#*trauma beams them*

[vcaart]

Partner having an existential crisis? Try head bumps and head rubs today!

[moonshere]

Been thinking a lot about this “the family plays isat” AU and how it might happen

Siffrin would probably refuse for them to play it if he was aware of it (thinking about how they said when learning about the diary in the library that they would hate it if someone read their deepest thoughts) and the rest of the family would also respect that, because it really would be a breach of trust. They’d prefer it if Siffrin talked to them himself, after all.

A situation I could see it happening is if, post-Loop battle, Siffrin’s Craft exhaustion got so severe he gets knocked out for a full week or two, maybe more! And the family would be so worried and desperate to understand what happened so that if the game appeared to them suddenly, they’d be tempted enough to play through it. If only just to figure out how to help Siffrin wake up again

(and probably a mixture of other emotions too, wanting to see the conversations Siffrin had with them that they don’t remember, feeling guilty that they didn’t notice soon enough, terrified that Siffrin is hiding something else. I mean, Siffrin straight up did not mention the Loop battle to them at all, even after they promised to talk! so they’d be worried on what happened there already)

Honestly I think all of them would also be exhausted and on bed rest after the whole quest to defeat the King was over, it took months of constant movement and stress so the whole family would crash hard afterwards. Cuz of that they’d be stuck together on like the infirmary or a private room with strict orders to take it easy, what better time to play the game than that?

[crimsondestroyer]

it has occurred to me that i should probably post things i make places other than random discord servers, lmao. hi! i make rhythm doctor custom levels set to ajr songs where i take small birds and inflict severe emotional trauma upon them. this week on The Bird Chronicles, cockatiel has an identity crisis and eats reality

[poobletoods]

I just wanted to keep you safe.

I just wanted to keep you.

[florenceisfalling]

its ok the situation is long behind me and i have never experienced a bad feeling about it ever 👍 (lying)

[inkskinned]

the other day we were talking about balance beams because you said that your family had one of those cool winch ones that wrap around trees to make a high wire. even though i was pretty good i had to quit gymnastics at 12 because we couldn't afford dance and gymnastics but. i had something-other.

and i got excited because i think it's a funny story. i didn't have a door for about 4 years. 13-17, or there about. i only got it back because i replaced it myself.

i think my dad took it off the hinges just because his very-macho friend david had said - i do this to punish my kids. and then about a week later it was down on the ground and then eventually rotting in a shed. i used to visit it on occasion and tilt it between two boxes so i could try to walk across the side of it. i have a scar on my foot from attempting the act of balance-beam fancy dancing. it's shaped like a crescent moon. a hinge sliced into my skin when the whole thing slipped out from underneath me.

and you looked at me and you said - what the fuck?

and i said, do you want to see? because i thought the thing you were replying to was the injury. i was already undoing my shoelaces.

you're supposed to have a door, you said slowly. you were a teenager. you - i've seen your house. you lived at the end of the hall.

i didn't understand the problem. so? i wriggled out of my shoe and then my sock.

so, you said it gently, which made me slow down. you said it in the way people tell me that i experienced something bad and i have no idea that it was supposed to be something-else instead. anyone coming down the stairs or in the hallway could see directly into your room. you were in a fishbowl for four years, am i understanding that correctly?

i stared at you, and then said the other things: well, it wasn't so bad. i just wore a towel and tucked myself into a corner to change. i could always just change in the bathroom. privacy didn't really exist for any of us. i wasn't allowed to decorate so it wasn't really my room anyway. i didn't have a lot of things growing up; so it's not like i minded having a semi-public space. my siblings left me alone if i needed them to. what's the big deal anyway.

this is accidentally what emotional vampires incorrectly label as a "trauma dump". this is accidentally how you learn that my house was actually unsafe. i don't even consider this a problem, because everything else was so much worse, in a way. i didn't know it was supposed to be different. at the time, i didn't know what privacy was. i just lied about most stuff and got good at hiding in public. i haven't ever lied about this because i didn't know it was supposed to be different. i am 31.

you looked pale and ready to throw up. you had a right to a door for your room. you were a kid. someone should have helped you.

i was busy examining the sole of my foot. the scar really does look like the moon.

[lavenderspence]

A bunch of cuties in love | A.H.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Content warning: fluff, nicknames (i think that's about it?)

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: Running late to a meeting with Strauss, Hotch leaves Jack with his favorite person - you. The scene that greets him when he comes back leads to some realizations. 

Request: Hotch request: BAU!Reader is Jack’s favorite and always spends the day with them when he’s brought along to the office. They have a cute bonding moment that Hotch secretly watches. Cue the “oh god I’m in love with them aren’t I”

A/N: it’s been two months today since I made this blog, and it’s been wild, it’s been fun, and it’s been a little teary. thank you for the love and support! Please enjoy this cute little hotch piece, I had a blast writing it! Thank you to the anon who requested this, and I’d love to hear what you think! Also, I miss old Disney😭

masterlist

9:23.

On the days you weren’t working on a case, and the only thing you really needed to catch up on was paperwork, your usual start time was 8:30. Yet almost an hour had gone by and he wasn’t in his office like he usually would be.

With a punctual Unit Chief like Aaron Hotchner, it was a shock, and a little nerve-wracking that he was late. 

You’d lie if you didn’t say you were getting a little worried, taking into account the last and only time he’d been late - Foyet attacking him in his own home, leaving him with long-lasting trauma, scars, and without his family. 

You'd never forget that day, and every day after where he was left to suffer, laying the blame on himself. No matter how many times you said it, how many times Rossi patted him on the back, reminding him it wasn't his fault, you knew a part of him still didn't believe it.

And the part of you that cared about him, maybe a little more than you should, didn't have the heart to watch him do this to himself - the silent guilt, the long empty looks. 

You’ve known him awhile, seen him through many of his ups, and just as many as his downs. You’d seen him laugh in glee and beam with happiness, you’d seen him lose it in anger and anguish and you’d seen him cry in heartbreak. 

So much of your life spent beside him, so many memories linked with him, and your team. And much of it you knew was friendly love - your love for Emily and Spencer, JJ and Morgan, Penelope and Rossi. But the love you felt for him was just a tiny bit different, deeper, not the friendly kind. 

You’d only recently started to understand what you were really feeling for him, as recent as the last few weeks. Still new and a little unexplainable at times, you were learning to balance that, within your friendship.

You didn’t think you wanted to pursue anything, right now. It had been a little over two years since he’d lost Haley, since he’d needed to start navigating his life as a single dad, a widower. 

You could still see the pain in his eyes, fresh as the day it had happened. You knew he was managing, but it was still apparent, that it was hitting them both hard.

And Jack? He was a little ray of sunshine in the otherwise gruesome life all of you led - the same could be said about Henry. But Henry was Reid's favorite, as his godfather, you knew the bond between them was unbreakable. 

But Jack? You were his favorite, and he was yours. 

He was your little buddy, your partner in all things art, cartoons, and Disney shows. He was your little helper during all things baking - you'd babysat once and he'd requested chocolate chip, peanut butter cookies and you'd been more than happy to help him make them.

He was a natural baker and a little taster. 

Your love for the little cutie ran as deep as your feelings for his dad.

At the end of the day though, you were a friend, a shoulder both could use to lean on and rely on. You were comfortable in your role within their little family and weren't looking to make any changes then.

9:28.

You were playing with your watch, already having decided you’d be giving him a call if he didn't arrive by 9:30.

Worry was making your hands sweat, and just as you went to wipe them on your pants, the door to the bullpen opened, and in walked a very frantic Hotch - his tie was a little crooked, shirt a little wrinkled, and Jack - a little backpack on his back, and a curious look paired with a timid smile.

Aaron's eyes searched the bullpen, as did Jack's, the little Hotchner noticing you seconds before his father did. You stood up, watching as the blond pulled away from his dad, and on a little run, made his way towards you. 

“Cutiee.” He called out, using the nickname you called him, to address you too. You leaned down when he was a few steps away, accepting his hug, his little arms wrapping around your neck. 

“Hi, cutie.” You greeted him, a wide smile on your face. Hotch had made his way over to you by then, giving you a barely-there smile, but his eyes shone.

“You're late.” You started, pulling to your full height.

“Yeah, Jessica was called on an emergency at the last minute, and Liah is away on a hiking trip, so here we are.” Liah was Hotch's neighbor, she looked after Jack for a few hours when Hotch couldn't stay with him, or Jess was busy.

He looked at his watch, running a hand through his hair, messing it up a little.

“I have a meeting with Strauss…well, right now. Can you please watch him until I get done?” 

“Go, don't make her wait. We'll be okay and we're going to have fun. Right, Jack?” You watched him nod at both you and his dad before Hotch exhaled.

“You're a lifesaver. Be good for Y/N, okay buddy.” Another nod from Jack, and he was on his way to Strauss's office.

‘’Okay Jack, let's see if Aunt Penelope can download a few episodes of ‘The Suite Life’ for us, and then we'll go color and draw for a while. Does that sound good to you?” 

“Very good. Can I also have orange juice?” He asked, taking your hand in his small, soft one, fingers wrapping around your own.

“Let's go see if we have any.” You walked towards the small communal kitchen space, checking the fridge and then you checked the pantry…and, “Bingo. Let's go see the lair.” You led him to Penelope's office.

“Knock, knock, may us mortals enter?” You joked, making your little partner giggle. 

“Us?” Her voice rang from the other side of the door.

“I have sir Hotchner with me. The smaller one.”

“Hey,” Jack said in outrage

“My favorite Hotchner.” You added.

Penelope pulled the door open, beaming at both of you, before she made space for you to enter. 

“Jack, my love, hi,” She raised her hand, letting him give her a high five. Even though she was affectionate, Jack wasn’t as much, especially after Haley. He only hugged a few people now - Jess, his dad, and surprisingly, you. 

It really showed how comfortable he was with you.

“What brings you to my tech cave?” She asked. You raised your brows at him, prompting him to do the talking. 

“Can you, please, download a few episodes of Zack and Cody for us?” His voice rang with its usual child calm and sweetness, fingers intertwined in front of him. 

Penelope's smile softened even more, “Sure thing, sweetie,” Her eyes turned towards you then, “Your tablet?”

“Yes, please.” You knew it was a work tablet, but no one had to know.

“Any requests?” She asked the little guy.

“You pick.”

“Okay-dokey. Should have it in about 10 minutes, my loves.”

“Thank you, Aunt Penelope.”

“Thanks Pen.” You gave her air kisses before you led Jack out and towards his father's office. 

His day had started rocky, hell, the whole night had gone that way. 

Jack had woken up from a nightmare - twice at that. After the second time, he’d asked Aaron to sleep in his bed, too scared and sad to stay in his room.

He’d snoozed his alarm, just once, and had a hard time waking his son up too. He’d had 20 minutes to get himself ready, but Jessica had called 10 minutes before she was supposed to arrive - apologizing because she’d been called on an emergency at work. 

Aaron had to rearrange his whole morning then, already aware he’d be late for work. He’d had to get Jack and his backpack ready and cook him breakfast. All of that, and be in the office before his 9:30 meeting with Strauss. 

Breakfast and preparing Jack for a day at the BAU, he’d done successfully. Arriving on time had been a little tricky, with barely 2 minutes to spare. 

But when he’d walked into the bullpen, Jack spotting you just seconds before he did, and he’d watched your smile grow, he’d known all would be okay. 

Watching you with Jack always brought a warm feeling within him, like he was watching something sacred. You were always patient and kind, always interested in listening to him talk, even though he was a quiet kid, who appreciated quality time more. 

You gave him that too, and a lot of it - you watched cartoons and shows with him. Colored and drew, baked cookies, and played with him whenever he wanted. Any time spent with Jack was about what he wanted, what he liked doing, and above all, making him comfortable. 

Even if it meant cleaning flour off your kitchen floor and whatever had gotten in the drawers too. 

He appreciated, even loved the bond you had with his son, every smile, every hug, and every minute you spend with him. He loved hearing about you from Jack - what you’d done together, what you’d told him, the stories, the jokes, the conversations. 

Hearing his son proclaim you as his favorite person in the BAU had made his heart soar. Taking into account all the time you spent with him, it wasn’t really a surprise. He bonded hard, but once he did, he never went back.

He was much like Aaron himself in that regard. His trust had to be earned, as did his friendship, and it required hard work. Jack was much the same. And you’d successfully earned both of theirs with your beautiful and caring personality. 

He exhaled a breath, checking his watch, step fast, and briefcase in hand. 

11:18.

His meeting with Strauss had run longer than he’d anticipated - over an hour and a half. Diplomacy, politics, budgets, and cuts, they’d run through countless things, half of that meeting already fully blacked out from his memory. 

He was tired - every meeting with Strauss left him drained. Worried,  about Jack and his state of mind after last night. All he wanted to do was get to his office and check up on his son. 

Walking into the bullpen for the second time that day, he quickly made his way towards his office, only to stop short at the window. The blinds were open, having forgotten to close them last night, so he had a clear and full view of his office.

You were sat on the couch close to the armrest, Jack cuddled against you, cheek squished against your collarbone, face almost buried in your neck. 

Your work tablet sat propped on the coffee table, and your arm wrapped around his small body, keeping him close. His eyes were almost closed, your thumb running soothingly on his back. 

He watched, mesmerized by the scene. He felt himself soften, all of him. His face, the furrow in his brow, and the tight set of his lips. His whole body, his heart, suddenly at peace. 

For months he'd observed the kindness you showed everyone - the families of victims, heartbroken by the injustice of life. Passersby, people you might never see again. Your team, especially, your work family. Jack, and even Aaron himself. 

And as he watched you with his son, the one person left in this world who truly loved him, no matter his rights or wrongs - he couldn't help but feel himself unravel. 

Every little thought he'd had about you, every feeling he might have somehow suppressed in order to protect himself and his child, they all attacked him, in seconds. 

Because the truth was, you earned his trust, his friendship, and somehow along the way, you'd won his heart as well.

Right at that moment, his heart pounded in need, in adoration, in pure, clear love. Love he hadn't allowed himself to feel since Haley. Love, he'd frankly hadn't felt in years, ever since he’d put his signature down on the dotted line. 

He wanted to get home to see this. He wanted to see you put Jack to bed, and kiss his forehead with a whispered ‘good night’.

He wanted to stroke your cheek tenderly, pull you into a kiss that made you melt, and stroke a fire within you like no one else could. 

He wanted to tell you he loved you - in the car, as he drove you to work. In the kitchen during breakfast and dinner. In his office, a few stolen moments as you worked. And under the sheets, while you made love. 

And even through the fear that gripped him in a vice, of rejection, separation, and even trust - he still wanted to love you, as if he was loving someone for the first time again. 

“Everything okay, Aaron?” David asked, passing on the way to his office. 

Aaron barely spared him a glance, nodding his head a little, “Yeah, it's okay.”

He pushed the door to his office open and walked in, greeted by his new favorite sight, and his two favorite people. 

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[eryanlainfa]

Updated my notes for the monster AU and it just turned into actual writing again-

"For the past few months he had been preparing himself for his own death, never had he thought he'd bury his lover before himself.

And yet here he was, standing upon their grave, fresh flowers adorning the tomb."

I'M FINE. SO NORMAL ABOUT THEM.

[briefinquiries]

Tyler Owens x Reader: Too Easy

Request: Anonymous asked: "okay i have a tyler owens request!! him and reader are both tornado wranglers and they’ve always had a somewhat flirty relationship, but at one point they’re out chasing and the motel they stay at that night doesn’t have enough rooms for all of them so Tyler and the reader decide to share and reader has a nightmare? or just some kind of angst or hurt/comfort with a happy ending? love ur work!"

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: PTSD, trauma, tornado mention

A/N: I changed it from flirty to an enemies to lovers-type relationship, just because i've been craving to write that type of banter. as always, comments & replies are super appreciated!!! thanks for reading :)

As soon as you saw the familiar red Dodge truck parked outside the motel you groaned. 

“Is this guy everywhere, all the time?” Halle, one of your crew members, mumbled from the driver’s seat. She pulled your SUV into the only empty spot in the parking lot. 

She was referencing Tyler– another local storm chaser and absolute pain in your ass. His Ram truck was like a symbol all around Oklahoma. Everyone in the midwest knew his name– and what he did. You, on the other hand, knew him as a self-absorbed jerk that constantly put his and his team’s lives in danger for a few hundred thousand views on YouTube. He was cocky and obnoxious and arrogant. And you couldn’t stand him. 

Unfortunately for you though, Tyler Owens and his entire team went where the storms went. Which meant that you were stuck dealing with him– especially during tornado season. 

“Let’s just get a room, maybe we missed him,” you mumbled before turning to the backseat. “Anna, could you pass me my bag?” 

