#and he doesn't want a silver band

[lover-of-mine]

I think my bf is gonna propose and now I'm worried i have to change all my rings to match the ring he's gonna give me 😂😂

[jedaos]

with the way edgeworth has been so vocal about being against marriage i feel like the only way it could actually happen is edgeworth going through phoenix's financials (his papers are EVERYWHERE and if miles makes eye contact with that sorry excuse of a desk one more time he will pop a blood vessel) and realizes there needs to be some kind of intervention. "phoenix we are getting married next week you sorely need the tax breaks". and he can't really say no to that because well. it's true.

[msgexymunson]

The Ink Shop

Description: Desperate for a job, you answer an advertisement not knowing it's a tattoo shop. It's not particularly difficult work, except for one thing: having to deal with Eddie Munson. 

Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI or I'll tell your parents, fem reader, thick sexual tension, angst and smut. Fingering. 

A/N: I finally wrote it! The teach me fic I've been day dreaming about forever. This will be part one of three, and honestly this is one of the hottest things I've written. If you enjoy it, please comment and reblog, it means the world to me. 

8k words

Masterlist Part 2

Screwing your nose up in confusion, you look at the meticulously cut snippet of newspaper neatly attached to your resume with a paperclip. Sure enough, receptionist and administrator wanted for a place called ‘The Ink Shop’. 

The outside of the building looks a little bleak, all decked out in black with frosted windows, but the fading lettering above does indeed spell out ‘The Ink Shop’. 

Weird. This does not look like a printers. 

You smooth down a minor wrinkle in your white shirt and open the door with unsure hands, the bell above ringing out loudly. 

Oh. 

This is not a printers. This is a tattoo shop. 

The thought hadn't even crossed your mind. The noise is a cacophony of buzzing, rock music and loud conversation. Art hangs on every available wall, the wallpaper underneath a royal purple, faded over time. There's frames upon frames of predesigned pieces for people to choose from, and an enormous wooden counter, black and gouged with use, directly in front of the doors. 

Taking a confidence boosting breath you march forward, pencil skirt stretching and heels clicking on the black and white linoleum, and stand by the counter. No one seems to have noticed your arrival, and a polite cough is not going to cut it. 

“Hello?” Calling out to the shop, a devilishly handsome tattooed man in a ripped band shirt, black jeans and scuffed army boots turns his head. Loose dark curls escape a low bun and swivel with him, framing his animated face. He saunters over to the counter and towers over you, giving you an appraising look. 

“You old enough to be in here sweetheart?” He asks, amused, as he points to the sign on the wall that states ‘Strictly Over 21s, no exceptions’. 

“Yes?” You're trying to be confident but it comes out as a question, entirely taken aback by the strength of his stare. 

“Oh, well then I'm Eddie,” he holds out a hand and you're forced to reach up to shake it, but to your surprise he doesn't let go. The skin is rougher than you thought it would be, and absolutely covered in small tattoos. “What is it today? Let me guess, cover up an ex boyfriend's name? I can help you forget all about him.” 

The grin he shoots back is nothing short of predatory. All you can think of is that old childhood song, never smile at a crocodile…

“No, no, I'm here about the job?” 

He looks genuinely surprised, taking in your outfit in another flagrant stare. 

“Really? You?” 

“Yes, me.” You respond, cheeks flushing in annoyance. 

“Hey, Mac!” He calls over his shoulder and a big guy with a shaved head lowers his tattoo gun, glancing over at you both. “This girl's after a job?” 

Mac stands up slowly and begins to walk over. 

“You can let go now princess.” 

Staring at Eddie dumbfoundedly, you realise his grip on your hand has softened completely. Whipping your hand away, you flash him a defiant eye. It's ineffective; he merely grins wider and winks at you, poking his tongue out playfully. You see a hint of silver, a tongue piercing. 

“Hey there, I'm Mac, the owner.” another handshake, but gentler and brief. You introduce yourself and go to hand him your resume. 

A phone rings on the counter and Mac shouts “no!” just as Eddie picks it up. 

“Mac’s Roadkill Café, from your grill to ours.” Eddie delivers the line as smooth as silk, never taking his eyes off you. “Yeah, it's Eddie, of course. Oh, I'll tell him. Thanks.” 

As Eddie turns to Mac he's given a small but effective slap to the back of the head by Mac. 

“What did I tell you, stop answering like that!” 

Eddie just grins wider and looks at you again, a fake pout on his full lips. 

“You see that? Harassment in the workplace. Wanna kiss it better?” 

Mac shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, then turns to face you again. 

“Are you immediate start?” 

“Er, yeah. I've got my resume, and references here-” 

“Listen Miss, if you can read and write, answer a phone, and put up with that-” he says, gesturing a thumb at Eddie, “then you've got the job.” 

Thank God, two of those references were your best friend with different names. Stunned, you just nod fast.

“Great. Tomorrow morning. We open at 10am.” 

Saying goodbye, you turn to exit, and risk one final glance over your shoulder. Eddie's still at the counter. A disarming wink, and then the door shuts behind you. 

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

So, not exactly what you expected, but a job's a job. After getting a degree, you'd assumed doors would open, but a string of coffee houses later and here you are. You'll take it. 

It's 9:30 am, and you stand outside, wondering whether or not to try the door. Keen, but not too keen. It's a line you're trying to toe without much experience, especially with an establishment like this. 

A pretty woman with an undercut and a butterfly neck tattoo stirs you out of your calculations. 

“Hey, I'm Chloe. You're the new girl, right? Eddie bet you'd be early.” 

Blushing at the entirely accurate first impression, you try to stop your nose scrunching in distaste. As if reading your mind, Chloe chuckles.

“Ah, don't worry about him, he's an idiot. Come on, I'll show you the ropes.” 

Chloe is the piercer that basically rents a place in the shop, where she's been for around three years, she explains. There's also Julio, who does more realistic tattoo work, and Miranda who works part time. 

Chloe turns out to be warm and welcoming, showing you how they book clients in, how to take payments, and the phone note system. It's straightforward work, stuff you'll master in no time. In fact, you feel comfortable enough by 10 am to sit at the counter on your own.

Mac arrives on time, giving you a quick check in and taking down all your information on a yellow legal pad. 

“Do you not have a computer in here?” you ask, genuinely puzzled. 

“Oh no, not yet. I don't know how to work those things, Miss.” Mac chuckles, and gets to his station to prepare for his first client.

At 10:45 am Eddie walks through the door as if he owns the place. 

Your eyes widen at his brazen lateness, but no one seems to bat an eyelid. It boils your blood; to be that disrespectful and clearly not care. How could someone act like that? 

“Hey princess, didn't think you'd come back,” he smiles, reaching for your hand. 

Oh I'm not falling for that again. 

You pull your hand into your lap, expecting trickery from him. A smug grin smears across his face at the gesture, as if he knew you'd do that. It makes you even more annoyed. 

“Eddie, the book says you start,” you say, flicking through the tome in front of you, “ah, at 10 am today.” 

“It's walk-in Wednesday sweetheart. There's no one here.” 

He's got a point. Chloe had explained the tattoo artists work a shift of Wednesdays, someone is always available for walk-ins for small and pre designed pieces. Today is Eddie's turn, and he's right, no one is here. 

“Well, there could have been,” you snark back, folding your arms. 

He crosses into the shop, pushing the little gate open and stands next to you, arms crossed. The height you had is now lost, forcing you to look up at him. 

“As far as I know, you ain't the boss of me. I suggest taking the stick out of your ass before you come here.” 

Mouth falling open in outrage, you move to reply but he's already turned away. 

“Oh, and princess, there ain't a dress code.” 

He's gone, disappearing upstairs. Blushing crimson, you cross your arms as if you can hide the conservative outfit you're wearing. 

You're beginning to see why Mac asked if you could put up with Eddie. 

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

Halfway through the day, you realise just why Mac puts up with Eddie. 

“Hey! Seeing if I can book with Eddie?” 

“Any appointments with Eddie?” 

“Just checking to see if Eddie had any cancellations?” 

It seems most calls are about him. As you check his schedule, it's not only fully booked for the next 6 months, they've even started a waiting list at the back. 

“Any walk-ins?”

The words next to your ear make you jump bodily, almost losing your place on your chair in alarm. 

“You scared me! No, I would have said,” turning to him, you're sucked into those deep brown eyes once again. “Why do you do walk-in Wednesdays if you're so… so popular?” 

Eddie flashes a smile at you, full of self importance. “I don't know sweetheart, Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle!” Shouting the last part at the back of Mac's head, he turns to you. “We just divided the shifts, so it was fair, that's all. Why, want a tattoo?” 

You roll your eyes. “No, I was just wondering.”

“Do you have any, princess?” 

“Not that it's any of your business, but no, I don't.” 

The laugh that rips from Eddie's chest is hearty and full of amusement. 

“You work in a tattoo shop and you don't have any? That's practically blasphemy!” 

The little bell above the door rings, and a nervous guy looks around before walking in. Before you see what he wants, you shout to Eddie's retreating back. 

“Van Gogh was only famous after he died, you know!” 

It's a little later on in the day; you've done a stock take, ordered more ink, and neatened up the consent sheets three times. The phone hasn't rung in a while, and you're bored out of your mind. 

Chloe walks over, coat in her hand. 

“Hey, how you getting on?” 

“I'm good, just bored.” 

