#*background voice* goblins.

[amygdalae]

I need everyone to take a few minutes out of their day to appreciate these lyrics

[carmsgarms]

I just can't get Halsins confession scene out of my head. The way his voice is so quiet and soothing, the sound of the crickets in the background, his big eyes round and full of fear but he's pushing through it because tav is worth it.

He's travelled everywhere and seen things it would take lifetimes for other people to see but you - you helped him find himself again. A third (or more) of his life has been spent dealing with politics and curses, defending nature and currying favor with Silvanus to protect his childhood friend - you're the first person who truly gave him the freedom he wanted, you're the one who helps him find a purpose after *350 years* of wandering and dealing with other people's problems.

And he is *terrified* of fucking this up. Every word he speaks has been practiced carefully, recited, every angle considered, he is upfront, honest, and forward.

Halsin isn't a risk taker, he has a history of waiting for things to happen, biding his time until the right moment. It's how he wound up in captivity for 3 years, got captured by goblins (likely also planning on biding his time until the right opportunity) because he doesn't really feel time moving the way others do. What's a few months or years of captivity?

Until he meets you. You're a risk he's willing to take. He doesn't want to wait anymore. He wants to know now if he can dare ask for more. You have quite literally changed his life and turned it upside down, and for the first time in literal centuries, he can make choices for himself and this is the choice he wants to make.

He doesn't fall in love easily but he has fallen and he's fallen HARD

[steviewashere]

Steve and Eddie being teenage boys (even in their twenties, even though they technically are no longer teenagers), a list that I've been making in my head (some of them are stupid and some of them are sweet, but this is a long list, be warned):

Steve teaching Eddie how to burp the alphabet after drinking soda. He's phenomenal at it. Like...almost disgustingly so. It ends up turning into a one up competition pretty fast after that.

Eddie who knows how to drag race and takes Steve on ridiculously fast drives down empty streets at night (when Steve's had a terrible night). He steps on the gas and goes: "Weeee!!!" as they speed. (Please don't speed. It is dangerous. But for the sake of entertaining their pea brains, this is what they do.)

Eddie and Steve who have been participating in a several month long tagging game. They slap each other on the back of shoulders as hard as they possibly can before skittering off like a little goblin.

Steve and Eddie think it's soooo fucking funny to blow up condoms like balloons when they're stoned.

Steve and Eddie who get stoned and they go shop for munchies at the local grocery store, both hysterically giggling at figuring out how to be "normal" people in public. (They are failing miserably.)

Steve who makes Eddie play basketball with him sometimes. And then he purposefully tosses the ball at Eddie rather than the basket. It devolves into wresting in the grass, heads in elbows, knuckles across scalps, kicking each other in the shins.

One time, Steve falls asleep at Eddie's on the couch. And instead of being all sweet and doting, Eddie finds a marker and draws a penis on Steve's face. He gets water poured on his head the next time he falls asleep at Steve's as payback.

Steve and Eddie comforting each other through nightmares and hardships and healing injuries, both in sort of constipated, mumbled ways. Pats to the back and leaning in close to each other, resting heads on shoulders. Passing cigarettes or beers back and forth just to pass the time, not really talking. Exchanging words afterwards like, "You're a great friend," and "You're the best person I know." Because they both need that and recognize that, even outside of the petty, childish things they do to each other.

Eddie, who understands that the pool at Steve's is a sore spot, instead of prodding them to get in, he plans out a whole water balloon fight to stave off the summer heat.

Steve, who knows that music has been a source of calm for Eddie over the years, makes sure there's always a cassette that Eddie can play in case it gets too quiet.

Eddie and Steve who shit talk each other in the arcade, beating each other's high scores if only to rile the other one up.

Steve who always checks Eddie's ID before he goes into the adult only room in Family Video. Despite knowing that Eddie is definitely over the age of eighteen. Sometimes he denies Eddie entry in front of Keith just to make him pout. (He thinks it's cute.)

Eddie and Steve watching porn together, criticizing the moans the entire time because they know for sure it's fake. And on the same note of moans, Eddie who gets a call from Wayne and Steve fake moans in the background the entire time. Steve gets a call from his parents and Eddie shouts really loud in the background for Steve to pass the joint back. They just glare at each other before getting in another tag fight throughout wherever they're at.

Eddie who goes into Family Video after Steve strikes out again. Who just walks up to the counter and starts acting like one of those girls, twirling his hair and pouting his lips and blinking his eyes, making his voice high pitched. (It gets Steve to giggle instead of pout, so Eddie calls it a win.)

Eddie guzzling an entire can of Coke and then spraying it out of his nose when Steve makes him laugh too hard. Steve's never made anybody laugh that hard.

Steve and Eddie who claim it's not gay to make their boners kiss. I mean...what? Who said that?

Steve and Eddie who play-punch a little too hard when playing punch buggy on vacation.

Speaking of vacation, Steve and Eddie going to a beach over the summer. They chase each other up and down the sand. They roll off of the sand hills. Eddie buries Steve in the sand and applies sunscreen to his face as he just accepts his fate. Steve helps Eddie make a sandcastle, a secret talent of his being how structurally sound he can build one.

Steve and Eddie playing with Legos while talking shit about Family Video customers. They toss Sour Patch Kids into each other's mouths as they talk. Sometimes hitting each other in the face purposefully.

Steve and Eddie who get drunk one night and go catch a wild possum. Robin screams at them to put it back because, "No, you dinguses, that is not a cat!"

Eddie and Steve taking care of each other on bad pain days. Trying to entertain the other with stupid jokes or shitty movies or gossip.

Eddie sharing his uncle with Steve when he finds out that Mr. and Mrs. Harrington are terrible motherfuckers. Who makes sure Steve is comfortable in his home around Wayne.

Steve conspiring with Wayne to make sure that Eddie always has the best birthday parties. Because the one thing he really held onto from his King Steve years was how to throw a small get together, and how, especially, to make it extremely awesome and memorable.

Steve who gets Eddie new albums he's been eyeing for his birthday. Ones Eddie knows he'd never be able to afford on his own, always a little sullen when he looks at the price. Steve who still has access to his dad's credit card and will max it out just for Eddie to get his fill.

Eddie makes homemade things for Steve's birthday. Cards and trinkets and drawings—things Steve's old high school buddies never considered as gifts, even though they have the most impact on Steve, even though they matter the most.

Steve and Eddie who love each other, insurmountably. Despite sometimes being major buttheads to each other.

[ahqkas]

If you’re taking request, I have one if you aren’t too busy. Mattheo dating gf! Reader who has a terrible sleep schedule. Like she falls asleep in almost all classes and he is just sits beside her, playing with her hair with a love struck stare.

-🧚🏾‍♀️💕

FALLING FOR YOU ; mattheo riddle

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

MATTHEO LEANED BACK IN HIS CHAIR, THE COOL WOODEN SUFACE OF THE DESK A FAMILIAR FEELING UNDER HIS ARMS. Professor Binns droned on at the front of the room, his voice a monotonous hum that barely registered in the back of Mattheo’s mind, like always. Instead, his attention was solemnly focused on you.

You were seated beside him, your head resting on your folded arms atop the desk as you dozed off. Your breathing was slow and steady, the telltale sign that you had drifted off again. Mattheo couldn't help but smile a little at the sight. You had the most erratic sleep schedule he had ever encountered. It seemed like you were always tired, often succumbing to sleep in the middle of classes.

As Binns' lecture about the Goblin Rebellions continued in the background, Mattheo reached out and gently twirled a strand of your hair around his finger. The texture was soothing, and he found himself absently playing with your hair whenever you fell asleep beside him. It had become a routine of sorts — him watching over you as you dozed off in class, ensuring you stayed comfortable and undisturbed in your actions. Merlin forbid someone woke you up.

The Slytherin glanced around the room to see if anyone was paying attention to the two of you, but as usual, the other students were either scribbling notes or fighting their own battles with sleep. Mattheo's gaze returned to you, his expression softening. He loved these moments, the quiet intimacy of being close to you without the noise and bustle of the school day intruding. There was something peaceful about it.

A soft murmur escaped your lips as you shifted slightly, and Mattheo's heart swelled with affection. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Sweet dreams, love."

You didn't stir, but a small, content smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. Mattheo's own smile widened as he continued to play with your hair, the lecture fading into the background noise.

As class neared its end, your boyfriend gently shook your shoulder. "Hey, princess," he whispered, "time to wake up."

You stirred, blinking groggily as you lifted your head. "Did I miss much?" you mumbled, rubbing your eyes.

"Not really," Mattheo replied, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Just Binns being Binns. Come on, let's get you to your next class."

You nodded, stifling a yawn as you gathered your things. Mattheo stood up, offering you his hand. You took it, and together you made your way out of the classroom. Mattheo kept a protective arm around your shoulders, his heart full of love and tenderness for the girl who had the most terrible sleep schedule, but who also happened to be the love of his life.

[littlexdeaths]

precious - e.m.

y2k eddie munson x girly reader

18+ ONLY MDNI

warnings: oral (fem receiving), fingering, spitting, eddie is a menace… but a cute one.

opposites attract masterlist

word count: 1k

a/n: another repost from my opposites attract series. i missed our feral, goblin boyfriend. so i hope you all enjoy xx.

He’s been in between your thighs for the better part of an hour, Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers now long forgotten in the background.

You had gotten Eddie the box set earlier that day as a surprise gift. So of course, your boyfriend wanted to spend the whole day having a movie marathon. And you were more than happy to oblige.

But the only problem was you.

You in your short pleated skirt and pink top that seemed to leave very little to the imagination. You were driving him absolutely crazy, despite not meaning to.

The brunette somehow managed to make it through the first film without caving. But each time you shifted positions, your cotton candy perfume would engulf his senses completely. Reminding him how sweet you were, and just how bad he’d missed tasting you.

So could you blame him for being too distracted to appreciate the gift?

After popping the second film in the dvd player, you joined him back on the sofa. The darkness of the room concealing the boner he’s been struggling with for the past three hours.

So when his hand started drifting up your bare thigh, you didn’t think anything of it. That is until his fingers began tracing the outline of your panties, snapping the elastic against your skin.

His head dips, lips grazing against the shell of your ear.

“We wants it, we needs it…”

Eddie’s voice had dropped an octave, gravely as he did his best impression of the creepy, crawly creature from the film.

You lightly smack his shoulder as he starts laughing, the sound filling the small room. But once he sees the look on your face he settles, nuzzling his face into the skin of your neck.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry, sweetheart. Let me try that again,” he hums as his lips trail further down to your collarbone, nipping lightly at your skin.

A small gasp leaves you as he begins sucking, tingles shooting straight to your core.

“Wanna taste you, doll… can I?” He asks, his voice just as deep as before— but the silliness of the previous moment is gone.

Only desperation laces his tone as his fingers slip underneath your panties. The male groans at the wetness he finds, the sound leaving you a little breathless.

“Please,” you whine, lips jutting out in a small pout.

That’s the only answer he needs before he’s detaching himself from you. Grinning mischievously as he slides off the sofa, working himself between your thighs. Your panties are removed almost haphazardly, making you giggle at his eagerness.

Eddie quickly tosses your legs over his shoulders, diving in immediately. Despite how eager he seemed, he slowly dragged his tongue through your soaked folds. Your boyfriend wanted to take his time, to savor each and every drop you were giving him.

Flash forward to almost an hour later, your fingers are tangled in his dark curls as he continues to lap at your overly sensitive cunt. Eddie was being a tease, getting you closer and closer to the edge before slowing down again.

It was his turn to drive you absolutely crazy. While simultaneously turning you into a needy mess under his skillful tongue. He suddenly pulls back for a moment, the glow from the tv highlighting the juices smeared across his chin.

The male gathers some of it on his fingers, eagerly sucking the digits into his mouth with a deep growl.

“Mmm, my precious.”

Before you have time to scold him he’s back between your thighs, a crazed cackle leaves him as he sucks harshly on your clit. Eddie eagerly slips those same fingers that were just in his mouth, back inside you. He curls them up to brush against your sweet spot, causing you to cry out as he increases his pace.

Any semblance of taking things slow is now thrown out the window, as he licks and sucks at you like a starved animal. Your fingers find their way back into his hair, nails digging into his scalp.

“That’s it, such a good. fucking. girl.” He growls each word pointedly, thrusting his fingers in tandem with his vulgarity.

Your walls clench harder around the digits due to his praise, greedily grinding your hips down against them. A whimper escapes you as he leans back, spitting onto your already soaked pussy. But he doesn’t give you much time to process as his tongue begins to mix his salvia with your slick.

He slides a third finger into your tight heat, the sounds of your arousal now over powering the film still playing on the television. Your body is buzzing as your thighs begin to tremble around his head.

“Squeezing me so tight, baby, fuck. You gonna cum for me?” His voice is muffled as he puts more pressure on your swollen clit.

And in that moment, you can’t find the words to answer him— only a high pitched moan leaves your lips.

Eddie chuckles against you, the vibrations bring you that much closer to the edge. Your hips begin to buck up wildly, desperate for that promise of release.

But your boyfriend is quick to force them back down with his free hand. Preventing any further squirming as he drills his fingers into your needy cunt, taking everything he’s giving you in stride.

“Gimme all your cum, sweetheart,” he groans deeply, finding yourself unable to hold back anymore.

After being edged for the better part of an hour, your body convulses as you finally fall over that precipice. Crying out his name repeatedly as he continues to work you through the most intense orgasm he’s ever given you.

Your body suddenly slumps against the sofa, completely spent. A soft whine leaves your lips as you tug on his disheveled curls to lift his head. His dark eyes lock with your half lidded ones, that mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Eddie gladly crawls his way up your body to press a sloppy kiss to your lips. You can taste yourself on his tongue, your juices now smeared across your chin.

You can feel the sticky, warm denim of his jeans pressing against your thigh. The sudden realization has you giggling into his mouth.

“Mmm,” he hums, “Precious is pleased?”

[monster-disaster]

[goblin] Rust

goblin!Rust x human!Reader Good to know: public sex, freeuse

Summary: You work in a bar where the rules are slightly different from the outside world.

The bar is calm. The lights from the bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling are dim, casting a warm glow across the place. Quiet music plays in the background. The singer's voice is deep and hoarse. You can barely hear it because of the sound of the bottles as your co-worker fills up the shelves behind you while you are busy swiping down the counter with a wet rag. All around, the air is filled with the quiet murmur of conversations. The clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughters echo off the walls. They are decorated with posters and faded photographs. The wide windows are darkened with the name and logo of the bar. The tables and chairs all around the place were crafted decades ago. They are still sturdy and marked with the memory of the countless drinks poured and the many fights that escalated over the years.

"They are here," the vampire behind you hums, glancing over her shoulder to the window. You can see the motorbikes parking down in a long row. The rumbling of the engines shakes the walls and goes straight to your core. "I can hear it," you reply, watching to door burst open with a loud thud.

Soon, the bar is full of bikers, taking their places all over the room as usual. They are loud and dominating. It's nothing you are not used to. You've worked at the bar for a few years. You know most of the patrons since Grimbrook is usually not a place for tourists. Especially not the bar with all kinds of monsters and humans.

Your next hour is busy with taking care of everything. The smell of alcohol and cheap beer is heavy and thick in the air, mixing with smoke. You can't hear the music anymore through the crowd's constant noise. Laughs and shouts boom every now and again from various tables. The boots thud heavily on the wooden floor.

"There is my favorite girl," the goblin greets you from one of the booths next to the walls. His smile is barely noticeable under his crooked nose. His green skin seems a bit more yellowish under the hue of the lights. The black leather jacket he always wears is over the backrest, leaving him in a black t-shirt and jeans. "Hey, Rust," you greet the male. "How's your night?" "It's better now that you are here," he hums, slipping his hand on your hip. His fingers grope your flesh, letting his nails dig into the fabric of your black skirt. "Really?" You laugh, stepping away from his hold as you put the empty bottles and glasses on the tray in your other hand. "I'm busy." "Well, you wouldn't be if Eva would do her job," Rust replies with a hungry smirk on his thin lips. Following his gaze, you see your co-worker on an orc's lap. The male is big and sturdy. His large hands are on your friend's hips, keeping Eva on his lap as she drinks from his neck. They grind to each other the whole time. "Oh, I think she is doing her job just fine," you laugh. Rust's hand is on you again. "And you?" His thumb grazes your nipple through the fabric of your shirt and bra. "I'm doing it, too," you reply. "Just not the fun part." "Don't make me wait for too long," he shouts after you when you leave their table.

You can feel wetness already pooling between your legs, ruining your panties. Heat lits up in your belly, and you have to force yourself to leave the goblin with his friends and continue your job.