“Sure thing,” she replied, grunting as she handed your duffel over. 

“How about two rooms tonight?” you suggested. “I feel like I haven’t actually slept since we were in Austin.”

“God, I’ve been waiting for you to suggest that,” Halle mumbled. The bags around her eyes suggested she was just as eager for a good night’s sleep as you were. 

Together, the three of you dragged yourselves towards the motel lobby, exhausted and desperate for both a shower and a bed. 

“Why don’t you guys wait with all the gear? I’ll go in and book the rooms,” you offered. 

“Two of them,” Halle said with a relieved smile. 

“Two rooms coming up,” you promised. 

They nodded in agreement and settled in on the curb while you wandered inside. The bell above the door rang loudly as you stepped inside. As soon as you did, you realized that, to your absolute dismay, a familiar someone had already beat you to the front desk. You’d recognize those stupid, broad shoulders any day, even if you were sleep deprived.  

“Evenin’ m’lady,” Tyler’s little sidekick said teasingly. He tipped his baseball cap towards you.   

“Hey Boone,” you greeted back curtly.   

“What’d ya think of that beaut earlier, huh? Not too often we get two storm cells like that.”

“Yeah it was somethin’,” you replied absentmindedly. Honestly, you didn’t dislike Boone. He was friendly– maybe a little overzealous for your liking, but overall a nice guy. It was a shame he was always around Tyler– otherwise you might not always be so annoyed with him, too.  

“There she is,” Tyler beamed. He approached you and Boone while he tucked a few room keys in his wallet. “Were you fillin’ Boone in on why you picked the wrong storm to chase today? Because that’s a story I want to hear–” 

Your gaze fell to the floor, chest tightening the same way it did in the field earlier. “The winds changed last minute– I didn’t catch it,” you muttered, although you shouldn’t even have to explain yourself to this hillbilly. 

“Ah, I see. Man, you’re off your game, sweetheart. Usually it’s me missin’ those signs. What do you got cloudin’ up that pretty little mind of yours?” 

Anger began seeping into the corners of your mind. “Why do you even care?” you asked icily. “Thought you’d be happy to have that storm all to yourself.”

“Oh, I was sweetheart,” Tyler winked. “But I don’t mind sharin’ with you.”

Rolling your eyes, you pushed past him towards the front desk. A younger girl with short, red hair offered you a smile. “How can I help you?”

“I need two rooms please,” you requested, it took about all the energy you had left to smile back. 

The girl sucked in a breath of air. “Oh, I’m so sorry– this gentleman here just rented three rooms. All we have left is one.”

“One?” you asked in disbelief, mouth falling open. 

She nodded. “There’s two beds, though, if that helps.”

“Shit,” you grumbled. Your team was exhausted– and you knew that you couldn’t just take back your promise for them to have their own beds. 

“I’m sorry–” the girl repeated, but you shook your head. 

“No, it’s okay. Not your fault,” you said quickly, trying to remember your manners.. 

“Somethin’ wrong over there sweetheart?” Tyler asked teasingly.  

“Yeah, you took all but one of the rooms. Now my team doesn’t have enough.”

“C’mon, I’ve seen you guys cram into one room before.”

“Yeah, but they’re exhausted. We haven’t had our own beds in weeks and I promised them…” your voice trailed off. Why the hell were you even explaining any of this to him? “You know what? Just forget it–” you turned back towards the receptionist. “I’ll take the one room, please.”

After passing your card over and paying, you turned and pushed back past Tyler and Boone. But before you could reach the door, Tyler’s voice stopped you in your tracks. 

“What are you just gonna go back on your promise? That’s really gonna disappoint your team–”

“I’ll sleep in the damn truck,” you snapped, zero patience for any of his sarcasm or feeble attempts at a joke. “Happy?”

“Hey–” he said, voice softening instantly. “I was just kiddin’ around.”

“Really funny,” you said, sarcasm dripping off your tongue, now more than usual, Tyler was getting on your nerves. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and disappoint my team.”

Without waiting for whatever retort Tyler could come up with next, you finally pushed your way through the door without looking back. 

You found Halle and Anna in the same place you left them– still sitting on the curb, slouched over and exhausted-looking.  

“Hey guys, bad news–” you began, guilt already spreading through your stomach. But before you could, the bell to the lobby door rang out, causing you to groan.  

You took a deep, steadying breath to calm your nerves, just in time for Tyler to speak. “Now I have an idea– how about we share? I got three rooms for my team, but that’s six beds… we only need five.”

You spun around so fast, you were surprised you didn’t get whiplash. “Look Tyler, as much as you know I love your antics, can we not do this right now? Please?”

“Who said anythin’ about antics?” he pressed. “I’m bein’ serious here. Your two can have their beds and you can take one of ours.”

“No way,” you spat quickly. “I’m sleeping in the car.”

By now, Halle and Anna had seemingly picked up on the situation. They stood up and crossed their arms disapprovingly in unison. 

“You can’t sleep in the car, that’s ridiculous,” Anna said. 

“Yeah, why don’t you and Anna take the room and I’ll share with Tyler’s crew,” Halle offered. 

“No,” you shook your head. “I promised you guys a good night’s sleep tonight– I’m not letting you crash with them.”

“Well we’re not letting you sleep in the car,” Halle argued back. “It’s like… eighty-five degrees out here.” 

You let your eyes fall shut for a moment, trying to think. But the truth was, you really were just so, so tired. You wanted everything about today– the storm cells you got wrong from earlier, the endless hours of driving, and lack of sleep, over with. And if bunking with someone from Tyler’s crew was the only way to make that happen, well then, so be it, you finally decided. Better you than Halle or Anna. 

“See– even your team isn’t as scared of us as you are,” Tyler chuckled. 

“Fine,” you snapped, shaking your head in disbelief. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening. “Who am I sharing with?”

Maybe you’d get lucky and get to room with Dani or Lilly–

“That would be me,” Tyler chirped, eyes glistening under the streetlamp. 

Well fuck me, you thought. 

…

You curled up in the double bed closest to the wall. By the time you got up to the room, Tyler had already claimed the one closest to the door.

You heard the water snap off in the bathroom, followed by the sound of Tyler peeling back the shower curtain. That was your cue to feign sleep, if only to avoid any further conversation with him for the night. You rolled over and pulled the blankets up to your chin. 

After a few minutes, he emerged from the bathroom– the noise from the fan growing louder and a sudden whiff of his shampoo washing over you. You’d never admit it– but the way he smelled was actually one of the few things you liked about Tyler. 

“I know you’re not sleepin’,” he said as he began rummaging through his bag. 

“How the hell would you know that?” you groaned. 

You heard him chuckle softly. “Because you wouldn’t have answered if you were.”

This fucking cowboy. 

“Well I’d like to be sleeping,” you said, still not rolling over to face him. 

“And here I was hopin’ we’d use our little sleepover to get to know each other a little better.”

“You can lay off the act,” you said suddenly, all of your anger and exhaustion just melting into a pool of unfiltered irritation. 

There was a brief pause before Tyler replied, “What do you mean?”

“I mean there’s no audience in here– no team members watching, no YouTube subscribers viewing us. You don’t have to pretend to be all sweet and charming.”

“I wasn’t aware I was pretending–”

“Oh cut the shit, Tyler. You love to drive me crazy me– just admit it. And it's probably my fault for letting you get to me so easily. But I mean, c'mon, was it your plan all along to just get me to share a room with you so you could keep me up all night getting to know me better?”

He let out a huff of air that sounded frustrated, as opposed to his usual amusement. “You’re something else, Y/N, you know that?”

You were caught off guard by Tyler’s use of your actual name. He always resorted to nicknames– either sweetheart or the town he knew you were from. In fact, in the few years you’d known him, the only time he’d ever repeated your name was the first time you told it to him. 

You sat up in bed and finally turned to face him– trying to gauge his demeanor. 

“I offer you a room– I didn’t have to do that, you know? And believe it or not, I didn’t offer it to you just to make your life miserable. I did it because I didn’t like the idea of you sleepin’ in your car alone–” he shook his head. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter. Goodnight.”

Before you could even think of a reply, Tyler was peeling back the covers of his own bed and crawling in. He laid on his left side, back facing you.

You stayed in place for a moment, too stunned to move or speak or do much of anything.

Eventually, you laid back down, trying your best to deny the pool of guilt spreading through your stomach.

… 

With one arm you held on to your sister's hand as hard as you could– feeling the muscles in your shoulder strain and pop as you did. 

“Hold on!” you shouted, pleading with her not to let go. 

With your other hand, you were clinging to the handle on the storm shelter door. Somehow it had managed to pop open after the two of you had escaped inside. 

She looked down at you, her body suspended in the air– nothing but sheer, unfiltered terror reflecting in her round-rimmed glasses. 

“C’mon!” you screamed. 

“Please–” she gasped. “Please don’t let me go!”

“I got you!” you screamed, but you could feel that your grip on her clammy hand wasn’t as tight as it needed to be. “No–” you yelled. 

“Don’t let me go–” she repeated, nails digging into your skin desperately. 

But you didn’t even have time to adjust your grip before she was slipping away– in the end, the winds won. 

In the blink of an eye, her body was being sucked away from you– further and further into the dark storm clouds barreling your way. 

“No!” you screamed, reaching for the spot her body was moments before. “No!” 

But then you felt your own grip slipping on the door handle and you knew you needed both hands to hold on if you wanted to survive. So, using all your strength– you dragged yourself to the bottom of the storm shelter. You found the safest corner– next to some old piping to curl up. 

The whole time the storm raged on above you– you couldn’t stop screaming. So, you squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your forehead against your knees, making yourself as small as possible. And then, with everything you had left, you wound your arms around the piping and held on like your life depended on it… because it did. 

…

Your name sounded so distant when you heard someone calling it– like it was miles away. Then, vaguely, it came more into focus as it was called again. 

The third time, it was right next to you– and it was familiar… but you didn’t dare to look up. What if the storm was still raging outside? What if it took you next? 

Hands gripped your shoulders– causing you to jolt awake. 

Your eyes shot open as you pulled yourself from your nightmare. Tyler was sitting on the edge of your bed, his mouth hung open, like he was out of breath. 

“Tyler?” you croaked, attempting to sit up from the mattress. 

“You’re okay,” he said instantly. “You’re okay– you’re safe.”

Once you had managed to sit up, you studied Tyler’s face for a moment, trying desperately to gauge if any of this was real. Despite the darkness around you, you could still make out every feature– every crease, every freckle, every single piece of stubble that made up his shaved beard. And as much as you’d admired Tyler’s face in the last few years, even you knew that you couldn’t have been that detailed in your imagination.   

You wanted to ask what the hell he was doing there– how he had gotten in her room, when all of a sudden, the same memories that had plagued you in your dream resurfaced in your mind.

The sight of the EF4 tornado that destroyed every inch of your childhood home. The image of your sister’s terrified face– right before she was ripped from your grasp. The sound of her scream, dissipating with the raging winds. 

“Easy, sweetheart,” Tyler soothed. 

You turned to face him– Tyler was here because he’d let you share his room… because he was way kinder than you ever gave him credit for. And now he was here– witnessing you completely falling apart.

Tyler’s lips began moving– he was talking. But despite the vague comfort from his tone of voice, you couldn’t really make out what he was saying. It was like the winds were still raging around you– muffling everything. 

You felt like your heart might just beat out of your chest– maybe that was the tornado working to rip it from your skin. 

“Hey–” a voice… no, not a voice. Tyler’s voice, said. “You gotta breathe.”

What was he talking about? You were breathing– of course you were breathing. Unless... unless the tornado ripped out your lungs instead of your heart. And now that you thought about it, no, actually, you weren’t breathing. You tried to inhale in, but the air wouldn’t come. You gasped, chest tightening while you began to tremble. 

Your lungs weren’t in your chest– your lungs flew away– just like your sister.

Firm, rough hands cupped both of your cheeks, forcing you to look forward. You were met by Tyler’s green eyes, currently blown open and wide with worry. 

“Breathe, baby,” he instructed. “With me– look.”

Baby, you thought. That was a new one. You didn’t hate it nearly as much as you hated sweetheart. 

You watched desperately as Tyler inhaled and exhaled exaggeratedly, like he was hoping you’d follow along.  

You tried. Really, you did.

Your wide, desperate eyes met his. But instead of following along, all you could do was imagine what your sister’s body had looked like after being struck by debris and tossed halfway across town–

“With me,” Tyler repeated firmly, his thumb stroking across the surface of your cheek gently. You leaned into his touch, craving comfort. 

Tyler continued producing loud and deliberate, slow and calming breaths. After a few seconds, you latched onto the sound, mimicking it, and following along the best that you could. 

Your shoulders relaxed slightly when you realized that you could actually breathe– which meant that EF5 hadn’t actually ripped them out of your chest. 

Tyler’s brushed a loose strand of hair from your face. “There you go,” he whispered.

“Did I wake you up?” you asked quietly, feeling even guiltier than you had for snapping at him all night. 

He hesitated– like he was actually debating on lying to you or not. 

“Was I screaming?” 

“I mean, a little bit–”

You nodded before letting your gaze fall to your lap, where you began picking harshly at an old hangnail, a feeble attempt to distract yourself. 

“Do you–” Tyler began. “Do you have those nightmares often?”

Now it was your turn to contemplate lying. But then you remembered what an absolute jerk you’d been to Tyler all night, and figured you at least owed him the truth. 

“Yeah,” you said. “That’s partially why I wanted to sleep in the truck.”

Tyler smiled softly. “And here I was thinking it was because you hated me so much.”

“I’m sorry–” you began, voice shaking slightly. “I know I can be a jerk.”

One of Tyler’s eyebrows shot up like he was surprised. 

“What?” you asked. 

“No it’s just… that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you apologize.”

“What can I say?” you mumbled, trying to make light of things. “You seem to always see the worst versions of myself.” 

Tyler’s gaze softened, like he knew you were talking about more than your lack of apologies. After a moment he sighed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Glancing up, you hesitated. Your heart had just stopped pounding in your chest, but the thought of talking about what had happened in your home just a few short years ago made it speed up again.  

“You don’t have to–” Tyler said quickly. 

“No– it’s just…” your voice faltered. “I just haven’t really talked about it.” 

Tyler was patient. He stayed still on the edge of your bed and waited for you to be ready. After you sorted through some of the thoughts in your head you whispered, “You know I’ve been chasing in Oklahoma since I was a teenager?”

Tyler’s face lit up in surprise. 

“It’s true. I took a few years off… and when I came back, I was upset to see Oklahoma had a new storm chaser. One that everyone seemed to like more than me,” you admitted. You weren’t sure why this was all flowing out so freely, but even you had to admit that it felt nice to be honest. “That’s why I’ve been so mean to you, I think. It felt like you were encroaching on my turf. And then you showed up with your fancy truck– and all your gear, and I suppose I just felt a little jealous.” 

Tyler nodded in understanding. “Why’d you take a few years off?”

Your voice caught in your throat. Only when you hung your head did you feel confident enough to answer. “Remember that EF5 that hit Logan County a few years back?”

Tyler nodded. 

“My family’s farm was in Logan County. My parents were away– on a weekend trip to Colorado to see family. But I’d convinced my sister to stay home with me, because I didn’t want to go,” the words that were your mouth suddenly didn’t feel like yours. And the trembling hands in your lap didn’t feel like yours either. 

“The storm turned last minute. We barely had any warning. But I grabbed my sister– and we ran to the storm shelter. We made it, too– but then the door ripped open. When she went to shut it…” your voice trailed off. “Well you can use your imagination for the rest.”

You finally gathered up enough courage to glance up at Tyler. His eyes were fixated on you– sadness and sympathy plastered all over his face. “I’m so sorry,” he said genuinely. 

“Yeah, well…” you said weakly. “The worst part is– I think I remember locking the storm shelter door– but I wonder every single day of my life if I accidentally forgot. Which… I mean, convincing her to stay home already makes it partially my fault. But I can write that one off– and remind myself I didn’t know what was going to happen. But forgetting to lock the storm shelter?” you sighed. “That would be a harder one to forgive myself for.”

Tyler scooted closer towards you on the bed. He raised his hand– he was reaching out to comfort you. But then he pulled back, like he thought better. You were surprised by how disappointed that made you. 

“It’s not your fault–” Tyler assured you. 

It was the same thing your parents had said your whole life– so why couldn’t you believe it? 

“I guess it doesn't really matter whose fault it was,” you said. “She’s gone and I’m not. I took a few years off from chasing because I just couldn’t… I couldn’t get myself in the right headspace for it. Every time I saw a cell forming, I’d panic– and I’d want to run from it, not chase it. Things are better now… but every once and a while, I still run. Like today,” you admitted. “I knew the winds changed. I knew the one to the east was gonna die out. That’s why I chose it.” 