She laughs, “it's not always this quiet, mid week and all. Mac's done for the day, and I'm heading off. You gonna be OK?” 

You glance over to Eddie, who to your surprise is tattooing his own fingers. 

“What, with the untrained monkey? I'll live.” 

She laughs harder at that, “he's not so bad, once you get to know him.” Lowering her voice, she whispers, “he's good at some things, you know.” The conspiratorial wink fills in what she isn't saying. Cheeks flushed, you gawp at Eddie and back at Chloe. 

“Huh? W-what, are you like, an item?” You ask, entirely thrown. 

“Oh no, he's not exactly boyfriend material. It was just one night, but bloody hell. Anyway, it's not like that anymore, we're just friends now. Maybe you two should just, you know.” 

A blush floods your face, almost reaching the roots of your hair. “I don't- I don't, do that.” 

“I'm just saying, it's an option. It'd stop the bickering at least. I can sense the tension from all the way over there.” 

Without a further word, she leaves you sitting on your stool, trying to remember how to breathe. 

Right, let's just play nice. 

Walking over to his station, you try to glimpse what he's tattooing. 

“I thought Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle” you quip, trying to keep it light. 

“This is different” he responds, not looking up at you.

“You know, that's a waste of a needle.” 

Eddie turns the machine off and rolls his eyes at you. 

“Who made you Princess of the Needles, hmmm?” 

“Mac did actually, when he asked me to check the stock,” you reply hotly, folding your arms. Stopping for a second, you take a breath. Play nice, you're supposed to be playing nice. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to-” 

Eddie turns the machine back on and continues with his impromptu tattoo. 

“Can't you just be… professional?” You ask over the buzzing. 

“Can't you just relax for a second? No ones here. Fuck, you need to get laid.” 

Mouth dropping open in shock, you grab your bag and stomp out of the store, anger fuelling every step. 

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

Right, be calm, put together. You've dealt with worse people. 

It's true. At the coffee shop you had on edge caffeine addicts shout in your face almost on a daily basis, but none of them got under your skin like Eddie did. Then again, none of them had spat truths like venom in your face.

Breathe. Just breathe. 

Taking the leap, you walk into the shop, coffees and a tray of donuts in hand; a small peace offering. To your surprise, he is already at his station, sorting through ink pots. 

You make quick work of handing out coffee and donuts to everyone, until you reach his side. There's plastic wrap around one of his fingers, you assume from his little tattoo session yesterday. It only serves to remind you of how tetchy you were. 

“Morning Eddie.” 

“So you came back. Tough little princess ain't ya? Remove the stick from your ass yet?” The grin he flashes you is wide but there's a bite to his words. 

He's trying to rile you up, but you ignore it, thrusting a coffee at him. 

“I'll be nice if you will.” 

Tension laces the air as he stares at your outstretched hand, but he takes the coffee. 

“I'm sorry Eddie.” 

Opening the box of donuts, you gesture for him to take one. He does, stuffing half of it into his mouth. 

“What about you?” you ask.

“Huh?” He mumbles through a mouthful of crumbs. 

“Are you sorry…?” 

“What for?” 

Setting your jaw, your hand is about two seconds from slapping the shit out of him, but you need the money. So, you huff and walk away. 

“What did I do?” He huffs, shouting it to the shop. 

“You should just say sorry, you've clearly upset her.” Chloe calls over to him, a slight smile on her face. 

“Yeah, how do you know?” 

“You upset everyone Eddie.” She laughs, and stands to greet her first client. 

It's a tense kind of day, with neither you nor Eddie backing down, only speaking to each other if absolutely necessary. By the time everyone's left it's just you and him again. 

He's finishing up with a client, telling them about aftercare as they gush about their new ink. It's difficult to deny, the guy is talented. This phoenix tattoo looks like it's popping right off of the skin, the flames so bright and detailed you could swear you saw them move. 

Once they've left, there's an awkward pause. Eddie breaks the silence first. 

“Listen, I'm sorry sweetheart. I shouldn't have been rude to you. So I'll make you a deal. I'll give you a tattoo, for free, and we ask each other questions, get to know each other. What do you say?” 

Smiling in spite of yourself, you turn to face him. “And why would I want a tattoo?” 

He visibly relaxes at your grin, and flashes one of his own. “Come on, I'm the best. I promise I'll be gentle.” 

“We close at six, so it'll have to wait.” 

Eddie looks at the clock, and bobs his head with each tick. Twenty seconds later he turns to you, eyebrows raised.

“Fine, I suppose it is a bit silly to work in a tattoo shop with no ink.” 

He punches the air with glee, forcing you to smile despite your better judgement. 

“Well then, what are you thinking, got any ideas in mind?” 

“I want a heart on my hip” he groans, putting his face in his hands, “hang on, before you judge, I want one like this.” 

Pulling a book from your bag, you turn to the page neatly bookmarked. It's an anatomical heart from a textbook you own, a line and dot drawing.

“Oh.” Eddie's eyes light up, “that's pretty metal, actually. So, you just happen to have this on you?” 

“No, I've been thinking about it for a while. It's… not what people would expect. And when I got the job here, I was working up the courage to get it. Carrying around the book was a promise to myself, I think.” 

He busies himself with getting a stencil ready, the drawing supplied speeding up the process. 

“Right, climb on up princess, show me where you want it.”

Blushing, you unzip your skirt at the back and roll it down slightly, shifting your blouse up high. The smile Eddie gives you is salacious, but he doesn't say a word. 

“Right here?” Softly his fingertips graze you, making you jump. That simple act crackles over your skin in an electricity unknown to you. 

“Y-yes,” you practically whisper it, face crimson. 

“So, questions. Can I go first?” 

“Sure” you nod, feeling vulnerable flashing this much skin. 

“OK,” he starts, pressing the stencil down, “I'll start with an easy one. How old are you?” 

“23.” 

He nods, prepping the needle, “your turn princess.” 

“How old are you?” 

“Ah, copycat,” he grins, testing the gun, the sudden noise making you jump, “I'm 30 sweetheart. I know, I look younger.” 

Act younger is more like it. 

“I'm gonna start, you still alright?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Atta girl. It'll feel like a scratch.” 

He leans forward as his words burn your insides. Atta girl? Part of you wanted to tell him you're not a fucking horse, but another, deeper, part keens at the praise, kicking it's feet and twirling its hair like some dizzy schoolgirl.

The needle touches and you jump, but it's fine. It's easy. If anything, it's rather nice? You gasp at the feeling, your feet wiggling. 

“Right, next question. Why here, why this job?” 

The gun is moving across your skin, consuming all rational thought. You could lie, but a part of you feels like he'd know somehow. 

“I thought it was a printers shop, or a copy place.” 

He laughs briefly, but continues to focus on your new ink. 

“I knew it. Pretty, innocent thing like you, wandering into this den of depravity? Too good to be true.” 

Glazing over his comment, you think of a question to ask. 

“How did you start working here?” 

Eddie scoffs and turns off his machine for a moment, “you need to get creative, stop using my questions.” 

“I really want to know!” You say, meeting his derisory look. 

“Fine, quid pro quo and all that shit. Been here seven years. I begged. I begged Mac for an apprenticeship everyday for a week. He gave in, and here I am. Ask something else, that was boring.” 

You wrack your brains, trying to think of something original, far too aware of the steadying hand that he's pushing onto your abdomen. 

“What band is that?” 

It's the only thing that pops into your mind. He follows your eye line to his t-shirt. 

“Oh this? This is my band, Corroded Coffin. You should come see us sometime.” 

“Oh, what do you play?” 

His face lights up, “I sing, and play guitar. That's why my fingers are so rough-” he holds one up, covered in black latex, “-oh yeah, gloves.” 

After you both share a chuckle, there's a breath of quiet between you, except for the sound of the tattoo gun.

“My turn,” he says, smiling at your hip, “I gotta know, are you a virgin?” 

It's a miracle that he's as responsive as he is, since the question knocks you sideways. You sit up in shock, but he's already moved the needle off and away. 

“You can't just ask that, it's… it's rude!” you splutter, face glowing red. 

There's no trace of apology on his face. In fact, his grin only widens with your reply. 

“I thought so. Don't worry, I'm not gonna tease you about it.” 

Laying back down, you try to think of something to say, but it just doesn't arrive. He can read you like an open book and it's deeply unsettling, not to mention embarrassing. 

“Your turn princess.” 

“I don't want to play anymore.” 

“Oh come on, I'm being nice! Ask me something.” 

“Fine. What was your last wet dream about?” 

To your dismay, he smiles yet again.

“You, sweetheart.” 

Huffing, you cross your arms in annoyance. “Fine, don't answer.” 

He's focusing on your tattoo, tongue poking out in concentration, “I'm nearly done, then you can go back to hating me.” 

“I don't hate you. I've never hated anyone,” you respond in truth. Eddie's eyebrows raise, but he remains focused. 

“Really? You must have had a much better childhood than mine.”

It's quiet for a bit. You're not sure how to respond to that, feeling the cloud of his memory hanging thickly in the air between you. 

“All done.” 

“Huh?” 

He chuckles and points at your new ink, “take a look.” 

It's beautiful. All line and dot work, like it was pulled from the book itself and glued to your hip. 

“It's amazing Eddie. Thank you.” 

The grin he shoots you is warm as he wraps your new ink and then removes his gloves. “No problem. I'll lock up, the sheets on aftercare are right there. But you knew that.” 

