#simple grass with flowers

[genderfluidchaos]

Minecraft village I redid, inspired by ItsMarloe's Custom Villager Houses

[cucumber-icepop]

Oh hey this guy looks nice

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Guizhong (Genshin Impact), the love of my life and all of Liyue's.

[legoejmgoogoo]

Happy Valentine's Day month! The month of love and gifts! Wanted to start early since I really don't wanna be too late for it! Here is a small and simple image of a Lego Valentine scenery happening!

[bloomingbutterflies]

I just realized...If I'm ZOMBIE Anon, what was I before..?? Like, before I was a Zombie?

you were just anon : )

[headspace-hotel]

listen one of the major reasons i care so much about Arundinaria is that she's gotta be legit the most exciting rising star in the evolutionary world.

Flowering plants emerge like 100mil years ago, proceed to become the baddest bitches on planet earth with hundreds of thousands of species found in every environment.

from this lineage emerges the GRASS which, using the simple technologies of "Grow leafs from the bottom so the tops can get eaten and you can just keep a-goin'" and "Not die when stepped on" become the undisputed masters of the sunny and arid regions

From the lineage of the GRASSES. Emerges a grass that decides to step up its game and invent WOOD to become some sort of fucked up tree. This grass is known as WOODY BAMBOO and it kicks everybody's ass.

The woody bamboo is mostly thriving in Asia, but around 2mil years ago, a bamboo got LOST AS FUCK and accidentally went to NORTH AMERICA. It turns out the south-eastern part of North America is a downright luxurious climate for a bamboo and so the bamboo actually evolved into its own genus.

However, there was an ICE AGE that froze a bunch of North America and the bamboo was forced to a tiny edge of the Gulf Coast. Fortunately, the bamboo made a mutualistic symbiosis with HUMANS, which used controlled burning to create its ideal habitats in exchange for using the stems for a super-strong, versatile, flexible, water resistant material for literally everything. So basically it spread all throughout the Southeast of North America and formed its own habitat type, a bamboo forest environment known as a CANEBRAKE.

It's native North American bamboo, y'all. It's been reduced to 2% of its former extent and a lot of people don't even know it exists.

This plant is going places we can't let this shining streak of weird-ass plants with ideas just strange enough to work collapse because of a freak colonialism incident

Arundinaria gigantea my absolute beloved

[justporo]

Astarion would probably be super condescending about cute little displays of afffection at first.

Because that's the stuff happy couples did, people who didn't have to worry about anything, who didn't have to suffer and who could just be blissfully oblivious. He used to hate that.

And then for the stuff he had to do for the past 200 years it was mostly straight to the point, no need to be all lovey-dovey - and it would probably have only hurt more if he'd done that.

So when he gets into a relationship that continuously gives him butterflies, he still can't help to feel icky when Tav does those little things at first: grabbing his hand and squeezing it, rubbing a hand down his back, quick peck on the lips, the nose, the forehead, sitting next to him and snuggling up against his arm.

But he so desperately wants to enjoy it. He wants to be close to Tav - as close as possible and wallow in their warmth and love

Astarion catches himself thinking about it constantly how it feels: how he feels tension leave his body when Tav wraps their arms around them, how he feels himself become calmer under your touch, how even the tiniest bit of affection makes his undead heart ache with love for you.

It does feel nice, so wonderful - but it's hard to unlearn what kept you alive for such a long time.

But the longer he gets to revel in the simple joy of a short, warm touch of his loved one the easier it gets. Astarion finds he starts to yearn for Tav and their affection, craves them physically and that he gets impatient when he has to go without them for too long.

And it becomes the feeling of soft summer rain falling onto his face, the sound of soft winds rustling through tall grass and the trees, the sensation of a cat purring on his lap, the smell of flowers and herbs drifting into his nose, the moment of sinking onto a plush bed after a long day - it becomes his own piece of heaven he always thought he was denied.

It takes even longer though until he himself comes up to Tav and asks for that kind of interaction that give him so much inner peace. And the first time he grabs Tav's hand it might almost startle them from surprise, almost making Astarion drop the whole thing altogether. But this also gets easier. With time showing his affection and feeling alright with wanting to indulge in it becomes second nature.

And then one day, Astarion finds he engages in the affectionate little gestures so openly and without thinking as if he'd never struggled with that at all. He doesn't even notice anymore.

And Tav cries when they realise that, how far he's come, how much he's healed. And squeezes Astarion even harder to their heart.

Taglist: @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @azukiel @hereliesblackdragon

[venuslore]

𖥔 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𖥔

summary ; you make coriolanus feel like he's losing control.

pairing ; peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x district!reader

notes ; nothing just a whole bunch of fluff honestly. and i'm not even going to lie... i loved writing this one. i don't think i've written anything as fast as i wrote this bc it truly just flew out of me. this man really has me acting up and i am so here for it.

do not transfer, translate or share my work to any other sites.

coriolanus snow was never one to let himself be vulnerable in the eyes of another, and for as long as you had known him there was one thing you were always certain of, he had to be in control. he depended on it. craved it. the thought alone, of everything slipping from his grasp and not going to plan, made his head swirl and his skin crawl. 

so when he met you, he began to question himself. question everything he had been working for, everything he had been fighting for, as you slowly wiggled your way into his heart. he was taken by you, and that scared him. 

you were a breath of fresh air in his carefully curated world, a burst of colour amidst the struggles of his life. your spontaneity and liveliness enchanted him, capturing his attention and leaving him craving more. he had never felt this way about anything before. 

as you sat there in the beauty of the meadow, a gentle breeze brushed against your skin, carrying the scent of the wildflowers. the sunlight streamed through the canopy of leaves above, painting a warm hue across everything it touched. the tranquillity of it all enveloped you, filling your heart with a sense of contentment.

you and coriolanus were close together on an old picnic blanket you had found, not needing any words to communicate as you took in the peacefulness. his presence alone was enough to make you feel safe and at ease.

you watch on as his fingers trail through the grass, stopping when he comes across a dandelion, and plucks it from its root, “it certainly doesn’t compare to the roses grandma’am grows.”

“some people think of them as weeds, but not me. i think they’re beautiful all the same,” you add, bringing a smile to each of your faces, and take the flower from his hands. “in some ways, i feel just like them; a weed in a world where i should be seen as more.”

coriolanus observes you as you take a closer look at the small flower, appreciating its simple beauty. the yellow, though not as vibrant as a rose, held its own charm. you don’t hold it for long before he takes it back, twirling it with his thumb and forefinger. 

he stares at the flower for a moment before reaching to brush the stem behind your ear, his fingers then lingering as he trails them along the line of your jaw, sending a surge of emotions down your spine. you smile at him, it’s all you could do. if you spoke you weren’t sure what jumbled mess was sure to spew out. 

you bring your hand up to meet his, intertwining your fingers as you lean into his touch. his eyes bore into you, taking you in, appreciating your features under the sunlight. 

“look what you’ve done to me,” he whispers, as if it were some unspoken secret. which, in your case, it was. 

intrigued by his statement, you perk up, “and what exactly is it that i’ve done to you, coriolanus snow?” 

you watch him intently as he opens his mouth to speak, a thought lingering in his mind before he stops and lets his head fall between his shoulders instead. his silence is heavy, lingering in the air between you. you can almost feel the weight of the unspoken words pressing against your skin. 

you reach out tentatively, your hand hovering just inches from his, wanting desperately to bridge the distance but afraid of intruding. the two of you have always shared a deep connection, but something feels different today. something is weighing him down, and you yearn to understand. 

as he continues to fiddle absentmindedly with a blade of grass, you can see that his mind is working overtime. thoughts and feelings swirl like a whirlwind, causing his brow to furrow and his grip on the grass to tighten. 

eventually, he looks up, his eyes filled with a mixture of vulnerability and uncertainty. two things coriolanus liked to keep to himself. 

it’s then that you decide to break the silence. “what’s wrong, my love?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “whatever it is, you don’t have to face it alone, you know.”

he looks at you, gratitude mingling with a wisp of fear in his eyes. whatever it was bothering him, you could see that it was taking its toll, and you simply wanted to take him in your arms and kiss it all away, but you knew that that wouldn’t help. 

“i don’t know what i’m doing anymore,” he finally answers. “i feel like i’m losing track of who i am and what i want, what i’ve always wanted, the longer i’m out here.”

“things can change, coriolanus, and you don’t always have to live up to others' expectations of you. especially, your own. so long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters.” his gaze falls from yours once again, but you refuse to let him suffer in silence anymore. so you reach for him, gathering his face between your fingers and pull him back towards you. “is it really such a bad thing? you get to be here with me.”

“that’s exactly the problem,” he admits, and your breath hitches momentarily as you wait for him to elaborate. “you make me feel like i’m losing control.”

for so long coriolanus had been bound by societal expectations and concerned with maintaining a pristine reputation. he had become so accustomed to a life ruled by rigid schedules and strict rules, never allowing himself to deviate from the norm. 

but with you, everything changed. 

you were afraid to ask, but you knew you had to, for your own piece of mind. “is that a good thing, or a bad thing?”

he reaches to touch your face this time, your hands falling from his, and he pulls you closer towards him until your faces were merely a couple inches apart. “i have never felt so free, and yet, so scared in my life.”

“is that a good thing, or a bad thing?” you ask the question a second time, this time with more hesitancy as your voice shakes slightly. 

“it’s the best thing.” tears well up in your eyes as his words sink in. you never imagined that you could have such a profound impact on someone’s life, let alone someone as lost and conflicted as he was. “you’re my wildflower, and while i might not have been looking for you, i certainly found you where i least expected it.”

he smiles, his hands caressing your cheeks, as your heart thrums loudly in your chest, overjoyed and so full of love. leaning forward, you close the space between you, pressing a tender kiss to his lips, so full of passion that it almost envelopes you completely. 

you had brought coriolanus a sense of newfound freedom, showing him the beauty of embracing life’s uncertainties and every unpredictable moment. your spirit was infectious, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to your untamed soul. 

as he fell deeper in love with you, he realised that his heart yearned for the wildness and unpredictability you offered. he saw the vibrant world through your eyes, letting go of his inhibitions and stepping out of his comfort zone. 

you became his wildflower, a symbol of untamed beauty and unapologetic love. 

as you hold each other close, only pulling away to catch your breath, but not daring to pull away too far, coriolanus runs his thumb across your bottom lip. then, with his voice filled with tenderness and newfound appreciation, he whispers, “my wildflower.”