"Are you done?" You smirk under your breath when the vampire female appears next to you. Her usually pale complexion seems much healthier. There is a slight hint of pink on her cheeks, and her lips are red and swollen. "With the orc?" She asks. "Yes. For the night? No." You laugh at her reply while serving the monsters around the counter. Your nose is full of the smell of the various drinks. "Oh," Eva continues. "Rust wants to see you." A knowing smile tugs on the corner of her lips. "I-" "Don't worry," she adds before you can say anything. "I will take care of everything while you are busy." "Like last week?" "Oh, shush."

Leaving the vampire at the counter, you make your way to the booth where Rust is still sitting with a half-orc and a demon. They are talking. The half-orc laughs at something. His head tilts back, and the golden loop around his tusk glint in the light. His voice is hoarse but booming.

Without saying anything, Rust pulls up your skirt until it's around your waist, and anybody can see your matching panties covering your mound. His nails graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he tugs you closer to him until you are sitting on his lap. His body and the desk in front of you barely give you enough space, and you have to spread your legs not to kick Rust's friends. Because of the height difference, the goblin has to sit straight if he wants to continue talking with the others. His voice is a deep rumble on your back, and his words fan over the curve of your neck.

"That's what I am talking about," he grunts into your ear, squeezing your hips as you start to grind down on him. The rough fabric of his jeans and his erection underneath it rub against your slit repeatedly. You can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter with every passing second. Your palms are on the table as you try to keep your balance and circle your hips on his lap. You can feel him moving under you. He pushes up, nudging your clit. Your lips part in a silent groan.

The male and his friends continue talking while you chase your own pleasure. Your pussy aches for more, your hole clenches around nothing.

"Stand up," Rust says, stopping your movement. The muscles of your legs flex as you keep your weight above him, slightly bending over the table. You can hear the zipper of Rust's jeans as he frees himself, but your attention is drawn to the demon in front of you. He reaches over the table, unbuttons your shirt, and pushes down your bra until your breasts are bare for his dark eyes. His forked tongue licks across his sharp teeth. Your nipples are tight peaks. The edges of the lacy cups rub against them every time you move.

"C'mere, love," Rust grunts, grabbing your hips again to pull you back onto his lap. His cock slides into you easily. He is not as long as your other patrons, but the piercing at the tip makes you forget everyone else. You can feel the cold metal rubbing against your walls, nudging you in all the right places. "Fuck," the male grunts behind you when you are fully seated on him. You envelop his cock warmly and tightly. He can feel your pussy clamping around his shaft, begging for more. "This is your job, no?" He asks, satisfied. "Keeping my cock warm with your sweet pussy."

And to your utmost disapproval, that's what you do for the next ten minutes. Rust doesn't let you fidget and squirm, craving every bit of friction you can get. He keeps you on him, enjoying your misery while his friends talk and stare at you. Their gazes are heavy and hungry on your tits. You push them out some more with every breath you take as you lean back against Rust's chest. His hands from your side slip down between your legs. His fingers tease across your slit, finding your clit with slow circles. You are soaked. Your arousal drips down onto his lap.

"One more minute, and she will combust," Eva states, smirking as she puts a few new bottles down on the table. Her eyes rake over your bare chest, unashamed. "Do you think so?" Rust jokes but grinds up into your hole. The sudden movement takes your breath away as your head falls back on his shoulder. Eyes flutter shut. "But she is so warm."

He teases you for a few more seconds before making you move on his cock finally. He uses your hole to his heart's content while his friends in front of you stare openly, sipping their beers. Your breasts bounce with every thrust and every circle of your hips as you get higher and higher on the goblin's cock. His clever fingers work on your clit with experience. Rust knows how to drive you crazy with need.

Eva is still at the table, watching. Her dark eyes glint with hunger as she leans closer. Before you know it, your moans get muffled by her lips. Her tongue pushes into your mouth, dominating you while Rust fucks into you. Your pussy is tight and demanding. You want everything he can give you. The burning coil in your stomach grows, and your muscles tense. You almost scream when Eva bites your bottom lip, licking down the blood and sucking for more. The slight pain and the stretch of your aching pussy are enough to push you over the edge. Every nerve in your body bursts with pleasure. Your limbs start to tingle, and your hole clamps down and pulses around the goblin's erection.

"Fuck," Rust groans, pushing you up over the table. Your stomach is flat on the wooden surface. You feel him pulling out of you, and soon, his warm seed paints your waist and ass while you are still shaking after your orgasm. Your muscles jerk, and your pussy clenches.

Blood slips down your chin from the corner of your lips. When you look up and see the demon standing up, too, tugging on his cock a few times before pushing his length into your open lips, you know you will have a long night.

- Masterlist Grimbrook Masterlist Patreon

[conceiteddemon]

Im thinking about the M9 and languages. like languages and what is spoken and how it can add so many little extra layers to the story, and how they can be used to show insights into the characters. Cause like

Molly Viciously Mocking someone sounding like hacking up a demonic hairball, undermined by Jester always giggling in the background. Then suddenly Molly is gone and Jester is hugging her mother who is kissing her forehead and switching out from infernal to common every other sentence and the nein realizing that Molly was just telling dick jokes and playground insults in the scariest voice he could manage. Jester canonically writing her journal in infernal (which I hope to see in the series because fiendish hell runes written in a kawaii style compete with hot pink glitter gel is something I think everyone needs).

Nott telling a Halfling in Halfling that she ‘had an accident’, and it seems more likely to be a translation error on her end than the truth. Nott shouting at goblins that ambush the Nein in simple, halting Goblin, especially compared to the sentences they fire back at her. Nott knocking on Edith’s door, suddenly speaking Halfling fluently as she hugs a little boy no one had known about.

Beauregard’s high school level, clumsy Halfling and Dwarvish morphing into her reading undercommon, her understanding Zemnian, her studying books written in several different languages as the series goes on.

Fjord being able to read some orcish phrases but consistently messing up the pronunciation, because he basically taught himself, afraid of getting caught learning it but more scared of getting caught not knowing it.

Caleb’s whole interrogation with the scourger, his conversation with Astrid and the political side conversations, juxtaposed with the soft demeanor when he speaks to himself about his parents and the past in his tower. Him canonically dropping his heavier accent whenever he speaks Zemnian.

Yasha, never speaking Abyssal, only reading and translating it, as opposed to having little conversations in celestial when prompted by Caleb, who wants to brush up on his knowledge.

Caduceus speaking in what sounds like normal ass common to plants and animals. Him chatting amicably with giants, stopping every once in a while to ask if he’s pronouncing a word right.

Essek muttering to himself in undercommon as he studies, teaching everyone a few words to be polite. Getting bullied into sharing more by Beau, who had to learn it somewhere, and he acts like it’s a great inconvenience for about three minutes before getting swept up in the joy of sharing knowledge, of teaching and learning, taking concepts and thoughts and ordering them into something neat, precise, definable.

[aislinrayne]

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: After a particularly rough case, Reader starts acting distant. Lockwood thinks giving her space will help. When he's woken by the phone ringing, George doesn't need to know what happened to know it's probably Lockwood's fault.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: Mature/Explicit.

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Alcohol consumption, strong language, sexual content (second base with intent to go further), anxious avoidant Reader, Reader is shorter than Lockwood, drunk Reader, Reader is harassed at the bar, brief touch without consent, no use of y/n.

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Fuck I love playing with different kinds of dynamics. I've had this sitting partially drafted in my writing folder for a year now, and the brain-goblins wouldn't let me keep working on SM until this was done lmao Please let this be the year I finally get a handle on my creative flow fml

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 6.1k

    The first time the phone rings, both inhabitants of 35 Portland Row manage to remain deep in a well earned slumber.

  The second time the phone rings, it successfully rouses one George Karim.  Muttering a string of colourful insults under his breath that - had he been in his family home - would have earned him a smack over the head with his mother’s slipper, he reluctantly drags himself from the warmth and comfort of his duvet.  Letting out a long suffering sigh that lasts through the entire shuffle from his room to the phone on the floor below, he lifts it from the receiver and greets the caller with a noise somewhere between ‘hello’ and ‘fuck off’.

  “Evening, sorry to wake you.  This is James, calling from The Royal Oak.  Is there a, uh-”  Even over the numerous voices and the clinking of glass in the background, George can hear the gruff sounding man being interrupted by a woman’s voice mumbling incoherently before all sound is muffled by a palm being pressed over the mic on the other end, ���-sorry, did you say…?  Really, sweetheart?  Alright, but don’t try to blame this on me tomorrow when you sober up.”  

  Then the phone is back to full volume. “Sorry about that, I’ve got a young lady here who says she lives at this address?  She’s too drunk to get herself home and this is the number she gave for someone she trusts to come get her.  But, uh, she-”  James seems like he’d rather not say the next bit, “well, she just keeps asking for ‘that selfish wanker’?  Won’t give me a name otherwise.”

  There’s not a lot in this world capable of rendering George completely speechless, but that…  That does it.  He allows the phone to drop from his ear for a moment, resting it on his shoulder as he attempts to compose himself and reply to the nice man on the other end of the line.

  “Uh…  Yeah, she- she’s ours.  Probably talking about our boss, then.  I’ll, uh…  I’ll go wake him.  I’m sure he’ll be there very soon.”  He has to speak up over the sound of James choking and sputtering in surprise to say a polite ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’, before slamming the phone down and jogging up the stairs to wake his friend.  

  He pauses for a moment halfway up, considering heading back downstairs to grab a boot to throw at the door.  Unfortunately his need for immediate answers outweighs his urge to be petty, so he settles for pounding loudly on the door instead.   There’s quiet rustling and not so quiet cursing on the other side before it’s ripped open.

  “What?!”  A dishevelled Anthony Lockwood snaps, blinking sleep from glaring eyes and leaning on the doorframe in an endeavour to keep himself upright.

  “Just got a call from The Royal Oak, down on York Street?  Turns out they have a resident of this address drunkenly calling for a ‘selfish wanker’ to come pick her up.”  George crosses his arms, raising a challenging eyebrow at the taller man.  

  Lockwood’s expression shifts from its existing irritated frown into confusion, then straight to alarm.  He wastes no time flipping the light switch beside the doorway, bathing the room in light as he crosses it to tug one of his dresser drawers open.

  “Can you call me a Night Cab, please?  Offer them double fare to prioritise.”  He calls over his bare shoulder, searching for a t-shirt and hoodie to toss on.  His researcher says nothing as he complies, deciding to save the interrogation for later.

  Anthony is properly worried.     Their third roommate had come back from their last job acting distant.  They’d been separated by a pair of particularly nasty Spectre’s for close to an hour, but she’d succeeded in securing the Source’s and they’d all made it out in one piece.  He’d been so caught up in pride for his team he hadn’t noticed the effect it had on her until days later.  When he tried to approach her with his concerns, she clammed up and looked as though she was about to cry before excusing herself to her room.  None of the members of his agency, himself included, had seen her exit her room for two days after that.   He hadn’t asked about it since, and while giving her space seemed to be working by way of not making her cry, he was starting to wonder if it had been upsetting her in a different way.     Even taking all of that into consideration, there’s still no way he could have seen a phone call like this coming at 2:56 AM on a Tuesday.

  All he can find is a sleeveless black undershirt.  With a huff of frustration he pulls it over his head, kicking the drawer closed simultaneously, then pulling open the one above it.  The joggers he fell asleep in are fine enough, so after a fit of undignified hopping across the room to cover his feet with pink socks he grabs a random hoodie off of the armchair by the window, shrugs into it, and zips it on his way down the stairs.

  George is waiting for him at the bottom, staring at his watch.

  “Your cab should be here in three minutes, mine should be here in thirteen.”  He looks up from his wrist, meeting his boss’s confused look with an exasperated one.  “I’m heading to Flo’s for the night, so whatever you fucked up, mate?  Fix it.”  Karim claps him on the shoulder, walking past him to pack an overnight bag.  It might not be conventional, but Anthony knows it’s the closest thing to encouragement he’s going to get.

  The next several minutes pass in a blur of waiting and worrying, until finally it’s 3:14 AM and he’s slipping the cab driver an extra twenty quid to wait for them, swearing to be no longer than fifteen minutes.  The ungodly-early morning air is sharp and cold, cutting to the bone as soon as he steps out of the comforting warmth of the vehicle.  It’s plenty enough encouragement to hurry his way to the building, pulling the door open to slip into the soft golden warmth and loud ambiance of the pub.  

  He hesitates on the doormat, catching sight of the other patrons.  Thankfully it isn’t a particularly highbrow establishment, but it's nice enough for him to feel noticeably underdressed in black joggers and a grey zip-up.  And then he lays eyes on her, and all insecurities are immediately banished by the sharp knife of shock burying itself in his gut.  

  She’s balanced on a table, wearing a little black dress he’d never seen before.  Her arms are raised above her head, fingers combing through her hair as her hips sway to the bass of the music in a way that probably would have had his mouth watering if it wasn’t for present circumstances.   He isn’t the only one noticing her.  There’s a group of men standing around the table, watching her with hungry eyes that make his skin crawl with disgust.   A tall blonde man pushes his way past the rest of the crowd, deep set ice blue eyes chasing up her legs.  She seems to either be unaware of his presence, or too lost in the music to care.  Even from his position across the room he can see her eyes are out of focus, drifting away for split seconds every few beats from the speakers on the wall.     The man raises a hand and grabs her thigh, using enough pressure to leave visible fingermarks.

  Lockwood finds himself frozen in place, blood boiling as he mentally considers how challenging talking his way out of a murder charge could really be.  Surely not that much harder than talking his way out of an arson charge, and he’d done that often enough to be confident in his abilities.

  Before his sleep deprived mind can break free of its indecision, the girl spins around abruptly and slaps the lecherous limb away from her.  The slime of a man attached to it is none too happy about that, making a move to grab for her arm.  Her normally impeccable reflexes are slowed by the alcohol, she can’t move fast enough to avoid the attack.  When his fingers close around her wrist, he pulls.  Hard.     She teeters on the edge of the table, her short cry of pain audible even over the music.

  Huh.  He’d always thought the whole ‘seeing red’ thing was entirely turn of phrase, but as it turns out, there’s actually a modicum of truth to it.

  He’s halfway across the bar by the time he realises he’s in motion, but he’s not about to stop.  Closing the remaining distance in a few purposeful strides, he grabs the creep’s arm in a vice grip.  The blonde releases his hold on her immediately, instinctively trying to pull away from the pain.  Lockwood lets him stumble away in surprise, wasting no time placing himself in between his friend and the threat to her safety.  At first he’s optimistic he might have a chance to vent some anger when the wanker locks eyes with him, but whatever he’d seen in Anthony’s was enough to make him back down and stumble off with an insincere apology.  

  Reminding himself to focus his attention where it belongs, he turns to look up at the girl on the table.  Her face lights up with delight when she recognizes him, then swiftly sours the longer she looks at him.   He feels like an absolute prick for not noticing the dark circles around her eyes sooner.  Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he reaches up to offer her both of his hands, palms up.  She sways in place for a moment, scowling pensively at the proffered appendages.  He studies her face while he waits patiently, trying to find any hint of what could be bothering her enough to take this approach to forgetting.

  With a tiny hiccup she finally caves, placing her hands in his and allowing him to help her to solid ground.  Once both of her feet are securely on the sticky floor, he offers her his arm for support.  She gives him another little glare, but just like before, she eventually accepts his help.   Scanning the other tables and chairs around her makeshift stage, he sees no sign of a purse or jacket that he recognises in the slightest.

  “Did you bring anything with you, sweetheart?”  He asks her directly, leaning closer to her ear to be heard over the noise.  If he didn’t know any better he’d say she looks almost flustered; eyes glazed, cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink, looking through him rather than at him as she tries to filter his words through the haze of liquor clouding her mind.     Although he’s prepared to wait as long as it takes for her to answer, he can’t help but feel a touch relieved when the bartender waves him over holding a familiar leather clutch.  Gently taking her by the arm, he guides her to a nearby chair to sit and wait for him to collect her belongings.  Giving a final warning look to the remaining crowd for good measure, he leaves her side to approach the bar.

  The man behind it is average height, with mid length dark hair as well kept as his perfectly trimmed goatee.  He abandons the glass he’s polishing, tossing the white cloth he’d been using over his shoulder and offering Anthony a calloused hand.  “I take it you must be-”

  “‘That selfish wanker’?  Present and accounted for, though I also answer to ‘Anthony’.”  He replies, accepting the handshake.  