Smiling affectionately, you take one and stand up, hovering for a second. 

“Eddie what do I owe-” 

“-not a damn thing. See you in the morning, princess.”

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

The next few days were much more pleasant. Eddie was flirty, yes, but he seemed to understand when to stop. You had been nicer to him, biting back on the comments when you could. There was a rhythm to it, a constant dance of him flustering you and you annoying him. 

Things really felt like they were falling into place. Until Eddie decided to cross the line. 

Walk in Wednesday again, and the shop was dead. Julio was on shift, sitting in the back having a nap. 

“Hey Mac, can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, what is it Miss?” 

“Well, how do people know about our Wednesdays?” 

“Mostly word of mouth. We handed out flyers before, but it didn't really pick up. Honestly, I'm thinking of scrapping it.” He shrugs, taking a sip of coffee. 

“Before you do, I have an idea. I can design some flyers, get them out to the coffee shop I used to work at. It's by campus, I'm sure a few students would jump at the chance. You could offer a student discount, get them in the door?” You stare at him wide eyed, hoping he likes the idea. The little speech was one you'd practised about fourteen times before actually saying it to him. 

He stares at you for a moment, then smiles. “You know, that's a good idea. I like it. Tell you what, you make it a success and I'll give you a raise.” 

“Oh, thank you! I'll get on it.” You beam, and start planning the flyer. 

Ten minutes later you have your head down, your attention entirely on the paper in front of you. The noisy shop was purely a background soundtrack, including the approaching footsteps. Then, there's a whisper, directly in your ear. 

“What you up to, princess?” 

“Fuck!” 

You scream it out and jump so high you fall off your stool. Eddie's in bits, laughing so hard he's clutching his stomach. 

“I'm sorry I didn't mean to,” he says, looking the least sorry you've ever seen a person look. 

Clambering off the floor to berate him, your mouth flops open when you hear a rip. As you desperately turn your head to look down, you see where your pencil skirt has torn right next to the seam nearly up to your ass. 

“Fuck's sake Eddie! What the hell am I gonna do!” 

Hands shaking, you clench your jaw in panic, trying to frantically come up with a way to rectify it. Eddie holds his hands up to you as if he were approaching a wild animal. 

“Just calm down princess, it's only a skirt.” 

Pouting, you hit him on the arm. 

“It's not just a skirt! I can't work like this, how can I go home and change, I won't be able to fix it and-” 

Eddie smiles and holds one of your hands. 

“It's gonna be OK, we can sort something out. You seriously need to chill, have a big O or something.” He chuckles, clearly meaning for it to be a joke, but it's hitting too close to home. 

It's never happened for you. You've kissed guys, sure, but whenever they reach into your pants, it's either uncomfortable or downright painful. Even your own desperate fumblings haven't got you there. Most of the time you just feel stupid and awkward trying to touch yourself. So, you'd given up, thinking you're broken. That it'll never happen for you. 

Tears well immediately in your eyes. He knows he fucked up, it's written all over his face. As he opens his mouth to speak you rip your hand from his grasp and run to the restroom sobbing. 

It's stupid, it's so stupid. You know that, but the tears won't stop falling, face hot and scrunched as you sit on the closed toilet seat with your head in your hands. Your breath is heavy, gulping and wet; you dimly wonder if you can just stay here until the shop closes.

There's a gentle knock on the door. 

“Sweetheart, can I come in?” It's Eddie, voice softer than you've ever heard it. 

“Go away” you manage. It's shaky and pathetic sounding, but it's out there. 

“I'm not going anywhere. Talk to me, you'll feel better, I promise.” 

He tries the door, turning the handle before you get a chance to lock it. Jumping upright, you go to push him away but he grabs your wrist and pulls you into him. His embrace takes away that edge and pretty soon you're just sobbing into his chest. 

As he strokes the back of your head, he makes shushing noises, his other arm wrapped tight around your shoulders. You're not sure how long you stay like that, in the warmth of his hold, his body pressed against yours. The tenderness calms you down until your tears stop, but he doesn't pull away. 

After a while, he whispers, “feel a little better?” 

“Y-yeah,” you say, voice returning to itself. 

Only then does he release you, rubbing a thumb under your eye to wipe moisture away. 

“I didn't mean to hurt you. You wanna go somewhere and talk about it?” 

“I- I've never- I don't talk about- I-” you shake your head as if to clear it. A part of you wants to hit him, to shout at him, but his gaze is so concerned that you agree. Your shoulders slump, losing a bit of tension. “OK.” 

Smiling at you, he whips his flannel shirt off, leaving him in a white vest, and ties it around your waist. 

“For your modesty. Come with me.” 

Puzzled, you follow him out of the bathroom and back into the shop where Mac is sitting looking worried. 

“What's going-” 

Eddie interrupts, “emergency late lunch needed, alright? Can you cancel my 3 o clock?” 

Mac seems confused, but looks at Eddie's earnest face, and your emotional one, and nods. 

“Not a problem.” 

“Thanks, man.” 

Before you can ask where you're going, he pulls you from the shop by the arm and across the street into a dimly lit bar, depositing you in the nearest booth. 

“I'll be right back.” 

If he's uncomfortable by his appearance, he doesn't show it. The way he strides up to the bar, it's as if he owns the place. It's remarkable, the sheer confidence he embodies like a second skin. 

“Hey, John!” He hollers, knuckles knocking on the wood of the bar. 

John appears, a gruff, stocky guy with a buzz cut and a sour face. 

“What the fuck are you doing here.” 

“Oh come on, you know you missed me.” 

John's face screws into something akin to a smile. “What do you want, you little shit.” 

“I love it when you talk dirty,” Eddie grins and winks, “two beers please.” 

A grunt and a nod, and John puts the beers down on the bar. As Eddie reaches for his wallet John waves a hand in dismissal. 

“Put that away boy, your money ain't good here. Besides, your lady friend looks like she needs it.” 

You flush and tear your eyes away, embarrassed. Eddie walks back over and puts a beer in front of you. 

“Eddie, we're still working I-” 

“It's one beer. It's alright.” 

You shrug and take a sip, nodding at the bartender, “he knows I'm upset, do I look a mess?” 

Shaking his head so hard it releases some of his wayward waves from their confines, he tips his beer at you, before he takes a long chug. 

“No,” he says enthusiastically, “you look just as pretty as you always do.” 

Scoffing, you turn your eyes downward. Eddie ignores your response, instead pressing on what happened earlier. 

“Sorry again,” he says, sounding genuinely distressed, "I don't want to see anyone hurt from something I said, least of all you.” 

Meeting his gaze, you smile incredulously. “Oh? And why me?” 

“Come on, don't make me say it.” 

Staring at him, you fold your arms in an act of defiance. He rolls his eyes and looks at you. 

“I like you. You're uptight, and mean to me, and a little conceited, but I like you. I don't want you to hurt. Can we just be friends? I'm a pretty good listener, you know? I can help.” 

Heat floods your insides. Eyes scanning him for any sign of a joke, you come up empty. 

‘I'm not conceited,” you counter weakly, clinging on to the familiar push and pull. 

“And I'm the Easter bunny.” 

Giggling, you take another sip of beer. 

“Come on, friends? Talk to me.” 

Sighing deeply, you fix your gaze at the table, forefinger tracing patterns in the condensation from your drink. “Promise not to laugh?” 

“I promise.” 

You can't tell how genuine he's being, as you don't dare look at his face, nerves controlling your every limb. His voice seems honest enough. 

“I- I have a problem, something I can't physically do. You reminded me of it. It's not your fault.” Shrugging in an attempt to make this look less serious than it is for you, you take a pull out of your beer bottle once more.

“Wait, are you saying…” he chuckles a little in disbelief, “have you never… had an orgasm before?” 

“Eddie, be quiet!” You urgently whisper, looking around the bar. 

“No one's listening sweetheart, no spies in here,” he says in a low tone, hand reaching out to grasp yours. Your first instinct is to shake his hand away but he holds firm, rough fingertips rubbing against your knuckles. 

“Eddie, I'm broken,” you whimper, voice breaking, “I can't do it.” 

“Oh sweetheart,” he responds, chock full of emotion, “you're not broken. You are perfect.” 

Pulling your hand away, you keep your eyes away from his, unwilling to meet that burning gaze of his. Unwilling to lose yourself in those sultry dark eyes. 

“I can't do it. Anytime some guy tries, it hurts. I've given up to be honest. I just wasn't made for it.” 

He laughs again, dragging his hand over his face. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, the problem ain't you. Have you- have you tried, fixing it, on your own?” The last part is a whisper, you assume to protect your feelings. 

“Yeah, but I just feel stupid and awkward. I don't know.” 

There's a little silence between you as you both dwell in the suffocating fog of your confession, neither of you willing to clear it. 

“Listen, this may be way out of your comfort zone, but I'm saying it anyway. If you don't like it, we'll forget it, and I won't mention it again.” 

Finally looking at him, at the vulnerability on his face, you nod, not trusting your voice. 

“I can… maybe I can help you. Show you you're not broken? As a favour between friends.” 

You laugh mirthlessly and finish your beer. “That's a little more than a favour, Eddie.” 

“We can keep it professional.” 

You stare at him wide eyed. His messy hair and dark glittering eyes. At the way he slumps in his seat like a king or a delinquent, you can't decide which. At his taunt frame, the tattoos spackling every available inch of his skin. Your eyebrows raise of their own accord. 

