#Airway resistance

[tonguetie25]

The tongue consists of 8 muscles. All these muscles are very important for the complete act of swallowing and maintaining posture of neck and shoulders. They also play an important role in diaphragmatic breathing. Keeping back the tongue resting high up on the palate, helps in keep the airway wide open.

[msgexymunson]

The Ink Shop Part 2

Description: After your encounter with Eddie, things are beginning to get a bit more complicated; especially when you ask him for another little favour. But, will Eddie go for it? 

Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI this ain't for you, angst, tiny bit of fluff, smut, fem oral receiving, male masturbation.

A/N: OK when I said this will be in 3 parts I lied, it's totally going to be at least 4, maybe 5! Thank you for the love you've shown the first part, it's incredible! You're superstars. 

❤️ If you like it please comment and reblog, it really makes my day!❤️

7k words 

Masterlist Part 1

For some reason, the shop seems more welcoming today than ever. It might be the fact that the sun is shining, it might be the radio seemingly playing all your favourite songs, or it might be last night. Either way, you feel loose and free, laughing at jokes, smiling at everyone, and genuinely just happier. 

Eddie saunters in thirty minutes late and you barely notice, apart from flashing him a bashful smile. 

“Well hello there sweetheart, you seem chipper today.”

You roll your eyes at the obvious insinuation, but your smile is warm. “I had a good night's sleep, that's all.” 

“Bet you did,” he grins, “you look real pretty.” 

Looking down, you consider your outfit; you'd decided enough of the corporate clothes, this is a tattoo shop after all. So, you'd paired a roll neck sweater with a short jean skirt and sneakers. A more relaxed outfit to go with a more relaxed attitude. Before you can say anything in reply he strolls over to his station. 

Right, so a few jabs, but he's being nonchalant. So put it out of your mind.

The morning moves quickly, a messy blur of clients and phone calls. After a fast lunch, the shop finally calms down a little. When you're focusing on sorting the mess of the heavy bookings tome in front of you, Eddie approaches, mischief glinting in his eyes. 

“I see London, I see France…” 

You follow his bowed head and cross your legs in sheer embarrassment, realising a sliver of your panties must be on display. 

“Eddie!” 

He simply laughs, throwing his head back far enough that your gaze drifts to his Adam's apple. 

“Sorry, I couldn't resist, I'm a big fan of this skirt,” he says, drinking you in with his eyes, “anyway I wanted to ask-” 

His sentence is stopped however by the loud ringing of the old corded phone. You and Eddie share a look, yours begging and his smug. Before you can grab it, he picks up the phone, putting on a ridiculous British accent. 

“Good Afternoon, London Underground Airways, this is your captain speaking- Oh shit Mac- Yeah she's- I know I'm not supposed to answer- Sorry I- Fine, here.” He brandishes the phone at you. 

“Hello? Oh, of course I'll let them know- I understand- It'd be my pleasure- see you soon.” replacing the receiver, you make a note on the pad at your side. 

“What'd he say?” Eddie asks, hovering over you. 

Not giving him the satisfaction of a look, you continue to make your note, however perfunctory it may be. “Mac's going to be a little late, he told me to tell his next client.” 

“He said my name, I heard it. What'd he say?” 

Placing your pen down with a loud click, you turn to him. 

You tell him as you smile smugly. “He told me to hit you for answering the phone.”

If anything, his grin grows broader. “Oh? Go on then princess, I'd hate for you to break the rules.” He turns his face, no doubt expecting a cuff to the back of the head.

Spinning on your stool, you slap him right across the cheek; not with all your strength, but certainly hard enough to remember. Eddie's face is a picture of shock, pink handprint already flushing his cheek. 

But that just makes his smile wider. 

“Harder.” He asks, eyes flashing arousal at you. 

“Eddie!” you shout, pushing him away, but his laugh echoes through the shop. Before he has a chance to continue, a burly biker type walks right in the door. 

“Good afternoon, can I help you?” 

“Yeah, It's Jimmy, I'm here for Mac?” 

“He's running a little late, but he'll be with you as soon as possible. Can I get you a coffee or something while you wait?” 

You can't help but hear a huff from Eddie, but before you can question it he's drawing in his book, entirely oblivious to the outside world. 

At the end of the day, you're tired, but still in fairly high spirits. It's the first time you've seen everyone in the shop at once. There's an edge to the air though, as if an expectation hangs over everyone. 

So… bar?” Mac asks in a defeated tone, although he's smiling. Everyone reacts; Eddie woops, pumping his fist, even the usually reserved Miranda is clapping quietly. You smile and nod, finally understanding what the atmosphere was about. 

As you all enter the dimly lit bar, chatting and laughing, you hear a low huff. 

“What did I do to deserve this?” John is standing behind the bar. An imposing figure, his arms crossed and face surly, but there's a kindness in his eyes. Mac leans straight over and hands him a card.  

“Easy John, I got this,” he chuckles. The card is accepted gratefully, the gruff demeanour lessening with the promise of payment. 

You accept a bottle of beer and slide into a nearby booth, the rest of the group filtering in. Mac walks over, eyes the space next to you, then grabs a stool to sit at the head of the table. It throws you for a minute; surely he knows he can sit there? Before you can tell him so, Eddie waltzes across the room with a tray of tequila shots and all the fixings with a cheeky look in his eyes. He slides right in next to you, tray and all, and places it on the table with exaggerated care. 

“Ladies, gentlemen.” He says, gesturing to the tiny glasses like an old timey butler. There's a succession of groans from the party, but despite this they all grab a shot. All except you. 

“I don't think I-” you begin, but he's waving a hand in the air. 

“Come on, you drink. It's a shot. Never had tequila before?” 

Fixing him with a sharp look, your cheeks begin to redden of their own accord. Eddie smirks and tosses his head back, hiding his eyes with one hand. 

“Shit princess, what did you do at college?” 

“Study.” You say primly, but take a glass tentatively and place it in front of you. 

“Right, so for the new guys…“ Eddie smiles right at you and licks his hand between his thumb and pointer finger. That hint of silver mesmerises you, the ball of his tongue piercing catching the light. It's almost sensual the way he does it, your eyes automatically following the movement of his tongue. “salt right here…” he sprinkles some on the spot he moistened, “then, lick, shoot, suck.” 

In a few fluid movements he licks the salt from his hand, downs the shot, and sticks a wedge of lime in his mouth. As your brain finally engages after that display, the little show that shouldn't have heated your insides up, you follow along, and take your shot with everyone else. It's easier than you would have thought, the lime easing the burn somewhat. 

Eddie squeezes your thigh under the table and whispers low enough for you to hear. 

“Good girl.” 

Shooting daggers with a simple look, he just smirks, leaving his hand on your bare leg as if challenging you. Dimly, you hear the echoes of a conversation in front of you; it's Julio, arguing about good tequila not needing salt and lime, but you're lost in the deep pools of Eddie's chocolate eyes.

For a moment, your body flashes red hot and you regret your choice of the high necked sweater. Tearing your eyes away you look at something, anything, but Eddie. 

The conversation drifts between all manner of subjects and you start to relax, the beer and tequila swimming in your belly loosening your tongue. It's nice, having a chance to chat and giggle with your coworkers in a setting not interrupted by the constant buzzing of tattoo machines. 

Julio and Chloe end up in a full scale argument about the karaoke machine in the corner. Before you're subjected to the horror of having to sing in public, you get up to grab another beer. Perching on a stool by the bar with your purse in hand, you're waiting patiently to be served. 

Eddie strolls over. You see him in your periphery; that confident walk as if he owns the very ground he walks on. Casually he hops up on the stool next to you, making no effort to hide the way he undresses you with his eyes. 

“Quit staring Eddie,” you say testily as you knock the bar with your bank card. 

“Now I can't look at you?” He asks with an amused grin. 

“I said quit staring, not quit looking,” you huff out. 

“What's the difference?” He asks, shrugging his shoulders and scrunching his nose at you.

You groan, turning on your stool to face him. “You are impossible,” 

He sticks his long tongue out childishly, flashing his piercing at you. 

Thankfully, John's voice cuts through the squabble. “What can I get you?”

“May I have a beer, please?” 

“You certainly may.” John cocks his thumb in your direction, addressing Eddie, “I like this one, she's polite. Don't scare her off.” 

Eddie dramatically holds his chest. “You wound me, sir!” 

Two beers are placed on the bar and John waves your card away. “Don't worry about it, Mac's treating you guys tonight.” 

As you swig your beer, you contemplate for a moment, trying to work out something.

“You're staring, sweetheart.” Eddie grins, as he gulps his drink. 

“I wasn't staring, I was thinking! I know that's a foreign concept to you.” It's catty, you know that, but he just seems to bring it out in you. No one else has annoyed you so much in your life just by… being. 

“That was rude. I thought we were playing nice?” he pouts playfully. 

“Sorry. I- Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, shoot.” 

Turning to him, you speak what's on your mind. “Why do people get their tongues pierced? No one really sees it. I get like, nose and eyebrow piercings and stuff, but the tongue one I don't understand.” 

Eddie's grin is wide as he bites his bottom lip and stares at you. Well, you couldn't call it a grin. It's a flash of teeth, almost wolfish in its delivery. 

“Oh princess, you are too cute.” 

Staring at him with your brow furrowed, you try to work out what he means, but the longer you take, the more amused he looks. 

“What? What is it?” 

Sighing, he leans closer, the scent of aftershave, cigarettes and man clouding around you. “It's got a purpose, sweetheart.” 

“What, like, kissing?” 

Shaking his head, he looks you up and down. “Kinda. Kissing somewhere… specific.” 

Realisation breaks across your face, followed by a fierce blush that you can feel to the roots of your hair. Laughing, Eddie pulls away a little and takes a mouthful of beer. 

Voice an airy whisper, you lean over to him as you speak. “And girls like that?” 

His laugh is so loud it reverberates around the bar. 

“Yeah, a lot, in my experience.” 

“Oh.”

Well, the thought is there now, and you're pretty sure it won't ever go away, not without some sort of mind bleach. Eddie's head between your legs, his long tongue exploring your sex. The image is burned into the back of your brain, playing on a loop.

“You're looking a little hot there,” he says, as if he can read your thoughts. It's fair to say it wouldn't take a psychic to know what's rattling around your head right now. 

“I'm fine, this sweater is too warm,” you shake out, pressing your thighs together. 

“Liar.” 

Mouth opening and closing like a fish, you finally snap it shut with a crunch. Curiosity is eating away at you, and it's too easy to say what's on your mind after a couple of drinks. 

“Eddie, could you… tell me, what- what it's like?” 

He chuckles lightly and scoots closer to you. “you know I can't, I've not exactly had the pleasure.” 

“I know that, I mean…” 

For a second he just gapes at you. 

“Wait, princess, are you asking me to tell you or… show you?” 

Flustered, you turn away a little. “Sorry that's- that's too much isn't it. It's just you… did such a good job with the, you know, the other thing, I was just curious.” 

Eddie bites his lip, puffing out a little breath. “You know, flattery works with me. I did a good job, huh?” 

“Well, yeah. I can imagine you'd be really good at… that too. I could, owe you a favour?” It's bold, especially from you, but the way he's looking at you, the slight flush to his cheeks, you'd put money on him agreeing. 

Eddie stares at you incredulously. “Wait, you're saying you want me to stick my tongue in the holiest of holes and then you owe me a favour?” 

“Yeah? Like a little… arrangement.” 

He rubs his face with his hand, his voice muffled as he speaks. “I'd feel like I was taking advantage of you.” 

That confuses you for a moment. Surely you were the one who asked him? Hesitantly you reach out and touch soft fingertips to the back of his hand. 

“Please?” 

“Fuck.” He looks around, and turns to you, gazing into your eyes for a moment. 

“Fine. Right now.” 

“Oh I didn't-” 

“Listen, before I change my mind. Meet me out back. I'll tell the guys you're not feeling well and I'm taking you home.” 

Wordlessly, you grab your purse and head to the back door, heart hammering in your ears. It's a little dank out here, with the sound of a dripping pipe and moss covering the cement. Eddie comes out a moment later looking more serious than you've ever seen him. 

“You sure about this?” He asks, searching your eyes. 

‘Yeah, but…” you look around the small yard, gesturing vaguely. 

“Oh. Oh! You thought- oh Christ no, not here. I'm not a complete asshole. Come with me.”

Letting out a relieved breath, you follow him. He walks over to a gate in the fence and opens it, which leads down a narrow alleyway, a little shortcut between yards. That eventually opens up to another road with a couple of apartment blocks. The one he moves towards looks mostly clean, if a bit lifeless, with a creepy looking van parked out the front.

“This way sweetheart,” he says, leading you through the courtyard and to the stairs. 

For a second you stop in sheer surprise. 

“Wait, you live this close and you still manage to be late for work?” 

He chuckles, looking at you over his shoulder. “I have a condition, you know. Chronic tardiness; I'm afraid there's no cure.” 

You bat him on the arm playfully and he grasps your wrist, stopping on the stairs briefly, giving you a look that is wickedness personified. 

“If you're gonna hit me, do it properly.” 

“Eddie!” 

He laughs loud and grabs your hand, holding it in his until he reaches his door. That alone is enough to shut you up. It's warm and rough, and the feeling of his skin on yours, no matter how tiny, sends bolts of sensation through you. 

“Right, here is my castle,” he says as he opens the door and lets you inside. 

Chaos. That's the first word that crosses your mind. It doesn't look dirty, there's just things everywhere. A bookshelf stuffed with books and weird little trinkets placed any which way dominates one wall, and another on the other side with a huge music collection. There's a poky little kitchen with a couple of pots still in the sink, and a big couch with mismatched cushions takes up the remaining space. A tower of board games is precariously leaning next to it, and on the wall over the TV is an honest to goodness sword.

“It's nice,” you say as you walk in, as if you're not mentally organising it in your head. 

“You hate it.” He scoffs, pulling his boots off and dumping them by the door. 

“No, no, it's very… you.” 

“I stand by my previous statement.” He grins at you, clearly indicating he wasn't being entirely serious. 

“This is the bedroom.” He walks over and nudges the door open with his foot. Surprisingly, apart from an open clothes rail, an overflowing laundry hamper, and an enormous bed, there's not much in it. The wallpaper is a pretty purple colour, and looks oddly familiar. 