  The other man’s grip is firm but friendly, and he throws his head back in merriment at Lockwood’s unexpected introduction.  “James, pleasure to finally meet you.  I’ve heard a lot about you from your little Songbird over there.”

  Lockwood winces.  “Not all bad, hopefully.”

  “No, not all bad.”  James soothes before leaning in conspiratorially, “Just don’t tell her I said that.”

  He shoots him a wink as he settles back, and now it’s Anthony’s turn to laugh.  It’s decided then and there; they like each other.

  He reaches behind the lip of the bar, grabbing the clutch he’d tucked out of sight until he could determine Lockwood’s identity.  “This is all she brought with her.  You’ve got a safe way home?”

  Anthony takes it from him with a grateful smile.  “Yeah, paid the driver to stick around.  I consider myself pretty good at multitasking, just not ‘keeping her upright and not getting ghost-touched’ good.”  James lets loose a hearty laugh in response.

  The screech of wood against the floor draws their attention back to the woman formerly in the chair, now standing unsteadily a few feet away.

  “And that’s my cue.  Pleasure to meet you, James.  And, uh-”  He glances back at her involuntarily.  “Thank you.  For keeping an eye on her, calling us, the lot of it.”

  The bartender smirks, quirking an eyebrow and giving him a knowing look.  “It's what any decent person would do.  Don’t be a stranger now, either of you.”

  Lockwood departs the bar, clutch in hand, with a salute and a promise to be back another time.   She seems confused at first when he tries to get her attention, switching to stare at him reproachfully when she recognises him again.  He sighs, trying to tuck away his own feelings of exhaustion and defeat.  

  “Let's get you home, love.”  He murmurs, offering his arm again.  She takes it without hesitation this time, leaning heavily against him as they make their way to the exit.  Pausing on the doormat, he carefully extracts his limb from her grip, soothing her little noise of protest by assuring she’d be using him as a crutch again momentarily.  The metal of the zipper is cold against his bare arms as he shrugs his hoodie off, blatantly ignoring her attempts to argue with him and draping the grey fabric over her shoulders.

  The cold breeze cuts into him once they’re outside, but he carefully schools his expression to avoid showing her it's affecting him at all.  Despite having paid the man extra, he’s still pleasantly surprised to see the black cab still waiting at the curb.   It’s easier than he’d expected to load her into the comfortable back seat.  She doesn’t even try to swat his hand away when he places it on top of her head to prevent her bouncing it off the roof in her attempt to get in.   Once she’s scooted to the far side, he climbs in after her.  She seems lost in thought, staring absently at the headrest in front of her.  He leans closer slowly, giving her ample time to move away if she doesn’t want him in her space.  When she remains stationary, he reaches across her body to grab her seatbelt, gently buckling her in and tightening the belt over her hips.  

  She finally looks at him, expression blank as she studies his features.  It’s clear her mind is elsewhere, and she returns to staring at the black leather so quickly he wonders if he’d imagined the whole thing.   He gives their driver the all clear, directing him to drop them off where he’d first picked him up before slumping back into his seat for the uncomfortably quiet ride home.

  They’re half-way there when he can stand to ignore the elephant in the room no longer.  The words slip out before he can think of a more tactful way to ask;  “What’s going on with you?”

  She turns to look at him so slowly it’s almost unnerving. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  She answers bitterly, her voice laced with the same steel as her eyes.

  “That’s bloody horseshit!”  He scoffs, far too tired to hold back.  “If there was nothing wrong, I wouldn’t have gotten a call tonight.”

  Her mouth opens and closes soundlessly for several seconds, seemingly overwhelmed by the number colourful insults she’d like to hurl at him.  

  “Like you care.”  She finally mutters, shaking her head and turning away from him to stare pointedly out her window.

  “...What?”  He manages to put his frustration on hold for a moment, making room for his growing concern.  “Of course I care, what makes you think I wouldn’t?”

  She laughs darkly, shaking her head.  “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”  He cries in exasperation.

  She whips around to face him.  “You knew I was struggling!  You knew, and you ignored it because it was easier than dealing with me!”  Her eyes are wild, chest heaving as she draws in air like she has to fight for every breath.

  All hostility drains out of him in an instant, leaving him uncomfortably hollow in its absence.  He’s intimately aware of her eyes searching his face, trying to gain some kind of insight into his mind.     He feels like he’s just stumbled into a minefield, and in a way he has.  If his next words aren’t carefully chosen, he could detonate one and destroy his friendship with someone he can’t live without.

  Organising his thoughts and taking a deep breath, he plunges ahead.

  “I’m sorry.  I thought by giving you space I was giving you what you needed, but I should have just talked to you.  And you’re right, I was being selfish, just… not in the way you’re thinking.”  She looks like she’s about to interrupt, but he ploughs on.  “I was afraid if I pushed too hard you’d shut me out.  I thought it would be safer to stay silent and let you come to me when you were ready, but it was my responsibility to communicate that to you, and I failed.”

  They sit in stillness for far longer than he’s comfortable with, his words hanging in the air between them.

  When she finally puts him out of his misery, he has to strain to hear her over the rumble of the car.  “It wasn’t two Spectres.”

  It feels like someone’s poured ice down his back.  “...What?”

  “The last job?  We thought it was just two Spectres, but it wasn’t.  It-”  Her voice shakes, then dies.  She has to stop and breathe, looking like she’s about to be crushed by the weight of the words on her tongue.  “One of them was a Fetch.”

  Staring down at his hands, he searches for the right words to say.  Is he supposed to say anything at all?  If he interrupts now, will she shut him out?  If he doesn’t, will she think he doesn’t care?     A point of personal pride for him is being able to read people, to shape himself into whatever role they need him to fill, but… he has no idea who she needs him to be right now.  

  She hesitantly continues.  “It was you.”  

  He looks up at her only to find her eyes already on him.  “It wasn’t.”

  She laughs sadly, but doesn’t look away.  When she tips her head to concede the point, the light catches at the corner of her eye.  “Right.  It did use your face, though.”

  “Whatever it said, it isn’t true.”  He can’t resist the urge to reach across the seat between them, wiping the tear from her cheek and hoping she can feel the truth in his words when he says;  “A Fetch will find your worst fear and exploit it.  And I swear to you, I will never allow anything to make you feel afraid like this again.”

  Silence stretches on between them, becoming heavier with every second passing them by.  His thumb continues stroking her face slowly, absentmindedly.  If he didn’t know any better, he’d think her eyes had drifted to his lips. 

  “Kiss me.”

  His hand falls from her face.   For a second, he thinks it’s him that’s said it.  When he realises it wasn’t, the potential implications of her words make his heart stutter.  There’s a chance this is just a drunken impulse, a need for comfort in a moment of vulnerability.   If it is, what the hell is he supposed to do about it?  If he gives in to her, will he be able to carry on working beside her once he’s had a taste of the life with her he doesn’t even allow himself to dream about?   On the flip side, there’s a chance that this is an actual confession.  The Fetch had chosen his face to torment her, and as horrifying as that had been to hear, it only would have done so if she felt something for him.  Maybe she feels the same as he does.  Maybe the reason he can never figure out what mask to put on for her, is that she’s only ever needed him to be himself.     Hope fills every inch of him as he stares at her, enraptured.

  Then, he realises he’s been quiet for long enough for panic to fill her eyes.

  “Ask me in the morning.”  He breathes, feeling as perplexed as she looks when the words come out of his mouth.  She’s confused that he hasn’t directly shot her down.  He’s confused that he’s capable of this kind of restraint while sleep deprived.

  “What?”  She frowns, blinking as her eyes lose focus for a split second in her bewilderment. 

  Feeling more confident in his decision, he smiles softly at her. “Ask me when you’re sober, and when we’re not in this nice man’s cab.” 

  The driver laughs, trying and failing to cover it with a guilty cough.

  Once they reach 35 Portland Row,  Anthony covers the fare and slips the man a generous tip for enduring their antics before exiting the cab.  The emotional intensity of the ride home had been enough to partially sober up his companion, but he still isn’t sold on her ability to climb stairs without assistance.     He keeps his arm wrapped tightly around her waist until they reach the door of her room - formerly Lucy’s - on the top level of the house before reluctantly removing it.  She wobbles for a moment, but it seems to be more from her leaning to chase his touch than any serious instability.  They stand there for a while, neither willing to walk away from the other, until a large yawn overtakes her.

  He chuckles, suddenly remembering James’ nickname for her.  “Goodnight, Songbird.”

  “That’s a stupid nickname.”  She complains, scrunching up her face in distaste.  When all he does is laugh some more, she sighs and carries on.  “Goodnight, Anthony.  Sweet dreams.”

  He disagrees completely, of course.  From her lips, his name is the sweetest song he’s ever heard.   Turning away from him, she places her hand on the doorknob but doesn’t make any move to twist it.  He’s about to ask her if something is wrong when she turns back to him swiftly, closing the distance between them and standing on her toes to brace her hands on his shoulders as she presses the ghost of a kiss against his cheek.  By the time he’s raised trembling fingers to the tingling skin, she’s already in her room with the door closed behind her.

  He spends his early morning dreaming of the flutter of wings, and birds gently pecking him on the cheek.

  When he’s woken by persistent knocking on his door once more, Anthony Lockwood finds himself wondering what precisely he had done to piss off Hypnos in a past life.

  Still on high alert from his unusual evening, he’s out of bed and across the room without a second thought.  When he pulls the door open he’s entirely expecting another emergency, not to find the girl of his dreams standing there staring steadfast at her feet.

  “I am so sorry about last night, I should have told you what was going on instead of going on a bloody bender.  That was incredibly immature and irresponsible of me and I completely understand if you want to fire me.”  She starts slow, but by the end of her apology the words are flying out of her mouth.  Despite her best efforts, the misery in her voice as she says the last bit is tangible.

  Why would he want that?  Still not entirely awake, the first thing out of his mouth is the first thought in his mind.  “Please don’t leave.”

  “...What?”  Not even remotely prepared for that response, she finally looks up at him.  As their eyes meet, reality sets in and time seems to slow.

  When he takes a proper look at her, he completely forgets the entirety of the English language.  Her hair is mussed from sleep, remnants of last night's makeup smudged under her eyes.  She’d apparently had the mental faculties to change into her pyjamas the night previous, and while he’d seen her in those shorts often enough to control the urge to stare, something about her wearing his hoodie zipped over them was making him feel like a moron.  He’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his life.   On the other side of the doorway, she’s having a very similar crisis.  His sleep tousled hair only doubled her ever present urge to rake her fingers through it.  And not only had he been in such a hurry to answer the door he hadn’t bothered to slip on a shirt, his joggers were also sitting dangerously low on his hips.     Their eyes snap back to each other's faces in tandem, both flushing almost comical shades of red.

  “Did you mean what you said last night?”  He asks hurriedly, heart pounding in his throat.

  “I said a lot of things.”  She wraps her arms around herself, laughing nervously.  “Which part?”  

  He keeps his eyes fixed on hers, searching them for some clue to tell him what comes next.

  Mustering more courage than she thought she was capable of, she answers honestly.  “Yeah, I did.  Every word.”

  Mimicking his actions from the night before he extends both of his hands towards her, palms up.   She tilts her head quizzically, but places her hands in his.  He uses them to pull her close enough their bodies are almost touching, guiding her arms to rest on his shoulders, releasing them to place one hand on her waist and the other on the side of her neck.  She inhales sharply when he leans in, his thumb lightly stroking her jaw while her gaze flickers between his eyes and lips.   He’s studying her face like he never wants to forget a single detail, but he doesn’t get any closer.  She’s lightheaded and pretty sure she’s going to die if he doesn’t kiss her soon, which is probably why it’s not until she sees the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile that she realises what he’s waiting for.  

  “Kiss me.”  She breathes.

  He doesn’t need to be told a third time.   He leans down and kisses her like he’ll never get the chance to do so again, like the world is falling to pieces around them and the only thing that can save them is the feeling of her lips against his.     The hand on the side of her throat slides back to bury itself in her hair, cradling the back of her head to take the strain off her neck from their notable difference in height.  Her hands wander the expanse of bare skin across his back, mapping every muscle and scar like it’s the braille translation of his life story.  He shivers under her touch, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her body tight to his in a desperate attempt to fill the yawning pit within him that had grown larger with every day he believed he’d never get to hold her like this.  

  As she runs her hands down his sides to his hips he gasps involuntarily, deepening their kiss with enthusiasm.  Driven by curiosity, she lets her nails graze his skin as she retraces her previous path.  The noise he makes in response is downright sinful, but so is the feeling of his rapier-calloused skin against her back as he slips his hand under the hem of his hoodie.  Her breath catches as his fingers trace featherlight patterns up and down her spine, feeling him grinning between kisses when he notices she’s not wearing anything beneath the grey material.  When he nips at her lower lip, she drags her nails down his back, and the last of his restraint abandons him.  

  Both of his hands drop, fingers dimpling the flesh of her upper thighs.  As in sync as they are in the field he’d never dared to imagine the same would apply to the bedroom, so he’s a little blown away when she understands his intentions immediately, jumping as he lifts her up to wrap her legs around his hips without breaking from each other.  Now he’s the one craning his neck to capture her lips, the floor creaking beneath his feet as he crosses the short distance to the wall, pressing her back against it and groaning at the restrained whimper that slips free from her.

  “Please don’t hold back.  I want to hear you sing for me, my little Songbird.”  He urges, adjusting his grip to slide his hands up her sides under his hoodie, palming one of her breasts and swiping a thumb experimentally across her skin to carefully catch one of her nipples between his thumb and the side of his forefinger.  She finally breaks, back arching away from the wall, head falling back against it as she moans unabashedly.  All of his strength threatens to leave him when she rolls her hips against his, dropping his free hand to grab at the plush of her ass and pull her impossibly closer as he whispers praise between frenzied kisses pressed to her throat.  She buries her hands in his hair, gasping for air as his ministrations travel to her collarbones then slowly down the centre of her chest, placing an open-mouthed kiss to swell of her breast-

  The front door slams open, startling them apart.  There’s the sound of shuffling beneath them as someone kicks off their shoes.

  “OI, MATE!”  George’s voice calls from the base of the stairs, “Did you fix it?”

  They look at each other, dazed and drunk off each other.  A confused frown decorates her features, mouth falling open to ask him what the hell their other roommate is talking about.  He shakes his head in exasperation, shooting her a look that reads ‘I’ll fill you in later’ and dropping his head to rest on her chest.  They take as many seconds as they dare like that, her fingers combing through his hair soothingly as he wraps his arms around her back, basking in the warmth of her body against his.  Reluctantly, he lifts his head and steps away from the wall, gently setting her back on her feet and pressing a kiss to her temple.  She seems hesitant to move away from him at all, back to staring at her feet instead of looking at him.  He’s known her for long enough to know she’s overthinking.

  “Hey, look at me.”  He slips his fingers beneath her chin, gently lifting her face to meet his concerned gaze.  “What’s on your mind, darling?”  

  “I don’t-”  She starts strong but stops suddenly, shifting anxiously.  “I really don’t want this to be a one time thing, or - or just a way to blow off steam-”

  He lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, cradling her face and pressing a brief but searing kiss against her lips.  She softens, melting into his touch.

  “Good,” He murmurs as he pulls away, tucking her hair behind her ear and giving her a peck on the cheek like the one she’d given him the night before, “because I don’t think I can survive another day of not being able to kiss you.”

  George chooses that moment to begin his ascent of the stairs.  They break away from each other, struggling to make themselves presentable before he makes it to the landing.  Anthony rushes to grab a shirt from the foot of the bed, throwing it over his head haphazardly  She squeaks when she finds the zipper of his hoodie down to her navel, shooting him a teasingly chastising look when he snickers and crosses past her to greet their researcher in the hall, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it.  She yanks the zip as high as it will go, trying to smooth her own hair as she approaches the bookshelf and grabs something at random.  She throws herself into the armchair in the corner of his room just in time, flipping the book open to roughly the halfway point and staring intently at the page as George reaches the top step.

  “Good morning!”  Anthony greets him far too cheerfully, leaning against the doorframe in an attempt to obscure the other man’s view of his room.  

  “...Morning.”  George replies, not even trying to disguise his attempts to peer around his boss.  “How’d it go last night?”  

  “Um - fine!  Yeah, just fine.  Perfectly fine.  Everything is… fine.”  She closes her eyes, letting out a slow quiet sigh at his obvious nerves.  

  Adjusting the book to make sure it’s in his line of sight, she grits her teeth and bites the bullet.  “Morning, Georgie!”  

  Lockwood looks over his shoulder at her in alarm, but at her reassuring nod he steps hesitantly out of the way so she’s in clear view.

