart stutters. Dammit. He didn’t mean to imply that what they have isn’t serious. 

“No, it's not,” he says slowly. “You know it's not. You're as much of a detective as I am. You’ve got to know how I feel about you.”

“By that logic, you have to know how I feel about you too. But you still left me hanging at the Manor tonight.” 

Jason looks away. Maybe he does know. Maybe he remembers the way Tim took care of him when he was sick despite his own weakened immune system. Maybe he can picture the smile that blooms on his face whenever he wakes up next to Jason. Maybe he knows the shape of Tim's feelings intimately. Maybe he's let him write them across his bones with every kiss and touch.

Maybe it's not enough to compensate for his fear of Bruce anyway.

“I'm sorry,” he repeats. “I should have warned you. I was too caught up in my issues with B to think about you and that was unfair of me. I'll do better next time.”

Tim gives him a long, inscrutable look. Then he sighs. “Alright.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve got my own hang-ups when it comes to Bruce, so… Apology accepted. On one condition.”

“Anything you want. Just say the word.”

“I want a sufganiyah,” Tim replies lightly. “And a kiss.”

Gratitude fills Jason’s chest with sunshine. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t Tim’s playful answer. To be forgiven so easily and reminded that Tim cares for him all in one fell swoop… It’s a gift he never thought he’d be given.

Eyes stinging, he moves closer and pushes the plate towards Tim. “Take as many as you want. Hell, eat them all. I can always make more.”

Tim grabs a beignet. He takes a bite, and powdered sugar sticks to his mouth, bright and enticing. 

Jason leans in reflexively at the sight. Every inch of him longs for a taste of Tim’s sweetness. As clumsy with his words as he can be, he knows exactly how to touch Tim by now. How to handle him with the care and reverence he doesn’t know how to express when he’s not borrowing a poet’s words. 

(Art commissioned from the lovely @coffeexrage)

Tim notices him staring. He lifts his chin and gives Jason an expectant look, his blue eyes impossibly bright. “Well? That’s only half of what I asked for. Where’s my kiss?”

Laughing quietly, Jason crosses the distance between them and kisses the tip of Tim’s freckled nose. “There.”

Tim scrunches up his nose. “I meant a proper kiss.”

“Finish eating, you gremlin. I’ll kiss you as many times as you want after.”

“You sure about that?” Tim grins slyly. “Because I might need a kiss every day until I die.”

Jason rolls his eyes even as his heart misses a beat. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Oh, I can drive it harder.” Tim gives him an exaggerated wink.

Flushing, Jason takes a sufganiyah and pushes it against Tim’s lips to shut him up. “Eat or you won’t get any kisses at all.”

“Yessir.” Half-laughing, Tim takes a bite and the two of them share a smile. 

Jason doesn’t know what tomorrow will be like — whether Tim will insist on going to the Manor to light the candles again, and whether he’ll have the strength to accompany him if he does. What he does know, though, is that Tim’s gentle warmth is enough to make him want to keep making an effort. He might never be able to mend things with Bruce, he still damn well intends to nurture his relationship with Tim.

One kiss at a time.

[littlejuicebox]

Highharvestide Day

(Astarion x Female Reader)

-----

This is the fluffy twin to my other mostly-smut piece An Early Highharvestide Feast. Setting: Several in-game spoiler warnings, 4 years after BG3, "good" ending, Unascended Astarion x Cleric Reader Notes: Took a break from my WrenxAstarion fic to write this Thanksgiving-themed 2-part story. I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving surrounded by friends and loved ones and all the warmth and comfort of love and life. And as always, I love to see comments about what you liked in the story, it inspires me for other fics! And if you like my writing, please check out my passion project: WrenxAstarion. Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 3K

-----

You are a ball of nerves as you place the final touches on the table settings. It’s such a silly thing, you think to yourself. These people have seen you with crimson drops of blood splattered across your face and broken bones poking out of your flesh; they’ve watched you violently behead a Drow and smelled your musk after a week without a bath. And yet, here you are, meticulously straightening the cutlery, hoping to impress your merry band of misfits. Not that any of them care, and you know it, but you cannot help yourself. You want to give them the best, just like you always have.

The staff are fluttering about the dining hall, placing vases around the room according to your exacting instructions. You smile at the containers filled with blooms from your own garden, the very same arrangements you’d been working on the night prior before you were interrupted by your husband and more... strenuous activities. You’d fallen behind schedule from his distraction and had to enlist the help of the staff to finish the arrangements off earlier today, which Astarion had considered a win for his side in your ongoing fight over trying to remain humble (you) vs. taking what you deserve (him). Absently, you thought that the arrangements weren’t quite as perfect as they would have been if you’d done them yourself... but the small sacrifice had been worth it, in the end.

Astarion saunters through the heavy oak doors of your dining hall, Scratch in tow. The dog was practically your husband’s shadow, nearly glued to his thigh at all times, and as much as the vampire pretended to be annoyed, you noticed even now that his hand was absently brushing against Scratch’s ear as the pair headed toward their favorite woman in all of Faerun. He is carrying an ornately wrapped package in the crook of his arm as he meanders to your side, eyebrow cocked slightly as he examines the room. “Darling, everyone will arrive within the hour, it’s time for you to dress.”

Your eyes gloss over the tables one more time, checking for any final imperfections, before you turn to greet your husband with a kiss on his cheek. “Yes, my love… and what is that you’re holding?”

Astarion chuckles, glancing down at the bundle in his arm, feigning nonchalance. “What dear, this beautiful package? Oh… nothing, really. Just a small Highharvesthide gift for my beautiful hostess.”