“Eddie isn't that the same wallpaper-” 

“-As the shop? Yeah. Mac let me have the leftovers. I was broke and this room was fucking pink.” 

You snort out a laugh; the thought of Eddie with a pretty pink bedroom was rather unbelievable.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I can live with purple.” He roots around and grabs a pair of sweats. “Make yourself comfortable, I'm gonna change real quick.” 

Then he walks out into another doorway, you assume the bathroom. The urge to snoop is real, but you resist. It looks like he spends less time here anyway. 

The question is, how comfortable are you supposed to make yourself? Nerves start settling in, the thought of what you've asked him to do is finally sinking its way into your mind and down your jangling spine. What if he doesn't like the underwear you're wearing? God, you've been at work all day, what if you smell bad? Or taste bad? What if- 

“You can sit down, princess.” 

Eddie saunters back in, shirtless, a pair of grey sweatpants hanging so low on his hips you see his cut groin. A little squeak hiccups out of your throat at the sight. You stay standing, ready to make your excuses and leave, but the signal hasn't reached your legs just yet. 

“What's wrong?” his eyes are brimming with concern as he steps toward you. 

“No I- I was- maybe this-” 

“Hey, look at me,” he says, grabbing both of your hands. You stare up at him, his face gentle. 

“Whatever you're worried about, I'm sure it's nothing.” 

“But i haven't showered-” 

“When did you last?” 

“Well… this morning.” 

“You're fine. Trust me.” 

He backs you up onto the bed, your knees folding as you flop down. The air around you feels full, humid with anticipation. He's so close, your bodies almost pressed together. 

“I wanna kiss you.” He says softly, stroking a lock of your hair out of your face. Heart leaping into your throat, you try to suppress the urge to lean forward. The last thing you need is to fall for this man. Chloe's words echo in your head; he's not boyfriend material.

He'll break your heart. 

“That's not part of our deal, Eddie.” 

A frown flickers across his face. It's just for a second, a flash of vulnerability, before his usual cocky smile returns. 

“That's not where I wanna kiss you.” He winks and tugs at your top, “can I take this off?” 

Nodding wordlessly, you help him and wriggle it up and over your head. 

“God damn.” Eddie props up on an elbow, running a finger between your breasts, before following the edge of your black cotton bra. 

He looks up at your face, grinning wide, and points at your neck; little purple marks adorn it. “That why you wore that sweater today?” 

Flushing crimson, you run fingers across your neck. 

“Yeah, you marked me Eddie. Not exactly discreet.” 

He chuckles, stroking the side of your neck. “Sorry sweetheart, I won't do it again. Well, not anywhere that anyone can see.” 

Heat floods your stomach, the stark realisation that you want him to mark you clings to your insides. If he notices your reaction he doesn't say, instead he leans toward you pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. 

“You're really pretty. I don't know if I said that before.” 

Awash with a new heat in your cheeks, you smile bashfully. “Thanks, I don't get told that very much.” 

Staring at you, he shakes his head.

“You should. You should be told every fucking day.” 

You open your mouth, but before you can reply he kisses your jaw, running his tongue down your neck, before he presses his mouth to the top of your breast, sucking roughly. A gasp flies out, and your hand makes a decision entirely on its own to grab his hair. 

It seems it was the right thing to do, judging by the deep groan that comes from him. It seems to spur him on, and he yanks the cup of your bra down, taking your nipple into his mouth. His tongue teases it, rubbing his piercing over the pebbled nub.

“Oh Holy fuck!” Back arching with the foreign sensation, you revel in it, wriggling underneath him. He smirks against your skin, and takes your nipple between his teeth. Moaning loudly, you pull his hair. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” He looks up at you, pupils blown to black, “can’t hold back if you do that.” 

It's not a dare, but it tastes like one, and before you can think you're tugging at it again. Eddie's eyes roll back, and a hard look crosses underneath his eyes. 

His actions turn a little feral, pulling you up so he can unhook your bra, practically ripping it off you before his mouth is all over your chest, firm fingers digging into the flesh of your hip. 

“Fuck, Eddie” you stutter it out, voice laced with need. 

“Yeah?” He whispers out breathlessly between urgent kisses, making his way down your stomach. Suddenly he takes the flesh of your hip in his mouth and bites down little before sucking a bruise as you writhe under him. 

He reaches your skirt, hooking fingers into the waistband as he looks up at you, his tone urgent. “Can I?” 

As you nod frantically, he reacts immediately, yanking it down along with your underwear. 

“Fuck, look at you.” 

The urge to close your legs is real, embarrassed at the way he's ogling you right between your thighs. They quiver with tension, but Eddie forces them open with his large palms. 

“Don't hide from me. You still want this?” 

You nod, and his head snaps up to look at you. His voice is hard, swirling around your insides with an intensity you're not used to from him. 

“Say it. You need to say it.” 

‘Yes, please Eddie.” 

That satisfies him. He leans forward, breath ghosting over your clit. You're waiting for his mouth, his tongue, but that's not what happens. He inhales you, nose so close it's almost touching your sex. 

“Jesus Christ, you smell so fucking good.” 

“Eddie!” you cry it out, cringing at his words as you bury your face in your hands. 

“Relax princess, it's a compliment.” 

Before you can retort that it's not a compliment, it's weird, and he's a freak for saying it, it no longer matters. He's licking a fat stripe up the length of your pussy, long tongue pushing against you hard in an animal-like gesture. 

The noise that expels from your chest is inhuman, a choked, guttural breath that belongs in a cave somewhere, not a bedroom. 

He doesn't relent, his mouth exploring every inch of you with a ferality that has you tingling all the way to your toes. His fierce movements, accentuated by the bump of his piercing, have you nearly leaving the mattress. You're not sure if you're trying to get more, or move away. Not that it matters. His hands are holding you so firmly that all you can do is wriggle helplessly like a fish on a line. 

Fingers trace the outside of your entrance before they slide in, beckoning your release. Whimpering, you grasp the bedsheets in a need to keep contact with something real. 

“Talk to me,” he says between mind numbing messy kisses to your clit, “good, yeah?” 

“Eddie, f-fuck, its incredible, please, oh God, k-keep going!” 

You can practically feel the smirk on his face as he dives back in, suckling at your clit with an unmatched fervour, his tongue piercing flicking expertly as he does so. Suddenly, you're not creeping toward your release, you're being hurtled toward it, thrown into the depths of absolute pleasure. 

Hands finding their way into Eddie's hair again, you hold on tight, buckling up for the ride. It's almost violent the way he pulls your climax from you, and you scream loudly, almost folding in half before you fall back onto the bed. 

Eddie sits up, hands placed on your thighs, as he grins proudly, face shining with your slick. 

“You OK princess?” 

OK doesn't seem to cover it. You're panting wildly, each breath shallow and ragged, brain melted into soup. 

“Think you can go again?” 

That gets your attention. You sit up, gaping at him. “Again?” 

Chuckling, he runs a finger up your slit and circles your clit in a teasing manner. The slight touch has your thighs trembling. 

“I think you've got at least one more in you.” 

Without a further word he presses his tongue against you. On instinct you grip his hair once more, bucking your hips up. 

“Fuck, that's it sweetheart, ride my face.” 

This time he slips his tongue inside as his nose nudges at your clit, the thick muscle curling and writhing. Holding on tight, your hips know what to do, your body reacting and rolling to meet him. 

You're yanking his hair hard as you grind against his face, pulling deep grunts and moans from him which vibrate inside of you. It feels primal, sheer need clouding your mind, a fog that rolls into every limb and leaves no part untouched. 

“Eddie, fuck!” You moan loudly as your walls clench around his tongue, another climax bubbling its way to the surface. He doubles down with his efforts almost as if he needs this as much as you do. 

With one final thrust of his tongue you whine out your orgasm, back finally touching the bed once more. There are no thoughts, only your heavy breath and beating heart keeping you in the moment. 

After a few seconds that seem to stretch on for a year, he hovers over your face. He's wiped off your release, but nothing could wipe that smug grin. 

“So? Good?” 

It's not like he doesn't know. You pat blindly at his arm, words stuck in a puddle on your tongue. In an unexpected tender gesture, he swipes his thumb over your chin, his gaze pensive. You stare back, fingers reaching out to gently touch his cheek. 

“Are you going to kiss me?” You whisper, the words pooling from you unbidden. 

For a split second you think he's going to lean in and close the gap, but he flashes his teeth at you and flicks the tip of your nose. 

“That's not part of the deal.” 

Disappointment leaks into your stomach. Which is entirely unfair. He's using your words after all. Fighting the feeling, you force a smile. 

“I think I'll need a wheelchair to get home.” You chuckle, indicating to your still twitching legs. 

“Stay here. I'll take the couch.” 

“Oh, no, Eddie, I couldn't kick you out of your own bed thats-” 

“Hey, it's fine, honestly. I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it.” He shrugs and rolls off the bed and onto his feet in one quick movement like a cat. “Here. If you want something to sleep in.” He hands you a faded t-shirt. Hesitating for a moment, your hand hovers over it, but he stuffs it into your grip. 

“Honestly, it's fine. I can drop you home before work so you can get changed and stuff. No big deal.” 

“What about your chronic tardiness?” You joke, smiling softly at him. 

“You're here, I'm sure you'll whip me into shape.” 

“You'd probably like that,” you tease. 

“More than you know.” He winks again, and walks to the doorway. “Night, princess.” 

“Night Eddie.” 

When he's gone you shrug the shirt on. It's clean, but there's an undercurrent of pure Eddie still there that's more comforting than you'll care to admit. Then, you lay there, staring at the ceiling. 

Well. You certainly weren't expecting to end up in Eddie's room, in his bed, but here you are. You're not sure what this all means just yet and processing it is just hurting your brain. A part of you is saying that you should get out now whilst you can. Another, louder part is telling you this is where you should be. The only problem: is this message coming from your heart, or much lower down? 

Chloe drifts into your mind whilst you lay there. Did they hook up in this bed? Are you in the same place she was? And how did that end? Clearly it was on good terms, considering how friendly they are, but how many girls have been where you are right now? A few? A dozen? A hundred?

After a while your thoughts just start to ache, leaving a migraine behind your eyes. Shifting on the bed, you try to get comfortable, but it's no use. You wonder if Eddie is still awake. After all, he's the only one that can answer your questions. 

Sitting up a little, you listen intently for any signs of life from the next room, but no matter how hard you strain your ears, you can't hear anything. 

As you quietly get up and creep to the door, you press your ear to it. Maybe that was a word you heard, a loud breath, or the signs of an overactive imagination. Turning the doorknob like a safecracker, you inch the door open ever so slightly to peek beyond. 

There he is, laying on the couch, eyes tight shut and face contorted in concentration. Odd. You slowly guide the door open a little more and your eyes nearly bug out of your head. 

Eddie's laying there, hand down his sweats, tugging at himself like there's no tomorrow.

You almost cry out in shock but manage to swallow the noise just in time. For what feels like a full minute you stand and stare, mouth gaping open. It's like you're hypnotised, unable to tear away from his urgent movements. 

A particularly good stroke has him bucking into his hand, and he lets out this strained whimper that shoots directly between your legs. 

Right, stop. This is wrong. How would you feel if he caught you? …OK, bad example. 

Reluctantly, you close the door again as quietly as you can before climbing back into his bed to stare at the ceiling once more. 

It looks like it's going to be a long night. 

********************

“You look really great,” Chloe says as she strolls into the shop, handing you a coffee, “like, happier, more relaxed.” 

It's a few days after your impromptu sleepover at Eddie's place, and she's absolutely right. You do look more relaxed, even you've noticed the change. There's more confidence in you, and a smile that was once a little forced is warm and genuine. 

“Thanks, I think I'm getting more comfortable here.” It's not a lie, exactly, but it's certainly not the whole truth. 

“Good, glad to hear it!” She beams at you and heads to her table. 

The bell over the door chimes once again startling you. Miranda and Mac are already here and it couldn't possibly be Eddie this early. 

“Um… Hi.” A gangly youth walks in, all arms and legs and bright blonde hair. He shuffles over to the counter awkwardly. 

“Morning, can I help you?” 

“Y-yeah, you do walk-ins today, right?” He asks, brandishing a crumpled flyer at you. 

Face lighting up, you fix your best smile. 

“Why yes we do, it's walk-in Wednesday. It's a little early though. Can I see some ID? 

He hands it over. The guy's freshly 21 and knows it, puffing out his little pigeon chest with pride. 

“Excellent. It's about 10 minutes until we open, but Miranda will be with you. Miranda, you got a book for this guy?” 

Confusion paints Mirandas's face, but then she smiles. 

“A walk in? Wow.” She strolls over and hands him her portfolio of designs, introducing herself. 

When Eddie finally turns up, there's another guy waiting. 

“You're not my 10:30.” 

The poor boy looks at him nervously like he did something wrong. 

“Eddie, he's a walk-in.” Mac says, calling over his shoulder. 

Eddie smirks at you and leans over the counter. 

“Well well, bet you're happy. Atta girl.” 

Blushing profusely, you move to tap him on the arm in warning, but he grabs your hand and kisses it. Heat flies straight to your belly at the gesture.

“Let me know when my 10:30 is here, alright sweetheart?” 

He's still holding your hand, brushing his fingers over your knuckles. Weakly you nod, gazing at him as your toes curl in your shoes. 

Shooting you a wink, he ambles over to his station as you watch him, eyes drawn to the way he moves. 

There's three more clients asking about Wednesdays; granted, one didn't have an ID, but the other two were seen and inked, and one even booked a follow up with Miranda. 

Buzzing with job satisfaction, you're grinning when you nip to the restroom, walking through the narrow corridor. As you exit, you're immediately accosted by Eddie. He stands close, a hand loosely holding your wrist to keep you there as he bends to whisper in your ear. 

“Now, you're not supposed to touch fine art, but someone's gotta pin you against the wall and nail you right.” 

“Eddie!” You whisper shout at him, only serving to make him chuckle low in his throat. 

“Sorry, couldn't resist. I have an idea, for that favour you owe me?” 