  George inspects her with narrowed eyes.  “You are significantly less hungover than I’d expected.”

  She winces, not able to fault him in the slightest for the disappointment in his voice.  “Yeah, pretty sure it just hasn’t hit me yet.  Sorry about that.  It won’t happen again, Scouts Honour.”

  “Why are you in Lockwood’s room?”  His brow furrows almost imperceptibly.

  She doesn’t miss a beat.  “I was so drunk last night he was worried I was going to fall asleep on my back and choke on my own vomit, so he made me sleep in this ridiculously uncomfortable chair.”

  Both men fix their eyes on her.  Anthony looks horrified, while George looks strangely impressed.  The bespectacled man studies her for another moment and she holds her breath, hoping he’d bought it.  Shrugging a ‘fair enough’, he bids them a temporary farewell and walks into his own room, closing the door behind him.  

  She huffs a sigh of relief, closing her eyes and slumping back in the chair as the tension drains from her body.  When she cracks an eye a few long moments later, Anthony is still standing in the doorway with the same look of horror plastered across his face.

  “What’s wrong?”  She asks, worry laced in every syllable.  

  “I didn’t even think of that!  I could have let you die!”  He seethes, throwing his hands up in annoyance at himself.  

  She has to fight the urge to laugh at him, focusing instead on gathering her strength to stand and walk over to take his hands in her own.  

  “I appreciate the concern, my love, but I wasn’t that drunk by the time you got me home.”  She smiles fondly at him, lifting his hands to press soft kisses to each knuckle.  When she glances up at him even his ears are flushed pink, looking at her with a lovesick smile.  

  “Call me that again?”  He implores, pulling her against him.

  With a quiet laugh, she drapes her arms over his shoulders before replying.  “My love.”

  They lose themselves in each other for another several minutes, only parting grudgingly at the rumble of his stomach and the threat of another interruption.

  George waits until later that morning when Lucy, Kipps, and Holly have joined them and they’re all in the kitchen eating breakfast to comment on Anthony’s inside out shirt, and how impressed he is that the sixth member of their agency has learned to read upside down.   As Lucy slowly turns to look at them, eyes wide and jaw seemingly aiming to touch the floor, Anthony lets the red-faced young woman beside him hide her blush in his shoulder.  For some reason, he can’t even bring himself to be annoyed.  Grinning proudly, he winks at the Listener, causing her to shriek loudly and demand to know the full story.

  When his girlfriend looks up to shoot him a warning look, he mimics zipping his lips.  “Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, Luce.”

  Lucy’s demands are finally met five years later when James taps the side of his champagne flute with his knife, drawing the attention of the room full of guests to tell his favourite story about the bride and groom.

⤛⊹ 𝔣𝔦𝔫 ⊹⤜

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𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

[glassrowboat]

Dottore x Reader x Diluc poto AU

Summary: The Angel of Music's lair awaits you as painted gold arms move to welcome you in, the creak of their gears barely registering in your ears over your voice as his hand fits comfortably in yours, guiding you along. Further, further, and further into his world of unending night.

Warnings: Dottore, sexual content, smut, oral, cunnilignus, masturbating, altering of POTO canon, not proof read but Risse is tired

Word Count: 5k

The lights had been blinding as always when you had stood high on the stage, filling the air with a burning heat that licked at your skin. Sweat had dripped down your back, but there was no searing ache in your muscles from performing as your legs held you up for the painted gold faces of statues to see you in all your glory without even a speck of powder on pointed toes. For there were no silk ribbons fastened around your ankles to be seen by an effigies eyes. Your feet weren't even peeling a new layer of skin. There was only a dull hum in your throat and an ever beating heart from frayed nerves at having all those eyes on you.

On you alone.

For the stage had claimed you not as a ballet dancer who twirled with each long string of a bow, but as the star all lights were pointed to.

Just like the ones covered in glitter and gems you had pulled out of your hair a moment ago and laid to rest on the vanity you were sitting before. Your own reflection staring back at you as your fingers dance over the red petals of a rose. A gift from your Angel of Music.

You could almost hear the vibrato in his voice as well wishes fell from the lips that have taught you so well. Surely, he would be dawning a smirk, prideful as he is.

You plucked a petal, withered at the end with a dull brown that curls in on itself, and let it fall onto the floor of this overbearingly pink room; from the wallpaper to the endless bouquets surrounding you in a fog of perfume. All unaccompanied by a glass bottle to spray a charming mist into the air with a squeeze of an atomizer bulb, yet it smothered you nonetheless.

But in your hands, still perfectly polished from when your makeup had been done before the show, was black. A ribbon unlike the twisted and worn ones of your pointe shoes twisting around your finger, hypnotizing you with its delicate touch.

You didn't even notice the knob of the painted door keeping you apart from the bustling crew you would normally be shrugging through in an attempt to go change out of your costume twisting.

Not until a voice called out, one without the austere lit to it you had heard between dark stones aglow by the flicker of candles as you prayed for your father. That bright red of a rose, its scent still plaguing you, was replaced with locks of embering hair and memories of salt in the air as a violin played; waves lapping at the shore a background to the sweet melody.

“A little girl let her mind wander. The little girl thought, ‘Am I fonder of dolls, or of goblins, or of shoes.”

A poem you had learned in your tender years now sparking at the core of your memory again.

“Diluc?”

Your eyes fell on him, taking in the black coat hugging a frame that had now grown out of the lanky one you had known well from days of cuddling up together in a dusty attic on an old blanket, and white tie so pure it could be mistaken for the snow that is sure to come with the change of seasons already starting to creep in through the walls of the opera house with a chilling touch.

Almost like hands made of ice were ready to wrap around your throat.

But Diluc's were warm as he kneeled before you, hand reaching out to rest on your shoulder only to pull it back like he shouldn't have dared to be so familiar with you despite the moments you both shared. “Or of riddles or of frocks..or of chocolates.”

The flutter of your heart still stirred from the stage, twisting and turning as you looked up at him.

He was different from the boy you once knew, but he still held traces of himself from the memories you replayed in your head on an endless loop in between chatter with the other chorus girls and, dare you admit, even in the face of a blue glow that could never melt into shadows the same way the rest of your phantom did.

“Should I refer to you as Vicomte now?” You asked, remembering how the new managers had introduced him during rehearsal.

“Please, don't call me that.” The flickering light of the candle moved along Diluc's shoulders as they slumped. “It makes me uncomfortable. And there's no need.”

Not between us, is what he didn't say.

“Diluc it is, then.”

“And you, should I call you the star of tonight's show?” Diluc asked, head tilting slightly when your eyes met with his. “You did amazing up there.”

“Oh I see, so I'm not worthy of the title a prima donna yet? But no.” you shook your head, a smile quirking your lips up at his genuine praise. He had always been so quick to listen to your quiet lullabies in awe once upon a time, and that same unabashed reverence has turned back to you again.

He really did remember you despite not recognizing you- not seeing you- when he was first introduced to the troupe as a new benefactor of the theater.

“There's no need for that.” You assured him.

“Then if there's no need for titles between us, how about we share a meal. One in celebration of your wonderful performance and to meeting again?”

Your fingers tightened around the stem in your hands the moment he asked, wrangling it into something new, something misshapen. All between knuckles that were slowly turning white with each passing second. “No.”

“I'm sorry is”- Diluc’s hand drew back further, continuously pulling away the warmth he had to offer- “something wrong?”

And the stirring in your heart seemed to quell the further Diluc got.

“It's not- well..you remember what my father said, right, Diluc? That when he was in heaven he would send the Angel of Music to me.” With a sucked in breath you got out the words: “well father is dead, and I have been visited.”

“Oh, there's no doubt of it.”

The sentence echoed one that had once been whispered between you on a windy day, almost bringing you further back in time than just his mere presence brought you. To memories of dark stories and a scarf trying to fly off with the breeze and swim along the waters being returned to you as he wrapped it around your neck as you promised one day you would stand on the stage waiting for your voice to be heard by everyone and by him.

How far you've come.

The both of you.

But…

“And the Angel of Music is very strict.” You reminded yourself. The you that had become intimate with the shivers racking your spine simply at the thought of displeasing him currently running over you.

Breath falling short.

“I don't intend to keep you for long.”

“I know, it's just-”

And then he asked you to please play along, to indulge him on this even as the hole drilling itself in your stomach grew and grew. To the point eating anything in the first place sounded sickening, but you smiled at that same baby face Diluc couldn't seem to grow out of even after all these years and dared to agree.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up as he walked to the door, pushed it out of the way with one last call of “You must change. Something you can actually walk around in, preferably. In the meantime, I'll order my carriage.” And a promise you won't regret joining him as that pink door closed.

Painted lilies staring back at you as gooseflesh awoke on your skin.

A lock silently clicked in place without you even noticing.

Then, a voice seemed to blare over the room, blowing out the candles around you one by one. From the vanity your red rose laid upon to the one next to the dressing screen you had only just been behind to change (trying to discard the heavy costume you had worn on stage), hands occupied with fixing the tie to your robe. Darkness took over, leaving you in the music of the night.

“He's insolent, my muse. Just a boy who hasn't even fostered the voice you now yield, but there he was sharing in my triumph.”

The sneer you could hear in his voice was recognizable and well known after all the times other ‘young suitors’ as he liked to call them dared to cross an invisible line he drew. One you still couldn't tell if it was etched in the grains of sand or hammered into concrete, but either way, daring to pass, it was as risky as a gambler asking for Aphrodite’s kiss.

“He didn't mean any harm.”

“I would say trying to step in the way of your spotlight for a chance to greet you is pernicious at best.”

Like the panes of a window leaving shadows along the floor where the sun casts its rays.

“Look, I'm sorry. I wanted to tell him no.”

“But your soul was weak, I take it?” He asked with the same snark you've grown accustomed to from him. At this point it was almost a comfort after hearing him make remarks about the inability of the crew, Carlotta, and the new managers who had just taken over all while a stained glass image of a god you bowed your head to watched over you.

A holy gaze keeping you safe as prayers for your father whispered on your lips and a flame sparked as you lit a candle in his name, but in here it was only you and a fog slowly creeping in.

Dottore always was one for dramatics.

“Forgive me, teacher.” You said at last.

A hum filled your ears, just as the fog rose higher and higher, blocking out the endless bouquets that had been filling the room more than the gaudy furniture could even dare to try.

He spoke of Diluc basking in your glory, but here he was doing the same with your trepidation.

All you could do was wait for the other shoe to fall, or-

“Only this once, my muse.”

Or to have a hand held out to take yours. Black gloves and golden claws shattering the illusion you were semi alone in this room as the mirror fell away for Dottore to pull you inside. Arm wrapping around your waist to keep you close as a melody filled your ears; blocking out the sound of Diluc rattling the doorknob to check on you as panic swells in his chest.

“I am your Angel of Music.” Dottore said as he cast a sidelong glance towards the door, his hold on you tightening. “Come to your Angel of Music.”

With a crescendo, everything else fell away.

All with that same fog following you, drowning everything else out. Leaving the world above the murky depths you were pulled into distorted by refraction. Blocking out the last words you could have sworn went something along the lines of: “Who is in there with you?”

You couldn't even register the concern lacing each word, not when all your nerves were set alight. Yet the raucous beating of your heart, a drum that has long since been used and abused, finally soothed as Dottore pulled you along.

“Come now, and sing once again with me our strange duet.”

A haze passed by all at once with golden arms clicking as gears in need of a good oiling moved, fingers intertwining with your own, and the splash of water as a rowboat that looked as fickle as glass dipped under your weight when you climbed in.

All with the assurance “I have you” as you were flooded by the Phantom’s song.

His voice echoed off the walls dripping with a moisture you would rather not think about, slipping between the cracks and over dewy cobwebs with a raw texture. The talent of a man who taught himself all he knew in the silence between the shows put on in the light as his shadow cast across the stones down below.

Dottore had once likened it to a hollow building, one falling apart at the seams all thanks to its unsteady foundation, but you? You, the very thing that inspired his song, had come in and filled that shell of a home with comfort. Blankets over the windows to keep the cold air out, rugs padding over the hard floor, and a place to rest; one without the worry of rats creeping their way into our home.

Dottore never explained why he called it “our home.”

Not even as his masked face turned towards you and you were left questioning if that black and white porcelain could hold an expression of fondness.

“Surely you know how to get out of a boat yourself.” Dottore teased, even as he helped pull you out with one last unsteady lurch and splash of water under your feet. Droplets tickling your ankles.

“Apparently not.”

“Don't tell me I have another thing I need to teach you.” Dottore raised a brow, or maybe both, you really couldn't tell.

“Would it matter if you did?” You teased.

“I suppose not. We can stay down here, together.” Dottore whispered with his hand ghosting along your cheek. Cold to the touch. “And abandon the garish light of day all while I teach you something new. All in this kingdom of music..”

A kingdom with only one subject, the king: Dottore himself.

“I'm not just going to purge my thoughts of the life I knew before,” danced on your tongue, wanting to escape from the confines you only tightened the hold of. Chaining it to a wall to be forgotten and discarded.

For his eyes could both threaten and adore; you already knew which would be easier to handle. And you were too exhausted to try weasel your way out of this mess you had stumbled in again, anyway.

“Softly, deftly music shall caress you. Hear it, feel it secretly possess you.” As he sang in your ear, lips and the touch of his mask grazing your skin, Dottore's hand fell from your cheek. Roamed as it pleased. Traced over your collarbones only to go lower, lower, and lower. The golden claws he's wearing toy with your robe, reflecting back your own thinly pressed lips in their radiance. “Open up your mind, my muse. Let me in. Let yourself belong to me.”

“…I”

You took too long to respond.

That was apparent in the way his hand drew back. A stove hot to the touch to tender flesh. Leaving him wounded.

“You need rest. It's been a long night for you.”

“Right…I'm not even that tired though.” Not when your eyes had a place to scour over. To soak in all the rugs placed over the mildew-claimed floors, the lights buzzing with electricity that somehow worked all the way down here, and a well loved piano sitting atop it all.

“You will be. Just give it time.”

All while that same fog that has been chasing you both filled your vision.

You didn't even get the chance to ask Dottore what he meant by that as you fell into his arms. Eyes rolling back as you were greeted by the darkest dreams a mind could imagine.

“Took longer than I thought it would. I'll need to change the percentages in the concoction then. My fault for not testing the drug when it's airborne.”

Muttering to himself Dottore carried you to his bed and placed you down. Tongue clicking as he looked at you slowly being swallowed up but the mattress he had spent countless restless nights tossing and turning in. “Can't you see? Only you alone can make my music take flight…but that boy…”

Hands that were still burnt from your earlier refusal pulled a blanket up and over your shoulders; shaking unsteadily. They might as well have actually been burnt under a flame, set alight, for they twitched like embers were ingrained into his skin as Dottore lingered near you.

Silently watching.

“Once he's gone you can help me make the music of the night. But for now, simply rest well.”

Pressing a kiss to your forehead, Dottore left in favor of his piano, desperate for something to take the swirling storm in his head out on.

It was better that way.

It gave Dottore something to focus on that wasn't his cock straining against his pants as he set the sheets of an unfinished piece before him. Notes daring to be written on the yellowed paper, crinkled and worn after all times he's dug it out only to store it away again without adding a single drop of ink. His pen always did hang in the air, threatening to add something as Dottore busied himself with tapping at the keys; feather covered back turned to you as he tried to work.

Crude, Dottore thought as he huffed at just how wrong it all sounded to his self-taught ear.

It was the tapping that eventually stirred you, forcing your eyes to crack open only to be greeted by the sight of a metal bird staring down at you rather than the mask you had come to expect. Its head tilted to the side. Blue eyes glowing in the dark.

You didn't even get the chance to mutter a confused hello before it flew off with a squawk. Soaring. Long, almost vial-like tail flowing after it.

“What the…”

Grumbling, you pushed the blankets covering you away. Feet padding on the floor as you followed after its flapping wings.

Without your Angel by your side this place seemed different. Hollow, almost. Lonely, like a burnt out candle waiting to bring fire to this world again as it fails to shine. To the point you were glad to follow the song that never seemed to stop playing in your head all the way to a hunched figure.

Without turning back to look at you Dottore said: “I see you're awake. How are you doing, my muse?”

“Like I entered a fever dream.” Which would explain this labyrinth where the daylight dissolves into darkness. All except a faint glow leaving his skin an unearthly hue. “You see the bird too, right?”

Another tap of the keys laid out in front of him rang before Dottore spoke again.

“I do.”

“At least I'm not going crazy then.”

The feathers of his jacket greeted you first, brushing along your arms as they wrapped around him. Would the bird feel the same or would it lack Dottore's warmth you clung to? Would it feel as stiff as he froze under you like deer under the glow of a blinding light.