Tyler sighed. “And then I gave you shit for it,” he said, remorse in his tone. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” you admitted. “And I’m really grateful you let me crash in your room. I think if I’d been screamin’ like that in my car, it would’ve caused quite the scene.”

Tyler’s lips tugged into a gentle smile. “I told you I didn’t mind sharing when it came to you. Plus, I learned more about you during our little sleepover than I have in the last few years chasin’ next to you.” 

“Yeah, well…” you mumbled. “Don’t get used to it.”

Tyler smirked. “Does that mean you’re going to go back to hating me tomorrow, when we’re no longer roommates? Or have I finally cracked through that tough ole shell of yours?”

“You keep offerin’ me motel rooms for free and I’ll be an open book,” you laughed. 

Tyler nodded, like he was storing that offer for later. 

“Hey, I don’t know about you,” he said, suddenly clapping his thighs before standing up. “But all that screaming got me wide awake. You hungry? I’m buying.”

He held out his hand– waiting for you to take it. 

“Are you offering me a room and dinner in one night?” you teased. 

“And all you had to do was reveal your deepest, darkest secrets and traumas to me,” Tyler smirked. 

“Tyler Owens, you’re too easy,” you said, gladly taking his outstretched hand.

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

Huge thanks to hattiemagix for commissioning this!

Doey & motherly fem reader

★ When Doey first met the reader, he was immediately wary of her. Her kind nature was unfamiliar and he couldn't tell if it was an act or not, it made him suspicious. Even though he liked it when you were around he tried to keep his distance. Can you really blame him? He’s met a lot of people who’ve pretended to be nice, only for them to end up hurting him. 

★ Doey tested the reader's boundaries to see if her kindness was genuine. Slowly challenging her patience. "Let's see how long she can keep this up," he thought, observing her reactions closely. Shurely she would slip and show her true colors. 

★ Even though it was a tad annoying, you were still patient with him. You never raised your voice or showed anger, even when he was acting difficult. Whether it was explaining something for the hundredth time or dealing with his defensive attitude, you remained steadfast in your kindness. 

★ He started to realize that the reader genuinely cared for his well-being. Something he’s not at all used to. Doey never expected to meet someone, an ex-employee no less, who would try so hard to make him feel safe. He misses having someone to look after him, it's been so long, he almost forgot what it's like to be cared for. 

★ After that he quickly got used to you, your presence became a comfort. As the days in the factory slowly passed he grew even closer to you. Soon enough he started seeing you as an adoptive mother. But he decided to keep that to himself, for now at least, he wouldn't want to make you feel uncomfortable.  

★ If anything were to happen to you, he would be devastated. If you need to leave the Safe Haven, Doey becomes visibly anxious. He begins clinging to you, reluctant to let you go. He asks you to make a promise to stay safe and be careful. The thought of losing you fills him with dread."Promise me you'll be careful, okay? I need to know you'll come back safe” 

★ After defeating the Doctor and the Prototype you bring him, and many of the other toys, home with you. Because of course you had to bring Kissy, Poppy and those who called the Safe Haven home out of the factory where they were starving. 

★ Doey feels a mix of emotions—relief, uncertainty, and a bit of excitement—as he steps into the reader's home "This is... home?" he asks, looking at the various objects you have hung up and strewn about. “Of course” you declare, looking at him as he turns his head. Doey’s expression unreadable, “that is, If you want it to be.” you quickly add. 

★ And of course he stays with you! Where else would he go? He's so attached to you he couldn't imagine living anywhere else. By this point, it was clear as day that he needed you around. The way he beams when you compliment him or how he always lingers by you gave it away.

★ After spending the past 10 years in the abandoned shell of a factory, Doey is very eager to make up for lost time. He's really excited to try something new. You take the opportunity to teach him various domestic skills. His new favorite thing is baking with you!

★ He still has nightmares about the factory. When Doey wakes up from a nightmare he's immediately disoriented and filled with fear, the trauma of the factory still lingering in his mind. His breathing is heavy and a sense of panic is overwhelming him. His panicked cries always wake you up.  

★ You’re quick to comfort him, rushing to his side and hugging him close "It was just a bad dream. You're okay, and nothing can hurt you here." your gentle touch helped to ground him, "It's okay, Doey. I'm here. You're safe now." it's working, because now his cries have dissolved into a quieter whimper.

★ To help Doey calm down, the reader reaches for his favorite book, "The Adventures of Word Wizard." She knows how much the story means to him and starts reading aloud, her voice steady and comforting. As she continues, doey feels his eyelids grow heavy. 

★ Just before he falls asleep, Doey murmurs softly, "Goodnight, Mom." The reader smiles softly, her heart melting from Doey's words. For the rest of the night, he sleeps soundly, knowing he's safe and cared for.

[orphicsun]

Breaking Your Walls: E.W

Content: Ellie Williams x Fem! reader, sexual content, Santa Barbara setting, near-death situation, porn with plot basically, oral sex (r! receiving), tribbing, sex on the shores, may contain grammar or spelling mistakes

݁Word Count: 4.3k

Description: You're used to moving from group to group in California, not wanting to stick around to watch someone you get attached to die. Ellie's on her own revenge mission in Santa Barbara when she sees you in the worst possible situation. You try not to open up to her, not wanting to actually feel something for someone who can die at any moment, but it's hard when she's everything you could ask for. Enjoy!

You were tied up to the wooden beam as it rot along with you. Your wrists were sore and probably red, your mind fuzzy with the blood loss. All of the labor done at the orders of cruel people, the countless hours all spent for naught, only to die on some pathetic wooden stake.

When you left your group, you thought it would be a fresh start. Los Angeles settlements were always safe, but sometimes you craved more. You didn't have a family, so you travelled a lot. It was easier to hop from place to place than to settle down. It was always easier not to fall in love with the people you met or to even feel an attachment to them. So when you left for Santa Barbara, you were feeling that adrenaline from survival. It was quite addictive.

Most people would say that living in a post-apocalyptical reality should not have been romanticized. It was constant grief, violence, and an embarrassing lack of hygiene amongst all people. But those who actually experienced it all knew the bond formed along with the trauma. Maybe that's why so many people willingly left the safety of settlements or mass groups. There was too much routine, and it's almost impossible to get used to not having to rely on pure wit and survival instincts.

There was no denying the dangers of travelling in your world, however. There was no way of pretending, not when you were currently on your death bed. Or more accurately, your death pillar. You only wanted to have another reckless adventure, and look where that got you. You had already accepted the death offered to you upon this pole, however. Now it was only a matter of actually dying.

The sun was constantly beating down upon you, mocking you in a way. You remembered how much you used to love the sun. Your mother would teach you sayings that got you through rather tough times.

"The nights may be rough, and you may doubt you'll even be alive in the morning. However, the sun will always come back out. The day will be new."

There wasn't much to believe in now that the sun was seeming to drain your body of its livelihood even more than you were already enduring. You were starving and you could feel your body giving up on your will to live. The first few days you had tried to escape and found no hope once you watched the other slaves around you practically drop like flies. You weren't even sure how long it had been since you were able to touch the ground. You just hoped the afterlife would be good to you, and maybe you would find your family once more.

You swear you almost saw the pearly gates and for some reason, it hurt. You hit the ground with a thud and your vision was betraying you more than you could ever predict. There was possibly a person standing over you, one who wasn't much taller than you. And then you lost consciousness.

-

You awoke to a cold rag on your face, and you felt some dusty couch underneath you. You were somewhere in California still, you could tell by the window outside and the heat that still harassed your skin. You saw the figure once more and your vision finally adjusted.

She looked unhealthy too, lanky with her ribs slightly visible even through her bloodied tank top. Her hair was messy and an auburn shade that seemed to reflect some reddish undertones when she shifted and the sun hit the strands just right. She looked as if she had been injured, and you were puzzled to how she seemed so unbothered by her state.

"You're awake." She stated as if you didn't already know that. She wore a cautious expression, and you could tell she wasn't keen on trusting you yet. You couldn't blame her, but it was obvious you were also in no position to harm her.

You let out a shaky breath and tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness fell over you. You were reminded of how hungry you were, and your throat was dry with the need for water. The girl seemed to notice, and tossed you a flask.

"Drink slowly, or you're gonna end up heaving up water. You look like a fucking corpse, you know that?" Her words were harsh but laced with some concern her face tried to lack. You tried to hold back from chugging the water. It was warm and probably not the most fresh, but you were desperate. The liquid went down your throat and you couldn't help but wonder who this angel woman was. She seemed to even match her actions with her appearance; there was just a hint of a flutter your stomach couldn't suppress when you glanced at her. Maybe it was nausea, but regardless, you found her beautiful. Like some auburn-haired savior.

"What's your name?" You asked, your voice raspy with disuse.

She didn't seem to mind. "Ellie. Yours?"

"It's (name)," you replied.

Ellie nodded and and appeared stuck in her own thoughts. You noticed the way she fidgeted with her fingers, and you wondered how someone who looked so intimidating could be awkward. You really, wanted to know what happened to her, given her own brash condition.

"You look fucked up. You should probably eat." She finally commented, and you nodded. You tried not to seem too desperate, but you really needed some sustenance. Ellie walked over to her backpack and picked up a can of beef stew off of the ground. She unzipped the backpack, pulling out a well-used can opener. You tried not to stare too hard at the way her biceps flexed as she moved around.

She returned to you with the can and a spoon, and you noticed how much softer her face appeared than it did when you had woken up.

"Here. Eat slowly, or don't complain if you puke it all up." You couldn't help but smile at the hint of humor in her words, and you tried to savor the feeling of food in your mouth instead of trying to finish it all in under five minutes. She observed, probably wondering whether or not to make any more comments for you to listen to. She knew she should just be quiet, but Ellie had a tendency to not care much. She could be dearly honest when it was needed, even though you looked like the last thing you needed was for someone to tell you that you smelled like body odor and garbage.

"Girls like you end up in groups just like the Rattlers all of the time, you know." Her voice was measured, not knowing why she blurted that out.

"Well, yeah. Anyone around here is vulnerable to them." You defended yourself.

"I just don't understand why you're here, then. I'm assuming you knew about slavers here in Cali. It's swarming with 'em." She raised an eyebrow at you; she couldn't help but wonder just what you were doing here.

"I've lived in California for a while now." You stated as if it was nothing, but Ellie wasn't dumb.

"I could've figured that out, but that means you're smart enough to know better than to travel alone in a fucked up area."

At least with those words, you took a pause. She saw right through you. You cleared your throat further, and spoke again. "I've been travelling along my entire life, I know the risks."

Ellie scoffed. "Yeah, good for you. Knowing the risks doesn't mean running around any less foolish."

"I don't see you with a group. You're just alone as me." You countered, and you noticed the way Ellie's eyes flickered down.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Sorry.." She sighed and brought a hand to her face, tucking a stray auburn piece behind her ear.

The silence grew uncomfortable. You didn't know this girl, and yet there was something in her mannerisms and words that made you feel that she would not be a passing stranger.

"Hey.." Her voice trailed off as she struggled to find the proper words. "Rest up in here. I'll go search around the area for some supplies. Don't think about moving, by the way."

You wanted to protest and tell her that you could go your separate ways as if she never saved you, but you knew that in your condition, you needed her. For once, you needed someone, and you couldn't just run off to go live your nomadic ways.

You nodded and laid back down against the couch. It was a far cry from new or even clean, but it was infinitely better than a wooden pillar.

-

As the weeks went by, you slowly recovered and gained some weight back onto your body. You knew that soon, you would be able to go your own solitary way again. However, it was annoyingly difficult to imagine doing so.

Over the weeks, Ellie's ways grew on you. It started with her smile and the way her eyes contained a hint of humor throughout herself. It was always small and you had a feeling that once, she was more carefree, but you ask her about that. Only let your heart flutter when she told you a dad joke. From there, it was then her voice and how she rasped on, sometimes not having much to say and other times telling you stories about a small settlement in Wyoming. You told yourself you were just bored from being forced to stay in the home the two of you held shelter in, but you knew damn well it was more than that.

You also knew she loved someone else. A woman named "Dina." She never told you outright, but you could see it in her body language. You were observant enough to notice the way she tried to brush it off, and only ended up looking almost child-like, like a young girl in love.

You tried not to let yourself grow a soft spot for her. She was already spoken for, at least her heart was. You had no place in her life in such a way. But it was just so hard when small moments lingered, increasing in tension. Ellie was everything to a girl that had inextricably nothing, a girl that didn't know what letting feelings linger felt like. In any other condition, perhaps you would've ran off far, far away from this auburn girl. But by some strange inconvenience, by your own body's limitations, you're here with her.

-

You were laid on the couch starting at the ceiling. You didn't know what time it was, but from the window, you guessed it was well into the night. The faint sound of crickets carried throughout the air, and you could sense Ellie's presence on the floor below you. You didn't want to glance over at her.

You could already imagine the way her face would be moonlit from the shine in her eyes, the small pieces of shaded hair, the mold of her face. It was like a being begging to be touched, how inexplicably gorgeous she was. Daydreams of having the chance to tug the strands and make her sigh, to feel her in ways you could only imagine what was like-

Now you were getting ahead of yourself.

You were supposed to be recovering so that you could leave. You needed the sleep, needed the rest for your sore body after being practically tortured for weeks, but you were restless. You let out a soft sigh, giving up. You sat up and brushed through your hair, which was in extreme need of a wash. Then, you got a stupid idea. You knew it was risky, but you were in desperate need of a rinse.

With quiet but inevitably creaking steps, you managed to slip out of the house. From the view, it was clear that you were still in Santa Barbara, just on the outskirts. the moon was the only source of light across the entire view, and you could see the water smothering moist sand at the shore of the beach. It wasn't far; maybe a five minute walk. With a deep breath of courage, you took the walk.

Your body was in much better condition than it was weeks ago, but it still was a far cry from the body it used to be, the one that could handle itself. Now, you felt vulnerable, knowing that if infected were to catch a glimpse of you, you'd have to pull a you and run. You wouldn't be guaranteed an escape, though.

Your shoes made a soft crunching noise against the beach. You kicked your shoes off and then slipped free from your jeans, your shirt, and then finally undergarments. The breeze was slightly cool, but only heightened the feelings conflicting in your mind from being naked on a shore in which anyone could find you. Still, you needed a damn wash.

At the feeling of cool ocean water lapping at your feet, you felt truly alive. The moon was proudly beaming above you. You used to think the moon was like some torturous level to get past, that the sun was your savior. Now, you let yourself absorb soft, cool fragments of luminosity.

Your body was now within the water to your waist. You closed your eyes, letting out deep breaths, before kneeling down into the water. The sudden submergence made you shudder, but you could feel the way the salty water mixed within your scalp and enveloped your body. When you finally surfaced, you were met with the sound of a familiar raspy voice.

"Scared the fuck out of me so you could go skinny-dipping?" She stood at the shore, brows knit together in frustration, but some worry hid beneath it.

You quickly turned around, not expecting to actually be caught. Fuck. Your hands instinctively went to cover your chest, but Ellie only sighed as if she'd already given up on lecturing you. She was used to you by now.

"Mind if I join you?" She already made quick works of kicking off her dirty converse. You only nodded, not knowing what to say. You didn't know if you could handle being naked next to her, but you couldn't explain to her that you had a stupid school-girl style crush on her. Plus, she definitely needed to get cleaned up too.

You could hear the sound of her clothes coming off and then the slight splash of her walking into the ocean. You closed your eyes and dared not to look behind you.

"Your hair is gonna be salty." You jolted when you realized she was right next to you, only a few inches of space between your bodies. Fuck, you tried not to look. It was too hard, though. Only an involuntary flicker, and you could see the way her body was practically sculpted like some goddess. Not in a conventional way, either. Her hip bones were visible through her skin, and you could faintly trace over her ribs with your gaze. Her breasts were small, but they sat beautifully on her body and her nipples were slightly hardened by the breeze. You couldn't fully make out all of her features in the dark, but the was gorgeous. So fucking gorgeous, and you had to look away before you lost your mind.

"Um, yeah. It needed a wash, though." You cleared your throat to compose yourself. Ellie's lips tugged into a slight smile, but she didn't make an effort to comment on your defensive tone.

For a few minutes, all you did was look up at the stars. They were dim, but created a portrait of beacons, and they reminded you ever so slightly of Ellie's face and how you wished to make constellations out of her freckles. The silence was comfortable but left you alone in your thoughts that you wished to hide from. It was even harder to hide from them when Ellie's fingers brushed up against your hand, slightly wet from the salty water.