“Professional? You?” 

“Yeah, me! I can do it, you know. I could make you come.” 

A shiver forces its merry way down your spine at his words. 

“You're really confident.” 

“You haven't seen what I can do.” 

Blushing hard, you attempt to control yourself. “Look, if we're going to do this, I need you to promise some things.” 

“Ah, of course, you would have rules,” he grins, as he leans back and spreads in his seat, “continue.” 

Searching your mind for a moment, you try to glean what you need. 

“First of all, we need to be discreet, and professional at all times, clear?” 

“As crystal,” he grins wolfishly, “anything else?” 

“Yeah- I think,” you wrack your brains, trying to come up with something that would make this less intimate. Anything. But the roguish nature of his presence makes it hard to even think of a thing. Finally, your eyes widen at the idea that suddenly crosses your mind. 

“Final rule. No kissing.” 

He pouts, looking at your chest and back up, “no kissing anywhere?” 

“N-no, no kissing on the mouth.” 

Grin returning, he winks at you, a gesture that flips your stomach inside out. 

“Kinky. Alright, deal,” he leans forward to give his hand to yours. A hand covered in ink and calluses. Roughness and tenderness. 

You shake it.

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

For the next couple of days, your little arrangement isn't brought up. A wild thought hammers itself into your mind; either he wasn't serious, or you imagined it. 

Those theories are put to bed on day three. 

After you let Mac know about the flyers and the bonus poster you designed, you sit back and enjoy the praise given to you. It's funny, the feeling of being told a job has been well done makes you happier than you care to admit.

Eddie turns up at the counter, whistling through his teeth. “Sweet looking flyers, how'd you swing those?” 

“I designed them. I've got a degree in design and marketing, if you didn't know,” you sniff, rearranging the stationary on the counter to avoid his eyes. 

“Maybe you could help me design some for my band. These look pretty metal.” He says, picking one up and looking at it closely. 

“Maybe.” 

Eddie leans in close, so close you feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek. 

“If you're still up for our arrangement, I'm free tonight.” 

Heat immediately flushes your face. Ignoring him entirely, you write your address and a time on a notepad, and thrust the paper into his hands. 

“Covert, I like it. See you then princess.” 

By the time 9pm rolls around you're a jittery mass of nerves, having changed clothes no less than four times, tidied your apartment, changed the bedsheets and paced so much you're surprised there's not a groove in the floorboards. 

In the end you'd decided on a baggy band t-shirt and your sleep shorts. It was a rational calculation to make Eddie think you're just wearing what you usually would at home and therefore show you're not nervous. I mean, you are wearing what you'd usually wear at home. He didn't need to know about how long it took you to reach that decision. 

The sound of the intercom buzzing sends your pulse into overdrive. Pressing the button, you let out a strangled “Hello?” 

“Hey princess.” 

“Come on up.” 

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…

A soft knock at the door and you count to five, trying to remember how to breathe. When you open the door, you're stunned. He's leaning on the doorframe in a fucking button up shirt. It's black, and clings to him deliciously. His hair looks a little damp, loose around his shoulders, and his aftershave is making you feel dizzy. 

“Oh, you didn't need- I mean-” you point at his shirt, and he looks down and chuckles. 

“Just came from band practice. Took a shower, and this was clean,” he shrugs and shoulders into your apartment. “Nice place. Where's all your stuff?” 

You look around at your sparse apartment. Everything in order, down to the fresh flowers on your tiny dining table. 

“This is all my stuff,” you say, confused, “I don't like clutter.” 

He chuckles, walking over to you. “No wonder I annoy you. I am clutter.” 

He's close now, close enough so that you have to look up to see his face. His rough fingers ghost your arm, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin. 

“Nice seeing you in something casual. L7, right?” He asks, pointing at the t-shirt. 

“Yeah, you know who they are?” 

“I'm surprised you do. Thought you'd be a Mariah Carey kinda girl.” 

You scrunch your face in distaste. “No, not at all. You don't know everything about me.” 

He leans in, warm breath a whisper in your ear. “I know some things about you.” 

Squirming hotly, you lead him to your room before you lose your nerve. 

“So, the princess's bedchamber. It's nice,” he remarks, flopping down on the bed as if it were his own. 

“Take your boots off,” you snip, folding your arms. 

“Ah, there she is.” He smiles, but does as instructed. Once more he's laying back into your scattered pillows looking perfectly at ease. You, on the other hand, stand there, spine a vertical rod as you stare back at him. 

 “Come on then, sit down.” 

Nervously you sit at the foot of the bed with your legs crossed. 

“Now princess, what do you do when you touch yourself?” 

Blushing furiously, you stammer out, “what, do you expect me to like, show you?” 

He chuckles, diffusing some of the tension. “As much as I'd like that, I don't think you're ready for that kinda shit. Just tell me, what's your thought process?” 

Staring at him for a little too long, you open your mouth and close it again. He rolls his eyes. 

“Look, if you want me to help I'll help, but you gotta give me something here.” He looks as if he's about to get up and leave; your arm shoots out on its own accord, grabbing his leg to stop him. 

“Sorry, sorry. I just, I've never spoken about this kinda stuff. I don't know about any process, I just… reach down and fiddle around?” You blush even more. 

“So you don't like, watch anything? Or read anything?” He looks a little amused.

“What on earth are you talking about?” 

“Porn, sweetheart.” 

It's so blunt that you jump a little. “Oh no, I've never, oh no no.” 

“Christ,” he whispers, “right, you can like, set the mood. Look at something to turn you on? It'd probably help you feel less awkward.” 

“Oh. Right.” 

“And do you ever just like, slouch? I feel like I'm back at school looking at ya.” 

“Huh?” 

“Just, come here.” He pats the little space between his spread legs and you hesitate for a second before you crawl over to him. 

“How do you want me to sit, like cross legged or-” 

He grabs your hips and spins you, forcing your back into his crotch.

“Stop trying to control every little thing,” he says in a hard tone, one you're too embarrassed to admit makes your insides tingle. Softer, he continues. “Look, if you're ever gonna get there you need to relax, stop trying to control it, and stop overthinking.” 

“Great, all of the things I'm shit at.” 

His laugh is loud, it vibrates into your spine. “I'll help you, OK? You trust me?” 

“In a very limited sense of the word, yeah.” 

“Lemme rephrase. You still OK to do this?” 

“Yeah.”

“Good. Just relax.” 

You're not sure what you are expecting, but it certainly isn't his hands winding into your hair, fingertips rubbing softly at your scalp. It shoots tingles down your spine, your entire head feeling fuzzy and warm. 

You stifle a whimper, biting your lip. His fingers stop. 

“If you want to make noises, you can. Tells me I'm doing a good job. That goes for everything else too, alright?” 

“Alright.” You whisper. 

“You comfortable?” 

“Yeah it's just- well-”

“Tell me.” 

“I think it's your shirt buttons, they're digging into my back a bit,” you admit, feeling the sharp points down your spine. 

“Easily fixed.” He taps your arm and you lean forward. Some rustling, and he throws his shirt to the foot of your bed. 

“Now just chill sweetheart.” 

His fingers begin rubbing at you again, thumbs sinking low to pop at the bubbles in your neck. 

“Fuck, that's really nice.” 

He hums appreciatively, working his hands lower and dropping them to your shoulders. The massaging continues, and you feel yourself melting, your body moulding into his. Your legs, once ramrod straight, have bent a little and parted of their own accord, the muscles loosening. Even your breathing has slowed. 

“That's better, atta girl,” he says and you whine at the words, a little pathetic mewling sound that tumbles past your lips.

“Oh, you like that, don't you?” The smile is evident in his voice, a smug tone smeared liberally across each word. 

“You, you're so-” you begin, but his hand drags across the front of your shirt, just over the tops of your breasts.

“I'm so what?” He whispers in your ear.

“So, so arrogant,” you huff. He laughs, a husky chuckle, and dances the tips of his fingers over your clothed nipple. Gasping, you grasp at his thighs either side of you.

“Yeah? What else am I?” He says, nibbling at your earlobe. 

“You- you're cocky, and- and self assured- Oh God!” 

Rudely interrupted by him tweaking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, you swear, back arching off of him for a moment. 

“You know,” he says in a gravelly tone directly in your ear, “those are pretty much the same thing.” 

“You drive me crazy,” you huff, squirming a little against him as his hands explore your chest over your shirt.

“Good crazy or bad crazy?” He smiles, then bites softly at your neck. 

“I- I haven't decided yet.” 

“Good. I can say the same about you,” he admits, his hands trailing lower, pulling your shirt up so he can stroke at your bare sides. The touch of fingertips on your skin sends a river of sensations through you that run deep into your core. 

“Are you going to- what are you doing, exactly?” You breathe, starting to move against him. 

“I'm warming you up sweetheart. Why, don't you like it?” 

Genuinely curious, you try to ask what you want to know without using the words. 

 “N- no, I do. Do you have to, erm, get warmed up? When you, you know.” 

He lets out a little huff of a laugh. “Guys are a little less… complicated, than girls. For the most part.” 

“Oh. OK, so you can just. I mean, you just, get excited?” Your breathing becomes more ragged when the tip of his thumb grazes the underside of your breast. 

“Sweetheart, I got hard seeing you in these little shorts.” Running a finger down your stomach, he lightly pings the elastic of your sleep shorts as if to accentuate his point. 