Funny, for a man who would take a life with as little emotion as a carriage running over a fawn's carcass.

“If you were going crazy I would be sure to tell you.” Dottore strangled out. Voice so tight you couldn't help but check you weren't accidentally pulling on that strap he wore around his throat (for some reason or another), but you weren't even so much as touching it.

“How thoughtful.”

“It's less being thoughtful and more the thought you of going”- his hand pulled away from the keys to gesture at something you couldn't see- “crazed might affect how you choose to sing. Though, it might add an interesting candor as you bear your heart and voice to the opera house.”

“And to its crowd.” You teased, eyes peeking up at him, at the mask he wore, from the feathered mantle you were snuggled up against.

You were so tempted to reach out and graze your fingers over the material, to feel the cold sting grace your skin before pulling it away to reveal what lay underneath. May it be a man or a monster your curiosity begged to know. Pleading into your ear. Only for you to remember the last time you tried as he sucked in an unsteady breath. How he pushed you away, raised a hand that never fell to your cheek as you crawled farther and farther away from him until your back hit a wall behind you.

He shook then just as Dottore is now.

“Yes, them too.”

So your hand didn't dare to try again. Instead it fell to the keyboard to tap over a note or two, fiddling with it to keep your mind off the need to pull away from him- to flee- that gnawed at you. After all, if this truly was a kingdom then what subject could truly run away without repercussions?

The monarch himself picked up the pen beside him, pinched it between those pointed claws, and the notes you had just played were written down on the piece of paper laid out before him.

“Are you writing a new piece?” You asked.

“I'm attempting to. Unfortunately, I am rather distracted.”

Ignoring the way his jaw jutted your way accusingly you continued to tap at the keys. And he continued to write each note down until he told you to sit beside him

“I don't think there's enough room on that bench you're using, Angel.”

His hands were on your waist in a second, the pen clattering as it dropped while Dottore pulled you on his lap. “I said: sit down.”

You barely noticed him picking the pen back up from the ground with his fingers playing with the laces of your corset; brushing over them all the way down to the messy bow you had tied together. At the time your hands had been shaking as the excitement to be on stage had rushed through you, but now your own jittery effort was undone by one single pull of the wirey cord.

Dottore’s touch burned, even through his gloves.

“So..a new piece?” You asked.

“Yes, but I was..admittedly struggling with composing it; on my own, that is. It would be a great help to me if you played another note.” The laces were tugged at again. “Or two. Or three.”

Even as the garment fell off you, only held up by your own hands, it felt harder to breathe than before. “I wouldn't mind, really, but was this necessary?”

Dottore's eyes flicked down between you, scalding you with the red fire inside of them that seemed to only be held back by a single barrier of glass, begging to shatter under the stress. “I was undoing it to keep the corset from pressing on your diaphragm. I don't need your voice distorted.”

It was only a moment later Dottore tacked on “That's all” even as he leaned in closer to you, hand trailing up your back just as softly as the air from his lips was gracing yours. Only an inch apart. Getting closer, closer, and closer to the point you could see deformities in the mask.

Then his head fell to your neck.

“You'll help me f-” Dottore cut himself off, shutting his own trail of thought down. “For my music, won't you, my muse?”

Your hand met the piano, trying to play another note even as his hand dropped from your back and you fell against the keys. The chord cluster had your fingers curling around the white tiles; the damned bird squawked with a jump, only causing your grip to tighten at the shrill sound.

“I'm the one who interrupted your focus, so..” You cleared your throat. “Yes, teacher.”

Dottore replied back with an excellent, already clearly hard at work again as his pen moved, writing the notes you accidentally slammed down on. Black ink trailing off with every flick of his wrist as Dottore's hand slid up to where yours was keeping the corset up and pressed his thumb right over your diaphragm; fingers tickling your ribcage.

“Try to sing a note.”

Without a second to doubt his reasons you obeyed, and Dottore nodded in thought.

“Excellent, just like that. Now, remind me, I don't think we've practiced singing while enduring rough activity, have we?” He asked, head tilting ever so slightly to the side as his eyes flicked over your form on top of him.

“No.” You got out even through the discomfort pressing at your chest.

“Then it's time to change that. Don't you agree?”

“It would be a waste to turn down an opportunity to learn, right? That's what you always say.” At this point you could probably parrot the exact cadence Dottore uses as he repeats those exact words, voice controlled, a lit to it you knew belonged to a man who enjoyed having eyes on him as he made a spectacle of how smart he was, all while teaching you. Usually, Dottore would posture, flick his cape when it gets in his way - not pull you from his lap and place you down on the piano behind you.

Another slam of the keys.

You shifted, trying to get comfortable in your new found place as you tried to figure out why you thought something had been poking at your thigh the entire time Dottore had been holding you close. Had you sit with him on the stool clattering to the floor in Dottore's rush to push it away and kneel before you.

You had half a mind to comment how gross that had to be with these floors, but you were cut off by Dottore himself. “Have I ever told you nighttime has a way of heightening and sharpening each sensation?”

“Here and there.” You nodded. “But what does this have to do with your composition?”

The music sheet (one missing a title) was now cast aside, pen keeping it in place from any stray breeze hoping to pick it up and force it to fall along with the stool. Abandoned by its own creator without mercy for his hands had left it to play with the hem of your skirts; pushing them up and along your legs.

“Oh that's quite simple, but it seems my muse can't figure it out on her own.” Dottore clicked his tongue with a harsh tch. “Sometimes I swear you need everything spelled out for you.”

Ripples ran along your thigh as the cool metal of Dottore's claws graced your skin, from your hip to your ankle as he dragged your undergarments down. “I'll simply draw the notes out of you. You can just lay back and feel it all, savor each sensation.”

“Angel-”

“Oh, and-” Dottore's eyes raised from the sight of your skirts now bunched around your waist, pushed out of the way for his convenience. All to place a single kiss on your thigh that you nearly jerked away from. Only held in place due to the grip he had on you; mercilessly keeping you still even as a heat crept over your cheeks. “And make sure to use your voice.”

Your leg was hooked over his shoulder, the feathers from before taunting you as they brushed against your skin. Were you supposed to grab them or his hair? Were you supposed to yank him back and ask what this was about or let him keep leaning in closer?

The puff of air breathed out on your core answered before you could decide for yourself. And you were suddenly grateful you were sitting on the piano instead of trying to keep yourself up, afloat, as sharp teeth nibbled at your skin leaving your knees feeling weak even after all the years of ballet lessons that strengthened them. Hours of holding poses, perfecting them until you were given a nod of approval from Madame Giry, all suddenly for naught.

“I-I don't think this is very appropriate.”

“You said you'd help me.”

“Well, granted, I did, but-”

His tongue slid along your folds, tasting the very essence you exude. A long strip, a long drag of his tongue on you, and you were a goner.

A single moan ripped through your throat had Dottore's hand reaching down, fumbling with the buttons on his pants (far too many for his liking right now) to push them aside as he tasted you again, again, and again. Only pulling back long enough- giving you a chance to recover- to whisper against your folds “Don't think about anything besides me, my muse. Just me. Let me inside your mind.”

The keys pressed down, playing a soft melody every time your hips bucked up to chase after his touch; desperately trying to drag out more and more of the pleasure building in you. It was a raging fire flooding your soul, a need Dottore returned a hundredfold with a hand wrapping around his cock. Fucking it imagining it was you under him instead- bodies intertwining.

A minor, D minor, and E minor played on the piano, only drowned out by the sound of your cries and the wet sounds between your legs.

A strange duet that was wholefully one of your and Dottore's making.

His thumb brushed over the head of Dottore’s cock, smearing pre into his gloves as Dottore's tongue ravaged you with every bit of lust he'd tampered down over the years. Finally he was able to let it drain into you. Each moment of grazed hands, stolen glances and close calls coming to fruition as his tongue lapped at you.

Using you as a faucet to his molten need that never failed to be stoked, coals sparking with a fire burning alight, by your voice.

“That's it, give in to me. Give in to what I do to you.” Dottore barely managed to mutter between his own groans and hatred to be parted from you for a single second.

Your hand tugged at his hair, the questions you asked yourself long since tossed aside with the flame burning in your core, begging to be eased.

To be satiated.

You barely caught sight of the mechanical bird watching as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, the image of Dottore kneeling before you, head between your thighs as he stroked himself reflected back in its metal beak; warped image capturing the moment you came as the Opera Ghost himself made you sing.

You were too dazed to make out the notes you were playing anymore, only the fact they were turning in your head like a music box that never failed to draw you in as Dottore's head fell against your thigh. Slick coating his face (and parts of his mask), leaving it with a sheen he licked off as his hand moved. Hips stuttering up into the hole he made with a moan.

He called your name as he came, white sticky fluid splashing over the ground.

Blood red eyes staring up at you the entire time.

Speech seemed to turn into silence, words failing you, just out of reach of your outstretched hand desperately hoping to grasp onto anything to say in this moment. But all you could think about was how your blood was still racing.

Even when he had raised from the floor, ran a hand along your cheek, and finally kissed you you still had no clue what to say. Not even as your Angel whispered “Finally. You are so beautiful when you sing, my muse, to the point I couldn't smother your voice even when I longed to kiss you.”

Pulling you in his arms, Dottore held you close, hand running up and down your back, passing over the open laces of your corset.

“Don't you see? This is the music of the night.”

For you alone can make his song take flight.

Funny, how even wrapped up in his embrace, the heat of your release painting your thigh, you still felt cold.

And you longed for another to hold you tight.

[madwomansapologist]

my love mine all mine

Meet Kind!Druid!Tav | More Weirdos | AO3

synopsis: It doesn't matter what their first impressions of you were, they certainly did not expect you to be so important in their lifes. And as the days passes, each one of your companions need to understand a simple fact: they love you. They all love you.

warnings: a sequel to that (you don't need to read if you don't want to). song "my love mine all mine" by mitsky for gale. song "class of 2013" by mitsky for karlach. companions (gale, karlach) x druid!tav. background cast (mystra, halsin, lae'zel, shadowheart, selune, astarion, wyll). this game really is about faith and bodily autonomy. hurt/comfort. falling in love.

There is something endless about suffering. Once you felt hunger, nothing can complete that empty spot inside your soul. No amount of hope can ever make you forget about how painful it was to be helplessness. The sun is warm, but not enough to melt winter away from memory.

No brave adult can forget what felt to be a trembling child facing harshness all alone. It would be so much easier to forget how cruel the world was, but all you do is wonder to yourself: why didn't no one helped me? Why didn't no one saved me?

Even the word survivor feels wrong. It implies that something cruel happened in the wild, far away from home. A survivor has a tale to share with pride, scars to proof how strong you became. But sometimes suffering is just suffering, and the wild is your home.

It doesn't end. The suffering doesn't end, even after it does. It haunts you, laughs as you fumble, stains the good moments with sin.

But not with you.

For every time life was painful, you are caring. For everytime it burned and ached, you are gentle. There is something soft about you. No edges to get cut, no harm to be done. You care without shame, and your delicacy is welcome.

It's been long since someone cared for Gale Dekarios. Not for Gale of Waterdeep, the prodigy able to compose the Weave as he so desired, Mystra's lover and worshiper. But for Gale Dekarios, a man and nothing more than that, it's been so long.

Gale's value is his capability to bend the Weave. No one helped him for a reason other that. No one cared, or loved him for something that wasn't his talent or competence.

He was alone, except by Tara, and he got used to it. It's easy to get used to bad things when you think that you deserves them. It's no surprise that he so easily got used to being a dead man walking.

It was fine. Fine that his goddess wouldn't save him, that she would cast him away. Gale took it on himself, he knows that. Sometimes people don't get salvation. Sometimes they don't get a second chance. Sometimes things just end.

But you helped him. You held his hand and pulled him out of stone, unaware that you were actually pulling Gale towards you. You didn't asked for a payment or answers. You just held him.

And Gale held you back.

The world trembled. Poisoned mace. His defenses were already low when the goblin attacked. He knew his party won, but he can't remember how. His conscience was barely a whisper, as uneasy and skittish.

His feet were moving, he could feel it, but Gale wasn't controling them. Darkness devoured him, and the world was reduced to a cold freeze against his face.

"Karlach, you got the first watch," a distorted voice startled him. He wasn't alone. It took Gale a second to understand who was talking. "Halsin, Lae'zel broke her wrist. Shadowheart, follow me."

Gale is half asleep, half dead, but he could recognize that voice anyway. Always demanding, aware of what to do, being right. You. Sweet, caring, loving you.

"Alright, soldier!" Karlach dropped her dripping wet backpack near the fire. Something bumped on his shoulders, and a cry left Gale's lips. "And you get better, mage. I'm counting on you for that!"

Her hand. It was her hand that almost made him collapse. But Gale didn't. That was when he noticed his eyes were closed, and someone was holding him.

Your hands gripping his waist as you tried to walk, your warmth reaching him. He could see a drop of sweat making its way on your neck. Blood staining you silver armor. You smell like... you. He can't describe it in any other way.

"You'll be fine," you whispered. As if you knew his head was about to explode. "We'll take care of you. Close your eyes."

You asked. Gale obeyed.

When he woke up, a black sea stained his vision. He breathed in and out, and understood it was the night sky. Gale stared at the moon, shining down on him, and for a second he though it was staring back.

Gale tried to pray. Would Selune embrace him? If he kneeled and promised his loyalty, would she protect his soul? Gale tried to pray, but no words made to his mind.

When he opened his eyes, you were there. Kneeled beside his bed, so close he could hear you breathing, but looking away. Bright eyes, reflecting the moon, looking down at something. Furrowed brows, lips tense, your shoulder stiff as you moved.

Gale heard the water before he saw the cloth you dipped into it. You agile hands folded it carefully, and placed it on his belly. It was hot. Almost too hot, but you were quick. You pressed it against his skin, and went back to dip it. The white cloth was now stained red.

Oh. You were cleaning him. His eyes noticed the bucket filled with redish fabrics. Gale wondered if cleaning him felt like rubbing wine stains into rugs. If by trying to make it right, you only made it worse. He wouldn't care if you made him worse, not as long as you keep on touching him.

When he reached for your cheeks, Gale didn't even thought about it. He just wanted to touch you, to make sure that you were real.

It startled you, a little gasp escaping your throat. You looked at Gale, analyzing every inch of his face.

For a time, Gale could only look at his hand against your skin. His thumb stroking your cheek, so soft beneath his touch.

"Why are..." that voice wasn't his. It wasn't anything like his. For how long did he slept? "Why are you here?"

You looked at the hand you placed on his waist, and realized how it must be to wake up with someone else touching you. "I was just cleani..."

"That's not what I asked," the mage stopped you. You went back to look at him, and Gale felt your gaze softening his entire being. "Why are you here?"

"I worry about you," you admited. "Specially when you forget what shields are made for."

"Why are you like this?" Gale found himself trying to make whatever was on his mind understandable. That doesn't happen very often. For him to be unsure about his words. "Why do you keep on taking care of me? You don't owe me anything."

"Because you are... you," you went back to cleaning his skin. Gale didn't move his hand, and you didn't seen to mind. "Close your eyes, go back to sleep. You won't even notice I'm here."

With his hand on your cheek, eyes staring at the moon, Gale hoped Selune was staring back.

He don't know what will happen to him after his death. Mystra didn't forgave him, so Gale isn't counting on her protection when his soul is to be judged. But one thing Gale knows: the moon was here before him, and will remain after.

So he prayed. Silently, he begged Selune to protect you. He begged for her to shine on you, the only one who ever made him feel worth something. One day he must die, sooner than later apparently, so he hopes she'll protect you when he's gone.

"Impossible," Gale stroked your jaw. "Utterly impossible."

Every single one of your companions love how sincerely you care for them, but they all see how it can be a problem too. How many times have they told you to not be so welcoming? It makes you you, but it's also the reason why you bleed so often.

How many times have you tried to help someone just to discover they didn't deserve it? How many times will it happens until you finally understand your lesson?

Fainting after a encounter with a ruthless dwarf, Shadowheart thinks it's the best moment to ask you to tone it down, only to be reminded about how you still befriended Astarion even after his introduction. If Wyll explains there is no way you can win this fight, that it isn't even yours, you point at Halsin and he can do nothing but to shut up. And whenever Astarion is a pain in the ass, you explain that mercy and kindness are what brought Karlach to the party.

They are scared for you. No one knows how much pain your heart can take before if finally stops healing. You're kind, and they want you to stay that way, but not if it diminishes your soul. There must be a limit for your hope, and they aren't interest on finding it.