He turns the package over to you with a chaste peck to your lips, and you shake your head in amusement at the rakish man. The silver-haired elf tries to hide his anticipation and anxiety by gripping softly at the scruff around Scratch’s neck, but you can feel him eyeing your face for signs of a reaction.

It’s become commonplace that Astarion brings you a present for nearly every significant occasion; spoiling you with any number of ostentatious things you wouldn't dare to purchase yourself seemed to be his love language. For your first anniversary, he’d filled the bedroom to the brim with countless rare, night blooming plants for your garden. You two had made love surrounded by a canopy of flora and the sweet aroma of flowers, and he'd asked the staff to plant all of them on the grounds the following day. It had been a beautiful gesture, and marked the start of your ongoing infatuation with your garden.

But you do know how long your husband mulls these gifts over in his head before finalizing his decision. The mere suggestion that you are not thrilled by his selection would crush Astarion's sensitive heart; he quite literally revolved his existence around you in so many ways. You are easily pleased, of course, by any gift from your spouse… but you are always sure to adamantly express the feeling to your love, less he get the wrong impression.

You place the gift on the table and unwrap it to reveal a beautiful, mulberry-colored gown. The dress is made from velvet, and the neckline drops into a sharp V. Delicate gold embroidery follows the neckline down to the center of the gown, trailing to the hem; the same pattern is echoed along the cuffs and up the sleeves of the piece. Atop the dress sits a dainty golden circlet, the metal fashioned to look like vines, tiny garnet gems positioned in a setting reminiscent of flower petals, the jewels appearing framed as the flower pistils. It’s all breathtakingly ornate, and you gasp in a mixture of surprise and delight as your fingers run along the golden thread.

“What do you think?” Astarion asks, head cocked to the side as he watches your reaction. You can sense the smidge of trepidation in his tone as he tries to hide it from you.

“It’s absolutely perfect, my love.” You turn and beam at him, watching as the subtle signs of tension ease from his jaw and eyes. “Thank you, truly. I don't think I could've envisioned a more perfect gown for tonight. I am meant to wear it tonight, aren't I, my Star?”

“Well, I was so hoping you would, my dear.” The vampire responds, all fangs and flirtations as he closes the few inches of distance between your bodies and wraps his arm around your waist, planting a smattering of featherlight kisses below your ear before whispering. “It will give me such a delectable view of your collarbone all night… and I might need the distraction when the wizard starts prattling on about Tara for the millionth time.”

You laugh and roll your eyes at your husband before grabbing his hand in yours and squeezing. “It's really a gorgeous ensemble. You've outdone yourself, once again. Now let’s go and get ready… I can hardly wait to see everyone.”

-----

You are dressed in your new gown and circlet, Astarion standing just behind you as you two ready yourselves by the front entrance. His doublet is a golden tone, highlighting the embroidered details in your own gown; his chest serving as your background. Even though it goes unsaid, you know the decision on his part was intentional; Astarion's keen vermillion eyes never miss a detail. You had sneakily designed something for your husband, which he’d been given as your both dressed. You knew full well that he’d had a gift planned for weeks and you would never dare to be the one empty-handed; he’d received a beautiful set of cufflinks in the shape of your initials, made from solid gold. The vampire fiddles with his gift as he waits, glancing down every so often to admire the gesture with a small smile and significant affection.

The Duke is the first to arrive, pulled in a horse drawn carriage with several guards and a beautiful half-elven woman by his side — his betrothed, Euphemia Gauthier. You curtsy to Wyll before he takes your hand and laughs. “Such formality from an old friend?”

He wraps you into a hug before moving to Astarion and clapping a friendly palm upon the man’s back. “I trust you two remember my beautiful flower, Euphemia?”

Euphemia smiles as you both turn to her and offer your greetings. You know her to be from old noble blood. She is undeniably graceful, well-spoken, and kind. By all accounts, she is Wyll’s perfect match. Her mega-watt smile turns in your direction, and she takes your hand in hers as she addresses you. “Lady Acunin, have you given further thought about my betrothed’s offer? As you know, Counsellor Atherwinde will be retiring next year, and my darling Wyll is growing anxious to have you take the spot.”

You feel Astarion’s eyes bore into you as a flush spreads across your cheeks. You hadn’t mentioned the offer to him, since you were still mulling it over in your own mind. It came with several obligations and the unfortunate need to step further into the public eye. There would be influence and the ability to advance so many of your political interests, sure. But was it worth the cost? The vampire's fingers gripped into your waist for just a moment, a silent signal to you that he would not be letting the matter rest.

You aim to say something, but Astarion cuts in, speaking towards the half-elf woman; the slightest pitch in his tone, however, lets you know every word is directed to you. “Lady Gauthier, I am sure my beautiful wife is giving the offer the upmost consideration. Who better to fill the position than the woman that saved us all from becoming mindflayers… I can’t think of a single soul more fit in all of Faerun. And I am certain that Duke Ravengard and Lady Ancunin would be aligned. It sounds like an excellent opportunity and one that would be quite difficult to pass up.”

Wyll is positively beaming at this response, practically taking Astarion’s words as a guarantee of acceptance. “Enough of this political talk for the evening. We will have many more nights to discuss… but for today, let’s enjoy the company of old friends.”

-----

Everyone else arrived quickly after Duke and soon-to-be Duchess Ravengard. Gale by teleportation circle, Lae’zel and Shadowheart together on horseback, Karlach carrying a barrel of cheap booze that she unceremoniously placed in the center of the dining room (to Astarion’s dismay), and Halsin on foot with a dozen children following behind him.