“Really?” 

There's no denying it when he moves his hips up and you feel his solid bulge press into the small of your back. 

“Really. Can I take this off?” He asks, twisting the hem of your shirt in one hand. 

“Yeah.” It's a whisper. You're a little scared of being bare chested, but not having to see his face helps. Plus, he's wound you up so much you're on the verge of begging for his touches, pleading for more. 

He guides your top up, up, up, revealing you slowly. Coaxing it over your head, you move your arms up so he can remove it. It ends up in a heap on top of his shirt. One tattooed arm wraps around your waist, pulling you toward him more, his hardness pushing against your ass. 

His breathing is unsteady as he grinds his hips, pushing onto you further. Gasping, your fingers are vices, firmly attached to his thighs in a vain attempt to anchor you. 

Suddenly his hand is winding into your hair, tugging your head aside so he can run a fat tongue across your neck. You shudder at the sensation, feeling the hard ball of his tongue piercing against your throat When he takes his pillowy lips and sucks at the spot between your neck and shoulder a moan slips out. Grunting in approval, his hands are on your bare tits, fingers pinching at your hardened nipples. 

“Holy hell!” 

He laughs, running rough fingers down your body, circling your new ink, then dipping down past your waistband. Those tattooed fingers barely brush your pubic hair, teasing you, then glide back up to your stomach. 

“Eddie, please.” 

Your voice is small, not your own. Eddie groans low in your ear, rubbing his length into the fat of your ass.

“Fuck, princess, I like you saying my name like that. You want me to touch you right here?” he says, pressing down hard over your clothed clit. 

The sheer relief of having his touch where you need it gets you close to tears; a gulping shudder of a sob rips from deep in your chest. 

“See, you're not broken, sweetheart. Can I take these off?” 

Shaking, you hook your fingers into your sleep shorts and pull them down your legs, air hitting your most intimate area. Eddie huffs in your ear, his inked hands rubbing up the insides of your thighs. 

“You're so fuckin’ sexy.”

Before you can retort, his fingers dip down to your entrance, gathering your slick. You can hear how wet you are, but it's not in you to think about it. You can't think, only feel. 

When his fingers run up and start rubbing circles into your clit, your response is visceral. Bucking up, you chase the feeling, searching for even more. 

“I'm gonna slip a finger in, alright princess?” 

You nod, waiting for the pain, wincing before it even starts.

“It's OK, you're fine, you gotta relax baby.” He strokes your stomach with his free hand, pressing kisses to your temple. 

The tip of his finger breaches you, and the pain doesn't come. Your soaking wet cunt invites him in, warm and pulsing with arousal. He slips it into the hilt, his palm pressing into your clit, and your moan is long and loud. It's never felt like this. Never has it stoked a fire in your gut, bubbled your insides like pop rocks and Coke, turned you into a writhing mess. 

He fucks his finger into you, slipping a second in to join the first, and you move your hips, chasing the building tightness in your belly. Each thrust of his hand has you bucking, and in turn rubbing against his member trapped within its denim prison. 

“That's it, good fuckin’ girl.” His voice is strained, as if he's trying hard not to lose control. 

“Eddie, oh fuck, f-feels so- good, yes, please, please-” 

You're not sure what you're begging for, and Eddie doesn't seem to be in any state to ask, but it doesn't matter. His fingers fuck into you in earnest, stroking hard against some spot inside that has you babbling and quivering around him. 

“God, you're so tight, this little cunts gonna drive me crazy. So wet and perfect, Jesus Christ.”

The feeling seems too much and not enough, and it grows higher and higher, flooding your body with a pleasure so intense you're sure you black out. The only thing you're aware of is your voice screaming out his name as your body thrusts wildly into his grip. Finally, it dissipates, your body melting against his form, sweating and spent. 

You take a breath, and another, trying to gather your wits enough to speak. Eddie speaks first.

“So sweetheart, everything you dreamed it would be?” He asks as he strokes your hair. 

“Better. Fuck, Eddie. Thank you.” 

“Anytime. Seriously. Any. Time. Day, night, weekends, holidays-” 

You giggle, slapping his thigh, and sit up, grabbing your discarded shirt to cover up. 

“Sorry, that was probably a little er, frustrating for you.” You say as you glance at his bare torso, drinking in the sight with your eyes for the first time. He's lean, but ripped, a faint sheen of sweating making his tattoos glisten in the low light. 

“What do you mean sweetheart?” 

“Well, doing that, not getting anything in return...” 

He chuckles lightly, “Oh I wouldn't say that,” he glances down, gesturing to his jeans, “full disclosure, I came in my pants.” 

“Really?” your eyes widen, staring at him with disbelief. 

“I ain't lying. Wanna check?” He waggles his eyebrows at you, making you laugh again. 

“You seem better already. Right, I better go.” 

Shoulders deflating, you pout, “I suppose you better.” 

“Hey don't look at me like that. I hoped that helped. Sleep tight, drink some water. I'll see you tomorrow princess.” 

And just like that, he leaves. Of course he leaves, it was just a deal you struck, nothing more. A favour. you wipe stray tears from your eyes and try not to focus on the sound of the front door shutting. 

As you collapse on the bed, exhausted, you think about his hands, his words. There's something screaming inside, telling you you're playing with fire, but as you drift off you can't find it in you to mind.

Taglist

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @usedtobecooler @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n @choke-me-eddie @littlebebebunny @big-ope-vibes

[satrs]

ATTENTION.

✎ A/N; They got me y'all. The voices told me to do this I'm telling youuu!!!! Did I do the ripping part in both Sylus' and Rafayel's intentionally? Yes, yes I did. SUE ME!!!

SYNOPSIS; surprising them in lingerie!

FEATURING; Sylus, Zayne, Rafayel, Xavier x fem!reader (l&ds)

TAGS; NSFW CONTENT! MDNI! s€xual intercourse. Teasing. Unprotected intercourse. Dirty talk. mating press(Sylus). blindfolding. pü$$yjob. (xavier). slightt dumbification(rafayel). cunnilingus. overstim. (Zayne)

WK;4.2k.

♡ SYLUS

"Take a picture, it'll last longer", you tease the white haired man who cranes his neck in your direction, bloody eyes examining your attire.

"I might."

A giggle escapes you in response to Sylus. He can't help but let a sly smirk creep up his lips, scanning your black stilettos up to your red lingerie, the polished red gemstones decorating your cleavage, and adding the cherry on top.

You cage wine-red lips between your teeth as you lift your hand to rest on his naked chest, droplets of water indicating his previous shower, your band of rubies slightly slipping down your tender wrist in the process.

Raising his eyebrows at your action, he watches you raise on the tips of your toes, your hot breath fanning across his neck as you whisper into his ear. "I think I'll go change."

Change? Change now, after you dolled yourself up just for him (quickly, for that matter) whilst he took a shower? Definitely not happening.

He manages to take hold of your arm with a questionable look on his face. "Oh, please", he begins, intrigue causing his silver brows to twitch, "The party's already done? What a shame."

The innocent expression on your face only sparked excitement in him- and his pants, a sly smirk exposing his motive as he takes careful steps to your shared bed until he sits on the edge, dark orbs still asserting dominance even though he’s looking up at your captivating form.

You giggle in response, and he doesn't miss your delicate hands gliding down his exposed chest, finding comfort in the towel wrapped around his waist.

"Do tell," he continues, his intense glare roaming over every part of your body, followed by his hands finding comfort on your rear. "What are the stilettos for?"

Pointing his chin towards your hidden surprise, you’re quick to follow up with a swift movement of your leg, pushing him down his back carefully with your heel before seating your covered pusssy on his growing bulge. as you bite back, "to keep you in check."

A glint of amusement dances across the man's features as he scoffs at your pathetic attempt of dominance, giving a firm squeeze to your behind, earning a yelp from your lips. "We’ll see about that."

Before you can even think of a cheeky retort, he smashes his lips against yours in haste, sighing into your mouth as if it's been a lifetime since he last had a taste of you.

His digits creep around your spine to take hold of the back of your neck, swiftly but carefully pushing you on the king sized bed, your back hitting the cold touch of the silken sheets.

He smashes his lips against yours, swallowing your sounds eagerly, hastily fumbling with your lingerie before a loud rip! Sound echoes through the room.

You let out a gasp in realization, ready to scold the man for his animalistic behavior, tragically failing to do so once he teases your exposed space.

“I’ll buy you a new one. Two, even.” He grunts between kisses, digits fumbling to get rid of his towel, grinding your cunt down on his exposed length as if his life depended on it. “Hell, I’ll buy the whole store.”

Within a blink of an eye, you already feel his bulky, fat tip nudging at your puckering hole, pushing past the tight ring of muscle with a low, resonant growl as he swiftly swings your legs over his shoulders.

Whining at his ridiculously bulky head engulfed in your snug hole, you try to close your legs in a desperate attempt to escape the astonishing stretch of his thick length. "Sy, I wanted to- ngh!, W-wanted to be on top."

"Don't be ridiculous, honey", he interrupts before smashing his hips harshly against yours, fully burying his pulsating cock inside your pussy, "You don't mean that", His slender fingers spread your glistering folds apart, in awe at the sight of you swallowing his cock with each push of his hips.

Ecstatic is how to describe your current state, low hanging eyes clouded in the thick mist of pleasure as you watch him ram into you helplessly, your legs danging off his shoulders as he pushes you further and further into a mean mating press.