[warm-poetry]

My photography, please leave credit. :)

[amaranthineghost]

FLOWERS FOR THE 'TOTALLY-A-COUPLE' FRIENDS

oscar piastri x reader

when two friends visit the market and, upon seeing free flowers being given out to couples, they decide to pretend to date for the sake of free flowers. when they end up liking the idea of pretending to be together, they end up wondering why they need to pretend to begin with.

credit to @foreveralbon for the idea!!!! <333

authors note: this was so fun to make!!! i really wanted to make something for oscar and totally stole this idea from liyah (THANK YOU AGAIN!!!) so I finally have an imagine for oscar yay!!!

SOMETIMES IT’S NORMAL FOR FRIENDS TO PRETEND. pretend they’re fighting, pretend while playing games, pretend they’re racing against traffic, pretend they don’t really like each other more than friends.

they pretend they’re dating for the sake of free flowers from a random guy in a market that they visited as friends because they are friends. they are friends. it’s totally normal, totally completely normal for friends to do such things.

it was as simple as that.

at least it was before it all happened because now they didn’t know if they were just pretending anymore or if they had dropped the act hours ago. was it all really that simple now?

it was a clear day in oscar’s hometown and what better way to spend such a beautiful day off than in the company of his good, even best, friend at a market down the street from where he grew up. considering she hadn’t grown up in the area he had, he wanted to show her around all the classic spots that he used to frequent with his mum as a little kid.

well, now he felt like his mum when she used to drag him to all the corner stores or street markets in the blazing sun and smudge sunscreen on his face, except now it’s with her. his best friend, and only his friend and nothing more because his mother was convinced he was smitten. he always denied it.

but everyone could see the way he looked at her whenever he smiled, how she would be the first person he looked to when he laughed at a joke someone else made.

everyone knew except for them, it was painfully obvious that they both felt more for each other than they allowed, and they were painfully oblivious.

the walk on grass, through the bustling market, was relaxing with hands to their sides and their shoulders constantly touching. every so often, they'd look away with red faces and awkward smiles as their hands just barely grazed each other’s skin, but they never closed that gap. it had been happening for months and their friends were clawing at their eyes just waiting for it to happen.

but they weren't here to push them together, just the two friends walking past different stalls of clothes, antiques, accessories, and other various items.

a light breeze blew her hair into her face, causing the constant sputtering of lips as strands stuck to her lip gloss.

of course, in true friend fashion, he laughed every time at her struggles with taming her hair, telling her without fail, “you should really put your hair up, it'll only keep getting in your face.”

she scoffed at him as he pulled strands from her face and futilely attempted to tuck them behind her ears as they blew back into her face.

“i don't think i even have a hair tie,” she whined as she pulled her hair back but couldn't tie it up.

“oh, wait, i do,” he remembered the band on his wrist, years of being friends meant carrying hair ties around for the girl because she wouldn't.

she gasped softly, taking it from his hand that held it flat on his palm, muttering “oh my god, osc, i love you so much, thank you,” she rambled under her breath, “not going to question why you even have it.”

a smile graced his face, completely tuning out her last words at the nickname she had called him. it made his heart flutter every time.

the words ‘i love you’ had been said constantly throughout their friendship that it was second nature at this point. to them, it was just a simple sentence they threw around, though the saying became more and more frequent in the past few months.

maybe it was their way of getting to say their feelings in a disguised, double-meaning phrase that wouldn't confuse what they were.

oh, but it did.

at this point, the words ‘i like you’ held deeper values because it told them how they really felt, but they would never say it. they could've rehearsed it in their heads for days, weeks, or months on end just at the end of the day to say the thing that felt safest. i love you.

he simply muttered back in admiration, “you're welcome.” a smile played on his lips for the longest time, the more he looked at her, the warmer and fuzzier he felt his heart become.

maybe his mum was right.

he shook his head internally. no, she couldn't be. but as he looked at the girl, in such deep admiration like she was the only thing to have ever existed in his life before, he wasn't so sure.

he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly as they continued on walking. the breeze had calmed, and her hair was safely tied up and out of her face. back to grazing hands ever so slightly and arms rubbing against each other caused goosebumps to line their skin.

it was cold, they said to play it off as they looked in opposite directions. the more time passed, the more they hung out, the more excuses they made, and the more awkward it became.

the awkward silence between the pair, birds chirping and other monotonous conversations were the only thing heard until a deep voice called from somewhere up ahead of the crowd.

she stood on the tips of her toes to see over the heads of other people while he made no effort to because he already could.

“guy’s handing out free flowers,” oscar started before pausing and looking at her, “for couples.” he scratched his neck again.

she exhaled sharply, “we could totally pull off being a couple,” she slowed down to the side and stood in front of him. he looked down at her with raised eyebrows and a racing heart.

“you think?” he tilted his head with thought, pursing his lips, “free flowers are free flowers.”

“exactly,” she said in a intellectual tone, holding her hand out for him to grab, “what do you say?”

he thought for a moment. at least he acted like he did because he would've grabbed her hand in a heartbeat, but he couldn't make it obvious.

“alright,” he agreed, hesitantly interlacing their fingers together, “but if you’re uncomfortable at any time, we can stop.”

she rolled her eyes, turning back walking into the crowd, now with his hand interlocked with hers at their sides, “yeah, yeah.”

but he pulled her back before she could slip into the crowd, bumping back against his arm, “promise me, you'd say something.”

she paused, and sighed, “i promise, okay, let's go,” she pulled him along, feeling his slight resistance while dragging him because he thought I'd be fun to see her struggle.

when she gave him a look when she turned her head, only then did he follow alongside her.

the guy handing out the free flowers wasn't too far from them, considering how loud he was when they first heard him.

when they first approached him, they could tell he was skeptical. for some odd reason, they didn't fit the image of a couple. it didn't mean they didn't suit each other, they did by all means look amazing side by side, but he knew. somehow he knew.

maybe it was the way they looked so naïve, how they stood with space still between them, or the nervous energy they put out. either way, he didn't believe them.

“kiss then,” the guy shrugged, causing the ‘couple’ to look at each other confused. she pursed her lips before opening her mouth to say something when he spoke first, “if you're really a couple, just kiss. not that big of a deal.” 

it wasn't like they were uncomfortable with what he was asking. oscar was just unsure how she felt about it, meanwhile she didn't care. deep inside, she was nervous because they're just friends, they've never held hands—until now—let alone kiss.

though once she noticed oscar's hesitancy to make a move, she knew she would have to be the one to do so. she didn't give him time to react, hand around the back on his neck to pull him down to her level and his chapped lips met her glossy ones. his hand ravelled its way into her tied hair, messing up the perfectness she had.

she tasted sweet, the gloss on her lips transferring to his before she pulled away less than a second later. his lips were pinker with the blood rushing to his face.

the guy was smug and satisfied, handing them the bouquet they just kissed—as friends—for.

by the time they had walked away, still no words had been exchanged between the pair. their faces still flushed red and their lips left pink and glossy. every glance in the others direction led to them looking the opposite way. they hadn't processed the fact their arms were interlinked now as Oscar held the flowers in his other hand.

he cleared his throat, prompting her looking at him as he held them out to her, “here.”

her lips parted as she stuttered over what words to say, “are you sure?”

he furrowed his brows, “yeah, why wouldn't i be?”

she nodded, “right, yeah.” she took them from his grasp. she looked at then how oscar looked at her, but maybe it was because oscar had given them to her.

she felt fuzzy, she felt a smile creep into her face as she smelled the flowers. her heart was pounding in her chest. she liked the idea of this fake dating thing, but she didnt imagine the length it would go to in such a short amount of time after she proposed the idea.

maybe she only liked the idea of pretending to be together because it was the closest thing she had to actually being with him.

they remained in silence for the whole walk back to his car, she still clutched the flowers with almost both hands. his hand still laced with hers as she held the bouquet against her body. they only separated as they went to their respective sides of the car, carefully getting in before buckling their seat belts.

the drive was silent, even the volume for the radio hadn't been turned up, only the air conditioning could be heard. it was like that for a while as he drove her back to his house because they'd made the plan to hang out afterwards. he thought it would be rude to change routes and drop her back at her house.

when they arrived, they sat in the car, unmoving in silence.

“do you want to talk about it?” his voice was uneven, and he wasn't looking at her when he spoke, not until the silence consumed them again did he turn his head.

“i mean—there's nothing to talk about really,” she shrugged, unsure of what to say as she bit on her lip, “we were just—pretending, right?”

she turned in her seat to look at him, and he nodded, “right, so just friends.”

“right,” she repeated in confirmation, nodding along as they both looked ahead again.

she hesitated. she realized things had already changed between them, their dynamic had shifted and it wasn't going to be the same. it wasn't going back so if she was going to do any more potential damage, she knew now would be the time.

“but—i guess i didn't mind it,” she muttered under her breath, causing him to gaze across at her, “the fake dating, I mean.”

“really?” he questioned, hand gripping the wheel despite the fact they were stationary.

“i mean, it was fun while it lasted,” she finally met eyes with him, fidgeting with her hands as she pursed her lips, “i enjoyed it.”

“the fake dating?”

“the kiss.”

he only nodded, thinking deeply in his head, but on her end, she thought she majorly fucked up whatever they could've salvaged from before. now they couldn't.

truthfully, he just had no words. the kiss had given him a different perspective because now he was longing to kiss her again, to feel and taste the lip gloss on his lips that came from hers.

it was like every feeling he had ever felt for her was pushed to the very forward part of his brain and refused to be put away again.