The event was lively and filled with an excited, jovial air. A pianist had been hired for the occasion, and the rich sounds coming from the keys mixed with the soft crackling of fireplaces added beautiful background noise to the dining room. Every sconce in the house was lit, and the various candles around the dining room, their wax colored in an array of autumnal tones, provided a beautiful, homey glow. The entire setting wrapped you and your friends in a blanket of warmth and comfort.

Night took over the manor, and the flowers inside their vases bloomed, almost as if on cue, as the food was brought about. The spectacle brought forth several compliments from your friends, lighting your heart aglow. It would have been tradition for you and your husband to sit on opposite ends of the long mahogany dining table, but you had quickly waved off that formality amongst your closest friends and instead sat on Astarion’s left. One of his hands remained clasped firmly in yours most of the night, while his other hand held a golden goblet repeatedly filled with wine. He'd dined on several chalices of animal blood earlier that day, but a plate was still placed in front of him for show. Halsin's cantankerous brood sat at another table parallel to the adults. They were creating quite a ruckus and tossing scraps at an excited Scratch, and you chuckled while thinking the beast was living possibly the best day of his life.

Karlach told of her time in Avernus, and the many efforts Dammon made to fix her engine once and for all. Astarion had helped Karlach secure another position by contract with Zariel, one where she was not actively fighting in the hells… but it still was not the perfect solution, and she was only granted a few weeks of reprieve every year. After a few more years, she would hopefully be out of the hells for good... if Dammon managed to pull through on a permanent solution so she could remain on the material plane. Something told you that Dammon was quite driven by yearning for your red friend and spent all day and all night working to turn Karlach's dream into a reality, and you prayed every day to your gods that his experiments would be a success.

Shadowheart and Lae’zel had spent much of the past four years with the cleric’s parents and traveling around the Sword Coast. The unlikely couple hinted at a possible wedding in the near future. Astarion couldn’t help but chuckle beside you at the irony of it all, a small smirk on his face as he locked eyes with you. But he held back his silver-tongue, knowing he had no right to judge, since he'd initially held a blade to the throat of his beloved.

Gale delivered a most interesting piece of information. He stated he'd pursued many tomes and scrolls and had finally come across a documented successful case of the Wish Spell not more than a month ago. He’d sought out the sorcerer named on record and found the elven man at his residence near Candlekeep. Gale did not feel he was quite prepared to perform the spell on Astarion without disastrous results, but he spoke about the sorcerer with reverence and infatuation akin to the tone he’d once taken when telling of Mystra. You didn’t press further, knowing Gale would reveal everything in his own time, but Astarion shot you a knowing glance before, somewhat surprisingly, genuinely thanking the wizard for his continued efforts and raising a glass to their continued friendship.

Halsin was proud to announce his new community was thriving. Several of the tiefling children your group had rescued were growing to be active members of the society and expanding their efforts. You were thrilled to hear that Mol had turned out to be quite the leader, and Halsin’s influence had pushed her toward benevolence. Arabella was reportedly doing quite well in her studies of the Weave, and spent her breaks with her friends. Halsin hinted at a need for further aid from the city, which both Euphemia and you implored Wyll to look into. The two of you exchanged conspiratorial glances as Wyll gave a good-natured sigh and shot a look that practically said, ‘Women, am I right?’ to a bemused Astarion from across the table. But the Duke promised Halsin with a hand to his heart that he would bring it up at the next meeting.

Astarion had spent most of the night in relative silence, apart from a chuckle or quip dotted throughout the conversation. It was clear he was happy to be in the presence of friends and listen to their exploits, and though he wasn’t particularly loquacious that evening, the soft smile that stayed plastered to his face as he drank from his goblet caused you to make a mental note to host more events within your home. He’d never acknowledge it, but his condition had the poor side effect of being a dreadfully isolating experience, and the man quite enjoyed the company of others. He claimed to need only you in his life, but you knew that was just the expression of romantic love and loyal dedication that overflowed from his heart. Perhaps it was a slant truth that he wanted to believe, despite your knowledge and understanding otherwise.

When people began their departures, everyone was fully sated and thoroughly drunk. Lae’zel and Shadowheart were the first to bid their farewells to the others and stumble drunkenly to your guest chambers. As you watched them walk away, you were all but certain they were about to commit some deplorable actions between the silken sheets you’d put out for them. Your suspicions were confirmed to be correct when the rest of you heard someone bang into the wall with a moan before several giggles and loud shushing gravitated down the hall.

Karlach heaved a heavy sigh as she stood, knowing full well that her guest room was located right next door to the couple's and lamenting the fact that she would have to listen to their incessant lovemaking all night. She had plans to go visit Dammon in the morning, and turned in shortly after Lae'zel and Shadowheart. She took her time hugging everyone around the room and placing a sloppy kiss on Astarion's cheek, intentionally and effectively ruffling his feathers. You'd always felt that, apart from you, Karlach had been the vampire's favorite campmate. The instinct was always reaffirmed every time Astarion allowed Karlach to smother him with affection and, although he acted annoyed, he always let a smile reach his eyes for a moment before slipping the perturbed mask back into place.

Wyll and Euphemia made you promise them to give an answer by the start of the New Year and you reluctantly agreed to the terms as the Duke helped his betroathed into the carriage and bid you both farewell with plans for dinner at his home in a few weeks time.

You’d become quite enamored with a sweet girl named Winifred that had joined Halsin, white wildflowers adorning her red hair. She was not but ten and already showed significant talent for healing spells, as displayed when a tiefling child pulled out a loose tooth at the children's table and began bleeding quite profusely. She gave you a hug as you bid your goodbyes to all the younglings, and you promised Halsin you would stop by within the next few weeks to show her a few more spells. He thanked you both and then called to the children, all of them following obediently behind the druid like a gaggle of ducklings behind their mother.