You can see his tip nudging your lower belly, prominent dent apearing and dissapearing again, causing you to claw at his beefy arm, trying to slow his movement down, only to be smacked away with a scoff.

"Awww, baby. Don't give up just yet. You still got to 'keep me in check', no?" You whine as your orgasm hits you in surprise, letting out a loud cry of his name as your pussy spasms all over his pelvis.

Once you saw that fat grin on his face that you would've loved to slap off his face, you know your fucked. Maybe you even knew that from the start. But,

"There's no backing out now, kitten."

♡ XAVIER

"Can I look?"

"Wait!"

He sighs, impatiently tapping his foot on the floor, trying to adjust to the darkness covering his eyes. How long is this childish game going to take? Why won't you just let him see you?

"C'mon, wanna see you." You chuckle at his whiny plea as you step closer to him, seated on the couch, reaching out to grasp his hand in yours.

"Just be patient. You will." his composer tenses once he feels his fingers grazing the lace material adoring your soft skin and fuck, his dick twitches in his pants in pain as he imagines how you look right now in all of your glory, body decorated in seducing lace. "It's white, you know. Just how you like it."

Strength, that's what he needs—because he doesn't know how much longer he can play this game of yours before he might die.

"You won't die, silly." A hue of red adores his face in embarrassment, groaning at your light chuckle once he realizes he just said that out loud.

In light of the moment, he takes the chance and grasps at the flesh of your ass, causing you to gasp. "Please", he begs, his hand pushing you further towards him until he faces your tummy, "I w-want to- need to see you."

A shudder runs down your spine as he places wet kisses all over your exposed skin, an unoccupied hand cupping a feel of your clothed breast, earning a lustful pur from you in return.

You don't miss the sly smirk spread across his face once you push him deeper into the couch, his back hitting the rest in acceptance of defeat.

"I told you to be-"

"Patient, yes. You know I can't stand waiting when it comes to you, love." You sigh, trying your best to retain your sounds by caging your lips between your teeth, and you're thankful that he can't see your contorting expressions from his shameless hands roaming over every inch of your body. Yet.

"It's rude to interrupt someone while they're talking, you know." Your words come out hollow, not even fully reaching his ear, because all he could focus on were your hands freeing his aching cock from its restraint, his tip slightly nudging at your now exposed pussy, laced panties pushed to the side.

At that moment, his head falls back, a frustrated groan roaring from his lungs, a hard grip on your hips as he rocks your body on top of his, your wet folds adoring his shaft in the glistering essence of your sweet nectar, the warmth of your heat causing him to whine, longing to see and feel the full extent of your addicting pussy.

"Y-you're making it hard for me, you know." He notices the slight waver in your voice, and he also notices your hand gliding along the back of his neck, up, up, up until your finger hooks under the blindfold, giving into his endless pleas.

All he can manage to choke out is a gluttonous "F-fuckkk", as he, finally, sees what you've been holding back from him. And sight behold, it's even better than he could've ever imagined.

You can feel his dick twitching between the mold of your folds once you release the blindfold from his face, letting it dangle down at his neck, slightly pulling him closer by it until your lips were inches apart.

As you admire his pussy-drunk gaze, you notice his glossy eyes, kissing away the dried trail of tears running down his cheeks.

His eyes stay glued between your legs as you halt for a moment to align his angered tip at your excited hole, before you snap him out of his trance by firmly gripping at the blindfold.

"Like what you see?", you tease, words falling onto deaf ears as you sink down onto his length, his hands quick to lift you from his cock before harshly slamming you down again, catching you off guard.

"Fuck yeah."

♡ RAFAYEL

"Oh?"

His voice rings in the thick, clouded air, the filled with lust. With the quick movement of his eyes, scanning every inch of your body and the tight lace hugging your figure so deliciously, he can't help but wet his lips.

"Oh." The man's tone is low, seductive even, his hungry eyes devouring your very being. That's a surprise, alright.

This feels like a dream; with each step you take towards him in the massive pool, his head spins and dizziness overcomes his senses.

The water soon reaches your upper body as you begin to swim towards the man, all under a watchful eye.

In an act of malice, you decide to dive underneath the water, out of sight of his predatory gaze. Or, so you thought.

Gaze, not wavering from your silouette, swimming closer and closer to his spot, amused grimace coming to light as you emerge from the dark water, just to poke your head to the surface.

"Careful now." He warns at your greedy touch against his body, fingers hooking under the waistband of his shorts to mess with him, " What? I'm just testing the waters."

He chuckles at that, arms lifting you as you instinctively wrap your legs around his slutty waist. "The waters you're testing are deep, you know."

You smirk at his words, your arms caging him in place as they lock around his neck, eyes gazing into his, radiating pure lust and desire. "Deeper than you fucking me?"

You've done it now.

A flip switches inside him instantly, breath turning ragged while his hands are busy freeing his aching cock, impatiently, ripping your adored bikini, exposing your cunt to the cold pool water.

You protest, whining as he holds the pair of panties up in victory, examining them while balancing you on one strong arm. "Couldn't see shit from afar", he begins, his tongue poking out to lick across his lips.

"Looks wonderful on you, baby. Heavenly, even. But right now, I'd rather see you," releasing the fabric that covered your tits in rapid motion, he throws them behind him without care before resuming, "-naked."

"Sorry, you were saying?", His brought-up innocence, causes your brows to knit in frustration, soon disappearing once he bullies his entire cock deep into you. "Oh yeah, I remember. Something about me fucking you, right?"

The wail that you let out only earns you a twitch of his pulsating cock inside your comforting heat, repeated thrusts of his causing the water to shudder from his crude movements.

Nodding hastily, your nails clamp down on his shoulders - trying to adjust to his rapid movement with your body bouncing up and down up and-

"Hellooo, anyone up there?"

If you could, you would wipe that snarky smirk right off his face, but you couldn't. You couldn't even protest as his hands followed up to your head right after, a light knock against your forehead with his index finger.

"Hm? My girl's turning all dumb when she wanna come, yeah?" Strong arms trap you in a strong hold, his hips rutting into you at a ridiculously fast pace, his hands spreading your ass cheeks apart, nudging your gushy spot repeatedly as you threaten to come undone in his hold.

"Tell me, baby. Tell me you wanna cum, wanna hear my girl say it." he mumbles against your kiss-bitten lips, a slight stutter escaping him at the delicious squeeze of your cock-drunk pussy. "M-hm, 'm so close, soso- oh nghhh!"

Displeased with your answer, he clicks his tongue, his slender fingers threading their way between your legs to squeeze your clit meanly between his fingers. "O-ohhww! Hnghh!"

"Nuh uhhh. Say it and you'll get to cum, silly girl." You spill whine after whine from your lips, legs shaking in sync with the water.  "W-wanna cum, need ta' nghhh pleaseee- Oh!"

Incoherent nonsense rushes past your lips, and before you even realize it, you're coming undone in his arms.

Silent cries of his name fly over his head, his whole attention focused on you. From your widened eyes to your mouth hanging open, all the way to the squeeze of your plush walls, begging him to fill you to the brim.

And he does.

At his wits end, his hips stutter into yours with one last pathetic thrust. Fat chunks of white spurted into you, followed by a broken wail from him. "Y-yeahh that's my girl. Take it all. That'sss it."

You crash your lips on his, moans drowning in the hot mess. With your head laid against his heaving chest, eyes scrunched together as you came down from your high.

"C'mon, baby", he snaps you out of your daze, hazy eyes gawking at you. And, oh - you know this look all too well.

Biting your lips in excitement, he hoists you up until his dick slips out of you in quick motion, a slight hiss from him indicating his impatience.

The cold breeze engulfs your bodies as you leave the pool, your arms clinging to his neck in seek of warmth. With his quick feet, he hurries to reach the inside.

"You know we ain't done yet."

♡ ZAYNE

"You should've told me," His breath hitches against your neck, pampering your neck with kisses, hands groping your flesh. "I would've, w-would've got off earlier."

"Where'd be the fun in that?" you tease, trying to hide your smirk, your fingers delicately brushing through his dark strands, and fuck, you could cum by just looking at his lustful expression.

His hair messy and face lost in complete bliss, with his eyes screaming that he's hungry for more. And who could blame him?

Exactly, no one.

"Fuckin' hell", he mutters under his breath as you climb on top of him, laced panties hovering just above his face.

Hell, he'll for sure just might end up there if he doesn't get a taste of you in the next three seconds.

"What are you waiting for, darling?", His fingers dig deep into the flesh of your hips, forcing your hips further down, and he can't believe his eyes. Your juices bleed through the dark lace. You little minx.

Three.

He stops in his tracks at the faint whiff of your juices hitting his nostrils, squeezing your hips so tight that your flesh spills from the gaps of his fingers.

Two.

"Well?", you snap him out of his trance, catching his gaze. Your fingers brush through his strands before firmly gripping them, his lips mere inches away from your leaking hole, "What are you waiting for?"

Fuck that last second.

Shameless and dirty. Two words you'd never expected tohear with your Zayne in a sentence.

It's downright nasty, how his tongue is lapping and sucking your lips through the fabric, teeth teasingly grazing against your clit earning a gasp from you.

"Pull it off, can't wait. I gotta taste you." Zayne is fast, fingers hooking under the fabric to reveal your glistering cunt with a hungry growl, "All of you."