Worried about you hurting yourself, they didn't noticed how that hurted Karlach too.

Few can say they escaped from hell, and even fewer would be stupid enough to not enjoy a second chance. Karlach knows she sounds too distracted at the worst times, too excited when there's nothing to celebrate, but how couldn't she? She won't waste her chance.

If only she could be touched. If she could hug her friends, be near those she loves without hurting them, hold without bruising. If only she could touch you without boiling your precious skin.

Don't matter how affectionate you are, there are thing you just can't do. You showed her only your best sides, so welcoming and caring. After a fight, you rush to check on her. Late at night, you tell stories about your life. When it's peaceful, you show her different ways to tie a know. But you can't touch her.

Karlach thinks you look warm. Not cold. Nothing like distance or indifference. And not hot. Nothing like the infernal machinery inside her chest. You seem peaceful. Calm, in a way that she might never fully comprehend.

You hold Lae'zel's hands to stop her from offending someone. And don't flinch when Astarion pulls you by your waist. It's been some weeks since started to teach Shadowheart how to swim. And Wyll tried to help you with your dance moves. Halsin's hand seem to be glued to your shoulder.

She envies them. Karlach envies everyone that you touch. She just feels so lonely, and she'd already spent too much time pretending not to be. Avernus is behind her, and the person she was there won't ever see daylight again. Karlach is free, and she'll be always true to herself.

Poking the flaming wood with a sticky, trying to make it spread to the others, she was to focused to noticed when you sat beside her by the log. Her mind was somewhere far, far away.

After a few moments, Karlach saw you. She kept herself quiet, just enjoying your presence. As if her silence would make you not want to leave. As if her silence would be enough so she could lay her head at your lap, feel your fingertips undoing the knots on her hair, without burning you in and out.

As she stared at the soon-to-be bonfire, you glared at the sky. You searched on your pockets, looking for a coin, but all you found was a forgotten jasper. It'll do the trick. "Jasper for your thoughts, Mama K?"

Karlach looked at you. "What, soldier?"

"You're quiet today," you said. "Too quiet. Let me help you. If you want to talk, I want to hear. If you want to kick some butts, my boots are ready. So, jasper for your thoughts?"

She opened her hands, and you dropped the crystal on it. Karlach played with it for a second, amused by your words. "I'm tired," she said. "Of not touching. Or being touched. I know I'm not alone but... sometimes I can't help but to feel like that. Even Mama K has her moments."

She has so much love to give. Just like you. If only she could give it as freely as you do. Karlach respects you for it. For trying to be better, don't matter how much it hurts you. Scars are signs of bravery, just as pieces of broken hearts.

You think it's worth the cost, and so does Karlach.

"One day," you breathed in. Looking at the fire, you saw why Karlach was so interest on it. Don't matter how much you learn, it still looks magic. "I will braid your hair. Massage your shoulders. Wash your back. Teach you archery, my chest against you back and my hand holding yours. Take the eyelash that fell on your cheeks. Straighten your necklace. I will let lips do what hands do."

You turned to her, with a beaming smile on your face and wet eyes. "But for now, can you wait? Can you dream for a few months more, until we find a solution? Because I swear, Karlach, I will find one. Don't matter if I'll need to walk throught the Nine Hells. I will find a cure for you."

"Damn, soldier," Karlach hissed. Maybe it was the light, but her eyes were redish. You did the noble thing and pretend to not have seen the tears. "You really are the sweetest hero around."

"So don't think you're alone anymore!" You suppressed the urge to punch her arm. Scratch brought you a red ball, and you caressed him. "I'm here. We all are."

And that's one thing they all will be forced to understand: they are not alone. Not anymore.

Part 3!

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[mistystepmoonbeam]

Reborn into BG3 14 - Tav's Night

You're reborn into BG3 with only the memory of your past life. Now you're Tav's companion on his journey, and must learn about yourself as much as your new reality.

Chapter 14 (Tav's Night): Your first night in the Underdark. You catch Tav sneaking back into camp, and he finds out you're more injured than you let on.

Astarion's Night

Gales Night

Word count: 1.8K

A/N: Thank you all for your patience while I was on hiatus!!! <3. Since you all voted for Tav to have the first part, here he is! His ended up being kinda sad >.> but I'm looking forward to developing his character/background more.

You get a blissful couple hours of sleep before your eyes open and refuse to close.  The only comfortable position you could find with your bruises was on your side, but now there’s no position that gives you any relief.  Finally you sit up, wondering just how bad your back looks for it to ache so much.  You would give all your gold for an aspirin right now.

It’s too dark in your tent to check your wounds.  Even if you use your staff the light won’t be enough to tell the difference between the shadows and the bruises.  With the camp quiet you step out of your tent and into the firelight.  The braziers are still going, flames a little smaller now but giving off plenty of light.

The first few nights you’d been too scared to take off any of your clothing to sleep.  Your jacket, socks, boots, everything had stayed on.  But you’ve grown comfortable enough to take some of it off.  You walk on the balls of your feet to get to a brazier, enchanted socks whisking away the dirt as fast as it touches them.  Those, your loose pants and untucked tunic are all that protect you from possible attack.  You’ll be fine within the base, surrounded by weirdly overprotective barbarians and Scratch.  The dog lifts his head when he spots you, tail wagging but he remains laying by the campfire.  You hold up a finger to your lips and he sets his head back on his paws, eyes closing.  His tail gives a couple more wags before settling.

It’s hard to manoeuvre your body well enough to see all of your injuries.  You can see the dark blue bruise on the right of your hip, which wraps around to your back, the edges fading to lighter colours.  There’s an equally dark bruise on the right side of your ribs—had you been jabbed there?  Between the goblins' pikes and a couple of falls you’re not sure who is to blame for what bruise.  But those ones aren’t the ones bothering you the most.  The ones in the middle of your back are what keep you from a comfortable sleep and you can’t see them at all. 

You poke at the bruise on the right of your ribcage when a voice startles you.  “You’re still injured.”

You whirl to find Tav crawling through the side exit that leads to the Spectator.  Though there’s no sign of injury on his person your heart skips at the possibility of him going into that fight alone.  You notice part of his casual clothing is scorched.

“What happened?”

“Apparently some of those mushrooms explode,” he admits with a smile.  He jumps down to your level and starts to approach but quickly steps back.  His tail lowers, nearly wrapping around his leg as the tip draws circles in the dust.  

“What’s wrong?” you ask.  

“Are you mad at me?”  He keeps his eyes on the floor but glances up at you to ask the question.  “I’m sorry about Astarion.  With the Gur and then…earlier.”

You grind your teeth together, remembering the blood on your hands.  “I’m not mad anymore.”

It’s a half truth.  Some part of you still simmers with anger but it’s directed at yourself more than Tav.  And after everything he’s done for you…

“I’m sorry about before, too.”

You meet his wavering gaze.  “About what?”

“At the hag's house,” he says.  “When I tried to stop you.”

“Why would you be sorry about that?”  He was trying to help you, hardly something to apologize for.  Especially considering the very life and death dangers out there.

“I thought maybe…”  His eyes scan the ground like he’d find the answer there.  “I thought maybe I was annoying you.  That’s…usually what I’m told.”

You tilt your head as you contemplate his words.  With the way he runs around, gets in people’s faces, and takes the lead you could see how that might annoy someone in normal circumstances.  Anger flares in your chest at the thought of someone calling Tav annoying, almost the same as you felt when you’d killed the Gur.  You tell yourself to calm down—there’s plenty of dead around to accidentally raise…

“Who told you that?” you ask.  Shadowheart?  Astarion?  

Tav thinks for a moment.  “Just people.”

You frown.  “You’re not annoying.  I’m not annoyed by you.  And I’m not mad anymore.”

Relief floods his face and he lights up.  He rushes you before you can stop him, wrapping his arms around your middle and lifting you off the ground in a bruising hug.  If you weren’t so bruised already, anyway.   Tav gives you a spin so you wrap your arms around his neck for stability.

When he completes another circle the bruises on your back are screaming.  You say, “Injured!  Still kinda hurt!”

Tav quickly lets you go.  “Right, sorry!”

Despite his words, he has a wide smile on his face.  You take careful breaths, debating on how to hobble back to your tent.  Maybe Scratch can drag you…

“I can help,” Tav announces.  He grabs your hand and pulls you into his tent in front of the statue of Selune.  He’s left a small lamp burning inside, giving the area a warm glow.  He’s as messy as one might expect, considering he fell off the ship without anything but his clothes.  But the bits and bobbles he’s picked up on the journey so far decorate the area, from dishware to colourful rocks to what appears to be a lineup of well-chewed balls stolen from Scratch.

Tav darts around the tent and shoves a few random items off of his bedroll, waving for you to lie down.  You sit as instructed while he rummages through a nearby bag.  When he finally finds what he’s searching for and holds a small tin in the air triumphantly.  He turns back to you, opening the and scooping out a blue gel.  “Take your shirt off.”

Your brow furrows.  “Pardon?”

“It’s a healing ointment,” he says, “it’ll numb the pain.”

“Oh, well…maybe just my back.”  You turn and lie on your stomach, lifting your tunic until your bruises show.  Shockingly, Tav is silent.  

The ointment is cold against your skin.  Tav is gentle as he rubs it in and announces when he’s done.  You lower your shirt and sit back up, the pain wonderfully numbed.

“What are you doing?” you ask.  Tav is sitting by you picking at under his nails, an attempt at getting the ointment from beneath those claws of his.  

“It’s hard to get,” he admits.  He holds his hands in front of his face as if that would help.  You laugh and grab one hand, forcing him to display it palm up.  The ointment is only stuck under the index and middle nails.  Internally you fluster at the size difference between you and the barbarian.  Whether you’re short or tall, petite or large, he’s a tiefling barbarian.  He’s bigger than everyone and it shows as you hold his hand.

You manage to scrape out what little ointment is left between his nails with one finger.

“There,” you say.  You let go of his hand but it hangs in the air.  Looking at the ointment on your own you tuck your hand beneath your shirt and rub it to the bruise on your hip, the pain fading immediately.  You look up at him to say your thanks but you find him staring at his own hand.  “Tav?”

Tav startles, lowering his hand and straightening his back.  Even in the dim light you can see his cheeks darken, though you’re not sure why he would be embarrassed about the skinship considering how easily he hugs people. 

Eventually he shows a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.  “Do you know what you’ll do when we reach Baldur’s Gate?”

You blink.  The question feels to come out of nowhere so you just shrug.  “I have no idea.  I guess try to find someone that knows me?  I still want to help you guys, even if it’s just getting cream out from your fingernails.”

You chuckle and scratch behind one ear.  Really that one action was the most useful you’ve been this entire journey.  When you look back at Tav there seems to be something he wants to say, but his mouth only opens and then closes.  He smiles again, fake as Astarion’s.  

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” he says.  His voice is quieter than you’ve ever heard.

“Oh, yeah.”  You bite the inside of your cheek.  You’ll figure it out.  Not we.  Just you.  “Um…I’ve said it a lot, but I feel like I haven’t…thank you for everything, Tav.  I’d definitely be dead if not for you, and if I somehow managed to survive I’d be totally lost and—and confused.  I mean I am confused still, but…you’re making it easier.”

Now you give him a smile, hoping the tears stinging at the corner of your eyes are hidden in the dim light.

But you don’t have to worry about your own tears because when you look up at the tiefling he’s the one crying.  It’s silent as the tears fall down his cheeks, eyes wide as they stay on your face.  “Really?”

“Yes? 

Tav lets out a long breath and closes his eyes.  You glance at his singed clothing and wonder if he’s hurt, but there’s no visible wound on him.  You remember moments earlier when he’d asked if you were mad at him, annoyed with him.  Had it weighed on him so much that you thanking him made him break down?  He’s a lot softer than you originally thought. 

You climb onto your knees, unsure of how to comfort him.  “You’re-uh-you’re really important to me Tav.  I’m…I’m sorry if I—”

Tav’s arms open and suddenly you’re engulfed by a hug.  Even his tail comes around to wrap around your back and pull you closer.  It would have been nice, were your own arms not trapped at your sides.  

The air is knocked from your lungs, but thankfully the ointment he’d applied keeps you from feeling too much pain.  He mumbles something into your shoulder, face buried and a horn poking at one ear.

“Tav?” you ask, voice strained. “I can’t hear you…or breathe.”

His grip loosens, but he keeps you there leaning awkwardly forward on your knees.  His forehead is still pressed against your shoulder, but he turns until it’s also against the curve of your neck.  The tent starts to feel way too hot, even without your coat. 

“I said thank you,” Tav tells you.

You aren’t given a chance to respond when the flap of the tent opens and Shadowheart pokes her head in.  “Not to interrupt, but we have a visitor.”

Tav lifts his head from your shoulder and you both turn your heads to look at the half-elf, and then past her. A new pit of anxiety settles in your stomach when you see who is there, and looking directly at you.

Withers.

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[moonselune]

Could you write Karlach with a bard reader who is always singing little songs under her breath? Like she would be quietly singing about cooking dinner, kicking someones ass or just petting Scratch etc. You know Karlach would randomly start dancing to readers little tunes.

Thank you in advance 🥰

Karlach's default dancing will always remain rent free in my head x

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach x Bard!reader

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You were at the campfire, stirring a pot of stew, and as usual, you were singing quietly under your breath. It was a habit you couldn't shake, and one that your companions had come to expect and enjoy. Today's song was about cooking dinner, and your soft, melodic voice filled the air with warmth and cheer.

"Chop the carrots, slice the meat, Simmer slow, make it sweet. Herbs and spices, in the pot, A feast for all, like it or not."

Karlach, who was busy sharpening her axe, perked up as she heard you. She loved your songs; they brought a lightness to the camp that she cherished. Without a second thought, she put down her weapon and began to sway to the rhythm of your tune.

Karlach stood up, her eyes twinkling with mischief. She approached you, her steps matching the beat of your song. Before you knew it, she grabbed your hand and pulled you into a dance. You laughed, your voice faltering slightly in surprise.

"Karlach, what are you doing?" you asked, still giggling.

"Dancing, obviously," she replied with a grin. "How can I resist when you make everything sound so wonderful?"

You continued to sing, your voice blending with your laughter as Karlach twirled you around the campfire.

"Cooking dinner, here we go, Dancing 'round the fire’s glow. With a friend so strong and true, Makes the stew taste better too."

Karlach's movements were surprisingly graceful for someone so strong and battle-hardened. She spun you around, your skirts flaring out, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of joy and freedom. The rest of the camp watched with smiles, the warmth of the fire and your song creating a perfect moment of camaraderie.

Later, as you sat down to eat, you continued to hum softly to yourself. Scratch wandered over, hoping for a morsel, and you reached down to pet him, your song shifting to include the loyal hound.

"Scratch, our friend, so loyal and true, Always waiting, right on cue. A pat on the head, a scratch behind the ear, With you by our side, there's nothing to fear."

Karlach, seated next to you, began tapping her foot in time with your tune. You looked over at her, and she gave you a playful wink. It was these little moments, these simple joys, that made everything worth it. Your songs, whether about mundane tasks or heroic deeds, brought a sense of unity and happiness to the camp.

One evening, after a particularly tough battle, you were quietly singing about the fight, turning the day's struggles into a lighthearted melody.

"We fought the goblins, one, two, three, Karlach swung her axe with glee. Victory was ours, bold and bright, In the dark of the night, we saw the light."

Karlach, despite being exhausted, couldn't help but join in. She stood up, swaying and clapping her hands to the rhythm. You laughed and sang louder, the campfire crackling in the background.

She pulled you up from your seat, and together you danced around the fire, the weariness of the day melting away. It was in these moments that you felt truly alive, and you knew that with Karlach by your side, every song you sang would be filled with warmth and love.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Hope you enjoy it ! -Seluney x

[safficranger]

Fake Scenarios In My Head #33

“Casey?” Alex stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, glaring at the pile of blankets and pillows where her girlfriend had buried herself. Only a tuft of red hair was visible, poking out from beneath the blankets. The pile shifted slightly, a clear sign that Casey was awake—and had heard her.

“Care to explain how The Decisive Moment ended up sandwiched between The New York State Constitution and The Turn of the Screw?”

A hand waved sleepily from under the blankets, aiming in Alex’s direction. “Hmm?” Casey’s groggy voice murmured, still thick with sleep. She peeked out, squinting at the bright light as she tried to focus on Alex.

Alex's voice was sharp. “It seems a little goblin broke into our apartment last night and completely rearranged my bookshelves.” Her tone held a slight accusation. “Or is there another explanation for the mess I found this morning?”