“i enjoyed it too.” he muttered so quietly, she nearly didn't hear him.

but when she had finally registered the words, a smile cracked her serious face and she looked at oscar, “really?” her voice was high and so unsure.

he only nodded in confirmation as she melted back into the car seat, smiling giddily as if she hadn't been waiting for this.

“hey,” he spoke softly, still gazing at her with eyes of admiration she only saw now, “i guess—it doesn't have to be pretend.” he shrugged.

“are you saying what i think you're saying, piastri?” she leaned back and watched him roll his eyes, only pulled in by oscar's hand on the back of her neck to make her meet him in the middle above the center console. he felt her lips smile against his which caused him to as well. it was infectious.

he cradled her face in his hand, this second kiss lasted much longer than the first, and it marked the end of their long-lived friendship and short-lived pretend dating, but marked the hopefully long-term relationship that had now sparked between the two.

—

taglist (found here): @slut4lrh @taylorslovesswifties13 @sbella13 @kaa212 @nhlfs @poppyflower-22 @thearchieves @beskardroids @lorenica @hiireadstuff @delululeclerc

proofread by @foreveralbon <333

[spacebarbarianweird]

Astarion x f!reader. We Shall Meet Again

Read on AO3

Astarion and Tav are talking about life and death and end up talking about children tags: fluff, comfort, conversation about death and mortality Astarion mentions he wants to step into the sunlight once Tav dies so consider it a trigger warning Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

"Please, Astarion, I can walk on my own!" You try to free yourself, but the vampire drags you on his shoulders like a lifeless sack.

"No, you can't," he replies.

You let out a sigh of frustration. If only Astarion could see your expression, he would witness your disappointment.

The task seemed simple enough. The villagers promised a reward for getting rid of a troublesome troll. It should have been a routine quest for a pair of seasoned adventurers like you. And it had been until the troll hurled you against a tree. Astarion swiftly dealt with the monster, then hoisted you onto his shoulders, and now the two of you were making your way back to the village to get the reward.

"Please, just put me down," you implore.

"Your leg is broken," Astarion insists.

"No, it's not!" You let out a cry of pain as he touches the injured limb. "Fine, you win!"

Astarion chuckles softly as you continue to observe the grass and flowers below. Eventually, the fatigue overtakes you, causing you to black out. When you open your eyes again, you find yourself back in the village.

"We've agreed on five golden coins! Take your reward and go!"

"Yes, but my wife broke her leg, and now I must pay the healer," Astarion argues with a rogue smile. "Eight golden coins."

"Six! We haven't paid the tithe yet!"

"Seven. And your village healer cures her for free."

"Fine! But I don't want to see either of you ever again!"

"It can be arranged!"

The village chief throws a sack of gold to Astarion, and the vampire performs a theatrical bow as if on a stage. Then, he approaches you and gently kisses your forehead, his lips curving into a grin, though a hint of concern lingers in his crimson eyes.

"Don't worry, I'm too young to die just yet," you say as you caress his left cheek, and he closes his eyes, savoring the touch like a content cat.

"I know, but when that thing threw you at the tree, I thought for a second," he stumbles, his voice tinged with worry. "I thought you wouldn't get up."

You remember the wave of pain, the buzz in your ears, and Astarion kneeling beside you, carefully letting you drink a healing potion. He held you gently, his worry palpable as he waited for the potion to mend at least some damage.

He worries sick every time you get hurt. So do you - Astarion doesn't take physical damage easily.

The healer finally arrives, visibly annoyed that he was woken up in the middle of the night. He casts a spell on your leg, and you hear a gruesome sound as the bones fuse back together.

"You could at least be grateful for slaying that troll," you mutter.

The healer lets out a string of curses and leaves.

"Well, I think it's best if we find a spot to make camp before the sunrise," Astarion says.

"I don't think it would be safe to stay in the village anyway. They might start suspecting you're a vampire," you reply as the houses fade into the distance.

"Ungrateful lot," he chuckles.

You take his hand, and you together go into the night. It's been five years since you met at the shipwreck, five years since your unlikely union evolved into something deeper. You haven't grown tired of each other; if anything, you've grown closer, and you can't imagine spending a single night without Astarion by your side.

You are not even sure if you can fall asleep without him cuddling you.

You affectionately refer to each other as "wife" and "husband," even though there was no formal ceremony. One day, Astarion slipped a ring he'd found in a dungeon onto your finger, and you did the same after obtaining a similar one. It was as simple as that.

… The two of you stop and set up a tent as the skies lighten. The tent is crafted from thick, black material and reinforced with a darkness spell - a perfect daylight shelter for a vampire.

You've grown accustomed to the routine. At sunrise, you both go to sleep. When you wake up well past noon, Astarion stays inside, engrossed in the books you've collected on your adventures, while you head out to hunt. But sometimes, you keep the vampire company as he reads aloud.

And once the sun sets, you hit the road again. Both of you share the desire to see the world, and you want to see it together.

Exhausted from a long day of walking and the battle with the troll, you immediately fall asleep. When you wake up, you see Astarion sitting beside you, reading one of his books. The rain is pounding the tent and you feel the cold.

"Good morning," you whisper, and he runs his gentle fingers through your hair. His crimson eyes are brimming with love, but you detect an underlying unease in him.

You've always respected his privacy, but you can't help but notice his recent unease.

"Is everything all right? Do you want to talk?" You sit up, peering at the small entrance tent, shivering.

"It seems I can't keep any secrets from you," he sighs in relief. "I just… got scared yesterday. When that thing threw you. When you fell. Damn, you looked like a ragdoll! Then the troll tried to pick you up to smash you again. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to save you. That you would die."

You say nothing, resting your head on his shoulder and listening to his steady breathing.

"That's stupid. You're here. Everything is great," he says.

You sense that he doesn't honestly believe it. Mortality. Your mortality is what's troubling him. He's undead, immortal. He can only die if someone kills him or if he steps into the sun. But you will grow old and eventually pass away if you're not killed earlier.

A sudden urge to leave the tent and return at sunset washes over you, but you suppress it. You both need to address this, no matter how uncomfortable it is.

"What do you think you will do when I die?" you ask him gently.

He stares at you in horror and disbelief, as if he can't believe you've broached this topic.

"I - I don't want to have this conversation," he mutters.

"Astarion, please. We have to talk about this. My love, I know it makes you uncomfortable, but we must discuss it."

He clenches his teeth. "You can't even comprehend how much."

"I actually can because you don't seem to care about your safety, and there's a very high chance I could end up a vampire widow."

You sit before him, taking his hands and gently tracing the knuckles.

He remains silent, and the only sound is that of raindrops outside. The comfort of the warm tent makes you decide not to venture into the rain.

"I will step into the sun once you die. It's not up for discussion," he says resolutely. "I'll bid you farewell, go outside, and see the sunshine one last time. Don't worry. I'll be with you till the end."

A knot forms in your stomach as you suddenly envision Astarion cradling your lifeless body, waiting for the sun to rise.

"Don't," you abruptly say. "Don't do this."

"Well, it won't be up to you to decide," he says, his voice sending shivers down your spine. Astarion turns his head away, a signal that he wants to be alone with his thoughts.

"Okay, I'll go for a walk," you suggest, wanting some fresh air, but he grabs your hand.

"Don't be ridiculous. I don't want you to catch a cold," he insists, pulling you closer. You rest your head against his chest and you sit together in silence, lost in your thoughts.

"Astarion," you whisper. "Let me tell you something."

"If it's about death again, I'm not interested."

You hug him tightly. "No, it's about… the opposite, actually."

You carefully choose your words. "My people… My people believe in rebirth. We believe that we don't stay dead forever."

You pause, studying Astarion's face, but his pale features remain unreadable.

"When I was little, I was told that our souls come back. In a century, in a millennium. Memories return, and an old personality reawakens. It only happens to some; some are forgotten and never return. That's why we tell stories about our deceased ancestors – to help them find their way back home. Their souls must feel loved to get back."

You hug him even tighter, fearing his reaction.

"Astarion, my love, please, don't step into the sun when I die. Live. I want you to live, see the lands we won't see together, and experience things we won't experience together."

He sobs, and you look up to see his eyes closed, silent tears streaming down his beautiful face. You gently stroke his white curls.

"I want you to talk about me, to tell people stories about my adventures, about who I was. You love me deeply, and if my people are right about souls and resurrection, your memories will be the most powerful beacon in the darkest sea of death."

You release Astarion, who still avoids looking at you directly, seemingly embarrassed about his tears.

"And when that time comes, I will find you. I will embark on a quest to seek my vampire husband, and we shall meet again. You will tell me everything about the places you've visited and your adventures. People you've met, quests you've completed. Everything."

You cup Astarion's face, making him meet your gaze.

"Promise me that, my love. Promise me you will keep living." You kiss his forehead, and your heart swells when you see his smile.

"I promise," he says. "I promise I will keep going."

He lets his tears go and you are proud of him for not concealing the emotions. Then he cocks his heads and grins.

"I'll take your word for that because if I'm reincarnated and never find you, I'll be truly upset," you playfully remark.

"So will I if I keep my promise and you never return," he chuckles.

You plant kisses on his cheeks and share a lighthearted laugh.

"Are you going outside?" he asks. "It seems like it's not raining anymore."

He returns to the book he was reading.

"Go, I don't want you to stay locked in here," he insists.

"Nah, it's too cold. I'd better stay inside with you. What are you even reading there?" You try to snatch the book from his hands, but he closes it and attempts to put it away. "Since when are you embarrassed about your reading preferences?"

You try to grab the heavy black volume, but Astarion catches you and playfully puts you on your back, causing uncontrollable giggles. Now, you can't get up but still manage to stretch your hand toward the book.