"S-so impatient." Shaky voice betraying yourself as your fingers tangle in his dark roots, offering him the dark blue lace that does a poor job of covering your crotch, thighs twitching in his hold.

"Please, darling", wavering voice whispers against your hidden folds, your sweet nectar reaching his nose once he hooks his finger under the flimsy fabric, pushing it to the side to gawk at your exposed cunt, glistering.

He breathes in, heart rapidly beating in his chest in anticipation, before he stops himself with one deep, threatening growl. "Fuckin' sit."

With that, he firmly grips your hips, smashing you down on his awaiting mouth. The gasp that leaves you only eggs him on, making out with your lips as if it were his last meal.

And it might be, if he continues to push you down further and further, his tongue already pushing past your tight walls, eager to taste more of you.

Humming into your heat as he gazes up at your contorted expressions, the plush of your thighs nearly suffocating him. Not that he’d mind, of course.

„Mhm, take it.“ His words are muffled against your puffy folds, barely reaching your ears. If you even heard him over the squelching sound of the wet mess beneath you, that is.

Big, beefy hands take a firm hold on your ass, squeezing the flesh tightly in his embrace. Groaning into your heat, he musters up his strength to rock your cunt over his face, ears perking up at your increase in volume.

You feel hot blood rushing through your veins as each breath of air gets heavier and hotter by any minute, his tongue lavishly exploring your tight tunnel.

His keen movement yearns for your release, growing more desperate in his movements. He just can't help himself, really. "Quit, squirmin', " He just barely lifts your hips, his words scrambling against your heat before he resumes to his meal, slightly biting down onto your poor clit in warning.

Your surprised squeal only eggs him on further. Mouth working faster, nastier, downright making out with your cunt shamelessly, even going as far as spelling his name over and over again.

Z-A-Y-N-E-Z-A-Y-N-E-Z-

„I‘m s-so- close! Fuck!“ As those words leave your mouth, a sudden euphoric wave overtakes you, and you gush all over the man's face, his face shining in your juices as he eagerly slurps up every bit you offer him.

Humming in content, his hand rips against the flesh of your ass, faint paint of red adoring your behind, before his strong arms swiftly throw you onto your back, leaving you in pure bliss from your orgasm.

But before you can notice the switch in position, his mouth is back on your cunt, hands now roaming over your body, making sure to trace the adorable cerulean lace, even going as far as sneaking through your bra to get a feel of your soft chest.

This is so strange, so unlike him- Zayne, the usually chill and composed man, full of self-control and diligence, now rutting his hips against the bed in impatient thrusts, all kinds of mumbles and groans lost between your spread thighs.

"'S too much, just hold on, Zayne!"

The overstimulation catching up to you, a string of electricity running down your spine as you try to escape his firm grip by wiggling, thighs squeezing tightly around his head - anything. But just from his warning glare, you knew it was impossible.

Sure, your legs are just about to give out on you, your poor, abused pussy pulsated non-stop, and you could already see the shining stars threatening to litter your vision.

It's too much, but it also feels all too good, maybe a little too well. With trembling fingers, you reach for his hair, contemplating whether to push him away or pull him impossibly closer. Now it was up to him to choose.

Zayne's resonated voice is already answer enough, face lifting from the cavity of your fluttering heat. His mouth completely covered in your slick, his grin completely catching you off guard.

He's placing a last, sloppy kiss right at the crown of your clit for good measure. Heavy breath brushing against your abandoned clit, causing a shiver to creep up your spine, before he's leaving a trace of wet kisses up your belly, eyes not leaving yours even once.

"You know I can't do that, darling. I'm not even halfway done with you yet."

©︎𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙍𝙎 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫��𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[https-lvesick]

LEE KNOW AS YOUR ROCKSTAR BOYFRIEND

❪ ᶻ  𝘇  𐰁 ❫ 𝓒 ontent ⋮ protective boyfriend!minho, fem!reader, smut, fingering, creampie, public sex, oral sex, overstimulation

𝒩 otes ⋮ this headcanon was born because @vanesycho is a freaky slut and i love her sm for that! luv u bae 🤍

rockstar boyfriend!minho who looks cold and serious most of the time, but never for you. of course, it's his nature, he's like that always, but with you he gets more comfortable and tries to show his joyful and goofy side.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who, despite being super famous, is private and hates when people, even his fans, force their way into his private life. if he's not on the stage, he's a normal person who doesn't like being interrupted, especially with you.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who hides you no matter what. is not like he's ashamed of dating you, definitely not! this man worships you as if you're a goddess and wouldn't mind telling the world he's yours, but you're not a public figure and you didn't sign for this when you started dating him. he knows how much people can be nosy, so he protects you with his life.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who, despite hiding your identity, has no shame in showing he's all yours. he is often seen wearing a silver band on his right ring finger and never takes it off. the inside of the ring has your name engraved, and it'll only be taken off when replaced by your wedding band.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who carries your name on him not only on the ring but literally in his heart. he has your name tattooed in a fine line right on his chest.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who sends you messages throughout the day when he's on tour, just to keep you informed about him and what he's been doing.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who always writes the most meaningful songs when they're about you.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who is the sexiest playing the bass and you can't help but think about the times those fingers were on you.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who doesn't even let you breathe as soon as he comes home and takes you in his arms, kissing you like there's no tomorrow.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who can't put in words how much he missed you, instead, he fucks you like an animal, showing how much your missing presence affected him.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who takes you to his concerts when they're settled in your town as his lucky charm. and he's excited to sing his new song about you to the very woman who inspired the song.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who fucks you before his concert, filling you up with his cum, telling you the most perverted things he'd wanna do to you.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who teases you during the performances because he knows the moment he's done, you'll jump on him desperately, not even letting him take you to a more private place, only telling the staff to get out.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who fucks you to his own songs about you because you want it. telling him he has te most sensual songs and voice to get you worked up easily.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who loves bury his face between your legs after a rough and stressing day at the company. making you cum in his tongue countless times, overstimulating you before fucking you for real.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who takes his duty as a boyfriend real serious and takes you to the most captivating places as a date, making you feel special every minute.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who lets you know you are the only person that really worth it in his life and shows it with words and actions.

masterlist | all rights reserved to @https-lvesick don't copy or translate my works!

[saturngas]

hickeys on display

[🪐] satoru wears proudly the hickeys you left on him last night

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: established relationship; only one suggestive paragraph; crack fic? again me trying to be funny; nanami mentioned!; slight possessive traits;

word count: 1k

..

nanami sometimes pitied you. you were a good human being, a nice woman, a devoted and strong sorcerer. but why did the world reward you with this menace that calls itself satoru?

the moment his eyes landed on the tall sorcerer walking in the bakery shop, nanami swore he wanted to throw himself off the window.

satoru had convinced him to go out to his favorite bakery shop to spend time while his beautiful wife returned from the mission. the blonde man actually didn't have any other plans for the day, so he could bare a couple of hours with the strongest.

but not like this.

Japanese culture revolved in humbleness and respect towards others. satoru was anything but that. he had gained multiple stares since he landed on the bakery, all eyes focused on the angry marks on his attractive neck and collarbones.

"what happened to you? were you attacked on your way here?" nanami asked sarcastically as satoru sat down in front of him.

"what do you mean, nanamin?" he faigned ignorance as he adjusted himself on his sit, his large hands fidgeting with the menu. nanami sent him a dead stare, not believing his cluelessness. "oh this?" he pointed to his exposed skin. "oh it's just that I miss my wife so much. I also want anyone to know im so taken."

Nanami couldn't believe his ears. he wanted to choke the hell out of the sorcerer for being so shameless.

"your ring is sufficient."

satoru eyed the silver band adorning his ring finger, the lovely reminder of your wedding playing on his head. "well, yeah I guess... but people dont usually look at other's people hands first."

the curious and judgmental stares from the strangers in the store were making nanami a bit uncomfortable. maybe he should just have his baguette as a take out.

"nanamin, have you ordered yet? I think ill have the strawberry cheesecake and a vanilla milkshak— what are you doing?"

in front of him was nanami holding up his phone, hands ready to take a picture of satoru as an evidence to you and a reminder to him to never go out with him again.

"im sending your wife a picture of you. I hope she doesn't approve this and takes you home away from people." as soon as satoru heard the mention of his wife, he stood taller in his sit, puffing out his hard chest, his exposed bruised neck more on display as a boyish grin struck his face.