Casey blinked again, stifling a yawn as Alex’s words registered. A sheepish, crooked smile crept across her face. “Um…” She scratched the back of her neck, clearly searching for an excuse. “I... couldn’t sleep. Court was brutal yesterday, and I just... wanted to unwind.”

Alex arched an eyebrow. “And you thought dismantling my entire system was a good way to unwind?”

“Well...” Casey hesitated. “I thought a little... organizing might help clear my head.” She gave Alex her most hopeful smile, but it didn’t budge her.

“‘Organizing’ is a strong word for what you did,” Alex shot back. “I have a system, Casey. I love my system. It took me years to perfect that bookshelf.”

“I know, but... come on, color-coding isn’t that bad, is it?” Casey ventured, biting her lip, half-amused but trying to soften Alex’s annoyance.

Alex huffed and crossed her arms more tightly. “Casey, it looks like a rainbow exploded all over my shelves. And... poetry in the history section? Really?”

Casey stifled a laugh, trying to keep a straight face. “Yeah, okay, maybe not my brightest idea.”

“You don’t say,” Alex replied, her voice dry, but a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Sitting up fully now, Casey reached for Alex’s hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Alex let her take it. Casey looked up with wide, pleading eyes—eyes that had softened many an argument between them.

“I’m sorry! I’ll make it up to you, I swear,” Casey promised, tracing slow circles on Alex’s knuckles.

Alex softened, though her expression stayed firm. “And what do you suggest?”

“A luxury breakfast. My treat. Whatever you like,” Casey grinned, pulling Alex a little closer.

“…and?” Alex’s voice held just a hint of curiosity.

Casey’s grin turned mischievous as she pulled Alex even closer, her arms slipping around Alex’s waist. “And maybe a special breakfast before we head out?” Her hands slid under Alex’s shirt, fingertips grazing her warm skin, making her shiver.

Alex’s resolve wavered, her cool composure slipping under Casey’s touch. “I could… be persuaded,” she murmured, her voice softening.

Casey knew she had Alex. With a triumphant smile, she pulled her down into the blankets. Her lips found Alex’s jawline, trailing warm kisses that chased away the last of Alex’s irritation.

“I can’t stay mad at you, can I?” Alex murmured, her voice softening under Casey’s touch. Casey chuckled, well aware of the effect she had on her.

“Wouldn’t be wise to try,” Casey whispered with a playful grin. She kissed Alex deeply, her hands moving purposefully, each caress making Alex gasp, her body relaxing with every kiss. The argument faded into the background as Alex’s tension melted away. Soon, she lay limp and satisfied in Casey’s arms, a content smile on her lips.

As Casey began to drift back to sleep, Alex’s voice broke the silence, teasing but gentle. “Still waiting on that breakfast... and I hope you saved some energy.”

Casey cracked an eye open, a smile tugging at her lips. “For breakfast?”

Alex grinned. “For putting every one of those books back where they belong.”

[eddievanhammettmunson]

The Repair Boy

Eddie Munson x Female reader

Authors note- hola my ghouls, gremlins, and fellow goblins. I’m back with another Eddie one shot. Likes and reblogs are always appreciated. <3

Warnings- 18++++ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT WITH MY WORK PLEASE. Foul language, Protected P in V smut, oral female and male receiving.

Summary- After your dad needs his guitar fixed you meet a rather handsome repair boy. 5.2k words

“Come on darlin I wanna get there before they close”

“You’re a grown man I don’t understand why I have to go with you”

“Cause I’m your father and I don’t want to go alone that’s why”

You grab your jacket and join your father on his way out the door. On the way out the door your dad picks his guitar case up off the ground and swings it around in his hand.

“Watch out with that thing dad! You’re lucky you don’t break it!”

“I’m already taking it to get repaired. What’s a little more damage.”

“I thought that thing was your precious baby?”

“Oh trust me she is. Now get in the car.”

You get in the car and your father drives to the local instrument store. You both walk in together and your father makes a beeline for the sales counter.

A woman greets him and asks what he’s there for. She points him in the direction towards the back of the store to the repair counter. Your father and yourself walk up to the counter and ring the bell. You wait a moment while you hear rummaging from the background and out pops this tall, gangly, (rather handsome) young fellow around your age holding a guitar.

Your father greets him with a smile and tells him the problems he’s having with his guitar. The young man listens intently while studying the guitar and even chimes in a few times to compliment the guitar. “An 81’ skylark huh? She’s a beaut” his voice has you weak in the knees.

It’s when you hear his voice you realise you’ve done nothing but stare down the poor boy since you got there. What else you notice is he hadn’t looked at you once. For all you knew he had no idea you were there.

“So sir for the repairs it’s gonna be about $40”

“Really only $40? That’s amazing. Darlin, did you hear that? Only $40 to fix my baby!” Your dad turns to face you and for the first time since you walked in the shop so does the repair boy. His eyes meet yours and you can tell he checks you out really fast by the way his eyes scan up and down your body.

He quickly coughs and turns his attention back to the counter in front of him.

He rings up your father and tells your father the guitar should be ready either later in the day or the next day and that he’d call when the guitar was ready. As he turns to leave you catch a glimpse of a tattoo on his arm. What appears to be a bat. The words seem to tumble out of your mouth before you can catch them.

“I like your tattoo.”

He stops and looks at you and then back down at his tattoo on his arm.

“Thanks.” There’s a silence between the two of you and your father clears his throat to get your attention. You turn away from the repair boy and make your way out the door with your father.

On the car ride home it’s relatively silent except for the music blasting from the radio. Until your dad breaks the silence.

“i rEaLLy LiKed yOuR tATtOo” he pretended to flip his hair and bat his eyelashes.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh come on sweetheart you were totally drooling over that boy.”

You blush and try to sputter out some excuse but nothing comes out. Instead your face just keeps getting deeper shades of red.

“It’s okay sweetheart breathe. And besides you’ll totally have a chance with him.”

“DAD! What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh come on did you see how hard he was trying to not look at you cause I was there. And then the second he did look at you he looked like he was damn well about to faint on the floor.”

“Okay even if that was true what do you mean I totally have a chance with him. I’ll probably never see him again.”

“Sure you will.”

“When?”

“When you go by yourself to pick up my guitar whenever that boy calls.”

“What! Why!”

“Cause I work tonight so I will be sleeping when we get home and I will be sleeping tomorrow so you can go pick up the guitar by yourself.”

You go quiet on the rest of the car ride home. Thinking about that stupid boy. Hell you didn’t even know his name yet his smile and his long hair and his tattoos are all you can think about.

As you get home and day fades into night you await the phone call. It doesn’t Come. Instead you busy yourself with catch up assignments that you picked up from the school yesterday. You were hoping to impress some of your new teachers by having some schoolwork done before your first official day at Hawkins high.

As much as you try to distract yourself that boy keeps flashing through your mind. You wondered about him. Maybe he went to the same school you did and you didn’t even know it yet. What if you had classes together? What if what if what if. Eventually you realised none of your work was getting done and you decided to call it a night.

The next day you were going about your tasks of the day. Unpacking boxes and setting up furniture around the house when you hear a ring coming from the kitchen. The phone on the wall was ringing. You run over to the phone and answer it rather quickly. A female voice is on the phone much to your disappointment.

“The guitar is ready to be picked up whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you very much. I’ll be there shortly to pick it up.”

You got dressed in a particularly cute outfit (that may or may not have shown a little too much cleavage) with some cute shoes to match. You got in your dads car and drove to the instrument shop.

Exiting the car you feel yourself starting to get a little nervous. Now that your dad wasn’t here to cockblock you. It was completely in your hands what to do with this boy. Would you chicken out and say nothing? What if your dad was wrong and the boy had absolutely 0 interest in you. Or worse what if the boy already had a girlfriend.

Shaking the thoughts out of your head you open the door to the shop and walk past the girl at the front desk and head straight to the back repair counter. At first you see nobody but as you get closer to the counter you can hear noises. Clanging and banging.

Then a loud bang followed by an “OUCH FUCK”

Then from under the counter pops out the boy from yesterday. Rubbing the top of his head in a soothing motion. You try not to giggle at the boy but you just can’t help it. When he hears your giggle his eyes snap over to you and where you’re standing. He clears his throat and you can see a blush fan across his face.

“Uh hi. How can I help you?”

“I was in here yesterday with my dad. I’m

Here to pick up his guitar.”

“Right! Right! Of course! Skylark girl. You said you liked my tattoo.”

“Yup! That’s me! So how’s my dads guitar? That thing is his baby and if it’s not in perfect condition when I get home I’m pretty sure he’ll kill both of us.”

“Oh don’t you worry I fixed her up real nice. She’s good as new.”

He turns around and grabs the guitar case out of a stack of other guitar cases. He turns back to you and sets the guitar on the counter.

“You wanna see it?”

“Can I?”

He pops open the case and lets you look at it. You go to touch it but quickly stop yourself out of habit and retract your hand.

“Something wrong, skylark?”

“Huh?”

“Well you aren’t touching the guitar you’re just kind of staring at it.”

“Oh. Right. Well I’m not really allowed to touch it. Like I said that thing is my dads baby. Pretty sure he loves it more than he loves me so touching it would just be a death sentence.”

“He’s not here you know. He’ll never know.”

“Somehow he would. He’s magic like that.”

“So you’re telling me your dad will let a complete stranger like me handle his guitar but he won’t let a sweet little thing like you touch it?”

You blush due to his words and the casual way he said it. Little did you know your blush didn’t go unnoticed.

“Yeah I guess so.”

“Well that’s a cryin shame. You play any instruments?”

“I actually have my own guitar and a keyboard but I don’t play much”

“So you have your own guitar and he still won’t let you touch his. Come on, he's not here. How about you show me how much you can play? Plus you’ll be testing it out for me. Seein how it plays after my repairs.”

You reach out to touch the guitar very slowly but this time your hand actually makes contact. It felt naughty touching the guitar after being told not to so many times. You pick up the guitar out of the case so gently as if it were made from glass. You sit in a nearby stool and begin to strum away. Playing a little tune you’d learned from a friend long before you moved here.

As you finished playing you look up to find the boy staring at you intently. He has a lopsided smile on his face.

When he sees you’re done playing he does a nice light clap. “So what's your name mystery guitar girl?”

“Y/n L/n”

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

You blush again and look away from him and down at the guitar in your lap. And to think you thought you’d be the one having to make the moves while he’s out here just openly flirting with you.

“So why haven’t I seen you around before? Pretty small town. I’m assuming you’re new around here. Or just visiting?”

“My dad and I just moved here actually.”

“You go to Hawkins high yet?”

“I start there Monday. I’ll be a senior.”

“Same here. Well I mean I already go there and technically I’ve been a senior for 3 years now but I’ll still be one when you get there on Monday.”

You laugh a little and shake your head.

“Jeez 3 years of senior year. I’d hate that.”

“Livin the dream sweetheart livin the dream.”

“You know guitar boy you’re pretty cool.”

“Oh fuck I forgot my name tag. I’m Eddie by the way. Eddie Munson.”

“Pretty name for a pretty boy.”

He smiles wildly at you and reaches out to shake your hand. There’s a bit of a spark when your hands touch that makes you jump back slightly. When you let go of his hand yours feels colder. Emptier.

“So I should take this guitar and get it back to my dad. But I was wondering what time you get off.”

Eddie stood there shocked. He knew the two of you had been flirting but no part of him actually expected you to ask him out. Hell if you knew what his reputation around town and at school was you probably wouldn’t be asking him this. But you’re new so all that influence hasn’t gotten to you yet. Maybe he can win you over before the masses do.

“I get off at 6…why?”

“Well I was wondering if you’d want to hangout with me. Maybe show me around town a bit. I haven’t been able to explore much.”

“I’d love to show you around sweetheart. It’s a date. Here give me your address and I’ll come pick you up when I’m off work so we aren’t taking two separate cars.”

You write down your address on the back of the receipt and hand it to him. Eddie closes the guitar case for you and hands it to you over the counter. You leave the shop and drive home with a wide smile on your face.

When you get home you find your father in the kitchen eating some food before his night shift at work.

“How’s my baby? Is she fixed?”

“Good as new pops good as new”

You gently set the guitar case down on the kitchen table and your dad wipes his hands clean before opening the case and gently picking up the guitar. He starts strumming away and a wide smile grows on his face.

“God I haven’t heard her play like that in quite a while. That boy really fixed her up. Even cleaned all the old stickers off. Should have given that boy a tip.”

Your father looks up at you and can’t help but notice the gentle smile and glow you seem to carry about you.

“Speaking of that boy. Howd it go?”

“Well he’s picking me up when he gets off work and he’s going to show me around town. If that’s alright?”

“That’s fine. Just remember to be safe. In every way.”

“DAD!”

“I'm just trying to make sure I don’t have any grandkids before you graduate highschool.”

You grab water from the fridge and turn to leave the room. You had a few hours to get ready for your date. Your dad leaves for work leaving you home alone.

Around 6 pm you begin putting the finishing touches on your outfit. As you get dressed you begin to blast Iron Maiden on the surround sound stereo. Singing along to run to the you barely hear the faint ringing of the doorbell. You quickly turn down the stereo and open the door. Your eyes are greeted by the site of Eddie standing there with a very wide smile on his face.

“Iron Maiden?” Is the first words out of his mouth.

“Yup love me some maiden. Pops raised me on the shit.”

“So skylark you ready?”

“Ready Eddie!”

You grab your jacket and turn off the stereo and follow Eddie to his van parked in your driveway. You reach for the door handle but Eddie beats you to it and opens the door for you. You climb in and buckle your seatbelt as he makes his way around the van and into the driver's seat.

“So Eddie, where around town are you gonna show me?”

“Well sweetheart we’ve got some cool spots in town that I thought you might like. But you’ll just have to see when we get there.”

Eddie lets you pick the music on the car ride and of course you choose some Iron Maiden. Eddie enjoys getting to sing along with you but he doesn’t sing very loud. Much rather preferring to hear your voice. After a bit of driving Eddie pulls into the parking lot of a building that says “Arcade” attached to a building that says “Family Video ''.

You begin to get excited. Back in your hometown you loved going to the arcade and you’re ecstatic to learn that Hawkins has one. Eddie looks over at you and can see the excitement written across your face and breathes a sigh of relief to see you’re happy. He gets out of the car first and makes his way around the van to open the door for you once more. You practically jump out of the van and grab his hand dragging him towards the arcade doors.

“Where should we start!? There’s so many games in here!”

“My friends Dustin and Max really like dig dug. Maybe start there?”

You sit on the stool in front of the machine and begin to play as Eddie stands behind you and watches. You’re very good at the game and after only a few tries you beat both max and Dustin’s high scores. Eddie knows the kids are gonna lose it when they see this.

“Shit sweetheart you’re pretty badass.”

“I wanna try that one over there. The one called dragons lair.”

“Go ahead sweetheart but I’ve been told it’s impossible to beat.”

“If my party and I can beat vecna I can totally beat some dragon and rescue a princess.”

Eddie is left dumbfounded by what he just heard. You start to rise from the dig dug machine and make your way over to the dragons lair game but Eddie gently grabs your arm and spins you to face him.

“You play D&D!?”

“Well yeah? That hard to believe munson?”

Eddie's thoughts are racing a million miles a minute. It’s like you’d stepped out of his wildest dreams. A girl who plays guitar, listens to maiden, plays games, plays D&D and is ridiculously hot, is on a date with him.

Eddie doesn’t think about what he does next. He leans in and leaves a quick peck on your lips and you squeak in surprise.

“Shit sorry! I just- well you’re really- and I just-“

You cut off his rambling by kissing him again. This time not just a peck but enough for your lips to meld to his plump soft lips. You both sigh into each other's mouths. Eventually you pull back with a bright smile on your face.

“I’ve wanted to do that since I walked into your shop yesterday.”

Eddies knees practically wobble. He can’t believe you’re real. He must be dreaming. But he lets you drag him over to dragon's lair and he watches as you rescue the princess on your first attempt. Because of course you do. He watches as you type in your initials and they go just above Lucas’s where he’d rescued princess Daphne. Now the princess is yours.

After you play a few more games and prove yourself to be even more of a badass, Eddie suggests you guys move on to the next phase of the night.

“Wait Eddie! Can we go next door and pick out a movie?”

“What?”

“Well I was thinking after we do whatever you have planned that we could go back to mine and watch a movie. My dad works nights so it would be just us.”

Oh. Oh. Eddie wasn’t prepared for this. The possibility of spending the night with you alone in your house. But how could he say no. Why would he say no? He’d have to be a mad man to turn down that opportunity.

“Well sure thing sweetheart.”