Body tensing of its own accord, you look up at him, your cheeks flushed and mouth slightly parted. Before you can ask what it is, a voice cuts through the tension. 

“Hey, keep it at home guys.” 

Mac's standing at the other end of the corridor with his arms crossed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Pursing your lips, you wriggle from Eddie's grip. 

“It's not what it looks like Mac, I promise.” You say, shouldering past Eddie. 

“Come on sweetheart, don't get all shy on me now!” He shouts, walking after you.

You ignore him, giving Mac an apologetic look, and sit back down at the counter. God, that was embarrassing. Seems like professional and discreet are out the window. 

“So, as I was saying-” 

“Eddie, stop, not now.” you say, cheeks bright red. 

“I was only-” 

“Eddie please! I don't want to get into trouble!” 

Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes, but backs off finally. 

You make a very clear point of being busy until the rest of the day, completing any ad hoc tasks you can think of. Tidying the stock cupboards, refreshing the consent sheets, and even organising the sparse counter. Anything to avoid further comment from Mac. 

When six rolls around you turn to talk to Eddie, but he's already leaving without a glance at you. 

Sighing, you make your way outside and home, trying to ignore the little sting in your chest. 

********************

It's Saturday before you see him again. Your day off was mostly spent worrying about how you upset him and thinking about everything you could have done differently. 

By the morning you're an emotional wreck, anxiety having done her job and left you a bubbling mass of maybes. When Eddie storms in the shop with a proverbial rain cloud over his head your heart pangs in your chest. 

He's such a big character, and you didn't realise until now the influence this has on this place. Usually he's energetic and upbeat; however, with this melancholy energy coming from him, everyone seems to stoop a little more, eyes a touch downcast, movements more shuffled and broken. It's like a black hole has descended on the shop, pulling joy from your soul and sucking everything into its gravity.

The tattoo shop is quiet for a Saturday. Not from lack of customers; it's just a more hushed and sullen atmosphere. By the afternoon you decide enough is enough and you grab Eddie's arm between clients.

“Eddie, can I talk to you?” 

He gets up, stretching his back in a feline movement, and walks with you slowly to the stockroom. 

“Listen, I'm really sorry about what happened on Wednesday, I didn't want to upset you and I can't stand seeing you like this and-” 

“Woah, sweetheart, slow down. You been worrying? About me?” He tilts his head, giving you a small lopsided smile. 

“Yeah? I thought you were mad at me.” You mumble out. 

“Oh, princess, come here.” He wraps you in his arms, holding your head close to his chest. A relieved breath puffs from your chest as you melt into the hug. 

“That's not what I'm upset about, I promise.” 

You pull from the embrace to look at him, a hopeful smile tugging at your lips. 

“Really?” 

Stroking your cheek softly, he presses his lips together. “You're adorable,” he moves his hand away and starts waving his arm about as he tells you what's wrong. 

“You know I'm in a band? Well we've got this regular gig at Hatters, which is great and all, but I found out they're looking for more bands at The Pit. That big rock club on Main? I've been trying to get hold of the damn owner but he's ignoring all my calls and I'm pissed off.” 

Grinning, you grab his arm. “Eddie, I can totally help you with that.” 

His gaze is soft and warm as he asks “Really? You'd do that for me?” 

“Of course I would. You got their number?” 

He digs around in his pocket and passes you a wedge of shiny paper. Unfolding it, you look at the details, smiling even wider when you see they're attempting a ladies night. There's a telephone number at the bottom, the contact listed as William. 

“I gotta idea. Just roll with it, OK?” 

He looks confused but nods at you. Skipping to the counter, you pick up the phone and dial the number. When it's answered by a young woman, you speak with a nasal voice, sounding almost bored. 

“Is Bill there?- Tell him it's Barb- oh trust me he's gonna wanna take this call honey.” 

Eddie's staring at you with an amused expression; you look back at him, flashing a smile while you wait. 

“Bill! How long has it been! Oh, don't say you don't remember me… oh, you do!- I'm good, I'm good- I'm managing this band, yeah, you've gotta book them- Corroded Coffin- yeah, yeah- They are hot right now, selling out their shows- look I know you're struggling getting the ladies in, but that's about to change. Their lead singer is-  well lemme tell you, if I were a younger woman- haha yes, sounds great! Next Saturday?- Nine- Great stuff- I'll speak to you soon.” 

Placing the phone down with a little click, you cross your legs and look at Eddie smugly. 

His jaw may as well be on the floor, eyebrows so high that he resembles a cartoon character. 

“Barb? Selling out their shows? If I were a younger woman? Where the fuck did that come from?” 

You giggle, “I thought he'd listen if he thought I was a business connection. I took a shot, a little bullshit can take you far.” 

He swoops over to you and grabs you in his arms, lifting you bodily from your seat and swinging you around as you squeal helplessly. 

“Saturday? Not even midweek? Princess I owe you big time.” 

“Eddie I already owe-” 

He's not listening, running over to Mac and bouncing on the spot like a child. “Mac, Mac, did you hear? I'm playing at The Pit!!” 

You watch as he explains what just happened; he's so animated, gesticulating wildly as loose locks of hair fly from his bun. Mac beams at him and hugs him in a fatherly motion before Eddie springs back over to you. 

“Who the fuck is Barb?”

“I dunno, she sounded worldly.” 

He grins, shaking his head, “I can't believe you lied for me. You seem… different lately. More confident. It suits you.” 

Blushing, you thank him. For a second you stare at each other, both lost in the other. 

Eddie shakes his head, and looks at the time. 

“Fuck, right, I got 20 minutes, I'll be back!” He grabs his coat and runs out of the shop shouting “personal errand!” 

Chuckling, you sit back down at the counter. Mac approaches, smiling softly. 

“You did good Miss, he's really happy.” 

“Thanks, I couldn't bear the sulking.” 

He laughs and touches your shoulder, “he cares about you. In case you didn't notice.” 

He walks away nonchalantly as if he didn't just drop a bomb at your feet. Eddie cares about you? You're still pondering it when he returns a half hour later looking sweaty and dishevelled. 

“Princess, I got you a present,” he whispers, brandishing a nondescript black bag at you. You peek inside and shut it immediately. 

“Eddie what the fuck!” You whisper, face flooding with blood at the sight as you hide it under the counter. There's a sex toy in the bag, well at least one, but you were so shocked at the sight you didn't get a good look. 

He chuckles and leans in close. “Thought you'd like it.” 

“Eddie I don't know how to- to use this stuff,” you mumble quietly, looking around to make sure no one's listening. 

He smirks at you in response.

“You free tonight? I can show you.” 

Taglist

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n @choke-me-eddie @littlebebebunny @big-ope-vibes @tlclick73 @reidsgubbler @siriuslysmoking @keanureevessmile @fhsbsvy @yourdailymemedelivery @aurora-austen @rach5ive @honey-teaaaaaaaa @nina211544 @bbabycass @cactusangie @skrzydlak @took-me-hours-to-steal-those @hereforshmut @nabiiturner @darlingbravebelle @freak-of-hawkins @randomworker @serenadingtigers @1paire2vans @sapphire4082 @xmasterofmunsonx @steamystrangerfics @vol2eddie @storiesbyrhi

[wokelander]

hi if drabbles are open I beg you for rough sex with jimmmy

haihai!!! tw for cervix fucking and slight dubcon

He is going to kill you.

The headboard thunk, thunk, thunks against the wall and you really think you’re going to die.

He’s fucking you like he’s got something against you.

You can’t breathe, he’s going to fuck right through you, forcing himself into your airways until there is no room for anything but him. It’s invasive and piercing and cruel, his dick is so fucking mean, battering your insides, the tip grinding the fleshy opening of your cervix into a pulp.

“Jim…” Your voice won’t even come out, it feels like he’s in your throat, your breath comes out in short bursts each time his cock knocks into you. “Jimmy…” You place a trembling hand on his abdomen and hope he gets the hint, gazing up at him through your wet lashes. He looks so handsome right now. A rivulet of sweat drips from the slope of his long nose, hair sticking to his cheekbones, kiss-bruised lips—You would like to stop and admire him, but really, quite honestly you’re concerned about the state of your insides once he’s done with you.

“You want me to slow down?” Jimmy asks, he lowers his forehead to rest against yours, chests crushed together, puffy nipples brushing his. He’s burning up.

Yes, yes, god, please slow down before I need a colostomy bag.

You nod, pleading with him silently, hoping you can work your pout on him.

“Mm.” His teeth catch on your earring, pulling until it hurts and you whine in the back of your throat like a dog. “I thought you could take it.” Jimmy’s hips snap into you, bullying his cock past any resistance your poor cunt puts up. It stands no chance. Fuck, you should’ve done Kegels. “You asked for it so you’re going to take it.” He smiles down at you, all teeth, sharp canines catching the light.

“Jim—“ You brace your hands on his shoulders, face twisting as he takes on a quicker pace. It’s fucking brutal and you really think he is aiming to kill you. Maybe it’s on his bucket list. “Please, please, slow down.”

He seems to think about it, and then, definitively, “No,” and then, for good measure, “bitch.”

When you start to cry, expression contorting into something quite ugly, crumpled up like yesterday's newspaper, Jimmy snorts. “I like that face, do it again.” He fucks you harder, cunt squelching noisily each time he bottoms out, it’s literally fucking crying, you hope you go out before the rattling bed frame does.

“You’re gonna—gonna kill me, Jim,” you sniffle, pussy contracting as you try to eject him like a scratched up CD. You want him out. This feels more like a migraine than sex, the numbing pound of his cock in your womb.

“You’ll be okay,” he says, teeth bared.

[submattenthusiast]

fingers needy!sub!matt

the pineapple flavoured chapstick that moulds with the saliva being swapped in this sloppy makeout. the fruity hint covering your dominating lips as they sucked his pretty bruised lips in. the long brown hair that adorned his head tickled your forehead as he leaned over you. his nose mashing into your cheek with the closeness of your faces. the scratches of the fabric ringing in your ears as his lengthy fingers dig into the sofa that elevated your body. clamped thighs that suffocate your waist for steadiness. the putty he turned into under your grip as you slide a hungry tongue in his open mouth. not a single fight was had. he gave himself completely to you. and you couldn't get enough.

the greediness was interrupted with quickness—your ringtone blared through the room. eyes rolling to the back of your head and you pulled away with a heavy sigh. his puffy lips forming into a frown at the split. you nod in acknowledgement and reach for your phone. you wanted so badly to ignore it and get back to that sweet pineapple. "hello?". the simple greeting helped the glimmer of hope escape from his blue eyes. the pout even stronger as your attention was snatched away from him.

the tent tightening his once loose jeans forced him to take action. the hand on his hips slipping from his lust filled brain as he rocked against you. your eyes shot him a warning look while your eyebrows raised in confusion. his shenanigans momentarily distracted you. he loved it, his pout turned into a smile and his ears dismissed your warnings while he continued to dry hump you. the rough fabric clashing with the smooth exposed skin. the blatant disobedience filled you with anger. lips clenching together in response. he was toying with you.

his audacity never shrunk— the echoing moans that slipped out of his mouth, the pace that quickened as your phone call progressed and the challenging eye-contact he kept with you. letting out casual mhm's and yeah's to seem interested in the conversation could only get you so far. your attention was only on matt. attempting to tame the boy, while his loud mouth was closed, you shushed him with two quick fingers.

the resistance only fueled his fire. his smushed lips wrapped around the digits. lightly manicured fingers sinking in his wet mouth. the sticky saliva coating your fingers as his twisted tongue swirled around. your mouth fell open with a gasp, phone call completely being disregarded now. a smirk graced his occupied lips at him having your full attention now. his hips resumed their movements, rutting against you like an animal in heat.

sensing more disobedience from him, you mouthed a stop. warning him one more time.tuning back into what the other party on the other line conversed about. calmly giving bullshit responses. shaking his head he let out the most obscene sounds. your brows angrily furrowed, hairs frowing down. "yeah, she said sh—she! wanted that" you stumbled out. hard to speak properly when your fingers were pushing him towards his limits. slender digits going further into his mouth, gagging him in the process. since he wanted your attention so bad he'd get it. his eyes watered and the smiled faded quickly. the sounds of choking and gagging began to echo around the room, bouncing off the walls, and queuing you to wrap up this call.

letting the boy breathe, you pulled your damp fingers from his airway. looking him dead in the eyes as you wiped the excess spit across his cheek. "yeah that sounds good mom, i'll catch you later i have something to handle" you sigh, wrapping up the call.

[ddejavvu]

MEI

supposedly the new venom movie is taking place in Mexico and oof, just imagining reader and Eddie on vacation and venom keeps messing with reader’s bathing suit or something like that

idk i’m just a simp for the symbiote

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Finding a vacant hot tub at a beachside resort is something you've never quite been able to manage before, so you're more than happy to break the no running rule when Eddie points out the tranquil waters.

Ohhh," You let the obligatory groan escape your mouth at the feeling of the warm water rushing over your skin, seeping into your bones and relieving your muscle tension, "Eddie, come here. I'm gonna kiss you for finding us this spot."

Eddie quite literally jumps into the pool, splashing you with warm water across your chest with his eager entrance.

"I heard the word kiss?" He feigns confusion, tilting his head to the side and ignoring the droplets of water that splatter over his nose from his now-soaked hair. You can't help but giggle at his antics, and by the grin growing over his face, he knows you can't resist him.

"Come here," You laugh, gripping his scruffy cheeks to drag him into a kiss. He wraps his arms around your waist to draw you in closer, which is why you're so startled when something brushes against your back and yanks at the strings of your bikini.

"Mmf- hey!" You break away, which is hard to do considering Eddie's not gotten the memo yet, and chases after you dazedly when you shriek.

"What?" He blinks, panting slightly now that his airways are free.

"Venom," You hiss, clutching the cups of your top for dear life, "Public nudity is illegal! My bathing suit needs to stay on."

"Hey, get-! Get outta here!" Eddie scoffs, reaching around to grab the strings of your swimsuit and tie up your top for you, "Venom, I told you, you can only come out in the hotel room." Then he pauses, waiting for the symbiote's response through his head, "Alright, no need for name-calling. I know you're pissed, but that's just rude."