Gale was the last to depart, opening another portal as he turned to the two of you. “I will keep you both abreast of my progress. Watch for my scrolls. And please come to Candlekeep soon… I would like to introduce you to both to Tharren; he’s eager to meet the vampire I’m hoping to aid and our famed heroes of Baldur’s Gate.”

The wizard presses a platonic kiss to your cheek and wraps Astarion into a hug, the vampire reacting to the embrace like a cat responds to being held by their least favorite family member - stiff, awkward, but otherwise accepting. Your love even relents toward the end of the embrace and wraps his arm around Gale in response, for the first time ever, before the wizard steps away. Gale’s eyes flit between you both as he waves and disappears in a flash of blue light.

You stare at the spot where the portal just dissipated, a slight drop in your chest as you take in the absence of your friends. There is a soft moment of silence that you sit in with your husband, the first moment of quiet all night. Astarion pulls you toward him as a breeze runs across the lawn before he places a kiss in your hair. He murmurs into your ear before pressing another kiss along your cheek. “My darling, I will let you have your night… but tomorrow we will discuss Wyll’s offer, yes?”

You nod and hum in agreement, knowing you cannot outrun the conversation forever. But for tonight, all you desire is to bask in the afterglow of beautiful memories and the warmth of your husband's love. The silver-haired elf spins you and places soft kisses along your collarbone, which he’d been pointedly admiring by almost vulgarly running his eyes along your chest at every opportunity. He trails up to your neck, resting his lips for a moment on that familiar spot at the crook of it before snaking his tongue out to subtly trace over the faintly raised puncture marks.

“Now, my sweet, let’s head to our bed chambers. I’d quite like my dessert. I’ve been staring at that darling neck of yours all night and it’s taken almost all of my control to not splay you out on the dining table and take you in front of our closest friends… though I do think a fair few of them would’ve enjoyed the show. If not for the children, who knows what I might’ve done?”

The flush in your face rises, aided by the heavy amounts of wine and brandy you’d consumed that evening. Astarion makes his way up to your lips and delves his tongue into your mouth, soft at first, but with growing intensity as the kiss lengthens. Before long, your legs are wrapped around the vampire as he carries you to your bedroom, fully intent on making love to you until the sun rises and eternally thankful for his little treasure that the gods placed in his path when he least expected it.

[sinukiyo]

I’m sorry but this scene…THIS SCENE…

“Matthias cast an uneasy glance at the guards’ backs, visible through the doorway. “Ignore them,” she said. “Why haven’t you kissed me, Matthias?”

“This isn’t the time—”

“Is it because of what I am? Is it because you still fear me?”

“No.”

She paused, and he could see her struggling with what she wanted to say. “Is it because of the way I behaved on the ship? The way I acted the other night … when I tried to get you to give me the rest of the parem?”

“How can you think that?”

“You’re always calling me shameless. I guess … I guess I’m ashamed.” She shuddered. “It’s like wearing a coat that doesn’t fit.”

“Nina, I gave you my oath.”

“But—”

“Your enemies are my enemies, and I will stand with you against any foe—including this accursed drug.”

She shook her head as if he was speaking nonsense. “I don’t want you to be with me because of an oath, or because you think you need to protect me, or because you think you owe me some stupid blood debt.”

“Nina—” he started, then stopped. “Nina, I am with you because you let me be with you. There is no greater honor than to stand by your side.”

“Honor, duty. I get it.”

Her temper he could bear, but her disappointment was unacceptable. Matthias knew only the language of war. He did not have the words for this. “Meeting you was a disaster.”

She raised a brow. “Thank you.”

Djel, he was terrible at this. He stumbled on, trying to make her understand. “But I am grateful every day for that disaster. I needed a cataclysm to shake me from the life I knew. You were an earthquake, a landslide.”

“I,” she said, planting a hand on her hip, “am a delicate flower.”

“You aren’t a flower, you’re every blossom in the wood blooming at once. You are a tidal wave. You’re a stampede. You are overwhelming.”

“And what would you prefer?” she said, eyes blazing, the slightest quaver to her voice. “A proper Fjerdan girl who wears high collars and dunks herself in cold water whenever she has the urge to do something exciting?”

“That isn’t what I meant!”

She sidled closer to him. Again, his eyes strayed to the guards. Their backs were turned, but Matthias knew they must be listening, no matter what language he and Nina were speaking. “What are you so afraid of?” she challenged. “Don’t look at them, Matthias. Look at me.”

He looked. It was a struggle not to look. He loved seeing her in Fjerdan clothes, the little woolly vest, the full sweep of her skirts. Her green eyes were bright, her cheeks pink, her lips slightly parted. It was too easy to imagine himself kneeling like a penitent before her, letting his hands slide up the white curves of her calves, pushing those skirts higher, past her knees to the warm skin of her thighs. And the worst part was that he knew how good she would feel. Every cell in his body remembered the press of her naked body that first night in the whaling camp. “I … There is no one I want more; there is nothing I want more than to be overwhelmed by you.”

“But you don’t want to kiss me?”

“He inhaled slowly, trying to bring order to his thoughts. This was all wrong.

“In Fjerda—” he began.

“We’re not in Fjerda.”

He needed to make her understand. “In Fjerda,” he persisted, “I would have asked your parents for permission to walk out with you.”

“I haven’t seen my parents since I was a child.”

“We would have been chaperoned. I would have dined with your family at least three times before we were ever left alone together.”

“We’re alone together now, Matthias.”

“I would have brought you gifts.”

Nina tipped her head to one side. “Go on.”