"What is this?" You open it. "Dhampirs share many qualities with vampires. They walk the line between living and dead, gain heightened abilities, and have a life-draining bite. Children of vampires and mortals, they are few in number…"

You stumble. Children of vampires and mortals…

Astarion blushes. "I found this book in the troll lair. I never knew that vampires could have children. Like, real children, not cursed spawns."

You open another page with pictures depicting a young human woman with vampire fangs.

"It's written that dhampirs aren't hurt by the sun" he continues. "And they don't need blood to survive. They can easily blend with mortals, but at the same time, they are strong as the undead," he pauses. "It's like being a vampire without downsides."

Half-vampires. Dhampirs. You vaguely remember hearing about them many years ago. Is it possible for you and Astarion to have a child? And would it be right to bring a dhampir into this world?

"Now you're thinking about it too," Astarion observes.

"Guilty," you admit, still lying beneath him. You touch his back, feeling the scars through his shirt. He smiles, enjoying the sensation.

"Speaking of mortality and my promise," he continues, "I think I'll find it easier not to step into the sunlight if I have someone to care for. It would be cruel," he kisses you. "To leave a child without both parents."

You giggle.

"Am I getting this correct? You want me to give birth to a silver-curled dhampir so you won't be lonely?" you tease, pressing Astarion tighter. He doesn't answer, too occupied with undressing you.

A child. Your mind pictures a little girl who resembles both you and Astarion. A progeny. Someone to carry a piece of you both into the future.

"I don't mind," you finally say. "I actually really want this."

[evangelical04]

A Single Daffodil || 1

Summary: Getting arranged to be married to your long-time crush wasn't exactly the fairy tale romance you were hoping for. Nor is the dynamic of the marriage, with your husband treating you like you don't exist. But you're going to make this work, whether he cares about you or not. And he definitely doesn't...right?

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Word Count: 2.7K

Genre: angst, romance, unrequited love, smut, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage au, businessman yoongi

Warnings: parental trauma, sibling trauma, toxic parents, unrequited love, explicit language, alcohol usage, yoongi's kind of mean, future smut

Author's Note: hello! i'm Eva and this is my first fic on tumblr ever! I've been a reader for so long and I've always wanted to write my own stories, so I figured I finally would. I know it’s kind of short but I promise the other parts will be longer. Please give me any feedback you have and let me know if you'd like there to be a tag list or anything! I hope you guys like it!! p.s. I'm totally posting this instead of doing my morphology homework that's due in 15 minutes

masterlist / next

The door to your childhood home looked artificially welcoming. There were too many flowers lining the walls encasing the looming wooden door. The grass on the lawn just was a bit too green without a blade out of place and the paved walkway was freshly powerwashed and missing even a speck of dirt. You let out the deep breath you were holding and gently took hold of the overly ornate bronze knocker adorning the painted wood of the door. Two loud thuds rang out as you knocked and the door quickly opened afterwards.

���Hello, Miss Y/N, your parents have been expecting you.”

“Yes, I know. Thank you, Mrs. Oh,” you responded quietly, nodding at the grey-haired woman. She shot you a sympathetic smile before ushering you in, taking your coat and carefully laying it over her arm. After removing your shoes, you followed her past the foyer to the living room where your parents awaited. 

You knew what was coming, you knew that this had been decided long before you were born. Yet, you still felt unprepared. You had grown comfortable, living in your simple apartment in Gangnam and your quiet work routine. Biting your lip, you reprimanded yourself internally, You should’ve brought this shit up in therapy before it happened.

“Here we are, Miss Y/N,” Mrs. Oh said, snapping you out of your self-pity session. You nodded gratefully at her, sending a small smile her way. Her eyebrows wove together in her own pity-ridden expression and she quickly whispered, “Good luck,” while exiting swiftly. You steeled your nerves and forced your chin up high, knowing that you’d most likely cower inwards as soon as you faced your parents anyway.

Stepping into the room, you noted the almost intervention-like setup your parents had arranged themselves in, with your father sitting proudly in his reclining, leather armchair, clad in a dark blue quarter zip and khaki pants. Your mother stood facing the fireplace, arms crossed, in a simple and elegant turquoise dress and hair tied up in a tight and neat bun, with her baby hairs smoothed back to prevent any imperfection. You could almost imagine her pinched mouth, forever encased in a stern and unamused expression. 

“Hello father, mother,” you started, trying to smooth the slight trembling in your voice. Your mother turned around, eyes narrowing at your form, “Sit down.”

You promptly obeyed.

“Your father and I have decided on your marriage. It’ll be to the Min family, to Min Yoongi.”

“What? To him? But,” you began protesting but your mother quickly cut you off with a steely glare. 

“It has already been decided. Your wedding will be in eight months. I’ll forward you the invitation list and you can add three people of your choosing. You’ll be having dinner with us and the Min family on Friday at six. I’ll have Yujin send you an email with further details. Don’t be late.” 

You looked to your father in a desperate plea but were only met with stony silence and a passive face. You turned back to your mother and registered the composed expression painting her face. Your fate had been decided, and it had not worked in your favor at all. Rising slowly, you set your hands by your side and bowed towards your parents, “I understand. I’ll be there.”

Your mother swiftly exited the room, evidently deciding the conversation was over. You could hear her dangling earrings tinkling against each other in what felt like a mocking melody. Your father calmly produced a cigar from the table next to him and lit up, no longer acknowledging you either. You let out another slow breath and walked out. 

Collecting your coat from Mrs. Oh, who tried to give you a comforting shoulder squeeze but it felt more like condolences than anything, and made your way to your car parked in front of the gate closing off your parents’ home. 

That’s it then.

You felt eerily calm yet stressed as you started up your car and carefully reversed out, making sure to avoid hitting the carved statues your parents had in front of the iron gate. As you drove home, your mind started racing with the information you had been relayed. 

Min Yoongi as your soon-to-be-husband? What irony.

Does he even know you exist?

Will you be able to survive this?

Hand gripping the steering wheel hard, you quickly dialed the most recent number in your contact list. She answered after only two rings.

“Y/N! Are you still alive? How’d it go?”

“Hi Joohee, not great. I’m completely and totally fucked.”

Joohee chuckled on the other end of the line, “Want to come over?”

“Yes,” you breathed, “I was hoping you’d offer.”

“I’ll get the booze.”

“Min Yoongi? Now that’s ironic,” Joohee chuckled, seemingly at your expense. You shot a glare her way which she shrugged in response to.

“How long have you been crushing on him? This is, like, practically fate. Maybe this’ll be a good thing.”

You scoffed in response, “A good thing? Joohee, be serious. The last thing I want to do is get with my long-time infatuation, not crush, by forcing him to be my husband.” You took another swig of wine. It was a cheap pink Moscato, perfect for nights like these with Joohee. 

Joohee shoved a pillow in your direction in an effort to gain more room on the couch you had stuffed yourselves onto. The trash reality dating show you had on in the background was showing a rather dramatic fight but you paid it no attention, “It’s just…I haven’t talked to him in the last, what, five years? He probably doesn’t even remember me. And you’ve heard the rumors, I don’t think he’ll be exactly thrilled at giving up his playboy lifestyle just because he has to marry me.”

“What if he doesn’t give that up?”

You stared at Joohee in slight surprise, “What do you mean?”

“Like, what if he says that he doesn’t want to stop hooking up with other people? What will you do?”

Your brows furrowed as you considered the question, “I don’t know, I guess. I mean, I can’t really stop him. I guess I’d just have to live with it.”

Joohee hummed in response before continuing on, “Well, this is happening whether you like it or not. Just try to make it amicable at the least. Maybe it’ll work out, you never know. Just look at Jin oppa.”

Kim Seokjin, Joohee’s older brother and a friend of Min Yoongi’s, was arranged by Joohee’s parents to marry Song Yeonhee, and the two had seemingly fallen in love after a rocky start to their nuptials. You had seen them recently at Yeonhee’s baby shower and she had been glowing, looking unbelievably happy. You recalled the loving gaze that Seokjin had sent her during the party and the pang of envy you felt, knowing that you would likely never get to experience that. 

“Yeah, well,” you responded, “He’s an outlier. Most of these types of marriages don’t work out. I have a feeling I’m going to be a part of that group.”

“You’re too negative, you haven’t even met him for dinner yet. Maybe he’ll surprise you. You just have to give him the chance.”

You mulled over Joohee’s words and nodded, “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I guess I’ll see how Friday goes.”

You weren’t technically late. 

While you still had about 5 minutes before the dinner officially started, you weren’t early, and that was unacceptable by your mother’s standards. A mini emergency at your job had left you scrambling to leave on time, only noticing the late hour when one of your coworkers asked if they should order take-out for the team. After profusely apologizing to your team, they encouraged you to go, practically shooing you out the door, claiming they could handle the situation for now. 

Which left you barely on time to park in the lot outside the ridiculously fancy Japanese restaurant your mother’s assistant, Yujin, had sent to your email earlier that week. You quickly stepped out, smoothing out your dress that you had kept in the backseat of your car and had hastily changed into in the parking lot of your office. Tugging down the hem, you took a moment to look at your reflection in your car window and attempt to look more presentable. Your hair was slightly frizzy but nicely combed back, and you had extremely minimal makeup on from only remembering last minute this morning, and your eyes looked tired. 

You felt tired.

Shaking off your nerves, you headed inside the restaurant giving your family name to the hostess who took you back to a private room where your mother and father were waiting. Your father spared you only a cursory glance before returning his gaze to his phone and your mother looked you up and down before uttering a curt, “Hm.” You held in an eye roll and quickly sat next to them, trying to calm your heart rate for the sure-to-be exhilarating dinner ahead. At six on the dot, you spotted the same hostess leading the Min family towards your table. Your mother stood, welcoming them and urging them to sit down. You stood as well, a little less welcoming, a lot more obligated. 