"What are you doing?" You flinched away out of instinct, and immediately regretted it. You wanted her touch, why did you do that? You hated the barriers you set so naturally, not wanting anybody close.

"I'm so sorry, I just..guess I misread your face." She sounded embarrassed and slightly dejected. You were extremely nervous, not ever even letting anyone see you like this, but you couldn't help yourself.

"No, it's okay. I do.." You trailed off slightly before finding the courage to turn and face her. "I do want you to touch me." You knew you probably sounded pathetic, all shaky and quiet, but definitely certain. It was enough for Ellie.

She turned to you, her body almost grazing yours. She hesitated only slightly, her eyes following her own arm, before she finally let her hands trail up your arms. Her fingertips traced the dip in your collarbone, and you couldn't find it in you to shy away. Even though her touch was innocent, bordering on more than that, it was hard to resist when she was here offering you everything you wanted, and you were subconsciously touch-deprived.

Soon following, her lips grazed over your wrist, her eyes on yours as if seeking approval. Your breath hitched slightly at her implication and you nodded. Her mouth wasn't as slow as her hands, sliding its way up to smother soft, sensual kisses on your shoulders. When her lips met the space between your shoulder and neck, her tongue darted out to taste your salty skin, and you let out a small involuntary sound, a mix between a gasp and a moan. She pulled back to read your expression before her mouth latched onto your neck, her body now pressing against yours. You could feel her everywhere; chest to chest, hips conjoined, and it made your head spin with the need for more.

When her kisses reached your ear, she paused. "Can I kiss you?" Her heated breath was hitting your ear, making you weak in the knees.

You swallowed and nodded, but Ellie didn't seem impressed.

"Say the words." Her voice was a whisper and her words her blunt, demanding. Her tone though, it was laced with sweetness. She could probably sense your inexperience.

"I want you to kiss me." You got the words out, and Ellie was satisfied.

Her lips left soft pecks on your jawline until they reached your chin, and then with her fingers, tilted it slightly so she her lips could taste yours.

The kiss wasn't sweet like in the novels, but rather salty, and her lips chapped. You didn't mind. Her hands found your waist and tugged your body closer until there was no room between your bodies. Her tongue slid between your parted lips, making you let out a soft whine. You didn't fully know what you were doing, but your eagerness made the kiss just as good. Her kisses went from soft and gentle so sloppy, wet, and desperate. Your own hands grasped at her face, needing more. You felt a heat, an ache between your legs, but you tried not to focus on it too much. It was all an overload to you; the way her body rubbed against yours as the two of you moved, how her lips took your bottom one into into her mouth and suckled onto it, the scent of the ocean and the sand between your toes.

Before you could even register it, Ellie was guiding you back onto the shore and laying you down onto the sandy surface. Her body followed yours swiftly, her lips chasing yours back. You were a heap of tangled limbs on the ground, grains of sand stuck to your back and your hair as it was spread out against the sand. Her hips were fit snug between your thighs and her hand moved to hitch one of your legs around her waist. Your moans were swallowed by her mouth, your hands rubbing over her back to find purchase in the situation. None came.

Her lips began trailing from your own to your neck, collarbone, and then shoulders. She paused at before her breath fully hit your chest, making sure you were still wanting her. Your face was flushed even in the night, and your eyes half-lidded. That was enough for her to make contact with your boobs, taking one into her mouth and swirling her tongue around your hardened nipple. You gasped her name, fingers tugging into her hair. You could feel her smile slightly and switch to the other nipple. Her hands held your waist, squeezing it slightly as she finally moved further down. Her tongue swirled around your navel and down to your thighs. When her lips met your left inner-thigh, you let out a short breath, practically panting.

"Ellie..." Your eyes were closed, your body slightly tense in anticipation.

"Do you want this?" Ellie looked for confirmation, her lips now gently mouthing at each thigh.

"Yes, I do..but I've never done this before." You admitted weakly.

Ellie looked up when you said that and squeezed one of your hands with her own. "That's okay. Just relax for me, 'kay?"

You nodded, eyes closed, only relying on her touch. Her hands gently worked to pry your legs further apart, and you allowed her to. Then, you felt her hot breath fan over your cunt, making all blood rush to it, before licking from your hole to your clit, hardly grazing it with her tongue.

You were already wet, but that made you practically Nigeria-falls level flooded. You couldn't hold back the strange, needy sound that left your parted lips. Your body twitched, legs moving instinctively to close, but Ellie's grip on your thighs was strong. She moved to hitch your legs over her shoulders, and kissed at your thighs like a tease once more.

"Just let yourself enjoy it. Feels good, doesn't it?" You couldn't respond, only silently nodding and hoping she could understand the feelings coursing through you. When she felt you relax more, she continued her work.

Her tongue flicked at your clit before slipping into your hole, making your hips jolt slightly. She didn't stop, only letting you feel her mouth against your pussy. Ellie would occasionally let out soft vibrational sounds against you, making your head spin and your stomach flutter. It wasn't like anything you'd ever felt before. You had obviously taken care of yourself before, but having someone else's tongue inside your cunt while your legs squeezed around their head? It was another type of heaven you only understood in other types of senses, not physical pleasure.

If you were even able to think of anything besides the heat Ellie's touch provided, you would've been concerned about how you would be able to fare without this treatment every single day. But you couldn't worry, not when this felt so good. You could only appreciate it for what it was worth, and that felt like everything.

You were growing needier, hips grinding your cunt against her mouth while you chanted her name. "Ellie", "Ellie, oh god..", "Please, I'm so close Ellie-"

Your stomach was all tied in knots, and she was only encouraging the feeling and you wondered just how euphoric it'd be to finally release all over her face, to taint her with your arousal.

Soon, you just couldn't help it; the knots she had you tied up in snapped, and Ellie didn't stop, letting you ride out the high. She could hear your pants, the cries you were letting out, and the way your plush thighs practically suffocated her. All she could focus on was your taste, how you just came from her nose brushing up against your clit and her tongue filling your insides. It made her just as needy as you.

You didn't get much of a break, only some soft kisses to your thighs before she was moving up your body and spreading your wobbly legs to feel your soaked cunt against her own. You whined, overstimulated, and she leaned to nuzzle her face into your neck, spilling apologies she didn't really mean. "Sorry, baby..just need you. It's gonna feel good, I promise."

Her cunt slid against yours, hardly any resistance from the way your cum spread between the two of you. You felt so good against her, your nails digging into your back it was almost painful, yet she wouldn't protest, almost pitying your poor, overstimulated clit.

Your body felt so raw and used up, and somehow it felt even more good than before. The way she used your body for her own pleasure had you whining now, louder than the first time. The squelching sounds of your love-making filled both of your ears, and you could hear every soft huff of Ellie's breath matching the rhythm of her humping.

Soon, the intense overwhelming rawness left you, and you only felt bliss. Ellie seemed to follow suit, her movements growing sloppy and less purposeful. You could feel the wetness between the two of you combine, making the movements even louder.

When it was all over, the only noises were crickets and your heavy breathing. Ellie was collapsed on top of you for who knows how long, and her breath was finally evening out against your neck. She pulled herself up and sighed.

"Fuck."

You laughed at that. "Yeah. Fuck is right."

Her body fell back onto yours, her arms holding you tight. You could feel the uncomfortable feeling of sand covering one side of your body, but you didn't care.

After a while, Ellie asked something that usually would make you run away.

"You wanna maybe..go to Wyoming with me?"

You didn't offer much hesitation.

"Why not?"

[revasserium]

can i have one were zoro realises she does things bc of truama (like doesnt speak much etc)

hold me (still)

opla!zoro; 6,680 words; slow!!!!burn, fem!reader, ex-assassin!reader, straw hat!reader, general tragic backstory/trauma, fluff, hurt/comfort, bit of angst, emotionally constipated zoro, communication? what's that?, nami playing therapist bc she's the only one with 1 iota of emotional intelligence

summary: sometimes, stillness is a virtue, and others -- a tragedy. or, in which the straw hats pick up a new member and zoro is equally intrigued and weirded out by you.

a/n: well. you guys asked for slow burn and... the burn is so slow u gotta squint to see the smoke yall. but trust. the burn does get there! pls be patient!! and i tried to combine 2 dif reqs in this one fic :)

You are of the quiet sort. Just a shadow dancing in the periphery of their vision, and when they first met you, you’d told them it was your superpower, a soft, still smile slipping across your lips. Luffy had bought into it immediately, and the invitation was out his mouth before anyone could stop him.

“Come with us!”

“Oh…” your lips pressed into a thin line of consideration.

Zoro’s fingers itched towards his swords because something about you makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. But something else — something uncomfortable and strange, something very much like curiosity — seizes his chest and twists his stomach. Strange, he thinks, too strange.

“C’mon! It’ll be fun!”

And then, you’d smiled wider, and nodded, and that had been that.

It’s been three months since then, and you are still of the quiet sort, though it had receded a bit with time. What with Sanji’s gentle flirting and Usopp’s not-so-gentle stories and Nami’s bright, dry-humored companionship, you’d begun to “open up a bit��, so Luffy observed.

Zoro, for his part, has kept his distance. Because sometimes he still catches you at the bow of the ship, staring out across the midnight waters, still as a stone-carved statue. Still as a wooden beam — stiller, even.

“What’s with that?” he asks one day, strolling up to Nami as she traces a fine line over a new map she’s working on.

“Hm?” is her very eloquent response.

Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth and casts his eyes about the ship, finding them drawn to the shape of you, up at the bow again, reading in the shade of the tangerine trees. Nothing moves except for the wind as it whisps through your hair and the slow scanning of your eyes as it skates across the page.

“New girl,” Zoro says, crossing his arms as Nami finally looks up at him and then off towards you.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

Zoro lets out a puff of breath, unfolding his arms to glare at Nami. He finds her grinning a lopsided grin as she clicks shut her compass and puts down her pen. She leans a hip on the barrel she’d been drawing on and folds her own arms.

“Oh, you like her.”

“I’m weirded out by her. ‘S not the same thing,” Zoro snaps, but when he tries to leave, Nami blocks him with an arm and pins him with a sharp, leveling look.

“No, no, no — we’re gonna work this through.”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

“Uh-uh, you still owe me after that round of drinks the other night — remember when you bet you could drink more than me?”

Zoro narrows his eyes, “I did drink more than you.”

Nami’s grin is gleeful, “No, you didn’t. You had to be dragged back to your room after clogging up the toilet. Or do I need to show you the evidence —”

“Alright — fuck, fine. But really? This is what you’re gonna waste your favor on? You could’ve asked me to —” Zoro gestures around vaguely, “clean the bilge or something.”

Nami shrugs, looking almost too pleased, “Nope! This is what I wanna use my favor for. And, really, you think a bit of bilge water is gonna gross me out? C’mon.”

Zoro heaves a sigh and leans back against the main mast, closing his eyes.

“Fine then. Go.”

Nami sits back on the edge of the barrel.

“No, you go. Admit that you like the new girl.”

“I don’t.” He doesn’t open his eyes.

“I’ve seen you staring at her. We’ve all seen you staring at her.”

“What, that a crime now?”

Nami fights the urge to roll her eyes, “No, but I’ve never seen you try so hard to avoid someone before.”

Zoro lets out a bark of laughter, hard and mirthless, “Yeah, so that must mean I like her.”

Nami cocks her head, “It means you feel something towards her. And I’d suggest you figure it out.”

“And how’d you propose I do that?”

Nami once again waves in your direction, “Go. Talk. To her.”

Zoro lets out another breath, eyes scanning across the ship, anywhere but towards where you’re still sitting and reading, finger flipping a page in a perfect, smooth, singular motion.

And Zoro’s not blind. Blunt though he may be at times and careless as he is about most material things, he can still appreciate beauty when he sees it. And you — there’s no denying that you’re beautiful. Your strange stillness aside, when you do move, it’s with a dancer’s lissome grace, fluid lines, not a single movement wasted. When you smile, it seems to light you up from the inside, and your words, though soft, carries the well-worn weight of river stones, glittering beneath the clear, spring stream of your voice.

There’s a sharpness in your eyes, a straightness to your spine, a way of carrying yourself as if you’re afraid that one wrong move might shatter you and the entire world around you.

Sometimes when he sees you, he wonders at the hands that had sculpted you this way. He wonders at your life before they’d picked you up in Loguetown, when you’d oh-so-silently slipped up the execution platform and helped Luffy down, all the while staying free of Smoker’s watchful gaze.

The few times he’s seen you fight, he can’t help wondering if you’ve eaten some kind of devil fruit as well. No human could be so fast as that. Or be so quiet. But then again, he’d fought Kuro, and they’d seen stranger things. Still, he marvels at the way you flicker in and out of sight, slipping around the edges of battle like a dark, haunting thing, and men would drop like flies beneath your quick, quiet hands. With nary a sound or shout before their eyes roll back and their breathing is no more.

On the instances when Sanji had asked about your past, your eyes had gone misty and dark, unfocused. You’d gone still, freezing for so long that Usopp would cough just to fill the silence. And then slowly, ever so slowly, you’d turn back towards them with a small, sad smile and say:

“There’s… not much to talk about. I grew up somewhere far away, where if you didn’t keep quiet and still, bad things would happen to you. And then when those bad things happened, if you weren’t quick — the quickest of all, you’d die.”

Bad things, huh? Zoro thinks as he makes his way towards you, a hand resting on the hilt of his swords. He comes to a stop next to you and leans against one of the white planters, casually peering over your shoulder at the book in your hands.

For a long moment, neither of you move. Then, Zoro clears his throat and forces himself to speak.

“Is it good?”

It takes you a second, but eventually, you turn towards him.

“The book? Yeah, I suppose.”

“Not exactly a glowing review.”

You laugh, a soft, breathy little thing as you look back down at the page.

“It's about a girl who falls into an enchanted sleep, and a prince who wakes her up with a kiss.”

“Must’ve been one hell of a kiss.”

“Yes, and one hell of a prince.”

Zoro finds himself chuckling, his shoulders loosening as he takes another breath.

“And then what?” he asks.

“And then… he asks her to marry him.”

You run your fingers along the page, smoothing your palm over the ink and parchment. Zoro watches you, wondering, always wondering.

“What’s she say?” and it’s then that he notices his own voice, hushed and low, barely a whisper.

You look back up at him and smile a smile a sphynx would have been proud of.

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten there yet.”

Zoro takes a breath, and the breath tastes distinctly different than all the breaths he’d taken before it. As if the world takes the breath with him, and some fundamental truth had shifted on the exhale.

The moment breaks, as moments are wont to do, when Sanji calls out for lunch and Zoro jerks out of his almost-reverie. You slowly close your book and rise to your feet, turning back to smile at him.

“C’mon, it’s lunchtime.”

Zoro nods and follows you into the kitchen, where Luffy and Usopp are already digging in, and Nami is pouring herself a drink. She spots the pair of you and catches Zoro’s eyes. A grin ticks at the edge of her lips but before she can say anything, you’re accosted by Sanji sweeping into a deep, flourishing bow, and ushering you towards the table, where he’d set your place in a manner fit for a princess.

“Where’s my setup?” Zoro asks as he drops into the seat next to you, cocking an eyebrow. Sanji shoots him an unimpressed look.

“I’m surprised you can use a fork and knife, moss-head. Just be grateful and eat up.”

Zoro scoffs but digs in nonetheless.

When next they dock, it’s on a rare, peaceful island — an island of light and books and learning, where the air smells of salt and ink and drying parchment, of unwritten words and untold stories. But it smells of a stillness too, and Zoro knows without having to ask that you’d like it here.

And you do.

He’s never seen you smile so much, never seen you so vibrant and full of life. You chat and laugh and read with a voracious hunger, and he finds himself drawn to this new, warm, moving side of you. He finds himself, more often than not, by your side, even when neither of you speak. And he basks in the comfort of the quiet that permeates the air when it’s just the two of you — him hanging in the hammock on deck, you reading by his side.

But now, there’s the soft tapping of your foot, the shuffle of pages when you flip forward to see what’s coming next, and of course the ever-present shush of the ocean as it washes against the Merry’s side.

The Log Pose needs two weeks to properly calibrate to the next island, so they’ve got time to kill.

On the fifth night, over dinner and drinks, Luffy asks the question that everyone’s been thinking since the day they’d all met you —

“So. Why’re you so still all the time? Not that it’s weird or anything — well, actually — it kind of is, but it doesn’t bother me. I’m just asking cause I'm curious!”

You look up from your half-finished wine but Zoro feels it happening, like the hush of a fan blade slicing through air, the gasp before a porcelain vase tips over and shatters. You stop. You stare. You’re frozen in every sense of the word. And he’s known you for long enough to know that you only go still as a reflex, only reach for it as a shield. Against what? He doesn’t quite know.