“Winter roses if I could afford them, a silver comb for your hair.”

“I don’t need those things.”

“Apple cakes with sweet cream.”

“I thought drüskelle didn’t eat sweets.”

“They’d all be for you,” he said.

“You have my attention.”

“Our first kiss would be in a sunlit wood or under a starry sky after a village dance, not in a tomb or some dank basement with guards at the door.”

“Let me get this straight,” Nina said. “You haven’t kissed me because the setting isn’t suitably romantic?”

“This isn’t about romance. A proper kiss, a proper courtship. There’s a way these things should be done.”

“For proper thieves?” The corners of her beautiful mouth curled and for a moment he was afraid she would laugh at him, but she simply shook her head and drew even nearer. Her body was the barest breath from his now. The need to close that scrap of distance was maddening.

“The first day you showed up at my house for this proper courtship, I would have cornered you in the pantry,” she said. “But please, tell me more about Fjerdan girls.”

“They speak quietly. They don’t engage in flirtations with every single man they meet.”

“I flirt with the women too.”

“I think you’d flirt with a date palm if it would pay you any attention.”

“If I flirted with a plant, you can bet it would stand up and take notice. Are you jealous?”

“All the time.”

“I’m glad. What are you looking at, Matthias?” The low thrum of her voice vibrated straight through him.

He kept his eyes on the ceiling, whispering softly. “Nothing.”

“Matthias, are you praying?”

“Possibly.”

“For restraint?” she said sweetly.

“You really are a witch.”

“I’m not proper, Matthias.”

“I am aware of this.” Miserably, keenly, hungrily aware.

“And I’m sorry to inform you, but you’re not proper either.”

His gaze dropped to her now. “I—”

“How many rules have you broken since you met me? How many laws? They won’t be the last. Nothing about us will ever be proper,” she said. She tilted her face up to his. So close now it was as if they were already touching. “Not the way we met. Not the life we lead. And not the way we kiss.”

“She went up on tiptoe, and that easily, her mouth was against his. It was barely a kiss—just a quick, startling press of her lips.

Before she could even think of moving away, he had hold of her. He knew he was probably doing everything wrong, but he couldn’t bring himself to worry, because she was in his arms, her lips were parting, her hands were twining around his neck, and sweet Djel, her tongue was in his mouth. No wonder Fjerdans were so cautious about courtship. If Matthias could be kissing Nina, feeling her nip at his lip with her clever teeth, feel her body fitted against his own, hear her release that little sigh in the back of her throat, why would he ever bother doing anything else? Why would anyone?”

[oepionie]

THE RED MEANS I LOVE YOU. jade leech

Synopsis: A certain eel seems to have developed feelings for you! Though…he is quite protective and unsettling, isn't he?

Character/s: Jade Leech x GN! Reader

Tags: Some fluff, Light allusions to hidden Yandere behavior, Mentions of violence and injuries, Jade Leech is sus but soft for you (?)

WordCount: 300+ | 💌Masterlist | Song Link

Jade Leech, for reasons you can't understand, has developed feelings for you.

If this were a typical high school love story, this would be greatly welcomed. The eel was handsome, courteous, intelligent, and charming. Who wouldn't want him as a partner?

Though instead of the dizzy, lovesick exhilaration you get every time he cares for you all gentle and soft, you're bewildered. Jade didn't have a reputation for being sappy or soft; instead, he was courteous and direct, speaking with a silver tongue and a sly glint in his eye. You assume this special treatment of you was a deliberate choice since he appears to interact with other students in his usual shady manners.

He brings you a cup of tea, steam rising above the warm, sweet beverage. When you take the drink into your hands, it ripples with movement beneath the lilac lights of the lounge. Jade takes the initiative to put down a cute little shrimp coaster on the table. The sweet and delicate action a stark contrast to what he had done earlier.

The unconscious body of a Savanaclaw student lay near the entry doors, just out of your peripheral vision. His body was covered with bruises, skin coloured red, blue, and purple.

That was the same student who had been harassing you earlier, encroaching on your personal space, and generally making you feel uncomfortable. Maybe he wouldn't be the way he is right now if he only realised that a certain eel had seen what he was doing.

Jade takes your hand in his, pressing a fleeting kiss on your knuckles. He invites you to dinner to have tea and sample his new mushroom risotto recipe; if you didn't know better, you wouldn't be able to tell that he was the same ruthless eel who delighted in seeing other people's pain and suffering.

Still, you squeeze his hand back, a smile blooming across your face as you accept.

Oh, what could possibly go wrong?

Likes and Reblogs are greatly appreciated and really motivating on my end!

[yet-another-haven-of-dollya]

i was catching up on your blog, and honestly your, or well, your PCs' opinion abt Sydney is so fascinating to me. when i first played the game for real (after trying to previous times and ending up in the forest being raped by wolves and kidnapped by Eden without knowing wtf was going on, and then my second try ending up in a rape cycle that ended in the asylum) i started pursuing Sydney for the first time, thinking that she'd be like every other goody-two-shoes uninteresting character that is usually a part of dating games, the stereotype that fails to interest me no matter what. then i found out i could corrupt her, and i decided to make her "fall from grace" together with my PC, and the more i interacted w her the more and more i fell in love w her character, to the point that my PC became as obsessed w her as she is with him

Sydney might honestly be my favorite LI, so to find someone who doesn't like them v much is quite the interesting experience lol. i think the part that most called my attention is the privilege part of their character that you brought up, and i think that stuck w me mostly bc i never truly saw Sydney's "privilege" like that. Sydney never gave me the impression that they were completely oblivious to everything and anything wrong that happens in the world just bc it doesn't affect them - quite the opposite, actually