Mrs. Min looked like the epitome of a rich older woman with dark black hair combed back and glittering jewels lining her ears and neck, complementing the midnight blue gown she had on. Mr. Min was dressed quite similarly to your father, in a simple suit, the only difference being his starkly greying hair providing quite the contrast to his dark blazer. Close behind them was the person you were the most anxious about meeting, Min Yoongi. His pitch-black hair complemented his slightly tanned skin nicely and his feline eyes remained straightforward and untelling. He was dressed in a simple black suit as well with an expensive-looking watch adoring his wrist. His mouth was closed tightly and he did not smile at your mother when she greeted him, not at your father when they sat down across from your family, and certainly not at you.

Your hands nervously played with each other in your lap as you took your seat again. You listened quietly as the mothers exchanged pleasantries and the fathers gruffly greeted each other. You were trying to avoid looking at Yoongi as much as possible.

“So, Y/N,” Mrs. Min started, making you startle to attention, “How old are you now?”

“Twenty-nine, ma’am.”

“Ah, so only a bit younger than Yoongi. That’s good then. How is your work?”

You felt your father stiffen next to you and prayed your discomfort didn’t show on your face, “Good. I’m in the middle of producing a new project with my team.”

“How lovely. Although I’m sure you’ll be leaving that soon after the wedding. You won’t need to work then after all,” Mrs. Min smiled at you. It was hard to read her so you couldn’t tell if she was being genuine or not, though if you had to guess, it was likely the latter. Your job was a point of contention with your family. Choosing to work in a video game production company did not go over well, and if your older brother, Kyungsoo, hadn’t been in line to inherit Seo Industries, you would’ve never been able to keep it. 

You smiled awkwardly in response to Mrs. Min and returned your gaze to the empty plate in front of you. 

As the conversation dragged on, you couldn’t help but steal a glance or two at Yoongi, who was periodically checking his phone and looking permanently bored of the conversation. Not that you could blame him. The dull talk of social circle gossip and work was beginning to get grating, and even the introduction of fancy entrees wasn’t enough to stop your stomach from feeling queasy. 

Yoongi had yet to say one word to you. To be fair, you hadn’t said anything to him either, but he had barely looked in your direction since he entered the private dining room. How exactly were you supposed to start a conversation with that? 

Soon after the desserts came out and were finished, with you politely refusing, feeling like you were going to throw up any second, Mrs. Min suddenly pushed her chair back and stood. She looked down at you and Yoongi and announced, “Well. I think we can leave them to talk on their own for a bit. Why don’t you join us for a drink at our home, Eujin-ssi?”

At the sound of her name, your mother stood, nodding, “Yes, that sounds lovely. Let’s let them get to know each other a bit more.” With that, the parents swiftly gathered their belongings and left, before you could even protest, leaving you staring open-mouthed at the exit. 

Slowly, you turned to face Yoongi and were startled, seeing his eyes already boring into yours. 

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Yoongi stated, his deep and stable voice wrapping around you for the first time that night, “This marriage means nothing to me. It shouldn’t to you either. I’ll do my thing and you do yours. Most importantly, stay out of my life except when necessary. Just because my parents are forcing my hand doesn’t mean I have to adhere to every little thing. Nothing will be changing except for our living situation and a ring on our fingers.”

A little stunned, you could only stutter a passive agreement and watch as he rose and left without sparing you another glance. 

Letting out a deep breath, you closed your eyes, trying to understand what had just transpired. Your heart raced as you quickly stacked up the dishes to be a bit easier for the busboy and quickly made your way to your car. Sitting down in the driver’s seat, you vaguely registered Min Yoongi’s cold demeanor towards you.

It seems he didn’t remember you after all.

The dress you had on was itchy, but you knew if you complained, you would only end up with a sharp stinging on your cheek and tear-filled eyes. You had escaped the boring party with grown-ups and were sitting outside on a stone bench in the garden, trying to remedy your hurt feelings at the hands of the mean, older boy, Hyunsoo. 

He had confidently poked fun at your appearance, saying the dress was a bit too small on you and that your parents should’ve sprung for a size that could fit an elephant instead. He continued on, saying your parents must’ve forgotten to vaccinate you for measles considering all the red spots on your face that were actually acne. Being a tender twelve years of age and going through the worst bits of puberty, his words hit you hard and you quickly ran from the scene into the garden. 

Unable to contain your tears, they slipped down your face in large droplets and soaked into the front of your dress. 

“Hey, you.”

Startled, you looked up to see a boy a couple of years older than you standing in front of you, black hair shining in the light from the garden lamps. His sharp eyes trailed down your tear-stained face. You quickly turned away in shame, not wanting to undergo any more embarrassment tonight. 

“Hey, snot-face.”

You shot him a glare but softened when you saw his hand extended, holding a handkerchief, his face turned slightly away, “Use this. You look ugly while you’re crying.”

You gingerly took the cloth from his hands and blew your nose, noticing him wince out of the corner of your eye. 

“Thank you,” you managed and he only rolled his eyes in response. 

“Yeah, whatever. I think Joohee’s looking for you,” he grumbled before turning on his heel and stalking off back towards the party. 

Confused, your eyes followed after him, not knowing how he knew that Joohee would be looking for you. You unfolded the handkerchief and noticed an elegant embroidering of three letters in black near the bottom, MYG. 

Oh, you realized, Min Yoongi. Joohee’s older brother was friends with him but you had never seen him before. Joohee had described him as kind of rude and quite closed off, but you disagreed. He certainly didn’t seem that bad.

masterlist / next

[bloodandoranges]

Things the main BG3 characters love (Halsin included)

I came from the era of tumblr and fanfic where EVERYONE was writing imagines so this is sort of in the same breath…

Karlach / Shadowheart / Lae’zel / Wyll / Astarion / Gale / Halsin / 18+ though there’s not a ton of mention of spice

Karlach

She loves to touch you, any way she can. Holding your hand, playing with your hair, carrying you around… as long as she can feel you, she is content.

In camp, you sit in her lap as you eat and wind down from adventures, and strong, gentle hands run over your body… not in a lustful way — not usually — just adoring you.

Thought sometimes, she’ll slip her hand under your bed shirt, clawed fingers gently tracing over your side until you gasp and excuse yourself for bed…which Karlach eagerly follows.

Laezel

Lae’zel has never been fond of public displays of her affections; but alone? She loves to kiss you, to feel your hot breath against her face before your lips meet, fingers tangling through hair…

You feel lucky and privileged to see this tender side of her. The soft pecks in the mornings are just as special, as the two awaken from sleepy hazes, lazily smiles on your faces. She presses tender kisses over your neck and shoulders…occasionally, trailing down your chest, over your thighs… she loves your fingers tugging her hair, the way her name falls from your lips.

Shadowheart

(I apologize as she’s my baby girl but also the only one I haven’t seen a ton of romance stuff for but I tried with what I know!)

Whenever you hand Shadowheart a flower? Her heart skips a beat, cheeks instantly flush…simple gestures like that; a kiss given, a hand squeezed, all make her once dark heart flutter. She loves to be doted on, to know she’s utterly adored by her lover. Of course…she loves to dote on you too.

Quality time is important to her, she takes you on dates or private walks all the time…and sometimes? She takes you in the bushes.

Wyll

There is nothing he loves more than singing to you; more specifically? Writing songs for you…of course, he writes you sweet letters all the time, doting and adoring…but his songs? They’re always full of passion, something you can both dance to. He twirls you around the campsite, humming as he beams at you…eyes full of utter devotion.

He loves to pull you apart with his tongue, with his sweet words, and sometimes settled with your legs over his shoulders…

Astarion

He loves to praise you, to absolutely worship the ground beneath your feet. No god could ever compare to his love… Not that he’d really ever tell you that, of course. But it’s clear in his affectionate touches, the way he dotes over you. You are his world.

Of course, that extends to the bedroom. To be able to bring you to bliss; to have the choice? It’s everything to him…and he definitely doesn’t mind when you return the favour.

Gale

He loves to give things to you. Grand displays of affection are a daily occurrence with him. Bouquets of flowers too big to hold, a (magic) luxurious bed after a particularly rough day, cooking extravagant meals - when the only ingredients left /aren’t/ a single mushroom and an apple.

When you move in to his tower in Waterdeep? he takes you shopping, making the tower just as much yours as it is his, buying you extravagant outfits and trinkets and anything your heart desires; all while reminding you that you are worth far more than he could ever give you.

Of course, you give him plenty in return…

Halsin

You are sure no one on this earth could be more affectionate than Halsin. He loves to bask in the sunshine with you, often lazing around as a bear…enjoying just being with you. He loves showing you new things, teaching you and even learning with you… you bring light into his once shadowed head.

Though, there is nothing he loves more than a good old romp in the grass with you.