"Be nice, Venom," You warn, already leaning in to kiss Eddie once more. He gladly accepts the press of your lips to his, hands snaking below the fabric of your bikini bottoms.

"Mm, the- the key," Eddie groans, tongue brushing your own as he mumbles into your mouth, "Babe, get the key, turn the bubbles on."

"You get the key," You breathe, kissing restlessly at his bottom lip, "I can't get out. Venom stole my underwear."

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

(Full work now posted here.)

This current piece is taking longer than I'd expected to finish, but I think y'all will like it. Thank you, as always, for your continued patience. Needless to say, I am a big sucker for darker (but still sweet) portrayals of Prewar!Cooper that play into the parts of The Ghoul that already live inside him.

Here's a little 500-ish word sneak peek for those interested:

Duplicity

Pairing: Prewar!Cooper Howard x Female Reader

Warnings: smut (18+), DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Possessive!Prewar!Cooper, jealousy, dubious consent, infidelity (physical and emotional), decomposing marriages, acrimonious divorce proceedings, alcohol use, choking, biting, degradation, mild exhibitionism, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, love confessions, soft ending.

Things were heating up quickly between you and Cooper. Maybe too quickly. Your lover's lips were attacking the exposed side of your throat, your back pressed firmly into the plush mattress as you wriggled beneath him. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, between the one-too-many cocktails you'd had during the party and the way he was touching you, moving you, positioning you the way he wanted as he moved in between your legs, standing over you at the edge of the bed. "Maybe we should wait." you breathed, your breaths deep and deliberate as you tried to sober yourself up enough to string together a clear thought. It would've been difficult enough simply trying to resist his kisses, but this was some random Vault-Tec executive's guest bedroom. There was a party going on. Your husband was likely still outside mingling, possibly looking for you. The odds of that weren't high, but they weren't zero. While the two of you had fooled around a bit up until now, you couldn't help but feel like you wanted things a little different for the first time you really had sex, for when you fully took that plunge and committed to this path. The man on top of you seemed to feel differently. "Don't think so." he purred lowly into the crook of your neck, running his teeth along your collarbone and making you shudder. You could smell the gin martini he'd been holding earlier on his breath. "You made me watch him touch and kiss on you all night, and now you're gonna make it up to me." Cooper's warm, softly calloused hand found your throat, holding you firmly as he gazed down at you,. He wasn't choking you, per se; at least, not in the way that you would've anticipated someone would choke you, squeezing around your airway until your breathing was cut off. No, instead, he pressed his fingers and thumb into the soft flesh on each side, digging into your twin pulse points and slowing the flow of blood to your brain. It didn't hurt or make you feel panicked. In fact, quite the opposite happened, your squirming finally ceasing almost entirely, your brain buzzing with warm, tingly docility. Between that and the already toasty feeling coursing through your veins, you haltingly allowed your defiant thighs to fall open halfway, slowly forgetting the reasons you'd been resisting, forgetting where you were. "That's a good girl. You know who you belong to, don'tcha?" he praised, his free hand stroking the sensitive inside of your thigh reverently. The feeling of two of his thick fingers sliding inside of you suddenly sent you whining in response, both at the stretch and the slight sting of it. That sent a smirk ghosting across the actor's face, leaning in to run his lips along the soft, flushed skin of your cheek. "Pretty little cheatin' slut. Now, be quiet and let me have what's mine."

[pyrepostings]

Magical Brands

Magical brands that give whumpee abilities or qualities that whumper wants them to have

A mark on whumpee's throat to make it impossible for them to choke, but still feels every bit like they're asphyxiating

Could be used for torture, it's always nice when the pain doesn't actually kill, and so you don't have to show restraint while waterboarding your interrogatee

More effective gags can be used, the kind that actually stuffs whumpee's airways and vocal cords up without worrying about them passing out

Perhaps the mark can let whumper mute whumpee altogether on a whim, or have them say the things they want

Magical brands enchanted to resist healing magic so it can't be erased

A useful brand on a visible spot that only slaves get

A brand on their tongue that glows and burns when whumpee lies

A brand that burns when whumpee uses their old name or otherwise disobeys orders - maybe this one fades after some time but reemerges when triggered

Instead of stamping sigils onto skin, maybe it needs to be drawn on with a woodburning pen - much slower and delicate

Marks on the bottom of whumpee's feet that burn when they go where they shouldn't

A collar burned into their neck that serves all the signaling to others as well as a way to inflict pain as a regular shock collar

A brand that grants fire magic to a living weapon, and of course it burns whenever that power is used

[heylittleriotact]

𝓐𝓵𝓰𝓸𝓻 𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓼:

The normal cooling of a body after death as it equilibrates with the ambient temperature.

Takes place immediately following the ending of Act 3 and features Emmrich and Amina taking a moment to themselves after all is said and done. Emmrich takes care of his beloved Reaper, and following a brief discussion about their respective plans for the future, she returns the favour.

Rating: Explicit

Under the cut or on ao3:

The roar of victory was a dull thrum that followed them through the ruined streets of Minrathous, part elation that the Elvhen threat had been bested, and partly devastation for the many lives their success had cost. Amina acknowledged every single person she passed by: hugs and handshakes were reciprocated without question, and condolences were extended to the bereaved with all of the dignified sincerity of a Watcher. It took them nearly two hours to make their way to a damaged but still structurally sound estate secured for them by the Shadow Dragons but if asked, Amina would do it all again 

The ornate doors of the manor closed behind them and the cacophony outside was muffled. Amina took two steps into the manor, bent at the waist, and splattered the floor with the contents of her stomach. 

Emmrich was on her in an instant, holding her long black hair aside with one hand and running the other comfortingly down her back.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong with her?” Taash demanded, taking a step forward. Their voice was distant - drowned out by the screeching whine in Amina’s ears.

She felt her legs wobble and give out, her armoured knees colliding roughly with the ground as she threw out a hand to steady herself, barely registering that it landed right in her sick. Everything was too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too… real. It felt like she was being driven out of her own body like a wayward spirit, her essence clinging desperately to whatever it could hold onto that would tether her here. 

Just as distantly, Amina could hear Emmrich respond to Taash but his words were lost on her as she wiped her mouth with the back of her arm and lurched clumsily to her feet.

“Harding - I need to go to her mother–” Her voice broke: she hadn’t had time… she had intended to visit Harding’s mother in person to check in on her in the days following her daughter’s death, but Elgar’nan - and Solas - had made that impossible.

She clenched her teeth at the sensation of hot tears cutting through the accumulation of grime and gore and sweat on her face, snarling defiantly through the deluge of agony crashing through her, breaking her from the inside. 

There’s still work to be done…

She was pulling away from Emmrich, her course uncharted but steadfast as she attempted to draw strength from that agony as she always had: she needed to go. Somewhere. Anywhere. It didn’t matter, as long as she was doing something… as long as she was helping. But no matter how she pulled and tugged, he wouldn’t let her go: slender as Emmrich was, he wasn’t weak by any stretch.

With some effort he managed to put himself in front of her, gold rings clinking against silverite where he gripped her shoulders before pulling her tight against him. 

“Breathe, darling.” He instructed, enshrouding her diminutive frame in his own. “I need you to breathe… can you do that for me?”

She managed an anguished sob in reply but nothing more: any attempt to draw breath was met with unforgiving resistance as her airways slammed shut in seeming rebellion against life itself.

Arrangements need to be made - things need to be taken care of, and I’m the only one left to take care of them… 

“I’ve got you: you’re safe with me.”

More tears rolled down her cheeks as her eyes clenched shut and she forced a thin, ragged inhalation into her lungs.

“Well done, darling.” Emmrich encouraged, ever calm, ever heartening. “Now let’s try for another one, shall we? I’ll do it with you. Let out your breath on the count of three: one… two… three…” 

She felt Emmrich contract against her as he slowly exhaled with her. None of this was new to her: Nevarran breathing techniques were required learning for Watchers. Claustrophobia could present unpredictably, and if one found themselves turned around or overwhelmed in the Necropolis, being able to stay calm was vital to survival.

“Perfect. Now another breath in…” He waited while Amina drew another shaky breath then loosened his hold on her to gently cup her cheek. Within moments she could feel the familiar soothing tingle of Emmrich’s magic coursing intimately through her, seeping through her overloaded nervous system and providing some relief until another horror blundered into her mind with nauseating insistence. 

“Shit.” Her eyes went wide. “Manfred… Emmrich, wh-where is Manfred?!”

“Manfred is perfectly safe,” he soothed, “He’s in the abundantly capable hands of Myrna and Vorgoth for the moment. In fact, before I left, I overheard Myrna explaining to him Karloff’s Five Principles of Ethical Reanimation.”

“Emmrich,” she rasped, clutching at his chest. “I… I need to–”

“Do absolutely nothing.” He interjected sternly, his voice absent of any playful familiarity or scholarly flair, though it softened almost reflexively as he continued. “You’ve overextended yourself, Amina. You’ve been overextended for some time, but you’ve pushed through to see this to the end - and you have - but my love, you can’t evade the reality of what you’ve been through indefinitely… you need to rest and take time to come to terms with things.” He drew his thumb over her cheek, speaking to her like she was the only person in the room.

“But–”

“It’s so incredibly kind of you to want to give your condolences to Lace’s mother in person, but it need not happen this instant. The… actions of the Inquisitor will be communicated to the south in due course.” He hung on the word ‘actions’ seemingly unsure of its accuracy but ultimately too focused on Amina to care enough to select a different one. “You need to rest,” he repeated.

She opened her mouth to argue, but likely having anticipated this from her, Emmrich spoke first.

“You’ve done so much and helped so many without asking for anything in return - please let me be the one to help you now?”

His eyes searched hers, soft and pleading, and she studied the face of the man she loved: each pleasing curve and angle that she had committed to memory etched on her heart. The crinkled lines at the corners of his eyes, and the creases around his familiar mouth spoke of years of smiles offered to comfort and soothe. 

He was filthy too, and his hair was limp and dishevelled, strands of it hanging into his face… but oh Maker how she loved him…

“I love you…” he whispered for her ears alone, his lips ghosting over hers, “And I so look forward to reminding you of that fact every day for the rest of our lives… so let me begin now: let me take care of you.”

She couldn’t bring herself to speak: emotions overwhelmed her capacity for words. The immeasurable highs and lows had won out, capped off on the highest of highs by Emmrich’s solemn declaration: she would never face anything alone again. The fight left her as she closed her eyes and nodded, and this time Emmrich caught her tears and wiped them away. He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead before turning to the others. 

“She’s in no danger,” he assured them. “The gifts of a Reaper are channelled through a place of deep sorrow and grief where one should not dwell indefinitely: she is merely exhausted, and in light of this ordeal coming to an end, her body and mind are insisting upon rest and recuperation for a time. I shall go with her to find a room and get her settled in.” 

“I’ll scour the pantry.” Lucanis announced without hesitation, already shedding his gore-slicked coat. “A house like this will have a well stocked larder: I cannot do much else to assist, but I will see to it that Rook gets a good meal.” 

“And I’ll find something strong to drink -  I think we could all use one - especially Rook,” Taash volunteered grimly. 

Davrin finished checking over a cut under Assan’s eye, deeming it to be harmless. “Assan can keep her company after I find him something to eat. I’m sure he’d love to cuddle up with his favourite person after a day like today.”

“I’ll make sure word gets around that she’s not to be disturbed under any circumstances - Maker knows there’ll be all kinds of people at the door wanting her attention.” Neve remarked. “She’s in good hands with you, Emmrich. We’ll take care of everything else: you take care of her.” 

Their words echoed in Amina’s mind as Emmrich started to lead her away towards the carpeted stairs. It wasn’t long ago that she would have fought tooth and nail to avoid accepting their help for fear that she didn’t actually deserve it - that she had somehow tricked good-hearted people into thinking that she was worth any amount of concern. But now with this aching, vacuous hole in her chest threatening to devour her from the inside, knowing that she had many sets of arms to fall back into… it meant everything. 

“I love you too,” she said as they walked, the gold rings tied to her boots to alert any nearby spirits of her presence chiming with each tired step. “I love you so much Emmrich, I - I…” Her voice wavered and broke again.

He shushed her gently as they rose the stairs and took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips to place comforting kisses to bloodied and dented metal. “It’s alright, darling. I know… I know.” 

They made it to the landing at the top of the stairs and Emmrich loosened his hand from hers only long enough to gesture through the air, causing the lamps lining the long hallway to illuminate with the familiar and consoling green light of veilfire - it reminded her so much of home… their home.

Meandering down the hallway, they apraised a few rooms - a study and a nursery among them - before finding a well-appointed bedroom near the end of the hall. 

The same veilfire that illuminated the hallway flooded the room with a self-assured wave of Emmrich’s fingers through the air, revealing the gilded frame of the largest four-poster bed Amina had ever seen. 

A modestly sized house would have fit comfortably within the textured red walls of the room, and every square inch was bedecked with glittering opulence and expensive furniture.

What had happened to the people who called this place home? She thought of the nursery, silent and dark, her heart sinking further.

“I know…” Emmrich’s sigh was put-upon. “It’s practically a hovel isn’t it? But our only option currently, I’m afraid.” The corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a wry smile and despite everything, she couldn’t help but smile a little too if only for the fact that his dry humour was at its most uplifting when things seemed bleakest: it was a rarely praised trait of a good Watcher to be able to maintain a sense of humour - sometimes being able to laugh was the only thing that could keep said Watcher sane.

He closed the heavy cherry door behind them softly and turned the latch, his definition of ‘recuperation’ clearly non-negotiable to anyone who found themselves outside of the bedchamber wanting to talk to her.  

The silence was inescapable now, contrasting strongly to the overwhelming chorus of sound she’d been subjected to for hours. It filled her head - made it feel full of cotton - and she frowned, standing perfectly still, observing Emmrich as he hung his staff from the rack by the door and shed his bloodied and tattered coat, hanging it with care before turning to Amina. 

“We need to get you out of that armour.” 

He set his gloves on a nearby console table and rolled up his sleeves, agile fingers performing the task with an ease that suggested he hadn’t personally assisted with the culling of a tyrannical elvhen god today. Amina felt her mouth go dry under his perceiving gaze - she’d taken direct blows from Hurlocks that winded her less than the intensity of those eyes. Overwhelmed and at her wit’s end or not, he was capable of sending something in her soul aflutter even at a time like this… that could only mean that she was still alive, right? That she hadn’t laid the last shred of her own mortal conscience on the pyre in the name of saving what little of Thedas remained to be saved?