Sydney isnt immune to the world they live in, not a single character in this game is (which is why i love it sm tbh). they might be extremely sheltered and protected as much as Sirris and the temple are able to make them, but when you pray w them in the temple and someone comes by to harass you she knows exactly what is happening and how to stop it. she's probably been harassed by monks and nuns as well, and unable to fight back without losing her grace. that's without even going into the Leighton punishment event, and how they react to it, which i think gives a v good view into how they cope w the world they live in depending on whether they are pure or corrupted and how that affects their interactions w PC...

ok im just rambling now, my point is, Sydney is a very interesting and complex character to me and seeing your interpretation of them was really interesting/insightful, and gave me some answers to things in your PCs' story that i used to question but always forgot to send an ask abt (such as their distaste for Sydney). thanks for reading my ramble, i love the things you're doing w your PCs and how you interpret their world <3

-smthishunting

Just in case you still don't understand the nature of the situation, the "privileged" part can be translated into "ENVY"

Sydney has had good things growing up. PC has nothing of those, which I have mentioned. "Why can they be optimistic? Why can they believe in the good in people? Why their parent doesn't demand they rent every week? Why do they have parents but I and Robin don't? Why can't I and Robin have those things that they have?..."

It's bitter, but I firmly believe, just like a redeemed bully can never achieve true peace, a sheltered child growing up with a silver spoon inside their mouth can never understand poverty and desperation either. Something bad happens to them, but they have family and financial support to overcome it, that's why they can stay pure and stay good. Robin stays ignorant too, they essentially avoid the outside world completely and if PC doesn't step up to protect them, they're ruined. That's what happens with pureness and goodness if they bloom in mud, unprotected. That's what happens on a daily basis with the children of the orphanage.

That's why my PCs are Robin's protectors. I make them taste the bitterness when realizing some things even try as they might, they can never achieve, while Sydney has those things handed to them, lovingly and matter-of-factly, as easily as falling to sleep in a soft fluffy bed. To me, that's what makes them even more protective of their waifu/malewife and more determined to shelter Robin as much as possible. They strive to give Robin what Sydney's having, their childhood together sucks so yeah let's try hard for a better future :D

As for Sydney... Well, unless future updates give them some trauma, throw them into some real fuck up situation like what PC faced daily, or reveal that they had some beef with Harper in the past and had lifelong psychological trauma, I don't think I can give them more credit.

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

Ostara

Note: bit of an unplanned surprise fic I came up with earlier today, see it as my one year anniversary gift to you lovely readers. extra note; I wrote and proofread this during the boop war, so any mistakes left are not my fault.

Warnings: 18+!! smut; primal play, breeding kink.

pairing: Sihtric x you (f)

summary: It's time to celebrate the spring equinox.

wordcount: 1,7k

Masterlist

The fire was bright and warm, your skin orange from its glow and glistening from its heat. The smell of burnt wood mingled with the scent of fresh ale and smoked meat, while the laughter and cheers of many roared through the clear night sky. The bonfire, which lit up the entire town, was always the highlight of the celebration to welcome back spring and its warmth and light, as well as the renewal of life, after a long, dark and cold winter. Celebrating the spring equinox was simply tradition, and another tradition that came with it every year was your husband getting drunk early in the evening, and you already weren't looking forward to it. When your husband was drunk he was always looking to pick a fight, with anyone, and you always had to drag him home. But him being much taller and broader than you, dragging him home always resulted in some weird wrestling competition you could never win anyway, so you already braced yourself for the struggle that would undoubtedly arrive later.

However, tonight… Sihtric wasn't drunk. In fact, he was very much sober, to your surprise, and he was enjoying the festivity while he never strayed from your side. His hands lingering on your waist, and his lips on your neck and shoulders whenever he saw his chance. You laughed and danced, together and with your friends, and it didn't take long before your husband became a little more needy and rough with his hands. He pulled you further from the celebrating crowd with every few passing minutes, kissing and hugging you until he had you taken to the edge of town where the thick forest began, which was starting to blossom and bloom again.

'What are we doing here?' you giggled, slightly tipsy but still sober enough to know exactly what you were doing.

'Celebrating the return of spring,' Sihtric whispered against your lips before he kissed you again, 'and the fertility of the earth,' he pulled away slightly and looked down into your eyes with a smirk, 'and of you, my wife,' he breathed and his hands found your buttocks.

'Someone is in a mood tonight,' you chuckled and wrapped your arms around his neck, then ran your hands through his long, wild and loose hair.

Your husband hummed in agreement, he would never deny he had been looking forward to this evening for several days already, withholding from getting drunk for once just so he could breed you in the forest while the whole town was celebrating around the bonfire. No one would miss the two of you or even hear you. Sihtric spun your around and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest and he swayed you lightly in the light of the moon.

'I want to chase you,' he husked as his teeth grazed your ear, 'so, now hop, my little wife,' he chuckled darkly and slapped your buttocks firmly, which made you jump slightly, 'hop like a little bunny and run from the big bad wolf.'

You knew this game all too well. It wasn't the first time Sihtric chased after you, but it had been a while since the last time you had run and hid from your husband, and this was the first time you were to do so in a darkened forest. Regardless, you knew what to do, and as soon as Sihtric released you from his embrace you began to run, like a bunny. Quickly, with your dress hiked up in your hands you ran past the trees, into the darkness of the night, your path scarcely illuminated by the silver moon light while you jumped and skipped over branches and small bushes. You knew your husband always gives you a headstart, so you ran as far as you could while your heart was beating out of your chest. Your body trembled with adrenaline and the anticipation of your husband following your tracks and finding you. So you ran and ran…

Sihtric sniffed and raked his tattooed fingers through his hair while he gave you a chance to hide. He inhaled deeply and exhaled just as sharply, his warm breath visible in the cool, moonlit night. He already felt his arousal tightening his breeches, and his jaw was clenched while his eyes were wide and almost wild, like those of a hungry predator. His nostrils flared with each breath he took, until he decided you had enough time, and he began to run into the direction he had seen you hop away to.