“It’s… something of a long story,” you say, your voice low and hoarse.

Luffy grins, smacking his lips as he sucks the meat off a chicken leg, “We’ve got tons of time! Right?” he looks around as if for validation, but everyone’s eyes are caught on you and your unnatural stillness.

Zoro shifts slightly in the seat next to you, opening his stance and turning towards you.

“Could do with a good story.”

Your eyes flash in his direction and he offers you the barest hint of a smile.

You relax, ever so slightly, drifting back in your seat, your glass cupped in the palms of your hands. And then, you begin to speak, your voice smooth and lilting, your words washing over them like the faint lull of the tides.

“When I was three, my father sold me for a barrel of beer.”

A dull clack echoes around the room and everyone turns to see Sanji hurriedly righting the thick stein he’s knocked over. Thankfully, it’d been empty.

“Sorry — I just — what?” he sounds furious but Usopp lays a hand across his arm and shakes his head.

You take a deep breath and continue, your voice oddly emotionless as you say, “The man who bought me took me to an island. It was… a dark place. A quiet place. I only learned its name after I escaped — an island called Elysium.”

Nami gasps before clapping her hands over her mouth.

“I’ve just — I’ve heard of that place before, but I thought… I thought it was just a made-up place.”

Luffy swallows hard, frowning, “What’s it like?”

Nami’s eyes flicker between you and Luffy, “Supposedly… it’s the home island for… for the most feared group of assassins in all the seas combined.”

Usopp’s eyebrows jerk up, “The most feared?”

A faint smile seeps across your lips like blood.

“Yes. The Shadows that Live.”

Everyone turns to look at you. Luffy picks up another drumstick.

“Whoa… cool name!”

Zoro hums, “I’ve heard of them before — but mostly, it was just an old wive’s tale about… shadow assassins who hunt in the dark. Mercenaries for hire. But… no one’s ever seen one before.”

“Because… once you see one, you’ll never live to tell the tale,” you say, your eyes now downcast and fixed on the glass in your hands.

“Then…” Usopp’s voice is soft, “What about… you?”

“I… I ran away.”

Silence greets you. But after a moment, Luffy spits out a bit of bone and uses it to pick at the space between his teeth, his eyes round.

“Wow! You must be pretty good to run away from an island full of shadow assassins!”

You almost laugh, his boundless trust hitting you like a punch to the stomach.

“So…” Sanji lets out a puff of silvery smoke, “the staying still thing… that’s just part of your training, yeah?”

You nod, “Something like that.”

Someday, you think, you’ll tell them about the hellscape that was Elysium island, of the long echoing halls, dark and still and silent. Of the mechanical beasts that hunted by sound and movement alone. Someday, you’ll let them know about the poisoned pomegranate seeds that they feed all the “recruits” to keep them hazy, of how you’d kept six of them suspended in your mouth and spat them all out when you’d finally made it far enough from the island to allow yourself to breathe.

“And… are these shadow assassins gonna come after us?” Nami asks, her voice careful and light.

You purse your lips, “I… I don’t know.”

Nami sighs, but a moment later, she moves to refill her drink with a slight shrug, “Well, just one more enemy to add to our growing list. Soon, we’re gonna have to post a sign-up sheet.”

At this, everyone laughs, and the tension snaps like a wounded spring.

Luffy burps loudly, patting his stomach, “I’m not worried — I mean, if you were able to run away from them once, that means you’re stronger than them, right?”

You pause, your hand hovering over the wine bottle. Zoro gently reaches over and refills your glass for you. You shift back into movement, casting him a small smile and taking a sip. The wine is cool and tangy as it hits the back of your throat. You breathe, and the world keeps spinning.

“I… I’m not sure — I’ve never fought… any of… them… before.”

“Guess we’ll find out if they try to come for you then — but you’ve got us now!” Luffy says, reaching for an apple and chomping into it, “ — Sho… you duon gotta wourry —” he licks his lips as he takes another huge bite before tossing the core towards the waste bin, “We’ve got your back!”

Nami makes a disgusted face, “Don’t talk with your mouth full, ugh.”

Sanji chuckles, tapping out his cigarette, “Yeah Luffy, mind your manners.” But his voice is full of laughter and you find yourself relaxing into the sway of the night, the swing of conversation. Beside you, Zoro refills his own glass and leans over to clink it against yours.

You turn, but he only raises his glass before taking a sip.

You mirror his movement, cradling the cup to your chest when you finish.

Later, he finds you by the tangerine trees, ghosting your fingers over their lush green leaves, dark enough to look black in the evening light.

“Hey.”

You turn, “Hi.”

Zoro sighs and looks out over the darkened waves, the moonlight refracted into a million shattered bits of sky.

“Luffy’s right, y’know.”

“What about?” you ask, joining him by the railings. The night air is cool and crisp. Behind you both, the island oozes with lamplight and laughter. Even from here, you can hear the joy, the peace that permeates the air here. It wouldn’t be a bad thing, you think, to stay here forever.

“If they come for you,” Zoro says, “we’ll have your back.”

You let out a small chuckle, looking down at your hands, “I know.”

“So,” he turns towards you, his earrings glinting in beneath the scimitar moon, “you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

You lick your lips, and instinctively, you reach for the stillness. All the days and weeks and months with the people around you have softened you, and for that, you know you should be thankful. Still, old habits die hard, and you have to clench your fists and dig your nails into your own palms to keep from freezing completely.

You take a shivering breath and force it out again.

“Fear’s a hard habit to break.”

At this, Zoro grunts, though it sounds something like consent. The moment stretches, long and soft and taffy-sweet.

He turns back towards the sea, “Yeah,” he says, and then —

“But we can take it slow.”

You swallow hard, passed the broken shards of forgotten words lodged in your throat (you find that they all somehow taste like thank you), and you nod. Warmth tickles your cheeks and you wonder why he’s said we instead of you — and later, lying in your bed at night, staring at the moon-slatted ceiling, you wonder if he was really talking about fear or if it was something else entirely.

You don’t get a lick of sleep that night.

The next few days pass in a light, repetitive blur. You and Zoro are sent on a few short shopping trips in the city, and you’re glad for something to do that involves movement. Shocking how quickly the body adapts once the weight it’d been holding on to is lifted.

You are still quiet, and he, the same; but the silence has shifted around you, and whereas before it’d been solid and steady, it’s now thrumming and charged with some unspoken energy.

Neither of you are blind to it; nor, it seems, is the rest of the crew.

Sanji’s taken to openly teasing Zoro about being with you all the time, complaining loudly that he can’t get a word in edgewise because Zoro refuses to leave you alone. Nami keeps on trying to drag you out for “girl's day” shopping trips, hinting at all the cute clothes you could get and how “green really suits your skin tone, y’know?”

Luffy and Usopp for their part, both just grin whenever they see you together — Luffy stoked at the fact that you seem more happy and talkative, Usopp gleeful at the way Zoro always seems so much softer when he’s next to you.

You’ve taken to watching him when he trains, sitting in the shade of the tangerine trees, a cold drink in your hand as Zoro runs through his katas. You content yourself with watching him flow through the movements, one and then another, and then another after that. He contents himself with your presence, knowing that you’re here, feeling your eyes as they skate down the length of his back or the width of his shoulders.

It’s a peaceful sort of companionship, even if it is living on borrowed time.

When you all wave the little island goodbye, it’s with heavy hearts and tearful smiles. It had treated you well, and you think you’d miss it. But adventure is as adventure does — it calls, beckoning to those with wandering hearts to listen.

The first week back at sea is a strange one, full of a ringing nostalgia. As if you’re simultaneously coming home and leaving one at the same time. Everyone is a bit quiet, except for Luffy, of course, who literally bounces off the freshly waxed planks, humming to himself as he sits on top of the great ram’s figurehead.

“Is he ever still?” you ask one day, sometime in the second week.

To which Zoro makes a sound between a scoff and a laugh, “You’ve been here a while. What’d you think?”

You sigh softly and tear your eyes away from the bright, shivering ball of energy that is your captain towards the far horizon. A sliver of uncertainty twines through you and your breath slows. Zoro glances at you, now long since attuned to your subtle shifts in movement and stillness. He narrows his eyes.

“What is it?”

You shake yourself back into the moment, forcing a smile.

“Nothing. I think…” your words fade as the feeling twists in you again, knife-sharp and stinging. You clear your throat and reach up to brush away a strand of hair. Skin grazes skin as Zoro’s hand meets yours in the same gesture and you both freeze — hands held up, his finger caught against the bend of your cheekbone, your fingers curling over his.

Time slows, slackens around the pair of you, and the moment stays, suspended in space — garnet dark and perfect.

Neither of you dare to breathe. It’s then that you realize how close Zoro is — close enough for you to see the entire ocean reflected in his eyes: big and dark and so endless it nearly unmoors you. Close enough for you to feel the warmth of his skin; his body, emanating heat. You’d often wondered, in the long hours of watching him train, at the glistening copper of his skin and the light-kissed quality, if the sun himself favored Zoro as well.

Like this, it’s easy to believe that beneath his skin, there pulsed something like sunlight.

“Look! It’s an island! It’s an island!”

And just like that, the moment shatters. Time slips back into motion and you pull away from each other, breathless, with warm cheeks and thundering hearts, feeling somehow lightning-touched and static-ridden.

You take half a step back, reaching up to press a hand to your mouth as if to stop something from tumbling through. But what? You can’t really say.

Zoro tips back as well, whipping around to help Usopp and Sanji with the sails as Luffy continues to holler, waving his hat. On the horizon, you see it looming — the silhouette of an island. You lower your palm from your lips to your heart and wonder what kind of island it will be.

Deserted — seems to be the answer when you all make landfall. The island is quiet, but the occasional chirp and cricket staves off your nerves as you all wander cautiously about the beach, squinting into the dense forest that seems to encompass the whole of the island.

“Looks like a good place to camp for the night!” Luffy says, grinning as he plops down on the sand.

Sanji nods, dusting off his hands, “We’ll need some wood for a fire, but I reckon I can whip up some grilled fish from the fresh catch.”

You wrap your arms around yourself and look around, glancing back at the darkening horizon.

“Something the matter?” Zoro’s voice is soft as he helps you carry some of the camping supplies from the ship.

“No… yes… I —” you look up at him, pursing your lips, “I don’t know. I’ve just… this island is…”

Zoro looks around, his dark eyes scanning the thick swath of forest just beyond the beach, “Too quiet?”

You let out a tiny laugh, “Yeah, something like that.”

He nods, “Don’t worry, I’m — we’re here.”

And he leaves it at that, hoisting a stack of wood over his shoulders and going to help Nami with the fire. You watch him with a smile, wondering what on earth you’d done to deserve this level of caring, this magnitude of kindness. Soon, dinner is had and drinks are shared and laughter is spilled like so many silver coins over the white sand beach. The lull of the evening takes over you all, and before long, Luffy and Usopp are slumped over each other, snoring loudly.

You stare into the depths of the fire and try to tamp down the growing dread festering inside your bones. All those years of holding still, of breathing and listening and feeling — you shake yourself — no, not all stillness is a bad thing. Not all silences are made the same.

“You’re doing it again,” Zoro’s voice almost makes you jump. Instead, you turn, finding him next to you as he nurses a half-drunk bottle of wine in his hands. He doesn’t look at you, but there’s a loose grin hinged across his lips.

“Sorry,” you say, ducking your head, feeling a now familiar heat creep into your cheeks that has nothing to do with the dwindling bonfire.

“Don’t be,” Zoro takes another drink, “But I told you… you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“I know… and I’ve said before —”

“Fear’s a hard habit to break,” Zoro echoes back at you, finally glancing over and catching your eye.

You breathe out, looking down at your own hands, “Yeah… but I’m trying.”

You both fall silent, and for a while, the only sounds are the crackle of the dying flames, the shush of the ocean waves, and the occasional snores from the rest of your crew. It’s late — later than you realized.

“Do you… want me to grab a book for you?”

You smile, “No, I don’t think it’s bright enough.”

“I could restoke the fire.”

“No, it’s — it’s okay.”

“Alright.”

A bird coos the distance.

“Why don’t you tell me a story?” you ask, turning to look at Zoro proper, shifting till your body is facing him.

In the faint light, you can see the edge of his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“You’re asking the wrong guy — you should wait till the Great Captain Usopp’s awake.”

“Yeah, but I want to hear one from you.”

Zoro sighs, his eyes fixed on the last of the flickering flames. He takes another swig of wine before he starts to speak, his voice low and a bit stilted, but he pushes on. He tells you about his childhood, the village he’d trained in, the doujou in the middle of the wood, his friend who he’d never beat — not even once.

He tells you about he early mornings and the late nights, and how the world had seemed large enough to conquer.

“… And then… there came a morning when she didn’t show up… and sensei came and told me that there’d been an accident.”

His voice almost breaks then, and your eyes catch on the shining white hilt of the Wadou Ichimonji — his thumb pressing against the guard, running along it’s hard metal edge.

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

Zoro shrugs, “Don’t be.”

You nod, “Still.”

Zoro slates you a lopsided smirk, “So. Now you know my tragic backstory too.”

You laugh, leaning back to cast your eyes up towards the sky, “And you know mine — it’s almost like we’re friends or something.”

Zoro lets out a long breath, “Yeah… or something.”

There’s a tightness to his voice that makes your skin tingle and it takes everything you have not to look over at him, to try and see if he’s looking at you, watching you the way you’d imagined him to be. You fancy you can feel his gaze on your face, but you close your eyes instead.

You let yourself fall into the warm haze of sleep, and for a while you drift there, your mind sifting through shards of memories and slivers of sound, casting them against the backs of your eyelids as you slowly slide into the darkness of dreams.

You wake up to a gasping stillness — the silence pressing in on your eardrums like thumbs, the darkness around you so complete it’s almost a solid thing. You freeze, your breath hissing to a halt inside you. Then distantly, ever so distantly, you hear the sounds of battle — metal clashing against metal, the hard thud of boots against flesh. You shake your head and reach up to clap your hands over your ears and only then do your senses return to you, snapping back as if you’d been abruptly shunted back into your earthly body.

“Gum Gum — Pistol!”

“Seize her!”

You whip into movement, fast as a flash, dashing away, hoping against hope that it would draw your attackers far enough from your crewmates.

“No one… ever… leaves us…”

The voice is serpentine and susurrus, sinking into your skin like sharpened teeth, but before it can reach you, it’s cut short by a bright flash of silver.

You gasp, whirling around, reaching for the nearest pulse, instinct taking over as you sink your fingers into muscle and flesh. The rush of blood thrumming beneath your fingertips comes too easy, even as a familiar scent accosts you. A moment later, your hands are being pinned above you, and thick, rough bark is digging into your wrists as Zoro stands before you, a sword in one hand, the other holding you still.

His eyes are a little wild and a lot worried. There’s a ring of red rawness around his neck, thin trickles of blood trailing along his jugular, disappearing into the wide scoop neck of his shirt.

“Hey, look at me.”

You nearly whimper, struggling against him, fear still coursing through you like a drug but Zoro is strong enough to keep you held. Behind him, you can see the rest of the crew fending off several shadowy figures, Usopp waving a torch, screaming at the top of his lungs, Luffy whooping as he whacks another figure with his fist.

“Z-Zoro?”

“Yeah, it’s me — eyes up here.”

You swallow in a breath, and then another, and you feel the bright thrum of urgency leave you as your body slowly falls slack. And then you’re slipping, and he’s looping an arm around you to keep you upright.

“Th-they’re here — they —”

“They’re gone — we got rid of them — hey.”

Zoro takes you by the shoulders and gives you a gentle shake. Finally, your eyes catch on his and your gaze holds. You see yourself reflected in them, stark and terrified, but alive — somehow alive.

“They’re gone,” he says, his voice soft and low by your ear, his arm still wrapped around your middle. Shivers wrack your body as you bury your face in his shoulder. He smells of steel and skin and the metallic tang of blood. It’s then that you remember — the wounds on the sides of his neck. The marks in the shape of your hands —

You jerk back and feel a sticky wetness against your cheek.

“Zoro, I hurt you!”

At this, he scoffs, pulling back far enough to flash you a look.

“This is nothing. C’mon.”

He offers you a hand, and after a second you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. Wordlessly, he presses his palm to the small of your back, his arm extended to keep you steady as you both make your way back towards camp.

“Phew! That was a workout!” Luffy is saying just as you both reach the outskirts of the now-darkened bonfire. Sanji is pulling out a cigarette, striking a match, and first lighting the end before tossing it into the remains of the firewood, fanning it up into a slow flame.