She swallowed thickly. “I’m experiencing some sort of deja vu, I think,” she murmured, as he closed the distance between them and began loosening her baldric. “Because I feel like we’ve had this conversation before.”

An amused smile visited his face, his eyes downcast and focused on his task. “We have, haven’t we? I recall that convincing you to allow me to stitch you up on that occasion was also similar to pulling teeth.”

He kissed her again and went back to work, stripping away pieces of moulded metal in silence, shucking away the intimidating, unrelenting shell of a Reaper and exposing the soft, vulnerable person underneath. 

He had made it all the way down to her greaves when she emitted a sharp gasp and clapped a hand over her mouth. 

“My shield! Where’s my shield?!” She twisted in his grasp as if to look around the room for the worn and dented buckler she famously refused to part with. 

Emmrich’s brow furrowed and he worked another strap loose. “It was broken, darling, remember? By Elgar’nan.” 

At his words, the memory rushed back to her: massive fingers curling over the edge of her shield as she held it aloft in the darkness, determined to stand her ground, her body protesting with the sheer effort of keeping her defence up in the looming shadow of her ancient enemy… the sound of metal whining as it bent in that ungodly strong grip and finally shattered…

I dropped it and finished the fight with only my sword and the dagger…

“Oh, right… how silly of me to forget…” she said distantly as Emmrich finished with the greave and rose with a gingerness that at last indicated his own fatigue.

“Details will likely come and go in a disconcerting haze over the coming days.” He parted from her and peered into a secondary room off the one they were in and disappeared into it when it seemed to contain what he was looking for. The sound of running water soon followed and he re-emerged. “Try not to concern yourself with them: they are of little importance right now. You have no need for a shield or sword - we are safe.” He ran a hand down her shoulder affectionately. “I understand that contradicts a large part of your vocational education, but you must trust me. Now if you’ll follow me, we’ll take care of all of that… debris in your hair.”

‘Debris’ was hardly what she would call the grisly amalgamation of fluids and various clumped tissues that would make even the most decay-happy embalmers back home feel squeamish, but Amina took Emmrich’s hand and followed him without complaint.

A gigantic clawfoot tub was filling with water in the middle of the cavernous bathroom, and judging by the calming aroma diffusing through the air, Emmrich had helped himself to some of the scented bath oils that belonged to whomever owned the manor. 

He brought her to the sink and pulled over an upholstered stool from the nearby vanity, placing it in front of the sink and gently directing her to sit, his hand on her lower back guiding her. “The bath will be more relaxing if at least your hair is clean before you get in,” he explained, turning the taps and motioning for her to lean back. 

“Is this supposed to fix things?” Her voice was so quiet and insubstantial over the rushing water - she was surprised Emmrich even heard her as she settled the base of her skull at the rim of the sink basin and he began sweeping her long hair into his hands, wetting it and carefully picking out pieces of marble and bone and viscera as he found them. 

“There is nothing to be fixed, my darling - least of all you, if that’s your primary concern. You know as well as I that our work can be exhausting - mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. It’s why we are well compensated and encouraged to take time away from the Necropolis when we feel we need it. A lesson was learned at some point over the untold years that the Necropolis has existed and people have vowed to serve its departed souls, and that is: one cannot effectively fill the cups of others when their own is dry.” He reached over her and Amina looked up at him, hanging onto his every word. She did know all of this - in fact she’d dispensed similar advice to other Watchers and mourners alike in the past, but… hearing it from someone else… being told that it was alright and that she didn’t have to be strong right now was deeply comforting. “It is not demonstrative of carelessness to the plight of others to think of oneself. I’m of the mind that it’s one of the more selfless virtues a person can aspire to.” 

Amina closed her eyes and sighed, her nose filling with the delicate floral scent of the soap that Emmrich had started methodically working through her hair. “You always know just what to say, don’t you?” 

A tender caress passed over her temple. “I do try. Are you feeling a little bit better? It looks as though some colour has returned to your face.” 

“Now you’re just laying it on thick by implying that my face had any colour to begin with, but yes… I feel steadier, more grounded.” 

“That’s music to my ears, darling,” and indeed Emmrich seemed to sag in relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he rinsed away the lathered soap, his touch unerringly mild. Washing the hair of the deceased required a gentle hand - the follicles on the scalp dilated as the skin began to dehydrate in the hours after death, making it easy to accidentally pull out clumps of a decedent’s hair if one handled it too roughly.

So much of the world thought their calling was one of macabre vulgarity when it was actually an ineffable devotion of love and tenderness when it came to the handling of all things… alive or dead.

Excess water trickled down the drain as he wrung out her hair and gestured for her to sit upright with a light touch of his fingers on her shoulder - he was so good at that - so confident in his ability to impart instructions that he didn’t even need words to make his expectation clear. She turned on the seat, putting her back to him so it was easier for him to weave her damp hair into a braid.

She closed her eyes again and a satisfied hum resonated in her chest as slender fingers stroked through her hair, separating it and passing the strands from hand to hand. 

When he was done, he took her hand and helped her to her feet. “I’ll leave you to the privacy of your bath, but I will remain close by: if you require anything at all, my dearest love, just call.” He bowed his head respectfully, his thumb tracing the soft skin at the inside of her wrist before he turned to depart.

“Please stay,” she entreated, locking her fingers between his before he could step out of reach. He halted. “I… I would rather not be alone right now, if it’s alright with you.” 

He lifted their entwined hands and kissed the back of hers. “Of course. In that case, I’ll step out while you make yourself comfortable and will return when you’re ready for me.” 

Ever the gentleman. He clearly wasn’t going to let their passion in the Necropolis the night before get the better of decades of deeply ingrained propriety. She felt her pulse quicken slightly at the fresh memory of their night together and wondered if the invitation to keep her company while she sat naked in a bathtub made his heart pound too, but a wave of shame crashed through her just as quickly, smothering the heat that had started to smoulder in her belly: people were dead, and now was not the time for such thoughts. 

When the door closed behind Emmrich, Amina clambored out of her stiff, smelly clothing, grimacing as she peeled sticky fabric from her skin. She left everything in a heap and nudged it to the other side of the room with her bare foot, wanting to be as far away from the stench as possible. When she was satisfied, she sank into the bathtub, a purely reflexive moan slipping from her lips at the feeling of relief as warm water enfolded aching muscles. The water was almost instantly dirtied, but she didn’t care - it felt amazing. 

“You can come in.” She drew her braid over her shoulder and folded her arms on the porcelain edge of the tub, resting her chin on her hands. Even if it mattered to her there was no need to fear for her modesty: whatever Emmrich had added to the water made it semi-opaque and it looked very pretty in the light of the veilfire.

Emmrich sat on the vanity stool. “How is it, darling?” 

“It’s perfect.” She found his hand with hers again - it seemed she couldn’t bear to be parted from him for long… not when they’d come so close to losing one another.

“You have no idea what a relief that is to hear.” 

Her lips curved into a smile as she studied him silently, turning thoughts and feelings over in her mind. Her heart was heavy, and her body was spent. People had indeed died - tragedy and victory apportioned in equal measure, but Emmrich was right: she had given as much of herself to the cause as she was capable of giving… and then some. There was still work to be done - the restoration of Thedas would be long and difficult. But it was time to rest and take a hard-earned moment of peace for what it was, even though a persistent voice in the back of her mind screamed at her to cease dallying in the bath and get back to work. 

No.

“Would you like to join me?” 

The question was posed such that it caught Emmrich off guard, causing his eyes to widen and a flush of colour to creep over his pallid skin. His mouth hung open slightly.

“J-join you? I can wait until you’re done - that is to say: finished - I would hate to impose, you see–” 

She listened to him stumble over his words, enchanted by his flustered demeanour until she decided it was time to rescue him, and said, “It’s no imposition at all. Besides, if you’re in the same state as I am underneath all those clothes, I suspect you’ve got bits of darkspawn in places where even your flexible limbs can’t reach: a collaborative approach to bathing would serve us best in this situation.” 

Emmrich’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. “You make a compelling argument, I admit, but–” 

“We had sex in a coffin under the Necropolis last night because we knew the world might end in the morning, Emmrich - I think it’s fair to say that any notion that this is in any way a traditional courtship has gone out the window.” She reached out and popped loose the topmost button of his shirt. “Besides, the idea of having to wait through an entire courtship before I can have you sounds torturous…” her thumb and forefinger found another button, and he didn’t move to stop her. “I think I prefer our abridged approach, if I’m being honest…” she smirked and went for the third button but he intercepted her, graceful fingers catching her wrist.

“That may be the case, dearest, but I still intend to treat you with the veneration you are owed as my beloved.” 

A shiver ran up her spine - it might have been the sentiment - my beloved - or the fact that it was delivered in a tone half an octave lower than usual. She couldn’t settle on a conclusion, but she felt emboldened regardless.

“Then you can start by getting into this ridiculously large bathtub with me,” she whispered coquettishly, and she followed the path of his hand with her eyes as it released her wrist and drifted to that third button, slipping it free with a practised twist.

She felt herself smile properly for the first time that day as Emmrich disrobed and lowered himself into the water across from her: it was real - he was real - and he wanted her. Wanted her enough to occupy dirty bathwater with her without complaint. 

His legs brushed against hers under the water and she resisted the very compelling urge to launch herself at him just to feel his skin on hers as she had the night before. Instead, she grabbed a bar of soap and a sponge off the tray on the side of the tub and held them up. 

Emmrich tilted his head inquisitively but said nothing: the amused curl of his lips said it all. He turned his back to her and slotted himself between her legs and Amina wet the soap and began wiping away the worst of the dirt from his shoulders and back with the sponge. She took her time, relishing the warmth of him under her fingers as she washed away the remains of the day. 

“So… about those plans you mentioned earlier: care to expand on them?” She ventured. 

She didn’t want to think about today anymore, didn’t want to linger on thoughts of Varric and Harding… those would insist on themselves enough over the coming months as she grieved them, she knew that for certain. Right now turning her mind to thoughts of a future that was almost lost seemed like a better distraction.

Emmrich chuckled warmly, the comforting lilt reverberating around the room. “It’s an extensive list, I’m afraid, too lengthy and detailed to summarise neatly in a few breaths.” She squeezed the sponge and sent a stream of water and suds meandering down his arm, tracing the shape of his sharp angles and lissom composition. “Truth be told, I was actually hoping you might render some assistance.” 

“Oh?”

“As you know, I have pupils awaiting my return to the Necropolis: their studies have been regrettably delayed in my absence, not to mention Manfred will require oversight as he embarks on his own educational journey.” 

“But…”

“I’ve rather enjoyed my time beyond the walls of the Necropolis, and now that I’m not… now that I will most certainly…” He seemed unable to settle on a palatable way to say ‘die’. 

“It’s alright,” she squeezed his shoulder softly. “Go on.” 

“Thank you, dear - it’s only that my priorities have been somewhat reorganised given the revised trajectory of my life: I no longer have a theoretically unlimited amount of time in which to see the world, and I find myself wondering if it would be terribly selfish of me to defer the date of my return for a while longer - take a sabbatical of sorts so that I may continue to experience the wonders of the continent without the looming threat of annihilation… with you, should you wish to accompany me.” He looked over his shoulder at her and Amina wasn’t ignorant of the fleeting glance that wandered down to her soapy breasts, nor the desire that shadowed his eyes at the sight of her pale nipples just peeking over the surface of the water. Oh dear, he was getting distracted…

“Don’t know how much of the continent there is left to see after everything.” She wrung the sponge, making a subtle but very deliberate show of pushing her breasts together with the insides of her arms. Emmrich’s throat bobbed and he seemed to win some inner struggle after a moment and looked forward again. “But yeah… I think a break would do us both some good. Besides, ‘seeing the world’ was what I was supposed to be doing anyway before this nightmare started. I’ll go anywhere with you, Emmrich,” she smiled. “Especially if there’s a beach involved.” 

She scooted closer to him, bracketing him between her thighs, finding his skin with hers as she reached around him to start soaping up his chest. Spurred on by the breathy little gasp he made, Amina continued to wash him, kissing up the line of his neck as she did. 

“What other plans would you like to make with me, darling?” She whispered, softly catching his earlobe between her teeth and earning a tantalising whine for her trouble. 

“At the moment, none that are fit for polite company…”

“Good thing it’s just the two of us then.” She let go of the sponge and dipped her hand beneath the surface of the fragrant water, unable to see, but able to feel her way, fingers dancing over his abdomen, following the neatly tended to strip of hair that started at his navel, down, down, down until she found him - and she found him to be rock hard. 

He moaned in earnest now, his head falling back against her shoulder, hand rising to cup the side of her face as she slowly stroked the length of him, humming contentedly, unable to help herself: she wanted him in her, on her, and around her at all times.

“Care to hear about my plans?” She pressed a kiss to the expanse of skin under his ear. “We can compare notes after.”

“Please,” he breathed, eyes closed, a contented smile spreading across his face - the very definition of the cat that got the cream. 

She drew nondescript shapes on his chest with her fingers, lingering on the patch of hair at his sternum, the bar of soap forgotten and lost to the bottom of the tub. “First on my list when we get out of this bath: I’m going to make love to you - slowly… sweetly.” She drew her lower lip through her teeth at the throb of his cock under her fingers and the shudder she coaxed from him when she ran the tip of her thumb over his slit, feeling the slick texture of his anticipation even in the water. “... and after that, I’m going to do it again, and Maker-willing, a third time after that if I have my way…” 

His eyebrows rose, but his eyes remained shut, one corner of his mouth quirked upwards. “Aren’t we ambitious?” He purred, arcing up into her touch a little. “One can’t help but wonder what you’ll do after that…”

“Oh, find something to eat.” She answered matter-of-factly, entirely at the mercy of the rising heat between her thighs. “I expect I will have worked up quite an appetite, you see.” 