Like you, Sihtric jumped and swayed through the forest, albeit much smoother than you ever could, avoiding fallen trees and broken branches while bats flew overhead and an owl hooted in the distance. And it was as if your husband could track your scent, because he instinctively followed the path you had taken, and soon heard twigs snap and leaves rustle nearby. He stopped to listen and closed his eyes, focusing on the sounds around him. And no matter how careful you were, you also knew he heard the loud splintering of a twig underneath your boots echoing through the forest as you tried to sneak further into the darkness. 

Sihtric snapped his head towards the sound, just when the hooting owl flew off and bats flapped their quiet wings, betraying your presence as you had scared those with your shadow in the night. Sihtric turned on his heels, and he howled like a wolf while his cloak circled around him and moved along with his impressive body as he stalked towards you, his lips curling into a devilish smile once his mismatched eyes caught your fleeing figure not far ahead.

You looked back over your shoulder, hearing the undeniably familiar sound of your husband's footsteps as he closed in on you, accompanied by his heavy but calm breathing once he was close enough for you to hear. You squealed with excitement and an arousing sense of fear captivated you when you felt his big hands grab your waist, pulling you back towards him and lifting you momentarily off your feet. And your husband was strong, as he held you up with one arm while he removed his cloak with his free hand, covering the cold forest ground with the fur before he laid you down beneath him.

'My bunny did not hop fast enough,' Sihtric laughed soft and darkly as he nuzzled your nose and dragged his lips over yours, 'did she?'

You shook your head and gave him your best big and innocent eyes, for you had not managed to escape the claws of your husband. Sihtric shoved his hands under your skirt, digging his fingers into your warm thighs while he snarled at you, like a wolf whose mouth was watering for his prey after an exhilarating chase.

'So now,' he purred low and dangerously, 'this pretty little bunny is mine to play with… mine to taste… mine to devour… and mine to breed,' he growled and moved away, then grabbed your ankles and threw them over his shoulders before he grabbed your hips.

He leaned in and buried his head underneath your pushed up skirt, he pulled your core towards his face and you shivered with desire when you felt his warm breath on your sensitive skin. He locked your legs with his arms and delved his tongue between your folds, sucking and licking and kissing your sweet spot until you cried out helplessly and shook in his arms while your fingers were tangled in his locks, pulling and tugging as you bucked your hips against his mouth. Your moans and gasps sounded through the woods, but no one, except your husband and those bats in the sky, would ever hear the way your husband had you captured and cry for more.

And he drank your juices like a dehydrated beast, while tears pricked in your eyes and his name sounded from your smiling lips, over and over again in ecstasy until your hands released the tight grip you had in his hair, and your trembling legs slid off his broad shoulders. Sihtric then took his dagger from his leather belt, and he cut open your dress with one swift move, then sheathed the blade again and kissed his way up your exposed body, which was decorated with goosebumps while the moon made your skin look hauntingly beautiful and perfect, like a goddess.

'I only had a taste,' Sihtric murmured and kissed your neck, 'I have yet to devour you,' he whispered and bit your ear lightly.

He grabbed one of your breasts and squeezed your flesh in his warm hand as he trailed his lips down to your other, he flicked his tongue against your hardened nipple before he bit the sensitive skin lightly. He began to kiss his way down your figure again, his fingertips following the trail of wet kisses he left on your body until he reached your folds again.

'And I will devour you,' he said and looked up at you as he laid between your thighs.

You swallowed hard and moaned desperately, the sight of your beautiful yet rugged looking husband between your thighs was your favourite sight in the world. But Sihtric had other plans to devour you, as to devour you the same way he had tasted you would not be thrilling enough for him now, so he was quick to flip you over and on top of him. You gasped and a lewd moan left you when you felt his tongue devouring your core again after he had pulled you up to his face, your thighs once again locked in his strong arms, forcing you to grind down on his face as he laid underneath you. And devouring you he did, until your legs weakened and you collapsed on top of him with another desperate cry of his name. Sihtric then wrapped you in his arms and laid you down again, safe and warm on his cloak while he wasn't done with you yet, and he crawled on top of you.

'My pretty little bunny,' your husband husked in your ear and cupped your cheeks, 'I have tasted and devoured you,' he cooed.

He peppered your face with soft kisses while you smiled at him, dazed and in love and completely surrendered to the beast that your husband was for the night.

'Now,' Sihtric grinned and dragged his tongue over his teeth, 'all that lasts is breeding you, until dawn arrives.'

taglist: @foxyanon @alexagirlie @sihtricsafin @neonhairspray @gemini-mama @lexwolfhale @sigtryggrswifey @skyofficialxx @djarinsgirl27 @m-a-s-h-k-a @verenahx @mrsarnasdelicious @diiickbrainn @little-diable @maii777 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @dixie-elocin @elle4404 @bubblyabs @ylvie50 @succnfuccubus @hb8301 @willowbrookesblog @apolloanddaphnis @jennifer0305 @carnationworld @justanother-sihtricgirlie @stark-head @il0vebeingdelulu @thenameswinter99

If you want to be added/removed from the taglist, message me 🖤

[ugh-yoongi]

can i request Yoongi drabble? where a random member is Y/N's brother and Yoon is his best friend, but Y/N has a big fat crush on him

hiii, thank you so much for the request! it gave me an excuse to get rockstar yoongi out of my system (and make an actual banner for once), so i hope you enjoy. <3

playing with fire

pairing: yoongi x f. reader genre: brother's best friend au, rockstar au; suggestive warnings: extreme thirsting. a moshpit and moshpit-related injury. mentions of blood, alcohol, and weed/cigarettes. swearing. an unrequited crush (or is it). tension. unedited. rating: this is slightly suggestive but not explicit so 16+ wordcount: 1k listen to: i'm on fire by bruce springsteen

with this, i am finally done with bee's birthday drabbles! a huge thank you to everyone who sent in requests. i did save a few, so if i didn't get to yours this time, hopefully some inspo strikes in the future.

see all beeday drabbles here

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It’s been a while since your brother’s band played in a nice venue.