Nami and Usopp both look a bit shaken, but none worse for the wear.

They all pivot to look at you.

You go still against Zoro’s side, uncertainty flooding through you. Faintly, you feel Zoro’s fingers as they press into the bend of your waist, solid and steady.

Then, Usopp coughs, “C’mon y’all — the Shadows that Live? Psh! More like — the Shadows that Fled, am I right? Yeah? Didya see the way I sent ‘em runnin’ with my brand new fire-powered explosion rounds?”

Nami chuckles and Sanji follows suit, shaking his head and letting out a thin wisp of smoke. Luffy’s grins at you, pumping a fist in the air, clapping his right shoulder.

“See? Told you we’d have your back! We are your crew, after all!”

Weakness seeps into your limbs as you nod, hot pin-pricks of tears itching at your lower lashes. You lower your head and rub at your eyes before looking back up again with a smile. Sanji grimaces as he looks over Zoro.

“Got something on your neck, mate.”

Zoro glares but you glance over and feel your stomach twist with guilt.

“Sorry… I can clean that up for you. They’re not deep but they do need to be bandaged up.”

Zoro wipes down his sword before sheathing it and motioning towards the ship. Behind you, you can hear Nami yawning and saying something about catching up on some more sleep and Sanji reassuring her about having the last watch anyway.

The kitchen is still dark, but the dusty dawn sweeps against the far horizon and neither of you bother to turn the lights on. You carefully set the first aid kit on the kitchen counter and collect the supplies as Zoro leans back against the edge and folds his arms. You work in near silence, reaching up to first wipe the thin threads of drying blood before tending to the tiny, crescent-shaped puncture wounds.

You press an alcohol-soaked cotton ball against one of them and feel Zoro wince.

“Sorry.”

“I’m fine.”

You bite your lips, “If this had been a bit deeper or a few inches over —”

“But it wasn’t. So it’s fine.”

You don’t look up at him but you can feel his eyes on you. Your movements are fluid and sure; you’d clearly done this before.

“Hey, look at me.”

You freeze, eyes slowly gliding up the planes and divots of his neck, slipping up the line of his jaw, so sharp it might’ve been turned on a diamond cutter’s lathe. Your breath hitches as you finally meet his eyes, and there’s a dark, knowing glint behind them that makes your stomach flip.

“I’m fine.”

And for the second time in a handful of hours, you’re caught by the realization of your closeness — only a breath of space between you. There’s a crimp at the corner of his mouth that looks dangerously like a smile and then you’re tipping forward, a thumb reaching up to trace the line of his bottom lip once —

The movement acts like a trigger, and suddenly, he is leaning in and the breath of space disappears.

For all your life of stillness, you thought you’d learned to appreciate the depths and widths of movement. But nothing could’ve prepared you for this — for the push and pull of lips on lips, for the force and friction of skin against skin. For the gasp and hiss, for the breath and kiss.

For the feeling of his large palm as it settles along the swallow’s-nest bend of your neck, the way his thumb runs along your jaw like tracing the guard of his beloved sword, tilting your mouth towards him. For the way your heart might flutter like a tiny, caged bird, or the way you might feel his heart thumping like a fist from his chest to yours.

For the way his voice rolls over your name like a ship at sea; for the way it would shake your body from your bones and leave you more liquid than solid in his arms. For how you never used to think your story would be a love story, but then you realize that every story is a love story if caught in the right moment, in the right light.

And here, breaking apart from Zoro, with a thick, stolen streak of lemon-yellow sunlight leaking in from the kitchen window — that’s exactly what it feels like.

“Oh,” is all you have the strength to say.

Zoro, in all his solid brilliance and quiet audacity, laughs.

You taste the smile on your own lips before you realize you’re smiling. But when you try to bury your face in his neck, he winces slightly as you brush his still-fresh wounds.

“Crap, I forgot about these.”

Zoro chuckles as you hurry to press a few small bandages to the wounds.

“It’s okay. So did I.”

You finish dressing his wounds in silence, though this silence is markedly different from every other silence that had ever existed between you. There’s ease and tension, both, and when you’re finally finished, Zoro takes both your hands in his.

“So…” you say, unsure suddenly of where to look.

Zoro’s laugh is just as soft, just as uncertain.

“So.”

You try to look out the window, but by now, the dawning sun is so bright that it temporarily blinds you and you jerk back. Zoro smiles, reaching up to run his thumbs along your closed eyelids before dropping them to hook around your wrists again.

“Do you… wanna talk about it?” he asks, quiet as always.

You purse your lips and let your lashes flutter open. You find him watching you. Heat crests up your shoulders and into your cheeks, and suddenly, the exhaustion of the night before saps at your limbs. You sigh.

“Right now? Not really.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” he says, sounding as relieved as you feel.

You bite your lips and cast your gaze shyly across his face, your bird-wing heartbeat still flapping in your chest. You fight the urge to go still, to reach for that shield that has always protected you before. Faintly, you feel Zoro’s thumbs tracing circles along the insides of your wrists.

“Can I ask for something else, though?”

“What is it?”

You reach up a finger, nudging one of his golden earrings. You don’t miss the way he shivers, or the way his breath quickens in his chest.

“Kiss me again.”

Zoro grins, tugging you towards him, leaning into the curve of your palm as he does.

And does.

And does again.

reqs are: temporarily closed

but feedback is much loved and appreciated!!!

[vivziepopcriticalconfessions]

"it annoys me that Vivziepop can't write a character properly without them being traumatised by something. Blitzø has trauma, Fizz has trauma, Moxxie has trauma, Loona has trauma, Octavia has trauma, even Stolass has trauma, I guess. She even admitted that the reason Millie isn't developed is because she's not traumatised. But a character can have obstacles to overcome without them having trauma! Millie almost got that development before she got hit with the "get pregnant" beam out of nowhere. You know how artists joke about making every single of their ocs mentally unstable? This is Viv, except she doesn't understand that the show isn't a playground, it's a narrative that needs to be interesting."

Submitted by anonymous

[reallyneedsalife]

As I am currently reading the novelisation of the 2009 Star Trek, I've decided to note down some of my favourite parts / interesting bits / funny moments.

George Kirk actually realises that Ayel is a Romulan before Captain Robau even leaves the Kelvin

They actually say that Jim has brown eyes, despite the fact that in the films he Very Definitely Doesn't

Amanda tells Sarek (metaphorically) where to stick it and its hilarious

When Sarek tells Spock he is to choose his own destiny, Spock goes (internally), "but im eleven"

Jim teases cupcake in the bar scene further by asking if he's into him and then asking if they beam those uniforms right onto them because "they're so form fitting"

Jim speaks Orion Prime

He also considers Pike to be his mentor, explicitly rather than the implied route the movies took

Jim calls Spock "Commander Spork" by mistake during his trial

Jim also genuinely has a breakdown in the trial at the idea of being kicked out of Starfleet, and then proceeds to have another when he hears he's on Academic Probation.

Here, Chekov doesn't run down to the transporter room to catch Sulu and Jim. Instead him and Uhura work together on the bridge to catch them in time

Amanda Grayson's last words are "It's okay, to be scared"

Spock estimates that no more than 10,000 vulcans survive the planets destruction

Kirk helps in medical central, and Spock notices him taking care of a young vulcan girl

Doctor McCoy says "Damn it man I'm a doctor, not a physicist" which is nice, since it doesn't happen as often in the AOS films vs TOS

Spock makes a point that despite him and Jim both losing a parent to Nero, they cannot have a personal vendetta against him for the sake of the crew

Jim brings up Spock being emotionally compromised before meeting Spock-Prime, citing the regulations. Spock sees this as an attempt at mutiny and - recognising that Jim will just escape if he is put in the brig - lobs him off the ship like he does in the film

The bug(?) Nero implants in Pike is not intended to torture him, but instead works as a truth serum in some thinly veiled way. Nero actually gives Pike anaesthesia to prevent him being in pain while the bug makes its way to his spinal cord, so torture is definitively not his goal

Keenser talks, and has actual lines (though not many)

As Nero and his crew wonder at the amount of water on Earth, one of the romulan crew ask why it is called Earth and not Water

Ayel actually asks Nero, on behalf of the crew, to stop before they attack Earth and go home to Romulous. Nero murders him in response.

the in-universe reason why Pike has a head of grey hair is the trauma from the events

Kirk gets a commendation for original thinking

Kirk has to actively try not to laugh when Spock submits his application for First Officer in the middle of the bridge

The book closes with Admiral Archer's beagle being beamed onto the ship

[senascoop]

ꣀ꣒ ASKING ENHYPEN TO DO YOUR MAKEUP . . 엔하이펜 ☁︎

boyfriend ! enhypen × girlfriend ! afab reader : : fluff + established relationship [ARCHIVE]

♫︎ REBLOGS + FEEDBACKS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED

. , LEE HEESEUNG ☁︎ 이희승 !

“Okay, I'm doing this one.” Heeseung declared with a determined tone, eyes glued to the screen as he absorbed the makeup tutorial like it was life or death. The makeup supplies were scattered all over the table, and you couldn't help but giggle internally at how serious he looked, brows furrowed in concentration. “Alright,” you mumbled, trying to hide the smile creeping on your lips. He was taking this way too seriously, but it was endearing. With the brushes in hand, he started working, blending and contouring with laser focus. Every stroke was made with care as if you were a canvas for a masterpiece. You had to admit, the boy had skills. “Done!” Heeseung stood back, clearly satisfied, a proud grin on his face. You blinked at the mirror, shocked. “Woah, woah, woah,” you gasped, almost not recognizing yourself. “I look like I belong on a runway!” Heeseung beamed. “Told you I'd nail it!”

read rest of the members below !

. , PARK JONGSEONG ☁︎ 박종성 !

“This is so easy, I'll handle the job,” Jay boasted, puffing out his chest like it was no big deal. His confidence, however, crumbled the moment he actually saw the array of makeup products in front of him—brushes of all shapes, palettes with confusing names, and products he had no clue how to use. You could see the slight panic in his eyes, but he tried to play it cool. “Okay... let’s do this,” he muttered, picking up a brush, but instead of getting serious, he burst into laughter. “Jay! Focus!” you giggled, though deep down, you weren’t sure how this would turn out. His laughter continued as he attempted to apply the eyeshadow, the brush barely making contact. “Oops, too much!” he said, laughing even harder, while you sat there helpless, just hoping for the best. Finally, he stepped back, proudly showing you the mirror. It wasn’t as bad as you feared—messy, sure, but somewhat presentable. “Not too shabby,” Jay chuckled, and you couldn’t help but smile at his effort.

. , SIM JAEYUN ☁︎ 심재윤 !

“Only blush, lip gloss, and a bit of mascara,” Jake offers, holding up the products like they're foreign objects. He’s clearly not eager to dive into a full makeup session but wants to at least try. You nod, amused at his cautious approach. “Am I doing it right?” he asks every two minutes, furrowing his brows as he gently dabs blush onto your cheeks, concentrating like it’s a life-or-death situation. You can't help but chuckle at his nervousness. “You’re doing great.” He moves on to the lip gloss, carefully swiping it across your lips, his hand steady but his eyes checking for approval every second. Finally, mascara. He hesitates but manages to get through it without smudging. When he’s done, he steps back, admiring his work. “Looks natural, right?” he grins, clearly proud of himself. You glance in the mirror, smiling at the soft, minimal look. “Perfect,” you say, and his grin widens.

. , PARK SUNGHOON ☁︎ 박성훈 !

“It’s okay, I’ll do it,” Sunghoon insists, picking up an eyebrow pencil with a confidence that makes you nervous. You eye him cautiously, already imagining the worst. “Are you sure?” you ask, raising a brow yourself, but he’s too determined to back down now. “...I don’t know if I’ll recover from this trauma,” you mutter, preparing for the inevitable. Sunghoon, laser-focused, leans in closer, his attention fixated on your eyebrows. He’s obsessed with making them look perfect, his face inches from yours as he carefully strokes the pencil. You sit there, holding your breath, watching the boldness of your brows intensify with each pass. When he finally steps back, both of you burst out laughing. Your eyebrows look like they belong on a runway – bold, sharp, and way too dramatic. But the rest of the makeup? Surprisingly soft and balanced. “You look… intense,” Sunghoon chuckles. You laugh, shaking your head, “Bold, but balanced. I guess it works!”

. , KIM SUNOO ☁︎ 김수누 !

“Umm, Sunoo, I think there’s too much blush,” you mumble, glancing at him nervously through the mirror. He’s been applying blush to your cheeks for what feels like forever, and you’re starting to worry you’ll look like a tomato. “Nah, it’s perfect,” he mutters with a casual wave of his hand, completely absorbed in his work. With a focused expression, he blends the shades flawlessly, giving your cheeks a soft, glowing look. You watch in awe as the pink hue settles into your skin perfectly, making you look radiant. “Where did you even get these skills?” you ask, amused, still watching him in the mirror. Sunoo just grins, snapping a million pictures of you with his phone. “This is my masterpiece,” he declares proudly, stepping back to admire his work. You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Masterpiece, huh? Well, I guess I’m your glowing canvas now.” — “And a flawless one at that,” he beams.

. , YANG JUNGWON ☁︎ 양정원 !

“Can I back out now?” Jungwon asks halfway through, looking at you with wide eyes. You raise an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Seriously?” you reply, feeling both disappointed and slightly offended. He sighs, knowing there’s no escape now. He did promise, after all. With a determined expression, he goes back to the clutter of makeup spread before him, feeling completely overwhelmed by the endless options. After a few moments of hesitation, he grabs a lipstick, deciding that’s his safest bet. Applying it carefully, he steps back and then bursts out laughing. “That’s it! You don’t need anything else—you already look gorgeous,” he grins, clearly relieved he didn’t have to go any further. You give him a skeptical look, but deep down, you know this is just his way of saving himself from a tricky situation. You roll your eyes but laugh with him. “Nice save, Jungwon. Nice save.”

. , NISHIMURA RIKI ☁︎ 리키 !

Niki had always watched his sisters transform into glamorous versions of themselves, effortlessly wielding brushes and palettes like wands. So, when he decided to try his hand at makeup, he felt a surge of confidence. “How hard can it be?” he muttered, grabbing every vibrant shade he could find. With a brush in one hand and a tube of glitter in the other, he went to work, splashing colors across your face like a canvas. “Look!” he exclaimed, grinning widely, but you couldn't help but cringe at the vivid reds and blues swirling on your cheeks. “Are you sure I won’t look like a clown?” you laughed nervously, eyeing yourself in the mirror. “Clowns are overrated! This is art!” he declared, stepping back to admire his handiwork. You couldn’t deny it was chaotic, but somehow, it was uniquely you.

© senascoop | tumblr

[obsessedwhyyes]

An Empirical Study

Part 2 of The Scientific Method Series (though readable as a standalone). Part 1, A Sound Hypothesis, can be found here!

Summary: As your first night together with Astarion draws near, your mind, ever the analyst, goes into overdrive. Thankfully, Astarion has a cure for those racing thoughts - a sensory experiment, one that will release your inhibitions and help you to embrace the unknown. In doing so, you discover that some mysteries are best experienced, rather than solved.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 7132 Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader Content: Act 1, smut with plot, inexperienced nerd reader, losing virginity, sensory play, tantric massage (sort of), fingering, Astarion guides you during sex. Warning: Very mild reference to Astarion's past trauma, though this Tav doesn't pass her insight checks.

Gif by silverformymonsters on Tumblr!

A/N: This fic was inspired by the idea that mindfulness is the best cure for a busy mind. No one says mindfulness can't be sexy, right? Actual smut appears halfway through.

Travelling lush verdant landscapes on your search for the Druid, Halsin, your eyes are drawn to Astarion at each opportunity, your mind wandering to thoughts of your night prior. You had bared yourself to him, and him to you in an evening of bliss and exploration which you, even in all your overthinking, had not anticipated. Yet, it was nothing compared to what was to come tonight - at least, according to him.

Stolen glances, lingering touches on the small of your back, a brush of his hand against yours - all promises of what is to come, whispered between almost-lovers.

And so you find yourself sneaking glances at his lips, which spilled forth such delicious sounds for you at your touch; at his silver hair which you envision your hands running through in a moment of passion; at his eyes, which gazed into yours with the intensity of a winter storm as his pleasure spilled from him.

Gods, is it distracting.

You're meant to be leading this merry band of tadpolled companions you have founded, not indulging these dirty little fantasies of yours. You need to keep your wits about you. Lives depend on it. 

He, meanwhile, is the picture of easy grace and sardonic smiles, sauntering ahead of you with all the casual arrogance of a man who knows how good he looks from behind.