He walks you over to family video hand in hand and as the door swings open a voice calls out.

“Munson?”

“Eddie?”

You look up to see a rather handsome boy behind a counter and rather lovely looking girl with him. Both looking at you and Eddie hand in hand.

“Hey Steve. Hey Robs.” He guided you towards the counter with him and introduced you.

“So you and Munson areeeee?” Steve says with a raised brow.

Eddie opens his mouth to answer but nothing comes out. So you take over.

“We’re on a date.”

Steve and Robin both look surprised as does Eddie. Eddie is shocked that you’d admit to being on a date with him and both Steve and Robin are surprised he has a date in the first place. You look around and note everyone’s surprise.

“Am I missing something?”

“No nope, not at all sweetheart. Here how about you go pick out a movie while I catch up with Steve. Robin, how about you go help her pick out a movie.”

Robin comes from behind the counter and walks with you to the horror section where you begin to pick out a movie. Robin decided to test your intentions with her friend.7

“So you and Munson huh? What made that happen?”

“Well I just moved here and met Eddie at the instrument store yesterday. Couldn’t stop thinking about him to be honest.”

“Aww that’s cute. So what are you guys up to?”

“Well he took me to the arcade and we’re gonna do some stuff after this although he won’t tell me what. And the. We’re going to go to my house and watch a movie.” You grab the shining and The Thing. You look over at Eddie talking to Steve and you can’t help but wonder what they’re saying. There’s no doubt in your mind they’re talking about you but you want to know why Eddie’s got such a wide smile on his face.

“Dude how the hell did you score her?”

“I didn’t man. She just kind of wanted me. It was wild. She’s amazing man. We’ve only known each other for like a day but I’m pretty sure we were made for each other man.”

Steve puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder and gives him a light hit.

“Congrats man. So what are you two up to.”

“Well, I just took her to the arcade. Which she was a total badass at by the way. Then I'm gonna take her to the diner to get some food. And then I guess now we’re going back to her place to watch a movie.”

“Back to her place huh?” Steve says with a raised brow. “You ready for that munson?”

“Actually, no. Wasn’t really planning any of this today.”

Steve looks over his shoulder to make sure you aren’t looking. Luckily you seem to be in a conversation with Robin. He quickly reaches in his pocket and retrieves his wallet and pulls out a condom and slides it over the counter towards Eddie who’s face quickly turns a deep shade of red and swipes the condom off the counter and shoves it into his wallet.

After talking a little more you make your way back to the counter with Eddie where he wraps an arm around your shoulder. Robin and Steve check out your movies and send the two of you on your way. On the way out you turn around and see Steve and Robin high-five through the window. You smile to yourself.

After getting in Eddie’s van he drives you to a nearby diner called Bennys and the two of you order a couple burgers and fries and a single milkshake to share. You’re sitting on the same side of the booth and he keeps his arm around your shoulder the entire time.

You both spend hours talking and learning more about each other but somehow it feels like you two have known each other for millennia. At the end of the meal they bring the check and Eddie pulls out his wallet to pay for the meal. When he opens his wallet a double XL condom falls on the table in front of your face and Eddie tries to grab it as fast as he can but knows you’ve already seen it. His face goes deep red.

All you do is kiss his cheek and lean up to whisper in his ear. “Wanna go watch those movies now?”

He nods his head yes a little too eagerly making you giggle. He leaves the money on the table and the two of you run out of the restaurant giggling like children.

The drive back to your house was very fast. Considering Eddie didn’t stop once. The van comes to a stop and Eddie gets you out of the van and the first thing you do is kiss him. You guys kiss all the way till he has you pressed up against your front door.

Through breaths you say. “Eddie-“ kiss “I need-“ kiss “to open” kiss “the door” kiss kiss kiss.

He finally takes a step back and lets you open the door but the second the two of you are in the house you’re back on each other again. You kiss him and guide him all the way to your bedroom. Your hands are tangled in his hair and his hands are roaming your body. He squeezes your hips and pulls your body flush against his where you can feel a rather prominent bulge pressed against you. A part of you had wondered in the diner if he’d really need a double XL condom but now you were thinking that even that may be a little small.

You guide him to your bed until his knees his the mattress and he pulls you down on top of him as you two fall onto the mattress. Neither of you breaking the makeout session.

You sit yourself on top of him and begin to grind down onto his bulge making him groan into your mouth and you begin to moan back when he bucks his hips up to meet yours.

“Sweetheart.”

You stop kissing for a second. Both out of breath with kiss bruised lips.

“Yeah Eddie?”

“Unless you want me to blow my load in my jeans I think we should-“

You’ve already got the message so you sit up straight and start removing your clothes. Eddie sits up and starts removing his clothes as well and you can’t help but get distracted by his tattoo littered body. He notices you’re staring.

“Like what you see sweetheart?”

“Very much.” You lean forward and start to leave kisses on each of the tattoos you see. You leave kisses all the way down his torso and his happy trail and you stop right above his boxers. You look up at Eddie who has his head thrown back and is breathing heavily. You’ve never seen a prettier sight.

“Eddie?” Your voice is so soft and seductive it makes Eddie’s dick twitch in his boxers. He looks down at you in nothing but your bra and underwear and he’s ready to bust any second.

“Can I suck you off?”

And now he knows he must be dreaming. There’s no way you’re real. He knows he’s going to cum embarrassingly fast but he can’t find it in him to say no. Especially not when you’re looking up at him like that.

“Y-yeah.”

You smile and slide his boxers down his legs and let them on the floor. His dick flops up and almost hits his belly button. You’ve never seen a dick as impressive as his. It makes you press your thighs together. You see the precum leaking from the tip and you can’t help yourself. You lunge forward and lick the tip. Eddie let’s out a raspy moan. You then spit a glob on him and rub it down his shaft. You start to jerk him a little faster and Eddie’s moaning gets more frequent and higher pitched. His back starts to arch off the bed and you realize this poor boy is falling apart just from your touch. You decide to speed up the process and take him in your mouth. You begin to Bob your head up and down. He lets out a loud groan and he can feel his balls tighten. His dick is twitching. He’s close. You know he is.

Eddie warns you that he’s going to cum and he expects you to take your head off his dick but you don’t and before he knows it he’s spilling down your throat. And you’re moaning around him as he releases. Eventually he catches his breath and sits up and sees you touching yourself.

“Baby baby no. Come here let me do that for you. You took care of me, it's only fair I return the favor.”

You crawl up and trade places with him on the bed. He leaves a trail of kisses all over your body. He unclasps your bra and throws it across the room. He finds your nipples are hard enough to cut glass. He takes each of you nipples into his mouth giving them equal attention as his hand glides down your body and into your panties where he finds your soaked form.

It takes him a moment but when he finds your clit he starts to play you like a guitar. You're practically singing for him and he’s pretty sure he can get you to come from his fingers on your clit alone. But he doesn’t want that. He wants to taste you. So he makes his way down your body and slides your panties down your legs and discards them with the rest of the clothing.

When he finally sees your glistening pussy staring at him he can’t help but dig in and start eating you out like a man starved. You’re reaching for the sheets, his hair, the headboard, pillows. Anything you can grab to keep yourself grounded as you begin to scream out his name.

He licks you from clit to entrance and uses his fingers to swirl your clit as he continues to eat you out. You’re stomach begins to flutter and you can feel your orgasm building. Eddie moves his mouth back up to your clit and inserts two fingers into you and you sigh in relief. He starts pumping and curling his fingers until he finds that spongy spot that had you crumbling around him. Screaming out his name as you cream around his fingers.

He kisses his way back up your body as you come down from your high. You feel his cock hard and brushing against your thigh and you can’t help but moan. You reach between the two of you and grab hold of him and he moans.

You two make out for a moment more before he climbs off the bed and grabs the condom from his wallet. You watch as he rolls down his shaft and gives himself a few strokes. He then climbs back on the bed and situates himself between your legs.

He lines himself up with your entrance and pushes in. His fingers intertwined with yours and you both moan in sync as he bottoms out within you. You’ve never felt so full and he’s never felt a pussy that was made for him before.

You both have your eyes open as he begins to slowly pull out and sink back into you. You wrap your legs around his waist and he begins to pound into you.

The bed begins to shake and the headboard starts smacking against the wall so hard that you briefly worry about denying the wall considering it’s a new house but you’re too blissed out in pleasure to truly care.

His cock drives into you at just the right angle that has you seeing stars and you start to scream out his name. Your pussy begins to flutter around him.

Eddie reaches a hand between the two of you and starts to rub your clit and you’re done for. Clenching around him and cumming harder than you ever have before. Eddie continues to pound into you chasing his own high. As he pounds into you you reach around his back and begin to scratch his back. The sting of the scratches is what sends him over the edge spilling into the condom with the whimper of your name.

You two lay intertwined for a bit just catching your breaths. Occasionally peppering kisses on one another’s face. Eventually he pulls out and ties off the condom and throws it in the trash. You get up and go to the bathroom and come back to find Eddie gathering his clothes,

“Where are you going?”

“I didn’t know if you’d want me to stay.”

“Well we still have those movies to watch.”

Eddie sits back down in your bed and you crawl into the bed next to him and curl into his side. You both drift off while watching the thing.

When your father gets home and sees the van parked in his driveway he just knows it’s the repair boy.

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

okay! so here is the spider-man!ethan blurb @hyeyulove requested from my 500 celebration! asking for friends that are in love with physical gesture prompts ‘tipping your chin to make you look into their eyes’ and ‘pulling you by the waist’ i wasn’t able to do the neck touch since i just could fit it in right. i’m not too happy with the last paragraph, but win some lose some. i hope you enjoy this blurb💗

pairing: spider-man!ethan landry x fem!reader wc:893

tw: mentions of blood (reader is cleaning wounds)

masterlist / ethan landry

“y/n-“ “don’t talk.” tone clipped and short.

it was four in the morning, you and ethan huddled in your small bathroom. he was sitting on the closed toilet lid, top half of his suit pulled off to expose any damaged skin. you were standing between his open legs as you pushed his damp curls away from his face so you could try and clean a wound on his temple that held dried blood. soaked cotton ball with rubbing alcohol stinging at the wound, ethan hissed and instinctively wrapped his big palms around your thighs, blunt nails curling into the hem of your sleep shorts.

“who’s the bully beating up my best friend tonight?” voice soft from just a second ago, not able to keep a tough façade with ethan for long. you dabbed twice more at the wound before leaning in to gently blow it dry, placing a bandaid over it.

ethan’s thumbs rubbed back and forth over the skin of your thigh, “goblin. i think he’s getting crazier each day. throwing pumpkin bomb after pumpkin bomb, swear he almost cut me in half with his glider.” his eyes dropped to look at his ribs where a bandage was wrapped thrice over the angry cut. probably be healed completely by the end of tomorrow.

a hum was heard from you as you were busy preparing another cotton ball to continue cleaning ethan’s dirty face. “well i’m glad he missed. would totally ruin my weekend.” trying for a light joke and it worked causing ethan to jump his fingers to your waist and start tickling. a high screech at the invasion of his dancing fingers to your sensitive skin, “stop! stop! i’m kidding! kidding!”

his fingers stopped and he wrapped his arms around your waist to tug you closer, his chin resting near your belly button. “you’d only be upset if i died cause now you can’t watch movies?” a joking tone with puppy eyes.

you plopped your hands to his shoulders and said with the utmost sincerity, “i would crumble if you died.” left hand leaving his shoulder so you could caress his plump cheek, “don’t know what i’d do without you.” the last sentence is practically a whisper due to the emotion crawling up your throat.

the bathroom grew still and quiet. the drip drip drip of your shower faucet and the steady night spilling into your open window being background noise. you and ethan are too entranced by each other’s eyes and touch, brain’s processing all the implications of this short conversation.

you broke the bubble first when you cleared your throat and looked away to grab your supplies. “just a few more then you can sleep.”

with a clean soaked ball you dabbed a few times to a cut on ethan’s eyebrow, blew it dry, then bandaged. cotton ball, dabbed at blood on his right cheek, blow, bandage. the last two cuts were on his lips.

“almost done, spidey.” a low murmur as you assessed the best way to work. ethan moved his head to the side distracted by something, so you just went for it. grabbing his chin between your thumb and pointer finger curled under the bone. “sorry, just easier for me to hold you.”

“it’s okay,” ethan whispered as you cleaned at the broken skin of his pink plush lips. he hissed only twice and his hands moved back to your thighs where he did slow up and down motions that made your stomach tingle.

you leaned back to throw away the stained ball and grabbed two thin bandages as you waited. “not gonna blow them dry?” ethan asked. eyes away from your trash can and back to ethan’s burning gaze, you couldn’t help licking your lips from a moment of nerves and ethan followed the action. “didn’t think you needed it.”

“no, no it’ll help.” sounding almost rushed with a slight plea for you to blow puffs of air over his broken lips. but if ethan said it’ll help…

so you leaned down as he tilted his head upward, faces nearly aligned with the angles and distance. two sets of tired eyes turned alight with a certain passion as you pucker your lips and pushed a breeze of air over the clean wounds. his lips were parted, eyes focused, hands moving, his head leaning in closer until there was exactly an inch of space separating the two of you from connecting.

and you so badly wanted to take that final leap, but tonight wasn’t the right time. so you pulled away and grabbed the two thin strips, peeling the covering off and meticulously covering up his battle scars of the night. fingertips brushing over his lips like a phantom touch, a greedy thing for you.

“think it’s time for much needed sleep,” touching ethan’s chin one more time. allowing a moment for your body to remember his caress of your thighs and his hold on your waist.

with a reluctant heart you pulled away from his orbit and addictive touch to leave ethan in the bathroom as you walked back to your bed and waited for him to crawl in beside you. where in the morning you would find yourself tangled in sheets and arms, only to tell yourself it meant nothing more than being comfortable friends.

but hoping for the day it all changes.

-

[dullgecko]

Riz and Mazey end up becoming friends outside of their relationships with Fabian after Mazey learned that, not only did Riz also like musicals, but they had the same favourite musical.

Riz was busy in his senior year but he still tried to make an effort to hang ou with his friends. Even if that 'hanging out' was just him existing in the same room as them while he tried to get some work done.

He'd practically taken over an entire corner of one of the living rooms in Seacaster manor at the moment. Papers and photos and thick notebooks strewn across the floor in an arc around him as he sat in the centre of the chaos typing away on an ancient laptop as his friends held conversation on the other side of the room.

Mazey thought it looked lonely but Fabian let her know he was perfectly content. Plus, he was still listening to every word and could inject himself into the conversation whenever he wanted. Riz had glanced away from his screen when he heard Fabian say that, flicking his ears and grinning before getting back to work.

Fabian was right though, most of the time his party held conversations as if he was sitting in the thick of them. Occasionally asking him questions which he would reliably respond to as if he wasn't buried under a mountain of paperwork and only half listening.

Riz was still there even after the sun set and the rest of his party went home, the piles of papers somehow growing around him (one even sporting a plate with a half eaten sandwich on top that someone had forced on him, apparently when he got hyper focused like this he often didn't eat which was concerning).

One of Mazeys playlists had been playing softly in the background while her and Fabian continued to chat, the bard only vaguely aware that it had skipped over to one of her musical playlists when the first one ended when she stopped talking and could hear someone singing under their breath.

"What the fuck?" Mazey sat up straighter on the couch, looking around the room before zeroing in on Riz in hiss corner. The goblin quietly singing along to the lyrics and bopping his head occasionally in time with the music, though his eyes were still locked on his screen.

"Hmm?" Fabian followed his girlfirends gaze, laughing when he saw what had her so confused. "Oh yes. He does that sometimes, only around people he's comfortable with though... you must count now."

"Oh..." Mazey blinked, still watching the rogue. He hadn't messed up the lyrics yet so he was obviously familiar with the song. "I wouldn't have pegged him as someone who knew this song."

"It's one of my favourites." Riz glanced up from his laptop to meet her gaze, ears flicking happily. "I have the cast recording on vinyl in my office."

"It's my favourite too!" Mazey exclaimed "Have you seen it live yet?"

"Nah. Too expensive. I do have a decent recording of it thought. Want me to send it to you?" Riz dug his crystal out of his pocket when Mazey nodded enthusiastically, his laptop getting put on the ground so he could stand up and pick his way through his minefield of papers to get to the pair on the couch.

"I could buy you tickets The Ball." Fabian said, his voice thick with exasperation as he reached up to ruffle the goblins hair when he got close. This was obviously a conversation they'd had before because Riz just poked his tongue out at him and didn't say anything. The rogue clambering up onto the couch on the other side of Mazey to settle down with his crystal and show her the recording.