Been a while since your boots didn’t stick to the floor, each step feeling like a glue trap. Since you could go home at the end of the night and pull a t-shirt over your head that didn’t reek of weed and cigarettes and someone else’s body odor. Been a while since you could just exist in peace; not feel like you were taking up room in a space that didn’t belong to you.

Been a while since you’ve seen Yoongi, too.

His hair is longer—half-formed curls framing his face, some trendy kind of shag. Chipped black lacquer on his nails. Fresh ink up and down his arms. Silver hoop through his nostril. A leather jacket and heeled boots, because he doesn’t have a thing to prove to anyone who might have something to say about it.

(You, least of all.)

Somehow, you’d forgotten that some people are magnetic. Some people are meant to be looked at, put on all those impossibly high pedestals, and that Yoongi is one of them. False idols be damned, everyone in this fucking room is wrapped around his finger. Even as he screams into a mic, shoots a sleazy grin at your brother to his left, every single person in this place would drop to their knees as soon as he gave the order.

(You, most of all.)

And you know it’s dangerous; know where that particular road dead-ends. You know that if you try to reach out and touch him all you’ll do is scar, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to quell the urge. There’s still just Yoongi and you and the millions of daydreams that have played out in the dead of night and the boundless distance between you.

The haze makes him beautiful, ethereal, like some kind of demi-god. Imposing, you think, because Yoongi’s up there looking down on you, as stable and immovable as all those shrines they built centuries ago. Places where people would gather to worship, just like now.

You’re distracted. Don’t hear Yoongi when he commands the crowd to move, and there’s a split-second just before the chaos where he finds you—sets his siren gaze on you and smirks out of the corner of his mouth, presses his tongue into the fat of cheek—and then there’s a searing pain blooming in your skull.

It’s hard to say what happens after. Hard to see through the fog and the frenzy, let alone make sense of amorphic shapes. There’s just the aching in your head and the jarring, dissonant ringing in your ears, and someone’s arms wrapped tight around your shoulders.

You come to in a bathroom.

Stinks of piss and disinfectant. Has one flickering, fluorescent light strung above the sink. Dingy tile on the floor and the walls. Paper towels overflowing from a trash can by the door.

“You with me, darlin’?”

Yoongi’s voice. He’s the only one who calls you that. Puts some exaggerated twang on it because he thinks it makes him sound cool. Doesn’t give a fuck about anything, especially what people might think, and he doesn’t have to.

“Not sure,” you answer truthfully. “What happened?”

“Some piece of shit elbowed you pretty good in the side of your head. Got a nasty gash—don’t look, doll. Got fuckin’ blood all over the fuckin’ place.”

You exhale. Nod your head as best you can. Unsteady. Find it hard to breathe when Yoongi’s fussing over you like this, calling you these little pet names. When he gently cradles your face in his ink-stained hands and says, eyes on me. Like you could look anywhere else. As if you’ve looked at anything else in years.

“Wha—what’re you doing?”

“Cleaning you up. Deep breath, darlin’, this is probably gonna sting.”

You barely react, still too dazed by the feel of his hands on you. You wish, briefly, that whoever had hit you had done so harder. Just enough to rewire a few things. Get rid of this juvenile crush you’ve let go unchecked for far too long. “Where’s Hoseok?”

“Went after that guy.”

You scoff. Roll your eyes. “Hoseok can’t fight.”

“Nah,” Yoongi agrees. Bites his lip as he concentrates. “But Jungkook can.”

Another press of an alcohol pad. This one stings, has you sucking in a breath through your teeth. “Don’t you think this is a bit much? I’m sure it was an accident.”

Yoongi is so close. Fits himself in the space between your thighs, presses you further into the sink, the faucet digging into your back. Doesn’t matter. Not when he’s close enough for you to count each individual eyelash, the scars that dot his face. Yoongi’s close enough for you to smell the nicotine that clings to his clothes, his skin, his hair. Close enough to smell the cheap beer lingering on his breath.

“Too much?” His brows knit together, head tilts like a confused puppy. “Why would it be too much?”

“S’not the first time I’ve nearly got my teeth kicked in at one of your shows. I just—is it worth all this fuss? My brother’s gonna get all fucking weird about it, and fuck knows what Jungkook’s gonna do to that guy.”

Yoongi’s close enough that you nearly speak the words against his mouth. Fuck, it’d be so easy to kiss him. So easy to give in and let the world burn down around you, the consequences be damned. It’d be so easy to be ruined by him that it has your hands twitching at your sides, wanting so badly to reach out and touch. Grab him by the belt loops and learn how he feels when he’s pressed flush against you. Learn what he sounds like when he moans, whimpers. What he looks like when he’s hurried and desperate.

"Stupid girl." But Yoongi doesn’t look hurried and desperate—he looks like he wants to devour you. “I would’ve done much worse.”