“It’s important to stay nourished,” Emmrich agreed, exhaling deeply as she continued to fondle him under the water. “That feels so good, darling…” 

“Good.” She smiled against his skin and kissed his temple. “Because that’s also part of my plan, broadly speaking: I’m going to make you feel amazing for the rest of our lives, Emmrich. Not a single sun will set on a day where you feel alone: your joys will be my joys, your sorrows my sorrows.”

His eyes opened at that and he regarded her with that soft look of utter adoration that he was so adept at. He stroked her cheek and she nuzzled into his long fingered hand. “My dear… that was quite possibly the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.” 

“Delivered whilst pleasuring you no less.”

“You are beyond compare, darling Amina.” He sighed and lazily thrust up into her hand again. “And I daresay our respective plans indeed bear many similarities. I would even go so far as to say they align perfectly.” He sat forward and turned so he was face to face with her again, collecting her arms and drawing her close so their noses were almost touching. 

“Lucky me.” 

He traced each vertebrae of her spine with lithe fingers, bangles clinking together as they slipped down his arm one after the other, his hand finding the curve of her rear and drawing their centres even closer together. She positively ached with need for him as he cradled her face and kissed her deeply, unabashedly exploring her mouth and tasting her with a dominance she was not anticipating. When they parted her lips and cheeks were flushed, her pupils blown wide. 

“I’m going to make a home with you, Rook - that is my plan.” 

Amina considered him - his intelligent bottle green eyes inches from hers, their breath shared, their bodies practically flush. Despite how lust-addled her exhausted brain was, tears returned to her, driven by the sheer depth of Emmrich’s ambitions for them: A home. A life together and all that could come with it if she only dared to dream it - her: the Necropolis foundling who never felt like she truly belonged anywhere or mattered to anyone beyond the basic charity of some.

“We need to hurry up and finish with this bath,” she rasped, her voice low to keep it steady. “I need you. I need you now.” She crushed her lips to his hungrily and breathed, “I love you.” 

What immediately followed was a frenzy of soap and bubbles and water splashing over the tile floor as they finished scrubbing each other down with much less sensual flair than before. The plunger was pulled from the bottom of the tub and they towelled off as it drained, pausing intermittently to passionately embrace. 

“I never thought I could be this happy,” she panted, rising on her tip-toes to pepper his jawline with kisses. 

“Nor I,” Emmrich concurred. He turned her head and buried his nose in her neck, sucking a rosy mark onto her skin, unable to help himself as her hands roamed. He snaked his arm around her waist and hoisted her aloft, racing for the bedroom, her legs tight around him, her entire being coursing with the anticipatory thrill of their imminent union. 

He placed her on the bed with a tenderness that contrasted heavily with the urgency of their flight from the bathroom and prowled over the bed towards her, the inherent grace of his body setting her heart aflame as he splayed one hand over her lower belly and slid her leg aside with the other, opening her like the cherished pages of a beloved tome. He looked positively sinful between her legs, his hair dishevelled and dripping rivulets of water down his neck and shoulders. 

Her breath hitched at the feeling of his lips against her, the soft tickle of his moustache over the sensitive skin at the peak of her thighs. “Ohhh…”

His eyes were locked on hers. He parted her with his fingers, dipped his head, and —

Thump-thump-thump.

Of course there was someone at the door. 

Amina heaved a massive sigh and dragged her hands through her hair in exasperation. She’d seen Emmrich annoyed before - or at least she thought she had - but the look on his face now was one of primly murderous intent: the face of a man whose nearly boundless patience was being sorely tested in this moment. The expression softened, though, when he looked back to her and said, “I’ll see to it, darling - I shan’t take long.” He placed his lips sweetly against her swollen bud - a parting kiss - before sliding from the bed. 

He quickly donned an elegant paisley dressing gown that he snatched from the wardrobe, and Amina knew he would never have considered helping himself to someone else’s things under normal circumstances, but his clothes were in a filthy heap on the bathroom floor, and while they had all grown quite close during their time together, Emmrich preferred to keep some things private. 

She propped her head on her hand and stifled a giggle as he walked past a shelf, flung out an arm, grabbed a book without looking, and arranged it in front of him in such a way that it concealed his prominent arousal. She couldn’t tell who was outside as he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, so she let her head fall to the pillow and rolled onto her back. It was a very comfortable bed: soft pillows, expensive linens.

Terribly comfortable. 

Weeks of broken sleep caught up with her all at once as she fought to keep her eyes open: she was so tired all of a sudden. 

So incredibly, inescapably tired…

If Lucanis had drawn any conclusions about the reason for his state of dress or his wet hair, he kept them to himself but for the briefest arching of a brow as he handed Emmrich the tray of toasted cheese sandwiches and bid him a long and restful night of sleep. Emmrich wished him the same and watched the Crow disappear back down the stairs before retreating into the room and locking the door again.

“Lucanis managed to scrape together–” he looked towards the bed and paused: Amina was sleeping soundly on top of the comforter, her face peaceful and unvexed: a rare sight indeed. Something in his chest pulled as he watched her even, deep breaths, her mouth slightly open as she slumbered. 

He set down the sandwiches and the book very carefully on the console table, not daring to make any noise that might startle her awake before making his way over to the bed and positioning her under the blankets with the same amount of care, manoeuvring her battered and scarred legs so she was covered and warm.

She had such plans for the evening, but as he shed the dressing gown and slipped into the bed alongside her, he was grateful that she had found rest at last: they had the rest of their lives to make love.

The veilfire light in the room was snuffed with a wave, and as he curled around her in the dark, losing himself in the scent of her, he found his own respite in the rhythm of her heart beneath his hand and the unpromised gift of tomorrow. 

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

Interruption | Part 06

-> Pairing: mafia husband!Kim Hongjoong x mafia wife!Reader

-> Sypnosis: It all comes to an end.

-> Warnings: Mafia AU. Poorly written gun violence and physical violence. Murder. Attempted Murder. Everything that comes with a mafia au.

-> Word Count: 2,449

-> Taglist: Still open for those who want to still be tagged in future add-ons to this AU. Leave a comment on the masterlist post, send an ask or fill out the Tag List Form.

-> Author's Note: This is the final part but I don't feel ready to give up this unexpected mini series. If you would like to see more, you can request one of imagines/scenarios. Maybe I'll even add more to how beginning of Hongjoong and Y/N's relationship if anyone wants it. Requests are open.

Interruption Masterlist | Hongjoong Masterlist | ATEEZ Masterlist

As Y/N goes to exit the makeshift hospital room, the lights suddenly go out, enveloping the mansion in darkness. “I should have known,” she mutters to herself. Drawing her gun, she grabs her phone and calls Wooyoung, who has just stepped out. “Tell the men to stay here. It seems we have a visitor,” she tells him after he answers. 

"I'll have them sweep the area," he tells her.  

"I’ll keep watch from here," she says, her mind racing with various scenarios.  

After Wooyoung hangs up, Y/N takes a deep breath, her instincts kicking in. A nagging suspicion tells her that Ri Mi-Rae's somehow infiltrated the mansion grounds, and that her sighting at the docks was merely a diversion. She moves carefully toward the window, her senses on high alert as she looks down at the grounds. The darkness is dense, but she knows this mansion intimately.  

Suddenly, a soft noise from the hallway outside draws her attention. She turns to the door, straining to hear, her grip on her gun tightening as she approaches the door. Just then, she hears a sound behind her, and before she can react, an arm wraps around her neck, squeezing tightly as the person pulls her back against them. At that moment, the generators roar to life, and the lights flicker back on. 

"Let go of me!" she hisses, twisting her body in an attempt to break free. The arm around her neck tightens, and she feels the pressure constricting her airway. Her fight or flight instincts kick in, and with a swift motion, she aims her gun at what she hopes is the intruder's foot and pulls the trigger. The person releases her immediately and she spins around, gasping for breath, only to find her latest hire staring at her in shock. A quick glance at his foot reveals that she missed entirely, but the shot was enough to startle him into letting her go.  

Raising the gun, she aims it at his head, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t pull the trigger right now.” 

"I-I—" he stammers, struggling to find the right words.  

Just as she pulls the trigger, shooting the young man, another arm wraps around her neck again, this one slimmer than the first. She doesn’t need to guess who it is as she fights against her new enemy.  

"Stop resisting, or I’ll kill you right in front of your husband," Mi-Rae threatens. "He’ll wake up to find your cold, lifeless body lying beside him,” she continues. "I wasn't just trained as a spy; I'm also an assassin." 

Y/N feels the pressure of Mi-Rae's arm around her neck, the threat of suffocation looming. She stops struggling and relaxes her body. It has the desired effect as Mi- Rae loosens her grip enough for her to make a move. With a sudden burst of strength, she twists her body, using her free hand to jab at Mi-Rae's side. The so-called assassin stumbles slightly, loosening her grip just enough for Y/N to get out of her hold.  

"You're not the only one trained to fight," Y/N growls, her resolve hardening. She pivots to face Mi-Rae fully, and in one fluid motion, she brings her gun up, aiming it directly at the assassin's heart. “It seems you’re a little rusty.” 

Mi-Rae, filled with rage, lunges at her. Y/N quickly shoots her in the chest stopping her. She watches as Mi-Rae stumbles back clutching her chest, her eyes wide with shock. The blood from the gunshot wound leaks through her fingers.  

Fueled by rage, Mi-Rae lunges at her. Y/N reacts quickly, shooting her in the chest. She watches as Mi-Rae stumbles back, dropping her gun while clutching her chest, her eyes wide with disbelief. Blood seeps through her fingers as she collapses to the floor. Y/N steps closer, kicking the gun away, sending it skidding near the hospital bed.  

"Why did you come for me?" Y/N asks, her expression unreadable as she stands over the older woman, watching her gasping for breath. "How long have you been planning this?" 

"It was never supposed to be you," Mi-Rae manages to say between labored breaths. "Y-You were meant to-to die w-with your m-mother, but then he-he found you and-and took you in."  

"This has all been about Kim Dong-Yul?" Y/N asks, thinking of the man who took her in after her mother’s death.  

The memories of her childhood flood back—fragments of a life spent on the streets, always looking over her shoulder, always fighting to survive and avoid being a statistic at the orphanage. Kim Dong-Yul had been her savior, a beacon of hope in a world that had shown her nothing but cruelty.  

Dong-Yul, who was also Hongjoong's uncle, found her on the street after she had stolen an apple from a market stall. He claimed to be her uncle and took full custody of her when the authorities finally caught up to her. He raised her as his daughter and transformed her into the woman she is today. When he fell ill three years ago, she headed his empire, transforming it into the success it is now. It officially became hers seven months ago after Kim Dong-Yul passed away from his illness, leaving his Kim empire to her in his will. 

"Why?" Y/N demanded, her voice steady despite the chaos swirling within her. She places a heeled foot on Mi-Rae's hand that’s covering her wound and applies pressure. "Why would you want me dead? What did I ever do to you?" 

Mi-Rae's face twisted in pain, but there was a flicker of something else in her eyes—betrayal, resentment. Her breath grows shallower as she continues to talk. "When we found out you weren’t killed, your father and I were going to use you as a pawn to get to him. But when he took you in, you became stronger, smarter and unpredictable. You became a rival,” she begins to explain. “Kim Dong-Yul promised me everything when we were together and then your mother came along, oblivious to the fact she had gained the attention of the biggest crime lord in South Korea,” She pauses to take a deep breath. “I-I bet you didn’t know that,” she lets out a chuckle mixed with a groan. 

Y/N pressing her foot down, putting even more pressure on the wound. “I know more than you think. I heard stories all about Ahn Iseul, another alias of yours. Just so you know, no one liked you. Everyone was relieved when Dong-Yul got rid of you.”  

“Did you know it was your father’s idea to have you and your mother killed?” she groaned. “I may have seduced him to get back at your mother for stealing Dong-Yul's attention, but I wasn’t the one who suggested we kill you. He wanted to be rid of you as well as her. Your father is a bigger monster than you think,” She pauses for a moment before speaking again. “I suggest-” 

She’s cut off when a gunshot echoes throughout the room. Y/N holds the smoking gun, pointed at Mi-Rae's head. “One down, one to go,” she says coldly, removing her foot from Mi-Rae's lifeless body. 

“Drop it, Y/N,” her biological father’s voice fills the room. “I don’t want to have to shoot you.” 

“Have you killed anyone before, Appa?” She questions him, not bothering to raise her gun. With everything she had endured and the shocking truths she was uncovering, she’s exhausted. She’s also pretty sure her father wouldn’t have the balls to shoot her. “Or have you always gotten someone else to do it for you?” 

“You’re a monster,” Ha-Joon repeats his words from a week ago. 

“It seems to be genetic,” she replies. “You, me, Ha-Na. Though I doubt Ha-Na had much of a chance with a psychotic mother like Mi-Rae,” her voice takes on a taunting tone. “Before you left eomma, I thought you could do no wrong. But you proved me wrong. You showed me how weak and pathetic you actually are.” 

“I’d shut up if I were you!” he warns her. 

“Or what? Your fragile ego won’t have it and you’ll do the dirty work yourself?” she taunts. “Like I said, your weak and pathetic. I can’t believe I came from someone like you.” 

With anger on his face, Ha-Joon steps towards her, pressing his gun against her head, the cool metal of the nuzzle brushing against her heated skin. 

“Do it,” she tells him. “If my husband dies, I have no reason to live anymore,” she says watching her father’s eyes glance towards the bed where Hongjoong lays. “Kill me like you should have done all those years ago,” she insists, her tone now commanding. “End me and take over the Kim Empire. That’s what you and Mi-Rae wanted, right?” 

Instead of firing, he retracts his hand and strikes her across the face with the gun, sending her to the ground. She whips her head around to glare at him, her cheek already reddening and swelling from the blow, filled with all the hatred she can muster. He looms over her, gun once more pressed against her head. 

“Prove that little girl wrong, Appa,” she continues to taunt him, showing him that she’s not scared of him or dying. “Prove to her that you're no longer a weak and pathetic coward.” 

“Stop,” he warns her, his hand shaking and face turning red with rage.  

"Go ahead, shoot me," she replies, her voice unwavering. As the gun presses firmly against her head, she shuts her eyes. The sound of the gun clicking makes her brace for the bullet that could take her life.  