Every so often, he pauses to check his nails or adjust his perfectly coiffed hair, as if the finer details of his appearance are the most pressing concern in this current life-or-death situation.

And then there's that smirk. That knowing, mischievous quirk of his lips whenever he catches you staring. It's a look that says, “I know what you're thinking, darling. And you have to work for it.”

You're torn between wanting to wipe that damn smug expression off his face and wanting to… well, the evermore debauched side of your mind helpfully supplies several colourful suggestions, none of which are appropriate for your current company or circumstances.

So when you find yourself tripping over a fallen beam and nearly falling face-first into a pile of mouldy straw as your companions attempt to loot the blighted village you’ve stumbled into, you decide, for your sake and the sake of your increasingly concerned friends, to seek a moment of reprieve.

“You all go on ahead,” you shout to them. “I'll catch up.”

When they nod their understanding and continue on, you're relieved to have a moment to yourself. A moment to rein your wandering thoughts back under control and return to the wizard you were - one with a mind of sound, scientific thought and resolve, not of such lewd desires. For now, at least.

It seems only a taste of the once unknown was enough to drive you to madness.

But that isn’t all that plagues you.

As you stand alone in the dilapidated building you’ve resigned yourself to in your moment of madness, your mind wanders to the night ahead. Excitement bubbles in your chest, but it’s tempered by a gnawing anxiety that threatens to overwhelm you. You’ve faced down monsters, handled the horror of a mindflayer parasite lurking in your brain with a surprising grace. And yet, the prospect of fully giving yourself to Astarion shakes you in a way that you have never experienced.

It’s a natural biological response, you tell yourself. The release of hormones in response to a new, potentially stressful situation.

But there is a sense of finality to the coming night that intimidates you - a threshold that once crossed, cannot be uncrossed.

You pace the worn floorboards, your footsteps echoing in the empty room. Your mind, ever the analyst, begins to dissect your fears with scientific precision. Perhaps it’s not the physical act itself that fears you, but what it represents: a change. For so long, you’ve defined yourself by your rationality - your dedication to your craft - even if it meant keeping intimacy at arm’s length. But Astarion - he's awakened something within you. Something primal, something that can't be contained by logic or reason.

Astarion is a master in getting your heart racing - a dangerous cocktail of excitement, fear, and desire that leaves you breathless, in more ways than one as of late. He’s like the night itself - dark, mysterious, full of hidden dangers and untold pleasures. And just like the night, he calls to you, urging you to explore, to experience, to lose yourself in the shadows. It’s intoxicating.

There’s a part of you that fears this - that desire to cling to what is familiar. Yet you also yearn for the connection, the raw intimacy, the chance to experience life with your whole being, not just your mind.

And really, what does it matter if you lean into this yearning? You could all be dead tomorrow, or worse, transformed into mind flayers. If you're going to die or become a monster, at least you could do so knowing what it feels like to–

No, no. Stop that.

You groan and run a hand through your hair. All this anticipation is maddening.

Your eyes scan the room - what was once a bedroom - for a distraction, and locate a suitably perfect one placed conveniently on a bedside table: a small coffer, liable to be filled with the valuables of its owner, now long dead to the goblins which had infested this area before you and your companions had cleaned it up.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, the old, torn frame creaking as you lower yourself. The coffer is ornate, its lock intricate - complex enough to keep out the finest of goblin thieves, seemingly. Probably not enough to keep out particularly dextrous vampires though, your traitorous mind supplies.

Nevertheless, it will make a suitable distraction. You can figure out an old lock without Astarion’s expertise. You’re a wizard for gods’ sake.

You pull spare lockpicking tools from your pack, tongue poking out slightly in concentration as you set to work, trying to remember the vague instructions you’d once overheard in a tavern. Hells, what was it again? “Insert and wiggle?” Or “poke and hope?” Undeterred, you begin your fumbling.

… And the pick slips as you attempt to insert it into the lock, jabbing under your fingernail.

You yelp, nearly dropping the entire set, swearing profanities under your breath.

“Now this is just pitiful.”

“Shit!” You shout, the coffer clattering to the floor as you scramble to get up to address the velvety voice that manifests behind you.

You look up to see Astarion gazing down at you, eyebrow raised, amused at your lack of grace. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, the picture of casual elegance.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he coos.

“No, I just…” You fight to catch your breath. “It looked valuable. I couldn't just leave it here without taking a peek.”

“All by yourself? I do hope you were planning to share,” he teases in mock pouting.

“As if you wouldn't keep it all to yourself.”

He brings a hand to his heart, with all the theatrics of a wandering bard recounting his most exaggerated conquests after too many tankards of ale.

“How you wound me! I think you'll find I'm very generous.” He looks you up and down as you reclaim your fallen items and your space on the bed to resume your attempts at this gods-damned impossible lock. Astarion, however, seems to have other ideas.

He saunters into the room, circling you like a predator sizing up its prey.

“You know,” he continues, a smirk on his lips, “if you need me to teach you, you only have to say so. If I recall, you're an exceptionally fast learner…”

He leans over you, lips hovering closely to your ear. You pulse quickens, but you don't look him in the eye.

“... Darling.”

Nope. Still not looking him in the eye.

“I’m perfectly capable of picking a lock, Astarion.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt. But perhaps you’d like a lesson from the master of larceny himself? I promise to be a thorough teacher. All you have to do,” he teases, “is say please.”

Bastard.

“And I suppose you’re offering this lesson out of the kindness of your heart?”

Astarion’s laugh is rich and warm, and your heart flutters for just a moment. “Let’s just say I enjoy watching you learn.”

The double entendre isn’t lost on you. Heat pools in your belly as you recall his “lessons” from the night prior.

“Fine,” you sigh in mock exasperation, turning to look directly into his ruby eyes. If it’s a cat-and-mouse game he wants, a cat-and-mouse game he shall have. “Please,” you purr in your best attempt to embody the sultriness that Astarion so easily exudes, holding his gaze with eyes hooded. You can only hope you don’t look and sound as silly as you feel.

You get more than you bargained for.

“Oh, my.” He positions himself behind you on the bed, pressing his chest against your back, his legs either side of you. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Your breath hitches. Your pulse quickens, pounding so loudly that you have no doubt he can hear it. But worst of all, the proximity, his breath on your neck, and the feeling of his hard body against yours ignite that familiar ache in your core. 

So much for a distraction.

He tuts. “Ah, I see the problem.” His voice is low, lips now hovering beside your ear. “The pick you’re using - it’s not quite up to the task.”

You frown, examining the delicate tool. “What do you mean? It seems fine to me.”

“Oh no, my dear. Size matters when it comes to these things. It’s simply not big enough for a lock like this. Luckily for you, I have a pick that is very large.”

You bite back a laugh and decide to play along. “Is that so? And how exactly do you manage to fit such a large pick in these small locks?”

He chuckles, the sound low and rich in your ear. “It’s all about technique, darling. With the right approach, you’d be amazed at what can fit where.”

You half expect to find yourself suddenly transported into the pages of one of those tawdry “romance” novels hidden in the darkest corners of Candlekeep’s library.

“I see,” you reply. “And I suppose you’ve had plenty of practice…”

Gods, you can’t quite believe you’re indulging this.

“... inserting your pick into various locks over the years?” You continue, heat flushing your cheeks at your own brazenness.

“Oh, indeed,” he replies. “I’ve encountered all sorts of locks in my time. Each one unique, requiring a… personal touch to open properly.”

“And have you ever met a lock you couldn’t pick?”

Astarion’s voice is downright wicked. “Not yet, darling. Though I must say, I’m quite looking forward to trying my luck with yours.”

There’s that ache of excitement again, pooling at your core at the implications which race through your mind. The air hangs heavy between you, charged with promise and anticipation. “Well then, master lockpick, perhaps you’d better show me how it’s done.”

“With pleasure,” Astarion coos, reaching behind him to retrieve an, indeed, much larger lockpick from his pack, alongside an additional curved tool: a tension wrench - how very advanced. He hands them to you, keeping a hold of your hands as you hold onto the implements.

“First,” he murmurs, his cool, long fingers guiding you to bring the tension wrench to the lock, “we need to slide this into the keyway, here. Apply constant, gentle pressure. Too much, and you’ll bind the pins. Too little, and they won’t set.”

Next, he raises your other hand, holding the pick. “Now for the delicate part,” he purrs. “We’ll use this to probe deeply, searching for those sensitive spots that, when touched just right, will yield to you.”

You swallow hard, but persevere.

As you work, you feel the subtle vibrations of pins through the pick; the minute clicks as they each settle into place. Astarion’s hands never leave yours, his touch both instructive and maddeningly distracting.

“Feel that resistance?” he asks as you encounter a stubborn pin. “Sometimes, darling, you have to apply a little more pressure.” He emphasises the word by pressing his body closer to yours, and you have to bite your lip to keep from making a sound. “Maintain tension while you lift the pin with the pick.”

“That’s it,” he encourages as you successfully work your way through the lock, guided by his expert hands. “I knew those clever fingers of yours were good for more than just spellcasting.”

“And just what other uses did you have in mind for my fingers?”

His chuckle is low and rich. “My dear, I have so many ideas, we might need another night to explore them all.”

The promise in his words sends a thrill through you, equal parts excitement and trepidation. 

“Almost there,” he murmurs, voice husky with concentration - or perhaps something else entirely. “Just a little more pressure…”

With a satisfying click, the lock finally gives way. You let out a triumphant laugh, turning to face Astarion with a grin.

“Well done,” he says, with something resembling pride flickering across his features for a moment. Or hunger. It’s hard to tell sometimes.

As the excitement of your victory over that bastard lock fades, you become acutely aware of Astarion’s proximity. You realise with a start just how close you are. His face is mere inches from yours, eyes boring into you with an intensity that steals your breath. The cool solidity of his chest against your back, his breath ghosting over your neck - it’s intoxicating and terrifying all at once. The reality of what is to come tonight crashes over you like a wave, bringing forth those familiar pangs of anxiety deep within your chest.

“Astarion,” you begin, turning your face away from him. “About tonight…”

“Not having second thoughts, are we?” He says as he shifts to sit alongside you. You find yourself equal parts relieved and disappointed at the loss of him pressed so firmly against you.

“No,” you say quickly, then pause. “I want to. It’s just… I don’t know. I’m just–”

“Nervous? Darling, I assure you, I won’t bite.” He pauses, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Unless you ask nicely, of course.”

Your face flushes at his brazen comment.

“Besides, after your… performance last night, I thought we were well past this bashfulness. You don’t need more ‘experimentation,’ surely?”

“That was different,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze.

“Oh?” Astarion leans in. You feel his breath on your skin, cool and gentle. “Do tell. What makes tonight so special that it has our dear leader in such a state?”

You take a breath, deciding to be honest. “It just feels like… once we do this, there’s no going back. I’ll be… I don't know. Different.”

It’s a foolish notion by all logic, but one that gnaws at your mind nonetheless. You feel almost ludicrous as you voice your feelings aloud. It’s difficult, this “being honest with yourself” business.

Astarion’s eyebrow arches, a mix of curiosity and amusement. “Ever the overthinker.” He pauses, seemingly considering his words. “Darling, you’ll still be you. Just… more experienced. And significantly more satisfied, I might add.”

You roll your eyes. “You know what I mean, Astarion.”

His expression shifts to something altogether softer. "I do. But tell me, darling - didn't you feel it last night? That thrill of breaking free from your own chains? The prim scholar I met would have baulked at such unseemly behaviour. And yet, there you were, eager and willing. Why cling to those old restraints when you could shed them entirely? There's so much more to experience, so many delicious freedoms to taste."

You blink. Loathe as you are to admit, he’s right about one thing: abandoning your own self-imposed constraints last night was… liberating.

“You know, you can be surprisingly insightful at times.”

He feigns offence, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “Surprisingly? My dear, I’ve had centuries to perfect the art of observation. How do you think I’ve survived this long? It’s a crucial skill for any vampire. Or any lover.”

You laugh, and some of the tension eases from your shoulders at his usual bantering. “And there’s the Astarion I know.”

“Would you prefer I return to being mysterious and dangerous? That can certainly be arranged.”

“No,” you say softly, meeting his gaze. “I think I prefer you as you are.”

Shit, you think. Did I really just say that?

He makes an odd expression. That same indecipherable expression from the night prior, flickering across his features, barely visible, impossible for you to categorise. Is it disappointment? Annoyance? A deeper emotion that you cannot name? Gods, you wish you could see into that mind of his.

Well… you could, but that would be impolite.

But before either of you can speak again, a voice cuts through the air.

“Oi! Are you two coming back or do we need to leave you to the goblins?”

It’s Shadowheart, her tone impatient and slightly suspicious.

Astarion's usual smirk slides back into place, the elusive expression gone as quickly as it appeared. "Well, we'd better not keep them waiting. Wouldn't want them to start any unsavoury rumours, would we?"

As you gather your things, your mind whirls with thoughts of what almost was and what's still to come. Astarion brushes past you as he heads for the door, his hand ghosting over the small of your back.

"Until tonight, darling," he murmurs, just for you to hear.

-

The day crawls by with agonising slowness, each moment stretching like treacle in the sun; thoughts of the unknown looming over you like a curse - albeit one that promises especially satisfying outcomes.

When evening approached and you and your companions returned to the sanctuary of your camp, Astarion had caught you alone, his voice low and rich with promise.

“Meet me tonight,” he murmured. “When the others are asleep. In the clearing we found yesterday. Follow the path, and head east at the fork. I'll be waiting,” he finished with a smile - that same teasing, rakish smile which lingers in your fantasies at night.

Now, as you make your way through the darkening woods, your heart pounds a staccato rhythm against your ribs.

What if I do something embarrassing? What if I accidentally cast Fire Bolt in a moment of madness?

You snort at your own ridiculous thoughts. You can almost hear Astarion's voice in your head, calling you out for being the terrible overthinker that you are.

As you approach the clearing, you take a deep breath, trying to centre yourself. You're a bundle of contradictions - nervous yet eager, apprehensive yet excited. Your mind might be a chaotic whirl of thoughts and doubts, but your body moves forward with purpose, drawn to Astarion like a moth to flame.

Well, you think wryly, at least if I embarrass myself horribly, I can always hope for a sudden mindflayer attack to put me out of my misery.

With that comforting thought, you step into the moonlit clearing, your eyes searching for Astarion's familiar silhouette.

And then you see him.

Astarion emerges from behind a tree, shirtless, moonlight casting shadows that accentuate the lean contours of his form.

"There you are," he purrs, his voice low and rich. "I've been waiting. Waiting since the moment I laid eyes on you. Waiting... to have you."

You can't help but chuckle, a mixture of nervousness and amusement. "Since the moment you laid eyes on me? You mean when you held a knife to my throat?"

"Gods, you just can't let me woo you, can you?” he teases. He steps closer to you, his presence electric.

Your eyes trace the elegant lines of his face, the sharp angle of his jaw, the mesmerising depth of his ruby eyes. He is beautiful in the way that wild things are beautiful - captivating and perilous in equal measure.

“You don’t need to ‘woo’ me, Astarion. I’m already here.”

His smile widens. "Indeed you are. But where's the fun in rushing? I intend to savour every moment of this."

As he approaches, he snakes a hand around your waist, lingering at the small of your back, before pulling you flush against him. Before you have a chance to acknowledge his brazen actions, his lips meet yours and his kiss is as hungry as you remember; as intoxicating as you’d dreamed. His tongue plays with yours, cool and skilled, a stark contrast to the warmth blooming in your core. For but a moment, you find your body taking the lead once more - your fingers glide up the bare skin of his chest, up his jaw, finally tangling themselves in the silken strands of his hair.

As your arms wrap themselves behind his neck, you suddenly feel your feet lift the ground. Your stomach drops, a fleeting sensation of weightlessness before Astarion secures you in his arms, twirling to press you against the tree he emerged from. The rough bark presses into your back, only accentuating the feeling of his hard, smooth body as it envelops your own.

But then the rush of sensation begins to ebb. In its wake, your mind reasserts itself, a tidal surge of thoughts and fears flooding back in. The bark digging into your back, once a thrilling counterpoint to Astarion's touch, now feels uncomfortably real. The weight of the moment settles on you, heavy and undeniable.

This is happening. This is real.

Your body, so responsive moments ago, now feels stiff and awkward. Your hands suddenly feel clumsy and unsure. You're acutely aware of every point of contact between you, hyper-conscious of each touch.

Astarion, ever perceptive, seems to sense the change. His movements slow, and he pulls back slightly, ruby eyes searching your face. A furrow appears between his brows, concern replacing the hunger that had darkened his gaze.

"You've gone rigid as a statue, darling.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words stick in your throat. How can you explain this? The desire that still smoulders beneath the surface, at war with the fear that threatens to extinguish it?