[cheolism]

THE MONSTER IN THE CLOSET

✿ incubus!xu minghao x reader ❀ summary: there's nothing the demon in your closet loves more than when you fall asleep. inspiration from dpr ian's "don't go insane": that's when the lights turned on and you were just a lie. ✿ wc is approx. 2.5k ❀ genre: smut, incubus x reader ✿ warnings: an incubus is a demon that has sex with someone while they are sleeping. as such, be mindful that this fic has themes of dub-con and somnophilia; it is stated minghao cannot have sex with the reader unless they give consent, though they are still sleeping. possessiveness, jealousy, innocence kink, dark!minghao. fingering, body worship. if you do not like, do not read. ❀ rating: 18+. minors do not interact. ✿ note: cameos by seungcheol n ian ^^

he watches as you prepare for bed. you’re so cute about it; you’re wearing those fluffy pajama bottoms that warm your legs and trap heat between your thighs; your sleep shirt hangs loosely from your frame. you adjust your pillows and push back the blankets before climbing in, humming along to the song playing from your phone speakers. 

you straighten out the blankets and pull them back over you, fitting them snugly around your form. no matter -- he can fix that later. for an hour he waits, watching. you watch some video on your phone, giggling softly every few minutes, brushing your hair back away from your face. 

eventually, you set your alarm and push your phone to the corner of the bed. you stretch out, humming. then you pull up the blankets all the way to under your chin, concealing your body from him. again, no matter; that can be fixed. 

it’s one of those nights where you fall asleep quickly. he watches as your breathing evens out, watches as your body fully relaxes back into the sheets. your face smooths out, sinking into a beautiful sort of innocence that makes his heart hammer in his chest. 

you’re completely asleep

minghao moves from the closet, though he doesn’t press open the door and the floor doesn’t protest beneath his weight as he moves to your bed. he’s been in this apartment long enough that it’s accepted him as part of itself. it does not reveal him from behind the closet door, does not squeak beneath his bare feet as he walks. minghao is part of the apartment, now, just as it is him. 

if he has his way -- and he will -- you will follow suit. 

you’re cute, he thinks again. your jaw is slack from sleep, and every few minutes your lashes flutter like butterfly wings. he wonders what you’re dreaming about. 

minghao reaches, and -- there it is, there’s your dream. you’re running through a department store with someone he doesn’t know -- and again he reaches -- ah, a high school classmate you haven’t seen since graduation. minghao watches as you grab a stuffed elephant off of the shelf. it’s a vivid violet. you turn to talk to someone and this time it’s just a face your dreams have conjured up. you look back to your arms, but the stuffed elephant had somehow fallen from your grasp and onto the floor. you reach down and pick it up, squeezing it. 

how cute. 

minghao couldn’t help but chuckle. you were so adorable, so innocent. your daydreams, though out of his realm of control, are ones he often finds himself enamored in. your daydreams are filled with a quaint house with flower boxes underneath its windows, of a lawn with green grass and a bird feeder so you can watch the cardinals and sparrows.

the last one daydreamed about a penthouse apartment and gucci purses. they hadn’t been as simple as you, as innocent. they weren’t as delicious to take. 

minghao kneels onto the bed, the blankets shifting beneath him. you have the weighted blanket you got for christmas thrown over your duvet. his fingers twitch. minghao likes the weighted blanket just as much as he likes those fluffy pajama bottoms, likes how it traps heat, likes how drowsy it makes you, likes how much easier it makes it for him to take control. 

minghao settles on your thighs. he can’t see the shape of you due to the blankets, but it was fine. more often than not you end up stumbling into the bedroom half naked or, delightfully, entirely naked, and he can just get his fill of you then. 

he pushes his hands through the blankets. just as he had presumed, your body is warm. he doesn’t yet push through your pajama bottoms. instead, minghao takes his time. he runs his hands down along your arms, grabs your hands and pushes them up to be level with your shoulders. 

your dream shifts according to his touch. there’s a man, now -- minghao wrinkles his nose in disgust. you never dreamt of him, of course; you couldn’t see him. you never have seen him. you can’t dream of him because you have never seen him. he can influence your dreams, sure; can fuck your cunt and your dreams will follow suit. your dreams will respond to what’s happening to you, but because your eyes are shut and you’ll never ever see him, he’ll just have to deal with the fact that as he smooths his hands down over your arms that you imagine some tall and handsome man with thick dark brows and plump lips. 

he hovers, dropping his face in front of yours. he takes you in. he tries to remember the exact color of your eyes, tries to imagine what they would look like as he bears down on you. 

minghao hums, voice dark and deep. “how’s this feel, angel? hm?”

you sigh in your sleep. your lashes flutter. you turn your face, unknowingly, towards him. 

“this okay?” he trails his fingers down over your stomach. “this all okay, sweetheart?”

you hum, a slight noise. 

minghao huffs. “you have to be clear with me, angel. it’s been months of doing this -- you know what you have to do by now.”

your dream shifts. the man shifts. he’s broad and lean, tanned skin and black hair that hangs around his face. he’s covered in tattoos, from the base of his neck to the tips of his fingers. he’s pushing down against you, large hands running over your body. 

your dream self mirrors your real self. you arch up into minghao’s touch, another sigh leaving your lips. softly, like the kiss of an angel, you breathe out a sweet “yes”. 

his body hums, coming alive. he can feel adrenaline and power sink into him, can feel his cells and blood come alive and throb. you’ve given your consent for the night, given your consent to be his. 

which means he can take. 

minghao lets out a breathy moan, and then he’s tucking his face into your neck. your skin is warm and smells like your body soap. he moves his hands along your body. he brushes past your sleep shirt, feeling your tits. he cups each of them, holding their perfectly heavy weight in his hands. you’re so warm all over, and your tits are no exception; they’re slightly sweaty from the heat trapped by your shirt and blankets. minghao shifts your tits in his hands, fingers brushing against the soft skin of your under boob, relishing in the velvet feel, in the heat. 

some nights when you don’t want to fuck he just does this. just holds your tits, let their weight ground him. just pretends. pretends he wasn’t trapped to this bedroom, pretends your innocent, wide-eyed looks were for him and no one else. 

but you gave your consent, and so -- 

and so his hands eventually smooth down your torso. he lays along your body, just feeling. some nights you get impatient when he does this, when he feels you for ages before fucking you. tonight, however, you sigh and seem to bloom beneath his touch. 

his little flower, minghao thinks. his little precious angel, his sweet little flower. 

minghao moves his hands further and further down your body. your knees shift beneath the blankets, knocking against him. he reaches -- you are faintly aware of there being pressure in your cunt, aware of the want that thrums through your body and seems to electrify your cunt, despite being asleep. 

his hands press against the hem of your pajamas. minghao runs his hands along the furry fabric. in your dream the man is pressing between your legs, hands smoothing over your bare thighs. 

minghao pushes between your thighs. you move just enough for him to fit, but it’s tight. no matter. he likes it when you’re tight. 

he slides one of his hands between your thighs. fuck -- if it was warm beneath your tits it was practically a heavenly blaze here, heat trapped and that electricity in your cunt, that lust, bubbling out and into him. 

you shifted again, thighs squeezing tight around his hand. he can feel it when you clench them, knows you’re clenching your cunt to try and alleviate some of that pure want. 

“poor angel,” minghao murmurs, “filled with so much lust. so sweet and innocent, so fucking needy.”

he sinks his hand forward, and then his fingers are pressing through your pants and underwear and sliding between the lips of your cunt. you were absolutely soaked, drenched in your pussy juices. minghao wonders if you would be humiliated by how wet you are just from him touching you. 

minghao pushes his hand just so, two of his fingertips slipping into your cunt. immediately you’re clenching, hips grinding down and searching for more relief. 

minghao drops his head against your chest, muffling his laughter. no one has ever been as reactive to his touch as you. he loves it. he adores you. 

he moves his free hand to your cunt. he doesn’t move his fingers in your cunt, keeping them just barely in your hole. you’re getting desperate -- he can feel it, can feel the desperation begin to color your soul and your dream. but then he presses his thumb against your clit, against that slick little bundle of nerves, and your mouth is dropping open and a loud moan bubbles out of your throat. 

minghao laughs, not bothering in being quiet. you won’t wake up anyways. you’re so loud and needy despite this all being, to you, a dream, despite him not being something tangible to you. he wonders what you would be like if he could really touch you, wonders if you would scream and cry under his touch as easily as you moan and whimper now. 

for a few minutes he just watches, eyes greedily taking you in. in real life, on your bed, your hips shift minutely, not enough to fuck yourself on his hand but enough for your clit to slide against his finger. in your dream the man is teasing you, fingertips just barely fucking into your cunt, and you’re so desperate. 

it’s so sweet. you’re so sweet. minghao wishes he could just have a bite --

he slides his fingers into your cunt entirely. your pussy is warm and wet and even though he’s never stepped foot into heaven he knows it’s not as good as your cunt. you squeeze around his fingers and he wants, desires, lusts, yearns so much. 

your pussy walls are tight around his fingers, clenching down. he knows, instinctively, were your core is. minghao fucks into your cunt with his fingers, striking that spot every time, his thumb flicking against your clit in rhythm. 

and fuck, you’re so cute. you’re whining in your dream, whimpering; small moans escape your lips in real life. your thighs are tight around him, and your cunt begins squeezing down on his fingers so tightly that he can barely move them --

and he wants so badly for it to be his cock in your cunt. 

minghao withdraws his fingers, slides three back in. your head tosses against your pillow. in your dream you’re moaning loudly, high and keening. you’re so beautiful and perfect, lust coursing through your veins and seeping out your cunt and minghao feels high, feels your want seeping into his veins and power stirring in his gut. 

you give him power like no one else; you deserve a reward. 

minghao pushes your thigh up and over his shoulder, fingers pressing into your flesh. he presses his face against your pussy, breathing in. you smell so wonderful here, too. he just wants to bask in it, wants to keep his face here, against your pussy, for millennia. 

he doesn’t, though. eventually minghao runs his tongue up your cunt, from where his fingers are wedged in your pussy hole still to your clit. you shiver underneath him. in your dream you’re begging for the man, hands twisting in the sheets. 

it’s a curse, sometimes, he thinks. minghao thinks it’s a curse that he can see how you’re reacting to his ministrations in your dreams, can see how you whine and beg and cry. he can see how you would react to him. but he can also see how even though you’re asleep your body, your real body, the one that’s asleep, still responds to him, pleasure so great that even subconsciously you’re seeking him out. 

minghao sucks at your clit, tongue rubbing against it. you whine softly, head turning against your pillow once more. your whines are so cute, you’re so cute. 

he moves his fingers in and out, in and out, of your pussy as he sucks at your clit. you push against his face. he can feel your walls flutter around his fingers, he can feel, knows, how your orgasm is beginning to build and build. the desire in you is so thick that he can taste it, both literally and figuratively, and it seeps underneath his skin. 

minghao begins kissing your clit the same way he would kiss your mouth if he could. he mouths against your clit, runs his tongue over it and suckles. in your dream you’re becoming frantic; on the bed you’re desperately clenching around his fingers, trying to grind down, trying to reach it, trying to throw yourself off the cliff and fall into the ocean, trying to chase your orgasm. 

you’re so beautiful, minghao thinks. he wants you, he wants to so fucking much. he wanted you last night and wants you tonight and tomorrow night and every night for the rest of your fucking life, he wants to devour you and trap you, wants to feel your flesh in his hands and your pussy juices on his tongue for the rest of eternity, he fucking wants --

there’s a loud banging noise as one of the stupid neighbors drops something in the apartment above you. 

you flinch -- you, on the bed, flinch, and then you’re awake. 

minghao is flung from your dream. he can no longer touch you. he’s still thrumming with power, from the lust your body had given him, but he knows it’s not enough, knows that he’s still so fucking hungry for you. 

he wants to fucking kill those assholes in the apartment above you as you push back the blankets and toss your feet over the side of the bed. you’re frowning, and he watches as you tilt your hips downward and rut against the bed. 