A gunshot echoes, making her flinch, but when she doesn’t feel the grip of death, she opens her eyes to see Hongjoong in front of her, holding the gun she had kicked away from Mi-Rae, while her lifeless father lies on the ground.  

"Hongjoong?" she whispers softly, her eyes wide with surprise and heart pounding against her chest, uncertain if she has truly escaped death.  

He hears her, and in an instant, the gun drops from his hand, clattering to the ground as he kneels in front of her. The world around them fades away, and she throws herself into his arms. He holds her close, as her tears flow freely, as she buries her face into his shoulder, the flood of emotions she’s been holding back all week finally pouring out. 

“I thought I lost you,” she whispers, her voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt. 

“I told you I’m not going anywhere,” he assures her, his voice hoarse from not having used it for a week. He pulls back, lifting her head so he can look at her. “We’re even now,” he smiles at her lovingly as he wipes her tears away.  

She chuckles and brings him in for a kiss. “I love you,” she says after pulling away. 

“I love you too,” he replies bringing her back in for another kiss. 

15 Months Later.

Y/N walks into the at home office she shares with Hongjoong, her voice bright and cheerful as she sings "Happy Birthday" to her husband. She cradles their nine-month-old daughter, who giggles in delight at the sound of her mother’s voice, in one arm while her free hand holds on to a plate with a small birthday cake on it. 

Hongjoong looks up from his work, a surprised smile spreading across his face as he takes in the sight of his wife and daughter. His heart swells with affection as he watches his little family approach him. The office, usually filled with work and meetings transforms into a sanctuary of love and celebration. 

"Happy Birthday, my love," Y/N exclaims when she finishes singing.  

Hongjoong stands up, blows out the single candle in the cake and scoops both Y/N and their daughter into a warm embrace, feeling the stress of the paperwork, he’d been working on lifts off his shoulders.  

Not long after the events of last year, they found out that Y/N was pregnant and further along than they had anticipated. Given everything, they had been through, the happy news came at just the right time, giving the couple something to be excited about and look forward to. There were many instances when they thought about how close they came to missing out on where they are now. The thought of what could have been, had circumstances been different, often lingered in their minds, but now, with their daughter nestled between them, those worries felt distant. 

"Thank you," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. He gently takes their daughter from Y/N as she sets the cake on the desk. "What have my two favorite girls been up to?" 

"We spent most of the morning brainstorming ways to lure you away from work so you could celebrate your birthday with us instead of being shut in the office all day," Y/N replies, her tone playful and teasing. "We figured a cake and gifts might do the trick." 

Hongjoong chuckles, his eyes sparkling with affection as he cradles their daughter against his chest. She coos softly, her tiny fingers reaching out to grasp at his shirt as she relaxes in his arms. 

"You two are the only birthday gifts I need," he says, his voice warm and sincere. He glances at the cake, a sitting on his desk. "Did you bake that yourself?" 

"Remember the last time I attempted to bake a cake? I think the smoke alarm still has PTSD from that disaster," Y/N chuckles, shaking her head at the memory. The last time she attempted to do any kind of baking she burnt it to a crisp. Cooking was fine, but baking just isn't her strong suit.  

"Well, I think your plan is working," he smiles. "Shall we get out of here?" 

Y/N nods and picks up the cake again, following Hongjoong out of their home office and down the stairs to the kitchen. 

Once they reach the kitchen, Y/N sets the cake down on the kitchen island and grabs a knife for Hongjoong to cut it. 

“Okay, birthday boy, what’s the plan?” Y/N asks as she leans against the counter, watching him cut the cake into pieces. "I got us this far. You can come up with the rest." 

"How about we pack a bag or two and head to the beach for the weekend? No work. No empire. Just me and my ladies," he suggests.

Y/N's eyes light up at the idea, a smile spreading across her face. "The beach? That sounds perfect to me." 

"Let's do it then," he says as he finishes slicing the cake and hands her a piece. 

©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. reblog instead

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[actuallysaiyan]

Kinktober Day 6: Impact Play/Villain

warnings: impact play, dark themes, smut, demon trigger, monster fucking, angst, unprotected sex word count: 0.5k pairings: Vergil x Fem!Reader teaser: Even if you wanted to move, you wouldn’t be able to. You shudder when you feel the long tongue soothing over the wounds.

dividers: @adornedwithlight

taglist: @saotoru, @cherryblossombankai, @sindulgent666 @chilichopsticks

Seeing him cause so much destruction was breaking your heart. You wish you could reach out to him and make him see that he is still so worthy of your love. The more he destroyed, the more he crushed, the more he was breaking your heart.

Watching him lose control of his own sanity was making you cry. For so long, you fought to keep him by your side. You hadn’t known Vergil for long, but the impact he made on your life was monumental. Together you tried to heal from your respective pasts, but he couldn't keep going with his pain.

His devil trigger form looks at you, and he quickly rushes over to you. You're pinned to the wall before you even know what’s going on. His tail comes up to wrap around your neck. You squeak as it begins to squeeze on your airways. You’re struggling to catch your breath as you look at your lover.

“V-Vergil…”

Your clothes are torn off by his large claws. They nick you, leaving blood to drip down your body. His devil trigger growls loudly, leaning in to lap up the blood. You are frozen to the spot. Even if you wanted to move, you wouldn’t be able to. You shudder when you feel the long tongue soothing over the wounds.

“I…I’m sorry.” 

Your eyes widen when you hear him speaking to you in that distorted voice. Then you feel something prodding at your entrance. You reach out to cling to him as he impales you on his cock. There’s a lot of resistance, causing you to beg him to stop. You look at him tearfully, begging for him to slow down.

“Sorry I can’t…” The distorted voice says.

He pushes even more into you. He growls as your tight walls begin to flutter around him. You swear you can see stars dancing in your vision. He begins to pound himself into you, causing you to scream and moan his name. There’s warmth coming from him as he fucks you relentlessly. You cling to him as if he is the only thing keeping you together at this moment.

Then he transforms back into himself. You see the tears that are in his eyes. He captures your lips in a sweet kiss. His forehead leans against yours as he pumps his hips slowly.

“You keep me sane, and I hurt you. How can I keep hurting you like this?”

You cling to him as he picks up his pace once more. The pleasure builds more and more and more. A startled cry erupts from you as your orgasm hits you hard. You shudder as Vergil pumps into you harder and faster. His teeth sink into your neck, drawing blood. You feel warmth filling you up; shots of thick seed fill you.

“You always show me softness…how can a beast like me be soft?”

The devil trigger is before you once more, grabbing you with its tail and flying off with you in its clutches. You want to believe he will be gentle with you, but something tells you that it won’t be perfect.

reblogs and comments always appreciated!

©actuallysaiyan 2024– do not repost on other platforms, copy, translate or edit my works!

[putrid-sex-machine]

KiNKTOBER DAY 14 𐂯 LEON

PROMPT: collaring, pet play, praise kink & humiliation w/ re2r leon

WARNINGS/TAGS: smut (obv), pet play, masc!reader, pet names (puppy, pup, baby, pretty boy, good boy, pet, angel, mutt), oneshot, rutting, dry humping, praise, collars, mlm, pet/owner dynamics

A/N: we are NOT getting into heaven with this one!! 🗣️🗣️🗣️ this 1 kinda got away from me lol. i need him carnally (in case you couldn't tell). leons totally a whimperer BUT hear me out,, growling? 👀 let’s pretend i posted this on time (^^;) not entirely beta read but idrc

this fic has nsft content. you have been warned.

dividers by cafekitsune

"C'mon, puppy, I know you can do it," you praise, your voice the only thing keeping Leon somewhat grounded. What was it you wanted again?

He feels himself nodding before even fully registering the command, ever easy to please. The name does wonders for him, something you’ve taken note of. You wouldn’t be here if it didn’t, of course. His gaze lingers on you, thoughts drifting off momentarily. You look so good like that, sat so fucking pretty on the bed, leash and collar in hand. Fuck, he wants to take you right then and there.

“Puppy,” you warn, voice lowering dangerously, unhappy to repeat yourself. “Strip.”

That gets Leon moving, his body jumping into action before he has time to fluster. He’s standing in his boxers now, skin hot under your gaze, but even then it’s not enough.

“I said strip,” you order again, all affection now gone from your tone.

“Yes— yes, sir,” Leon mumbles, mouth moving faster than his brain. Fuck. Why did he say that? Sir?? He’s not at the police academy.

“You’re thinking too hard.” Your voice is softer now, though a hint of warning still remains. “This isn’t supposed to be hard for you, pup. Just follow my instructions.”

Again, Leon nods, finally shrugging off his boxers with an embarrassed whine. He’s not quite sure why this has him so worked up. It’s not the first time he’s been naked in front of you, after all. Then again, he didn’t have such a captive audience then either. You grin, gesturing him over.

He’s kneeling between your legs now, breath quick and embarrassed.

“That’s a good boy,” you praise, running a hand through his hair. Leon can’t help but whimper, eyes drooping shut at the contact, and his head tilting into it. “Such a good boy… You learn so fast.”

Leon’s mind swims at that, swaying somewhat where he sits, panting. He feels your hand grip his hair, forcing his head back. He doesn’t resist, shamefully allowing you whatever access to him you’d like. Cool leather wraps around his throat, just barely restricting his airway. A collar.

“Such a pretty puppy… Can you bark for me baby? Can you speak?”

Leon shakes his head, the remainder of his dignity refusing to let him fall further. Even with his eyes shut Leon can see the scowl on your face, whining pitifully at your disappointment.

“I said speak, pet,” you command, the tone only fueling the fire in Leon’s groin.

Leon opens his mouth, jaw simply hanging for a moment, no sound coming out. “…Woof,” he mumbles shamefully, face burning red. The grip on his hair loosens, trailing down to grab his chin, gaze forced up to meet yours.

It’s only then that his predicament fully sets in, the sight of you above him, legs caging him in on either side with a leash in hand… it’s enough to make him twitch.

“Puppy…” you start, voice deceivingly soft, “you can do better than that. Go on. Speak. Speak for your owner, angel.”

Humiliated wouldn’t even begin to describe what he’s feeling right now; every part of his body burning with shame, unable to so much as look at you as his cock twitches in response. He likes this.

He nods, eyes drooping shut before his gaze is forcefully brought back to yours. His mouth opens, a small, awkward, yet honest to god bark leaving him. He doesn’t miss the way you shutter, breath hitching ever so slightly as you grin down at him.

“Fuck… thats a good boy, good boy, Leon.”

Leon can’t help the way his thighs squeeze together at that, awkwardly grinding into himself in a desperate attempt for friction. That’s when he feels a boot shoved between his legs, the cool leather almost painful against his heat. He whimpers, hips bucking into it before he has time to think. This earns him a painful tug on his collar, his hips stuttering to a stop.

“Puppy,” you warn, voice lowering. “I didn’t say you could move."

Leon nods, whining shamefully, embarrassed to have disappointed you. “But it’s okay, baby,” you assure, “you’re just a dumb little puppy, it’s not your fault you didn’t know.”

That really shouldn’t have had such a strong effect on Leon. He swallows, attempting to find a distraction from all this, something he can use to appear somewhat composed. He can’t embarrass himself like this.

You don’t seem happy with his attempts, however, tugging on the leash once more. You tut, running a hand sweetly through his hair. “Oh, puppy,” you start, voice once again deceivingly gentle, “don’t resist it. You know you want to let this happen… You know thinking this much isn’t good for you, baby.”

Leon swallows thickly, nodding before he can stop himself. He doesn’t know that, but either way he wants to please.

“That’s right…” you praise, tilting your boot up into his groin. “Let me make you feel good, don’t resist it. Can you open your mouth for me, angel?”

Leon’s mouth opens on command, shifting awkwardly in embarrassment. You keep him like that just long enough for the shame to sink in, boot digging into his cock as he sits the untouched, mouth hung open like the good boy he is. Finally, you push two fingers into his mouth, satisfied when Leon’s lips wrap obediently around them. He sucks softly, his mouth hot and inexperienced, teeth prodding into your skin. You tut, pushing them further back down his throat, pressing down just enough to make him gag.

You lean in, fingers not shying away from the back of his tongue. “C’mon, puppy… let me take all those thoughts away, let you keep that pretty little head empty like it’s supposed to be. You know I like you better dumbed down, don’t resist it.

Leon shivers, just barely stopping himself from rutting into your boot, a soft, gagged whine leaving him. He nods to the best of his ability, eyes drooping shut as he simply sucks on your fingers, the sensation strangely bliss.

“That’s right,” you praise, “feels good doesn’t it? You like being told what to do?” Again, Leon nods, this time whining. “Good boy… That’s my pretty boy, doing so well for me.”

You retreat your fingers, a line of spit briefly connecting them to Leon’s lips. He whines at the loss, to which you hush him. “I know,” you coo, wiping the spit covered digits through his hair. “You wanna make your owner feel good though, don’t you? You wanna make me feel good?”

With you staring down at him so expectantly, Leon can’t find it in himself to say no. Not that he would have wanted to anyways. He nods pitifully, whining again before he can stop himself. You grin.

“Atta boy.” And just like that, your hands are off him, earning another shameful whine. “I know, baby,” you assure, turning your attention from Leon down to your fly. “Just a little longer, okay? You’re being so good for me.”

Leon swears you’re going slow on purpose, his body tensing further with each passing second. He can see the outline of your cock through your boxers, the mere smell of it making him drool. Finally it’s out, the tip resting against Leon’s lips, smearing them with precum. He shutters.

“Open.”

Leon obeys, jaw going slack, willing you to cut to the chase, to let him taste you. You slide in painfully slow, giving Leon time to adjust to the intrusion. His lips instinctively wrap around it, protecting the sensitive skin from his teeth as he wills it down further. Your hands in his hair now, breath shaky.

Leon’s never done something like this before, is he doing this right?

Without warning, you shove your cock all the way in, forcing a gag from Leon. You pull back, allowing him room to breathe. All he can smell is you, everything about the situation only fueling him further. He needs this.

“Please,” he mumbles around your cock, brows pulled taught as he gazes up at you. You tut, grabbing his hair tight and pulling him back down.

“Puppies don’t talk,” you warn, relishing in the way his throat spasms around you. You pull him off, Leon spitting and gagging as you do so, eyes squeezed shut. “Be a good dog. Bark for me. Tell me how bad you want it.”