Astarion's head tilts, a predator scenting uncertainty. But when he speaks, his voice is uncharacteristically gentle. "You're overthinking this again, aren't you? I can practically hear the gears grinding."

He doesn't wait for your response, instead lowering you gently to the ground into the grass below and settling on his knees alongside you.

"Perhaps," he says, a thoughtful look replacing his usual smirk, "we need a different approach. One that will keep that brilliant mind of yours occupied.

“I want you to close your eyes,” Astarion instructs, his voice soft but commanding. “And then I want you to focus entirely on sensation. No thinking, no more analysing. Just feeling. Can you do that for me?”

You nod, both nervous and intrigued, as your eyes flutter closed.

“Excellent,” he purrs. “Now, I’m going to touch you, and I want you to tell me everything you feel. Everything. Alright?”

“I think so.”

With your eyes shut, every other sense seems to heighten as anticipation washes over you. Moments pass like centuries, almost agonisingly so.

As if to break the spell, you feel him trace a line, gentle and deliberate, along your jawline, all the way to your neck, resting his fingers above your pulse.

“What do you feel?”

“I… I feel your fingers,” you venture. You can't hide the uncertainty in your voice.

“What about them?”

“They're… cool? But not cold. Your fingertips are slightly rough; they have a texture to them.”

“Excellent,” he encourages. “What else?”

You pause as you feel him shift above you, straddling you at your hips, and he brings his head down to nuzzle into the crook of your neck. You shiver slightly as you feel the coolness of his breath, and his lips, which graze your skin, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake.

“I feel your lips. They're soft. I can smell your cologne… It's fresh, herby almost. And something else… something earthy. Something ‘you.’”

“You're more observant than I gave you credit for,” he teases, though his praise causes your heart to swell for a moment.

His touch becomes bolder, a hand trailing down from your neck to reach the swell of your breast, massaging it gently. You inhale sharply, the sensation both thrilling and unexpected as he brushes a thumb across your nipple over the barrier of your clothes.

“And now?” he asks into the crook of your neck, punctuated by slow, delicate kisses, planted along the line where he would sink his fangs.

“It's… intense,” you manage. It's as if your skin has become hypersensitive, every nerve ending alive and receptive to his touch. “I can feel everything so clearly, even through my clothes. It's almost overwhelming, but in a good way.”

You hear a low chuckle from Astarion. “Good,” he murmurs. “That's exactly what I want you to feel.”

As he sits up, his fingers travel to the hem of your shirt, a whisper of a touch that sends shivers across your skin. He pulls at the fabric with deliberate slowness, exposing your midriff inch by inch. His fingers occasionally brush against your skin, leaving the most wonderful tingles in their wake. When he reaches your chest, he pauses, hands hovering just below your breasts.

“May I?”

You nod, unable to find your voice. With a gentleness that surprises you, he slides your shirt, bra along with it, up and over your head as you raise yourself momentarily to help him. The cool night air hits your exposed skin and you shiver, though not entirely from the cold.

“Beautiful,” Astarion breathes.

His fingertips trace patterns on your skin, starting from your collarbone and working their way down. Each touch feels electric, sending little sparks of sensation through your body. He traces the curve of your breast, the dip of your waist, the plane of your stomach, as if memorising the feel of your skin beneath his hands.

When he reaches the waistband of your skirt, you feel his knuckles brushing against your hip bones as he works at the fastenings, and the muscles in your abdomen tighten of their own accord. You hear every sound, every breath he makes, every rustle of fabric.

As your skirt falls away, pulled with deliberate slowness, you become aware of new sensations. The blades of grass tickle your legs. The night air caresses your skin. 

You feel exposed, vulnerable. But… safe.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The night seems to hold its breath, the world narrowing down to just the two of you in this moonlit clearing. You're acutely aware of your nakedness, and you need not see it to feel Astarion's eyes roaming over you.

“You're exquisite,” he says, and for once, there's no trace of his usual sarcasm or teasing.

Astarion’s hands and fingers continue their exploration of your body, alternating between feather-light touches and firmer caresses. He seems to delight in discovering places that make you gasp or shiver - the shell of your ear, the dip of your waist, the inside of your wrist.

The sensation is incredible - like tingles radiating out from his touch, spreading across your skin in waves. It reminds you of the pleasant shivers you feel when someone whispers close to your ear. But gods, this is so much more intense; more all-encompassing.

“It… it feels like…” You try to describe the feeling aloud, but words catch in your throat, coming out as a soft moan instead, causing you to clasp your hands to your mouth to stifle yourself.

“Don't hold back, love,” he encourages. “Let me hear you.”

As his fingers trail along your inner thigh, a soft gasp escapes your lips.

Astarion’s touch is feather-light, teasing, as he moves higher. When his fingers brush against your entrance, arousal and anticipation leaving you more sensitive than you have ever known, a low moan rises unbidden from your throat.

And then his fingers enter you. One finger, then two. He moves slowly, almost agonisingly so, in and out and in and out of you, curling his fingers ever so slightly upwards. Little whimpers and sighs escape you, a wanton symphony of pleasure that you never knew you were capable of. Each sound seems to spur him on, his touches becoming faster, more purposeful, more focused.

You find yourself arching into his touch, your body seeking more of the exquisite sensation he's drawing from you, only for him to bring a thumb to your clit, playing you with virtuoso expertise in rhythm with his fingers. You cry out and, for a moment, you're embarrassed by the volume, but Astarion's hum of approval vanishes any self-consciousness.

“That's it, darling,” he whispers, his voice dark, husky. “Let go. Let me hear how good you feel.”

His words push you closer to the edge. Your sounds become more frequent, more urgent. You're dimly aware that you're babbling, a stream of “please” and “Astarion” and “oh gods” spilling forth from your lips. 

As the pleasure builds to a crescendo, you feel the last of your inhibitions slipping away. It's as if the invisible chains which have bound you for so long are finally breaking, link by link. Each wave of pleasure weakens their hold, and Astarion’s touch is the key that unlocks every shackle.

When you finally reach your peak, it's like a dam bursting within you, sending all the pent-up fears and self-imposed constraints out along with it. Astarion’s name leaves your lips in a cry that's part plea, part praise, as you soar on wings of newfound freedom.

“Open your eyes, darling,” Astarion says softly, a grounding force in the wake of your climax.

You do, blinking in the moonlight. It takes a moment for your vision to adjust, but the world comes into focus slowly, like awakening from a dream.

Astarion’s face is the first thing you see, illuminated by the soft moonlight filtering through the trees as he sits up on his knees alongside you. And as your gaze travels down…

… He's also naked.

Heat rises to your cheeks as you take in the sight of him - all of him - all lean muscle and pale skin. You don't think you'll ever get used to the sight of his cock. Somehow, in this light, it's even more perfect than you remember: glistening, with a slight upward curve, and a girth that makes you ache in anticipation.

Astarion's smile widens, a hint of his usual mischief returning to his eyes. “See something you like, darling?”

You laugh, your voice raw. “You know I do,” you admit, surprising yourself with your own boldness.

“Hmm, yes,” he purrs. “But I do so enjoy hearing you say it.”

He shifts, positioning himself above you, aligning between your thighs.

For the first time, even at the final threshold, your mind is… quiet. You find yourself relaxed, languid. You feel that pang of nervousness, yes. But you don't find yourself restrained by it.

You want to revel in this feeling. In him. In the sensations he brings you. In this freedom he has granted you; this freedom that you have never before granted yourself.

A moment passes, and tension crackles in the air between you.

“Ready, love?” He asks, breaking the silence.

You nod. You are certain.

He positions himself, his hand guiding his cock, ready to bring it to your entrance.

“Breathe in for me, darling.”

You do as he says, drawing in a deep breath. And as you do…

His cock enters you.

You squeeze your eyes shut at the sensation. There's a moment of discomfort, your body stretching more to accommodate him as he slowly inserts inch after inch, giving you time to adjust. You have never felt so full before. You have never felt anything quite like this before.

“How does it feel?” He asks, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.

“It's a little sore,” you exhale, and your voice slightly shaky at the rush of sensation.

“Then let's start slowly, shall we?”

When he leans down to kiss you, you become aware of every point of contact; the coolness of his bare skin pressed so closely against the warmth of yours, yet it never quite feels close enough. You wrap your arms behind his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss between you and, in turn, he wraps an arm under the small of your neck, lifting you to him. His weight on you is grounding as you adjust to the foreign sensations.

That is until, oh so slowly, he moves inside you.

His movements are controlled, restrained, yet you can feel the barely leashed power in his lithe form, in the ripple of his muscles. He's a predator, dangerous and deadly, yet in this moment, he handles you with a gentleness that gives you goosebumps.

Pain meets pleasure with each deliberate motion, merging into one muddle of intense sensation. But then the discomfort begins to fade, replaced by a building warmth that spreads throughout your body. Each slow thrust of his hips brings a new wave of feeling overwhelming yet exquisite.

Astarion brings a hand to your leg, coaxing you to lift it. You understand the message, wrapping your legs around his waist as he thrusts into you and gods. He's even deeper within you, the sounds wet and lewd with each undulation of his hips. You gasp loudly at the sensation, breaking free momentarily of his kiss.

You suddenly find yourself in need of more. More closeness, more contact, more of him.

Your legs, encircling his waist, involuntarily pull his hips into you, urging him on, faster and deeper into you. You hadn't meant to be so bold. But this feeling of fullness, of connection, is overwhelming, igniting every primitive urge within your body, now unconstrained by the shackles of your mind. He responds in kind, thrusting in time with each pull of your legs. Your voice is not your own, the most wanton of cries spilling forth from your lips, high pitched and needy. Your eyes search for his, eager to see them hungry, dark, brimming with pleasure just as you remember from the night prior.

But something’s different.

His eyes are glazed, ever so slightly, looking more through you than at you. It's as though he's focusing intently on something you can't see.

Concentrating, perhaps? Trying to maintain control? Gods, it's hard to think straight when each thrust hits deep inside you so deliciously. Each movement is methodical, perfect - skill clearly derived from centuries of experience.

But amidst the haze, you reach up and gently brush your fingers along his jawline. “Astarion?” you breathe, soft and inquisitive between each gasp of pleasure.

He blinks rapidly, his rhythm faltering. He pauses, still inside you. For a split second, what looks to be confusion flickers across his features, before his usual charming smirk, practised and perfect, returns.

“Ah, darling,” he starts, his voice hoarse. “Just got a little… lost in the moment.”

Before you can respond, Astarion suddenly shifts, changing your positions with a grace that takes your breath away. In one fluid motion, he scoops you into his arms and sits up, bringing you with him so that you're straddling his lap.

“Now then,” he says, “where were we?”

His renewed enthusiasm is almost overwhelming. His touch is more purposeful, his movements more intense as tangles a hand in the strands of your hair, pulling you in to kiss him. You find yourself swept up in his redoubled efforts.

Astarion’s spare hand settles firmly on your hip, pulling you to him, coaxing you to rock back and forth on his cock and–

Stars burst behind your eyes. A new, intense pleasure, richer than the last as the head of his cock brushes the uppermost wall of you.

He guides your movements, bringing you to a rhythm that has you gasping. You chase that elusive feeling eagerly. When you falter, uncertain and unbalanced from inexperience, he whispers his encouragement.

“That's it,” he murmurs as you find your stride. “Keep going.”

He rocks his hips to meet your own, and gods, there's that beautiful voice of his, punctuated by the rhythmic slaps of skin against slickened skin. His low groans reverberate through your body, mingling with your own breathless gasps and whimpers.

Finally, seemingly sensing your fast approaching limit, he brings a hand between your bodies, and you feel the familiar sensation of his thumb rubbing delicate circles on your clit.

The added stimulation is too much to bear. You cry out, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through your body as you close your eyes, giving yourself over to the feeling. Your breath quickens, your pulse a drumbeat in your ears, and you feel yourself shuddering, spiralling. You’re falling, flying, lost in sensation, and Astarion is both the cause of your descent and your only lifeline. He holds you steady, an anchor, as your senses return to you.

But this steadiness does not remain for long.

With a start, you find yourself lowered to the ground, Astarion holding you firmly by the hips, burying himself in you once more, his purposeful rhythm replaced with an erratic, senseless pounding in the final throes of his pleasure.

You feel the tension in him before it fully takes hold, a low steady hum beneath his skin. His breath grows shallow, his muscles tightening as if holding back a flood. You watch it build, each buck of his hips pulling him closer, like a thread winding tighter and tighter. His body starts to tremble and then, suddenly, it breaks - his breath catches, his body jerks, and you feel him give in, a surge of release that ripples through him like a passing storm. You find yourself moaning in response to the intensity, lost in the tension heavy in the air. Somewhere in the midst of his climax, you realise, he had pulled out of you, as you feel the coolness of his release on your abdomen.

He exhales, spent, the fire that had burned so hot now just a quiet warmth.

In the aftermath, silence falls over the clearing, bar your shared panting. The night air, cool against your heated skin, brings you gently back to reality.

“That… was amazing,” you breathe, still somewhat dazed.

Astarion chuckles, leaning his forehead delicately against yours. “You sound surprised,” he teases.

“Not surprised. I just had no idea I could even feel like that.”

Astarion's lips curl into a smug smile. “You just needed an expert’s touch.”

You laugh, giddy and carefree from the lingering euphoria. “Gods, all this talk of your touch might just make me want to go again.”

“Tempting,” he purrs. “But even I need a moment to recover, love.”

With that, he rolls off of you, settling beside you on the grass. You turn to look at him, taking in the sight of his profile in the moonlight, smiling as you notice the charmingly dishevelled state of his hair, a few errant strands falling across his forehead.

He seemingly feels your gaze, turning to meet it. The moonlight catches in his crimson eyes, causing them to glitter with his usual mischief, and something darker, more complex.

You recall his eyes in the throes of passion… a glazing over; a distance that you couldn't quite understand. The look had vanished as quickly as it appeared, just like all the others. The vigour with which he renewed his efforts to pleasure you was almost enough to make you forget the moment.

Almost. 

Alas, you are ever the overthinker.

You find yourself spurred on by thoughts and feelings you don't quite understand. A need to experiment.

Acting on impulse, you shift closer to Astarion. You hesitate for a moment, then slowly, carefully, you rest your head on his chest. You feel him tense for a moment.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice a mixture of confusion and wariness.

“I'm not sure,” you admit. “I just wanted to be close to you. Is that okay?”

There's a long pause. Astarion doesn't push you away, but he doesn't relax either.

“I suppose,” he finally says, his tone carefully neutral. “Though I must say, this is… different.”

You lift your head slightly to look at him. His expression is guarded, as you've come to expect.

“We don't have to if you're uncomfortable,” you offer softly.

Astarion’s laugh is short and sharp. “Uncomfortable? Darling, I've done things that would make a succubus blush. This is hardly–”

He cuts himself off abruptly, seeming to realise he's saying more than he intended. There's a moment of silence, heavy with unspoken words.

Then, slowly, hesitantly, his arm comes around you. It's not quite an embrace - more like he's unsure where to put his arm and this is the most logical place. But it's a start.

You settle back against his chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathes - unnecessary for a vampire; a relic of his past which he retains.

“This isn't… unpleasant,” Astarion finally says.

You smile against his skin.

Astarion truly felt like a puzzle box of a man at times. Certain reactions of his, certain words, dance on the edge of your understanding, always just out of reach. For a person of science, not being able to understand him in moments like this was… infuriating. Exhilarating. A conundrum that both frustrates you and drives your curiosity. Each time you think you've figured him out, he reveals another layer, another facet that sends you back to the drawing board. It's like trying to map the stars only to find they've rearranged themselves overnight. Thrilling, yes, but also unsettling. You're used to being the one with answers, the one who can make sense of the chaos. But with Astarion, you're adrift in uncharted waters, your usual compass rendered useless.

And yet, isn't this what drew you to the arcane in the first place? The allure of the unknown, the thrill of discovery? Astarion is a mystery more complex than any spell you've unravelled, a puzzle more intricate than any magical or alchemical theory you've studied. He challenges you, pushes you beyond the boundaries of your understanding in ways both terrifying and exhilarating.

You find yourself wondering if perhaps this is true alchemy - not the transformation of base metals into gold, but the transmutation of the self through connection with another. Each interaction with Astarion feels like it's changing you, reshaping your perceptions, your desires, your very understanding of the world.

But these are hypotheses to be considered in the daytime. For now, you rest, as a curious yet comfortable silence settles over you in the night air.

Masterlist can be found here.

No Pressure Tags: @silverfangmarks @davenswitcher @roguishcat @sparrowbard @chonkercatto