“oh,” you say, blinking. minghao watches from the bed as you stand, going to your dresser. he knows what’s there -- knows the vibrant gel dildo you keep -- and he thinks for a split moment that this isn’t so bad, that he’ll at least get to watch you fuck yourself. 

but then you hum and move past the dresser and into the hall, where he can’t follow. 

and minghao seethes with rage at your orgasm being ripped from his hands. your lust gives him power and your orgasms even more so, and beyond that he just wants to see you cry as an orgasm comes over you. 

he stands up from the bed, bare feet against the cold floor. he walks back to the closet, sinking into the darkness. 

ah, well. he’ll just have to try tomorrow. 

[fluloa]

BABY DADDY JAKE AND LIKE THEY HAVENT EVEN OFFICIALLY MATED FOR LIFE YET BUT HAVE A WHOLE ASS NEWBORN

why is this idea so cute to me??? i have no idea why but slay

You and Jake weren’t really a couple at the start. Sure, you had your moments. Like sometimes, he’d bring you a cute little bundle of flowers, or a new anklet and shit like that. But it was never serious, never really a relationship.

The first time he met you was during a hunting festival, with crystal beads in your hair and a mischievous glimmer in your eyes that he couldn’t help but be drawn to. He had a bit too much to drink, and it seemed as if you did too.

He walked up to you, trying to hide the intense nerve that shock his system because you were really fucking pretty. You were dancing carelessly, arms flowing out and he taps one of them, immediately cringing at the unplanned move.

You turn, the beads in your hair rattling against the base of your neck as you look up at him with curiosity.

“Hey,” he mumbles, crackling a tiny smirk that covers the immense panic he feels.

You blink, smiling a little as you look him up and down. “Hello.”

“You, uh,” Jake clears his throat. “You’re really pretty, and uh… would you wanna dance?”

God, he seems like a complete douchebag. But you like it, or seem to at least by the way your smile widens. You simply nod, turning yourself completely to him and placing the palms of your hands on his shoulders, and he watches you do it with wide eyes. He notices the way your head gently tilts, before you grab one of his hands, directing it to your hip. “You place here.”

He nods, flicking his gaze quickly to the other dancing pairs to see what they’re doing as he attempts to copy. You find it cute.

“I feel how tense your fingers are.” You comment, and his gaze snaps right back to you. His ears twitch down, airplane mode for a millisecond before they’re back up laying against his black hair.

“You can?”

“Mm,” you hum. “Relax.”

He tries to do what you say, breathing in through his chest and relaxing his hand sat against your hip but it’s hard, because he can’t help but feel the way the perky bone of your hip sticks out to his fingers and how smooth your skin is.

“Relax,” you repeat, letting a breathy giggle fall from your lips at his obvious lack of ability to do such a simple action. When his fingers finally slow and rest lazily on your skin, you smile. “For Toruk Makto, you are quite humble.”

You know completely what to do through the music, starting your hands at the base of his stomach before dragging them up to his neck and making your palms meet. “Take your hand off my hip,” you mumble. You spread your hands out across his chest, following out the length of his arms before finally meeting his hands, threading your fingers through his fingers and bringing them up and above both your heads.

You’re looking at your conjoined hands, but he’s looking at you. When you bring them down, you catch his gaze, and you’re taken slightly aback by the intensity caught in it. You slow your hands, staring at him as your mouth gently agapes.

Sprawled out on the green grass, Jake leaving open-mouthed kisses on your neck as he enters you with drunken feverishly motions, groans slipping from his throat. Your legs curl around his torso, encouraging him to strive deeper into your cunt and kiss deeper at your skin. Your hands sprawl out across the map of his toned back, blunt nails catching onto his blue skin and creating tiny dinted scratches.

“Oh, my girl,” he breathes out. “Nice and warm. So— holy, so nice and warm.”

You mewl, digging your heels into the lower pinch of his back, “Jake, oh, Jake.” Your voice cracks into a edgy whine when he strengthens the pace of his cock, driving in and out of you fluently.

Breathing ragged and uneasy as you slump together, tangling in each other as you bask in the after moments of sex. Your tails curl together, wrap around each other and you sigh. Jake presses a gentle kiss at your forehead, rubbing his thumb on the fat of your thigh.

It was like that for a long time. Constant banter and flirting until you both gave in and ravaged each other, banging it out like there was no tomorrow. But you weren’t a couple, hadn’t taken it to the next step to connect your tsaheylos because why rush when you both can just be comfortable in an fun, open sex friends-with-benefits sort of deal? You were both fine with it, and there wasn’t anything that could change that.

But then came the random little pains and spikes in your belly, the nausea that sometimes grew when you ate, the increasing aching tender of your breasts.

You chew on your lip hard, praying to Eywa herself that it isn’t what you think it was.

The Tsahik tells you otherwise, and within seconds of her fingers grazing the skin over your belly, she nods. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” you rush.

“Silence, child. If you let me speak, I shall tell you.” Mo’at snaps. You nod violently, lips sealed close as you wait anxiously for her next sentence. “Eywa has blessed you with a gift,” she flats her palm on your stomach, unable to hide the gentle smile that stretches on her wrinkled face. “You are with child.”

You gulp, a mix of emotions running through you all at once. You slide your hand next to hers, feathering at your belly and feeling the soft skin there that’ll probably be decorated with stretch marks.

It’s nerv-wracking when you see Jake next, and he’s already got that giddy grin on his face as he strides to you. “Hey,” he murmurs, scooping an arm around your waist and pulling you into the warmth of his torso. He lands a sly kiss to your jawline, and you’ve got the feeling he wants to get straight into it today.

“Jake,” you say.

“Hm?” he mutters, gliding the hot of his tongue on the area just below your jawline. His fingers snake to your loincloth, toying with the lace that holds it together.

“Jake,” you repeat, voice sterner this time and that’s when he knows to back off, brow twitching up.

“What?”

“I have to tell you something,” you utter. He blinks blindly at you. “It’s serious.”

“Okay,” he returns, not without confusion wrapped in his tone. You breathe in, attempting to calm your nerves before you’re blurting it out all in one go.

“I’m pregnant, Jake. I have your baby,” you blurt. He stares at you, face unreadable and you take it as a sign to keep on rambling, but then he places a palm on your belly with his eyes set on the movement.

He lets a breathy chuckle leave his mouth, lets a grin stretch out onto his wide lips. “You do?”

You’re surprised to say the least to his reaction. “Yes—“ your sentence halts to a stop when Jake kisses you, palming a hand on your warm cheek and you sigh onto his lips.

“That’s…” he laughs again, “That’s amazing.” He looks up at you, pupils dilating. “You’re amazing.”

He grabs your face with both hands and kisses you again, this time harder. You’re being smushed from his grip and you giggle at his hyper, letting yourself melt into his warmth.

The more your belly grew, the more your actual relationship with Jake grew. It just happened. Naturally. The man’s protectiveness grew as well, even though you could never really get him to fully admit it.

Placing a hand on your belly, leaning his head to you as he tsks. “My girl, stay in rest.”

“Jake, just because I am with child does not mean I am helpless. I am still apart of this clan, and I am still able to serve it,” you fight against him, brushing his hand off of your body and reaching for your bow. He snatches the bow just as your fingers gaze the handle, and he hangs it above his head. You try swooping it out from him but he raises it higher, smirking as you huff in frustration.

“Pretty helpless right now.” He quips, unable to fight his shit-eating grin as he watches you try to reach your bow with your waving arm. You end up huffing and puffing, placing a hand on your stomach as you give up. You suddenly groan in pain, and Jake’s smug expression drops, immediately dropping his arm to place a concerned hand on your shoulder.

You snatch the bow from his now lowered arm, rushing it to hide behind you and press at your back as you laugh mischievously. Jake snaps his head to your face, frowning until he can’t help but let a small smirk break past his facade. “Not dumb, though.”

When you’re at the final trimester, you’re big, and heavy. Your feet are puffed up and your back twitches in pain every single time you move a muscle. It’s torture. And to add onto it, your self esteem is at your lowest.

Crying on Jake’s shoulder as he rubs your back with his big fingers, nose sniffly as you weep. “Ijustdon’tunderstandwhyyyy— huAp,” a loud hiccup slips from you. “IfeelsosoarallofthetiiiiiimemybreastshurtconstantlyweirdstuffcomesoutofmewhydoesEywahatemesooo…”

He gives reassuring kisses to your forehead, eyes closed with a faint, tired smile tugged on his lips as he coos, “It’s alright, my yuey.”

You certainly do not feel beautiful.

“Got that babymama glow.” Jake adds, mumbling as he gives another smooch to your forehead. He receives a defeated whimper in response, your body curling in his form as his arm wrapped around your form tightens around you.

When the baby comes, it fucking comes. You’re screaming at the top of your lungs as you clench at Jake’s hand with a bone-crushing grip. Healers swarm around you like bees, holding your legs, stomach, and every patch of your body except for your head, which Jake holds with his second hand.

Jake licks at his lips. “You’re doing great, sweetie—”

“Shut the fuck up, Jake!”

“Yep, ok.”