Leon doesn’t resist, letting out a small, hoarse bark. This time however, it isn’t enough. “I said bark, you mutt. Bark for me. You can do better than that.” Your boot tilts further up, digging into Leon’s cock, dragging an honest to god moan from him.

You grin, the expression downright evil. “You like that?” Leon nods, hips stuttering against the leather. You tut, tugging on his leash harshly. “Then bark for me. Bark and I’ll let you have it.”

Leon’s eyes droop shut, whimpering softly. He nods, willing the sound out of him, this time significantly more animalistic. A real bark.

“Good boy.” Your voice is sweet and proud again, grinding your boot into his groin as a reward. “I knew you could do it. Now open your mouth, let me use you like you’re intended. Breathe through your nose… Good puppy.”

Leon obeys, this time rutting shamelessly into your shoe. Your cock slams into his throat once more, but this time he’s prepared, breathing steadily through his nose as you continue abusing his throat, willing his gag reflex down.

“God… look at you, drooling around my cock… Fucking hell. You’re so fucking good, puppy. Just like that.” And really, he’s not doing anything, just sitting there and letting you use him. “There you go… You’re doing so good, angel. So good for me. Just keep humping my boot like a bitch in heat, let yourself be the stupid fucking mutt you are.”

Leon allows himself to drift, lost in the wondrous cocktail of hormones you’ve awoken in him. He’s rutting faster, breaths shallowing as he fights to keep himself from going over the edge, wanting this to last as long as possible.

“You gonna cum for me, puppy?” you mock, drinking in Leon’s display with hungry eyes.

He nods frantically, panting stupidly around your cock. He’s growling now, the sounds low and desperate, like some kind of animal.

You tug your boot away, relishing in the whine that vibrates around your length. You drag him down further, ignoring his pitiful gags as you spill down his throat, fucking him through your high.

You drag Leon off, watching as he swallows it all like the good boy he is, grinning wildly. “You did so good, puppy,” you whisper, dragging him closer by the leash, relishing in his confusion. You guide him up onto the bed, tutting as he goes to stand. “Oh, you poor, stupid little thing,” you coo. “Puppies don’t stand, angel. Crawl to me. That’s right, on all fours. Just like that. Good boy. That’s my pretty puppy.”

You drag him onto your still clothed thigh, his leash pulled taught. “You did so well,” you praise, guiding his bare hips against the rough fabric. “C’mon puppy, make yourself feel good for me. You’ve done so well… Just like that, hump my thigh like the stupid bitch you are. That’s right. Good boy.”

Leon whimpers in discomfort, the corse fabric like fire against his erection, but he can’t find it within himself to care. He speeds up, practically sobbing now as he fucks himself stupid on your thigh, clinging to you like a life line. He’s growling, nipping softly at your neck as he ruts into you, humping you like a bitch in heat.

“M… M’gonna,” he stutters dumbly, head thrown back as his back arches into the sensation. Poor puppy can’t even finish a sentence.

You hush him, hands running soothingly down his sides as he shutters against you. “Cum for me, puppy. You’ve been so good. Cum for me.”

Leon nods frantically, mouth hanging open as he cums, vision going white as he collapses into you, continuing to grind uselessly against your leg. “I love you I love you I love you,” he chants absently, sobbing into the crook of your neck. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I love you.”

[sheepwavehdg]

(Excerpt and art from Cat and Mouse)

I felt my airway seal as the vine plunged down my throat. I felt it expand into a spongy tube within me, and my body squeezed around her involuntarily. Stars of pleasure exploded like an entire galaxy of supernovae with each contraction of my throat muscles around her. After a moment, the reflexive need for air came, and my body pulled it from her vine easily. The xenodrug-laced tingling of every breath she gave me was a whispering dance of perfection from my mouth to my lungs. 

Every wet, warm tendril against my body was bliss. What felt like a tongue traced along the jagged scar that ran from my wrist to my elbow. The wet, slimy liquid coating me left pure delight with every swirl of the fluid against me. The heat around me was all consuming. The constriction around me complete perfection.

The barrier of my skin provided little resistance to whatever chemicals now soaked into every cell. A thick tentacle coiled around my tail in a helix, others wound tight around every limb. What felt like a thousand lips licked and sucked at every bit of the surface of my skin she brushed against. Every nerve in my body was amplified to the point of an erogenous zone, and she played with all of me she could reach.

My eyes closed as the wetness pulled tighter, but I did not need them to see what I was wrapped around. A glowing, rounded shape about the size of my torso. I wrapped myself around it tightly, and I understood what the source of the soothing vibrations I had always felt emanating from Tamai was. 

It was her, her soul, her being, the real her under the layers of masks and plant matter. She was slightly fuzzy to the touch, covered in millions of tiny fibers that grasped at me. I curled myself around her, felt little beads of her light press into my nervous system. The sensation against my overwhelmed body had a scream of pleasure trying to escape me, but entirely muffled by the vine I was breathing through.

Language was already long gone, but even the metaphors of thought, the tactile abstractions of cognition, were blown away, replaced by that pulsing hum. Every feeling was her love, every touch was pleasure, every breath was comfort. She made herself one with me, the self made unified by her taking what divided me away. I simply existed, in simple peace.

[lotte-s-web]

bestfriend!hobie teaching you to smoke a blunt for the first time and you're all coughing so he tries shotgunning smoke into your mouth omg im ripping my hair out

KICKING MY FEEEEEETTTTT I WANNA WRITE THIS NOW AGH

his hand is holding your chin, keeping your lips against his as he lets the smoke pass between your mouths, going from his airways into yours. he laughs at you as he pulls away, you look so dumbfounded, your lips still puckered and your eyes wide. he's not wrong though, you're so dumbfounded you don't even register the warm, herbal air that just billowed into your lungs.

when you come to, it's because he's asked you if you wanna try again. you fumble for an excuse, but ultimately can't find it in your heart to refuse.

he keeps it going till you're both buzzed. what? it's not like you resisted or anything, you were too addicted to the feel of his lips on yours to give up any chances of getting what you wanted. having just a taste of him was dangerous though, it made you want more, an insatiable hunger for him growing warm in your chest and spreading throughout your limbs. red eyes and lidded gazes from both sides only heightened your want, your desire.

his lips linger with every pass of smoke between you two, and at a certain point kisses and shotguns blend together in a haze, high minds too dazed to distinguish between the two.

you don't mind as his hands roam your body, not at all. he doesn't mind either when your hands go to roam his, content with your touch for as long as you'd let him have you like this.

can you tell i like this idea or

[ladylooch]

What if you’re recently going out with Nico and you can’t go to the game but you have plans to go out to eat after? But after the defeat he is feeling sad and tired and cancels, and you feel bad for him so decide to get him takeout from his favorite place ♥️. Once you get to his house he is just sad looking at replays of the game so you cheer him up! (You can do whatever it can be fluffy and cute or hot l) love your writing!! 🥰🥰

A/N: Okay Nico girlies, it’s time to heal. 🙏🏻

You’re five minutes into the third period of the Devils game when it dawns on you that you have not heard Nico’s name in quite sometime. Your eyebrows lower as you pause from wolfing down popcorn and M&Ms - your guilty pleasure snack. Tonight, you are trying to hold off your hunger long enough to meet Nico for a late-night snack. Eating at 11:00pm isn’t your normal dinner procedure, but for Nico Hischier you’ll make any exception. Curiously, your head tilts to the side while you grab your phone, scrolling through Twitter, looking for an explanation. 

“Nico Hischier is missing from the #NJDevils bench.” 

Ten or so more tweets follow that one. You bite your lip. The Islanders pressure on him has been intense since puck drop. You hope he is okay, but resist the urge to reach out to him. He will when he is ready. 

At least you think so.

Things with Nico are new. You aren’t sure what to expect from him tonight.

You watch the rest of the game, curled up under your weighted blanket, hoping it will relieve some of the anxiety you feel pressing into your lungs. Breathing is laborious as your airway tightens. Tingles of uncertainty practically numb your fingers by the end of the game.��

A little ping brightens your dark living room to your left. You grab your phone, seeing Captain Nico 😈 pop up with a text (his doing, not yours). 

Hi 😘 I’m so sorry to do this, but I have to take a rain check for tonight. Doctor’s orders are to sit on the couch and not move until I leave for practice tomorrow. I am so sorry. I promise I will make this up to you. I was really looking forward to seeing you tonight. I’m sending you some pizza through DoorDash. 

A lump forms in your throat from both the frustration of not getting to see him, but also the sadness for him being less than 100%. 

It’s okay! I completely understand. Your payment of DoorDash Pizza will be enough for now 🤪 You’re so sweet and do not have to do that. I’ve had enough popcorn and M&Ms for the two of us! But, I hope you are okay. I am here if you need anything.

You sigh, tossing your phone back onto the couch and leaning down to scream into the fabric. Fuck. You wanted to end the night falling asleep in his arms again. He has this way of calming the entire world with his touch. You needed that after a stressful week at work. Now, you’ll be tossing and turning all night, worrying about him.

Now, I’m definitely getting you pizza. No girl dinner for my girl. I am bummed, babe. Trust me. Wanted to get my hands on you. It’s been a long week.

An idea pops into your head, but first, you’ll need to wait for that pizza.

The pizza is still warm in your hands when you walk towards Nico’s apartment door. Thank god for the nightly activity in Hoboken, so you could easily piggy back into the main entrance. Plus, who looks scary with pizza in their hands? No one.

Your boots scuff at the floor beneath your feet until you get to Nico’s door.

“Hey did someone here order grabby hands and pizza?” You call out after a soft knock. You chuckle at the movement you hear beyond the door.

“I did.” He chuckles as he opens the door. Your body relaxes when you see his dimpled smile. He is definitely happy to see you. He’s wearing a backwards hat and comfy, Devils sweats. He looks okay, but his right shoulder seems to have extra padding around it. You tentatively reach for it, feeling the coolness. “Ice.” He winces slightly when he tries to shrug.

“Back on the couch, cap.” You insist. 

“Can I have a kiss first?” He asks, puckering his lips. You lean up, going slightly on your tip toes to connect your faces. Your eyes close as Nico gives soft, gentle pecks that awaken your body. Pink dusts your cheeks as a soft moan escapes his mouth. “I’m afraid the hands will have to wait. I look better than I actually feel.” He tenderly adjusts the ice on his shoulder. You frown deeply, staring at his hand there. 

“Are you… going to be okay?” You finish hesitantly. You aren’t sure if he will tell you, or if you really even want to know. But you’re a little scared and more information would be better than being in the dark.

“It’s too swollen and sore to know the extent of what’s going on.” Nico says. “Could be a sprain, could be a tear.” You nod, then bring your eyes back to his.

“Whatever it is we will work through it together.”

“I’m so glad you are here.” He murmurs, reaching to caress your face. His thumb strokes your cheek in soft swipes that have your heart growing in your chest. “I bet if we each have like five slices of that pizza and fall asleep together, I’ll be better tomorrow.”

“I stay the night one time and now you’re so presumptuous Mr. Hischier.”

“I can’t help myself. You’re a great cuddler. I’ll beg if I have to.” There are his dimples again, just for you.

“And here I thought I was going to have to beg you.” You chuckle, poking his stomach then walking towards his kitchen. “Can I get you anything?” You ask him.

“No.” He murmurs back, looking lost in thought as he scans your face. “Have I said how much I love having you here?”

“Literally two seconds ago.”

“Okay, well, that was too long ago. I love having you here. A lot. I usually have to go through these moments alone and not having to do that tonight is nice.” You nod because you understand how comforting it is to have someone take care of you too.

“I love being here, Neeks. Now put your butt back on the couch. I’ll bring you pizza when its warm again.”

[petermorwood]

Flying Officer B.P. “Squirrel” Nutkin of 266 Squadron RAF, seen here in a Hawker Hurricane Mk I flown by 266 during the Fall of France.

As the British Expeditionary Force were driven back by Guderian’s Blitzkrieg, 266 was badly mauled while keeping Luftwaffe bombers away from the Dunkirk beaches, losing enough Hurricanes that it re-equipped with the Supermarine Spifire Mk Ia just in time for the Battle of Britain.

Nutkin, resisting what was already becoming known as "Spitfire Snobbery", was one of the last 266 Squadron pilots to convert from his Hurricane. This snapshot, therefore, must have been taken at some time in mid-June 1940, between the end of Operation Dynamo on 4th June and the official start of the Battle of Britain on 10th July.

*****

It was during the BEF’s final withdrawal from Dunkirk that Flying Officer Nutkin, already with two kills to his credit, made ace in an afternoon and won his first DFC.

He was section leader of Red Section - comprising himself, Pilot Officer Tom E. Brock and Pilot Officer J.R.M.E. Fisher - providing top cover for the evacuation, when on 2nd June 1940 they found themselves up-sun from a raid directed against several of the “Little Ships” (civilian vessels with volunteer crews).

Red Section executed a perfect “bounce” that caught the enemy completely off guard, six Luftwaffe aircraft were shot down, and Nutkin personally accounted for two Junkers Ju.87-B Stuka dive-bombers as well as one Messerschmitt Bf.109-E4 from their escort.

(Representative images, not actual footage)

“Squirrel” Nutkin finished his RAF service in 1946 with the rank of Wing Commander. It’s widely believed he was promoted no higher after saying “Nuts!” to Air Vice-Marshal Trafford Leigh-Mallory, even though this turned out not to have been an insult, merely a misheard comment about which bar snacks were running short in the Officers' Mess.

Regardless of explanation, Leigh-Mallory - always notoriously pompous about his own image and reputation - made a disparaging entry in Nutkin’s file and refused to amend it. His later death in an accident meant the unwarranted black mark was never deleted.

This didn't concern post-war fledgling new airline BEA (British European Airways), and Nutkin joined them directly he left the Air Force…

…going on to become one of their senior captains before transferring to Transatlantic service with BOAC (British Overseas Airways Corporation).

During a layover in New York he met and later married Cicely van Gopher of the New Hampshire van Gophers, and on retirement from flying made a fortune in forestry.

“Some people can’t see the wood for the trees, but for some reason I'm quite good at both.”