With one final push, the baby’s out. One of the healer’s holds the baby in her arms, a hint of a smile on her face as she hands your child into your arms. Warm tears rim around your eyes as you hold your new born baby, leaning against Jake’s body as he rubs at your back. You’re able to feel his chest tremble, and when you look up to him, there’s a tear striding down his cheek. With what energy you have, you scoop your arm around his neck, bringing his head down with your head as you give him a kiss to the cheek.

He returns it with a kiss to your forehead, yet unable to take his eyes off of his baby in your arms. “My Syaté,” you whisper lovingly. Syay meaning fate, a definition tied faintly in with blessing. Her nose sniffles and twitches, tiny eyebrows crinkling before she begins to cry. Jake can’t even seem to get care, as he holds the chubby cheek of his new babygirl and he can’t help but feel a new spring of fresh tears corrupt his face.

Jake barely leaves you and the baby. He says that he must protect his family, that it’s a bigger priority than doing anything else. But you’re not sure if that’s just a big fat excuse for him to hold her for hours. Laying in his lap, as he swipes a hand over her little head and feeling the thin, small fuzz of hair on it. With you at his side, singing to her as you stroke her cheek with a soft thumb.

The fire in front of you crackles, as the night’s cool air breezes on your backs. She coos out a gurgled giggle in reply.

Sometimes, Jake’ll just have Syaté in his arms as you fall in a much needed sleep, just staring at her face because he’s still stunned at the fact that in his arms, this is his child. It boggles him. He didn’t even think he’d ever find someone to love him, let alone carry his baby. But here you are, sleeping beside his leg peacefully and your face just looks so pretty and calm that it makes him want to cry.

Holding up his baby as the people surround him in circles, swaying side to side as you watch in awe. The new child of the people’s Olo’eyktan. Jake gently holds her up, the light from the sky shining on her small body and her legs squirming a little. “Syaté!”

“Syaté,” they repeat, echoing amongst the forest and you smile, teeth shining through your lips.

Connecting her tsaheylu to the many branches of the Tree Of Souls, connecting her to Eywa. Jake can see the way her eyes light up, can see the way her lips widen in a giggly manner.

The first time taking Syaté to have a bath in the river. Jake insists that he holds her on the way, and you grin, dashing through the forest because it’s the most freedom you’ve had in a long time.

Once getting there, you both gently get into the river, as Jake cradles Syaté in his arms. He holds her above the water until you give him the signal to lower her. The water swims at her feet, goes in between her little toes and she makes a noise at the feeling of it. He shifts his hand in a cup-like form, ripping it over his baby’s head gently. Slowly, he lowers her down into the river. You laugh gently at the way she screws up her face. “I know, babygirl. It’s a bit cold,” Jake chuckles.

She awkwardly blinks away the water that drops into her eyes, dripping at her black eyelashes and Jake wipes it away with his thumb before she could whine about it. Jake then shifts his eyes to you whisking through the stream, hair wet and following you as it flows weightless amongst the water. You end your swim in front of him, sneakily dipping your head over and blowing raspberries on Syaté’s chubby belly. She giggles immediately, the sound pure music to Jake’s ears.

Jake goes to give a million kisses to her cheek, nuzzling his nose in her skin as she ropes out rounds of uncontainable laughter. You start to laugh as well, and Jake can’t help but laugh, too.

Once back from the river, you sit in the open gap between Jake’s legs, Syaté a sleepy mess in warm your arms. She sucks at your breast with a new born baby hunger, even going as far to push a tiny hand on it to give her more. You rub at her tummy with the soft of your palm, mumbling your songcord. The fire in front of you is warm and orange, illuminating against the blue of your skin and creating a glowy atmosphere. Jake sighs through his nose, sliding a hand up and down your thigh as his legs fold under yours.

The heart beating in his chest is full, and he can’t name anywhere he would rather be. He rakes a few fingers through your hair, landing a gentle kiss to the back of your neck as contentment fills in his body, his mind brewing with the sense to protect. To protect his new-found family.

[ma1dita]

Duddee, now you gotta write luke proposing to trouble, you simply cannot now IBHBHKK

the perfect weekend

a ‘partners in crime’ alternate universe installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

alternate universe masterpost

words: 1.2k (this was too cute the word count escaped me)

summary: alternate universe - the perfect weekend with your perfect boy, even if he thinks otherwise

a/n: happy luke happy luke happy luke FIANCE LUKE 

(posted 2/4/23 unbetad and written on caffeine)

—

This weekend felt like a dream.

Luke took you to your favorite spots that you’ve both carved memories out of in Westport, buying you and his mom gorgeous fresh flowers from the farmers’ market, and he let you drag him around his hometown, spending hours in tiny antique shops and the record store on Main Street. He couldn’t get over how you always found fun in the simple things— even going to the pharmacy to pick up his mom’s medication felt like going to Disney World with you. He couldn’t be more sure of his decision, it was almost inconceivable to spend another day without you being his fiancee.

But luck wasn’t known to be on his side, after all (yeah, thanks dad). Luke’s always had to work harder to get what he wants, and he’s spent the past few years trying to prove himself to your dad—though deep down, he thinks Mr. D doesn’t mind him as much as he makes it seem. (Asking him for his blessing last week over a bottle of wine and a bone-shaking hug scared the wits out of him. He pretended to not notice the god cry.)

Luke just wants to give you what you deserve. And if he needs to spend the rest of his life working on it to prove it, he ought to do it with you by his side.

But he couldn’t think of how.

He tried proposing over dinner last night, with the smell of burnt cookies in the air, but that wasn’t romantic at all, and his hands were shaking so hard he knocked a glass over, prompting you and his mom to fuss over the mess and giggle over his silliness. You both chatted deep into the night, Luke sitting quietly and nodding at two of his favorite women babbling about who knows what (Sometimes he’s still convinced you like his mom more than him, but the way you both take care of him makes him tear up if he thinks too hard about it).

When you went horseriding this afternoon, he set up a picnic for lunch, which was romantic. Chocolate-covered strawberries and sandwiches made by mom, sparkling cider twinkling in the sun. Luke was sure it was going to be great timing— until he realized the ring box fell out of his pocket again, and he slipped in manure trying to rush you back to the house (The sound of your laughter at clumsiness made his heart warm though, and it almost made up for the three hours he looked for the stupid box in the grass that night when you fell asleep with his tiny Star Wars-themed flashlight).

He woke you up early before the sun rose, carrying you out to the car still bundled up in his old Toy Story throw blanket that you wouldn’t let him toss out when he brought it to college (The faded pictures of Buzz and Woody kept a smile on your face, and the memories it brought make you feel connected to 9-year-old Luke). The drive to the beach was short, a sleepy smile on your face as you felt Luke grab onto your hand, sand getting between your toes before he laid out a blanket and the both of you sat down.

Cracking open a redbull for the both of you to sip on, you leaned against his muscled frame, legs hanging over his lap as he wiped the sand off your feet, holding you close as he smiled.

“Good morning, handsome,” you grinned, leaning up for a kiss. Luke obliged, savoring the taste of you mixed with sleep and artificial peach. Your noses nudge against each other before he mumbles a reply, “Good morning, pretty girl.”

“Y’know? I could die happy just like this. I can’t think of anything else that would make this weekend more perfect.”

Luke hummed in contemplation, “I could think of a few things,” he said, as a laugh bubbled from his lips. A noise of confusion rose from you as you reached up to dust lint off his shirt before your knee nudged something hard in his pocket, and your eyebrow raised in mischief.

“Dirty boy, you get me out of your mom’s house and you’re already excited?”

And he laughed the stress off until it freed itself from his bones, pure elation radiating off of him before Eos even had a chance to spread her first rays of light into the sky. 

He’s never needed perfect.

He just needs you.

His hands dug into his pocket, pulling out the ring box that’s caused him so much trouble this weekend. But a life with you should’ve already prepared him for that—and the shock on your face became funnier when you launched yourself on top of him, kicking up sand and taking the air out of his lungs.

You both hit the ground with a loud thud, your nose buried in his chest as he chuckles at your scream. Why was he even worried to begin with? 

“Wait, wait, I still have something to say trouble, don’t jump ahead of the script!”

His hand rubbed your back in gentle strokes as he popped the box open to reveal a delicate golden band with two diamonds juxtaposed against each other sitting pretty on top.

“It’s always been you and me. And I’ve spent hours thinking of what to say, days trying to figure out when the time would be right, months working for a pretty ring that’s perfect for you, years loving you… and well… I want more. I want this, you and me spending the rest of our lives together because I can’t comprehend a future without you. I’d do anything for you trouble, and I don’t believe in much, but I believe in you. Us.”

You’ve cried so hard by this point that you’re convinced it’s so goddamn ugly but Luke smiles at you like he’s been promised immortality. And perhaps he has, with the future you two will have scrolling through his mind like an old film, a house on a hill, kids, a dog, shit—whatever you want as long as he’s with you it’ll be the closest thing to forever he’d have.

“Are you sure?” you said sniffling, and your boyfriend wiped your tears away like he has countless times before, though happy tears are something he’ll have to get used to.

“I literally ruined your proposal, I just thought you were horny, oh my gods…” Whining loudly and laughing, you held your shaking hand out as he sat up to put the ring on your finger.

“Well, we can fix that later. I still have a question to ask, after all.”

Luke grinned when your head nodded rapidly, finally shutting up so you wouldn’t interrupt him again.

“Will you,” he says so surely now, saying your name before continuing, “let me have the honor of spending the rest of our lives together as your husband?”

“Gods, yes. Fucking hell angelface, did you really think I’d say no?”

The both of you laughed through tears and snot as he placed the ring on your left hand, and still, it couldn’t be more perfect.

“A life with trouble is the life for me,” he mused, laughing as you covered his face in kisses before the both of you fell back into the sand a tangle of lips and lust and love.

You jolted up from your fiance’s embrace just as he thought he was going to get lucky, almost emptying your entire wallet of drachmas into the sand-covered blanket to Iris message your friends.

---

(pics are not representative of reader's appearance or gender just a lil visual for funsies)

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