"haha, okie~" a fit of giggles left his lips that made nanami exhale the hardest he had that evening. "please tell her I miss her and that I love her with all my heart."

come get your husband. he has no shame.

your phone buzzed in your pocket as a final puff left the remaining of the curses you just have exorcized. you checked the message sent by a good friend of yours, nanami. you couldn't help but laugh.

since you were called for a quick mission not too far from tokyo, poor satoru was left alone without his pretty wife. he insisted on going with you, however you reminded him of the house chores he had been avoiding the past weeks.

your husband had a habit of sending you recurrent messages whenever you were away. it could be him on a mission overseas sending you pictures of himself in every angle just to crack a smile on your face. or it could be him spamming you on texting him back if you left him on read by accident.

right now, it had been around thirty minutes since satoru had informed you he had finished his duties, sending you visual proof—he would often get away with it—and a dozens of messages declaring he missed you and was miserable without you, so he let you know he would be visiting nanami, probably because there wasn't anyone within his range he could bother.

what you didn't expect was the photo attached to nanami´s previous message.

satoru was sitting in a booth—probably in some bakery shop—with one of the biggest grins you had seen on his angelic face. his baby blue eyes were covered by his rectangular glasses and his white hair was a bit messy.

but what immediately caught your attention wasn't his toothy grin or his perfect jawline—it was the shameless exposure of his bare neck, where purple and red marks decorated the pale skin of his collarbones, neck, and trapezius.

the night before was a night. satoru made you feel so full that your eyes were at one point covered in tears of pleasure, your jaw as tight as ever as you took all of him so well. the carnal heat inside you was boiling and daring to explote, so you released it with snug bites on satoru's skin, anywhere within your range, making him groan and hiss in painful arousal. there were moments where you would almost chew on the rosy skin to suppress the loud moans. satoru took good care of you. but now?

your husband deliberately decided to wear that low collar sweatshirt you loved so much. but not right now! how was he so uncaring about showing the entire world your marital business?

a sighed left your lips as you replied to nanami with an "im coming," before departing your way to the place, already having the directions since satoru left his location on with you all the time.

"please dont ever do this, toru."

"then dont give me these hickeys! and dont leave me alone too much! I need to remind myself you still exist, baby."

"I was done with my mission in like two hours!"

"oh wow, you are getting stronger pookie bear."

taglist: @snwvie @fanficsforkicks

hello guysss, im working on other works because I have like so many ideas but it's kinda hard to write them all the way I want to. im also working on pt 2 of some works some of y'all have suggested. bare with me alr :]

[wingsofmud]

The Thrice-Born Twins

I'm starting my WoF rewrite project with the Darkstalker Legend. The book is honestly fine, but I want to see if I can turn it into more of a tragedy where Darkstalker is known to be an animus from the start, Fathom flees the Seawing Queendom after the massacre, Arctic isn't a complete abusive asshole, and Clearsight and Darkstalker were never meant to cross paths.

Here are my Darkstalker and Whiteout designs/redesigns

Design info + minor ancient nightwing fashion hcs + designs without accessories below:

Darkstalker:

I find it incredibly boring that Darkstalker looks exactly like a Nightwing and that Prince Arctic likes Whiteout more because she looks more like him.

The only Nightwing aspect of Darkstalker is his dark scales. Everything else from his body structure, to his wings, to his face says Icewing nobility. In fact, he bears a striking resemblance to his grandmother, Queen Diamond, even inheriting her signature twisted horns. He has a teardrop scale behind each eye and a round scale on his forehead that denote his mind reading and prophetic abilities.

As is expected of any noble Nightwing, Darkstalker is very intelligent and very charismatic. He was always going to be a key pawn in the Nightwing court by virtue of his birth, but when he was born on the brightest night, plans started to shift. Then, to Arctic's dismay, he presented as an animus when he was a dragonet.

Darkstalker is betrothed to Queen Vigilance's daughter and spends his time learning to become the perfect prince. He and all those around him see nothing but glory in his future, at least until he bumps into a strange Nightwing one night.

Darkstalker is always in fashion. Like many noble Nightwings, he wears a cool colored cloth around his body (the more translucent the better). He wears a matching set of bracelets and a tail band as well as silver bands on his horns and spines. The earring he has on is part of a pair gifted to him from his betrothed. He unfortunately doesn't have a nose horn or he would wear a ring on it, he wears one on his wing thumb instead.

.

Whiteout:

Though her egg turned silver, Whiteout hatched the morning after the brightest night, which is unheard of. Unlike her brother, if you painted her fully black she'd heavily resemble a Nightwing, sans some spikiness. She has Foeslayer's eyes and horns. She's shorter than her brother, but a lot more stocky. Whiteout is regarded as strange, quiet, and a pain in the tail to make wear anything.

Whiteout doesn't speak much and the words that she says are either very blunt or don't make much sense...at first. She's sensitive to a lot of stimuli and rarely changes her expression. She was very difficult to teach, regardless of how many private tutors she had, and continues to be unable to assimilate into Nightwing nobility. As a result, she's generally dismissed and escapes Queen Vigilance's eye. She very talented in painting.

Whiteout wears a triple piercing earring with a blue, star-shaped gem on the end as well as a onyx bracelet matched with a nose-horn ring studded with lapis lazuli. She does not wear any clothing outside of formal events. All of her usual accessories have been enchanted by Darkstalker to not bother her.

.

Designs w/o accessories:

[juneberrie]

HANDS

SUMMARY - literally just a brain dump of hcs about their hands <3

CHARACTERS - percy jackson , jason grace , leo valdez , frank zhang

— & .

PERCY JACKSON

percy wears rings ; specifically silver rings. i feel like he also wears bracelets, specifically silver chain bracelets or anything matching with you. also always has a hair tie or scrunchie on his wrist for u. his hands aren't super veiny - they're kinda smooth ?? idk how to describe them but theyre just veiny enough that 😵‍💫. his nails r pretty short i feel - his mom made sure he regularly cut them and never bit them. he does wear nail polish sometimes but half the time it gets chipped.

JASON GRACE

zoo wee mama this bitch has veiny hands <3 they go well w his BEEFY ASS forearms n biceps !! jason is so yummy ugh but anyways. he rarely ever wears jewlery i feel. only ever one ring on his middle finger and its just a plain band, silver with no engravings. his nails r kinda long-ish, bc he grew up with wolves and like he used to scratch people as a child i just know it. he can't stand if his nails are super long but he doesn't keep them as short as frank. his nails are actually really well kept ??? he only ever wears clear nail polish on them. also i feel like he uses hand lotion n shit ?? fancy ass

LEO VALDEZ

aughhhhhh he also doesn't have super veiny hands ?? theyre like just veiny enough tee hee. his hands + fingers r very calloused from all the work he does ( yk he's good w his hands 🤭 ) so they're kinda rough. his nails are short bitch. like short short. he grew up biting them so like. theyre short. i feel like he would only ever wear rings on super special occasions because he doesn't want them to get messed up while he's working. he definitely has a couple of scars on his hands from accidents he's had while working or just when he's being clumsy asf. he paints his nails a lot but it always chips after like twenty minutes.

FRANK ZHANG

this. mf. has big hands. theyre real veiny and they're BIG. they're really soft n always warm <3 he won't wear any other ring except for one his mother left him, its gold and it has his last name engraved on it. his nails r pretty short, thats just how he likes to keep them. i personally can't see frank ever painting his nails but maybe he'll let you do it just once, because it makes you happy. he'll take it off like an hour after but only because he doesn't like the way it feels on his nails.

[morganski-19]

Steve was doing laundry and making small piles of his and Eddie's clothes. Colored polos and sweaters next to a pile of black band tees and ripped jeans. His and Eddie's styles were so different, each pairing them with their respective social groups, whether they be true or not.

But it's enough to make people surprised when they go out together, surprises people that they could really be friends. Most of the time Steve just brushes it off, but some of the time it gets him thinking.

He doesn't really fit with Eddie, not all the time. Especially in the way he dresses. Eddie is all black with silver chains, the only color coming from his vest or the words on a band T-shirt. Steve, well he's preppy. Wears a lot of colors and comfy clothes. It's different from Eddie, he's different from Eddie.

He's heard what some people say behind their backs. They can't believe that Steve's hanging with the freak or that they can't believe that Eddie's hanging out with some prep. Those he can ignore. But when Eddie introduced him to his band and they made some snide remark about the way he dresses, it hurt a bit deeper. Or when one of the kids offhandedly says Steve and Eddie are so different, it's a surprise that they're so close. He knew they meant it more toward him.

So, Steve picks out a pair of clothes from Eddie's pile. Just to try on, just to see. Is this what people expect when they see someone walking next to Eddie? Is this who he should be?

When he looks in the mirror, he sees himself being someone he's not. Even though this is what he expected, it still hurt. The person looking back at him is what should be with Eddie, not him.

"What are you wearing?" Eddie asks behind him, Steve not even hearing him come home.

"I just wanted to see what it would look like if I wore your clothes, funny right?" He tries to hide how he's feeling with a joke, but it doesn't come out right.

Eddie tilts his head to the side. "You look too much like me. Take it off," he says, a bit offended.

"Is that such a bad thing?"

"What?"

"Is it such a bad thing that I look like you? Don't you wish that I dressed this way?"

Eddie's face falls. "No. Why would I want you to dress like me?"

Steve shrugs, feeling small. "Because everyone always thinks it's weird when they find out we're together. We don't look like we fit. So I thought that if I dressed more like you, it would fit more."

"You're wrong. We do fit, no matter what people say," Eddie walks towards him, taking Steve's face in his hands. "There's more to us than the way we dress."

"Yeah, I know that. Just thought you'd want me to look more like you."

He shakes his head. "I don't. You know why?"

"No."

"It's cause you've lost all you're color, sweetheart. I love your color.""

Steve's heart melts. "Really?"

"Yeah, baby." Eddie leans forward and kisses Steve softly. "Now go change, I want to see your color again."

[demonvampire180writes]

Okay. Idea.

Tommy takes a road trip to take his mind off things, but as he's driving, after making a stop for coffee, he is in a head-on collison with a semi driver. He manages to stay conscious long enough to get the driver out of the cab and to call 911 for help.

He passes out. When he next wakes up, he's in an unfamiliar bedroom he can't remember getting to. The door swings open, and a carbon copy image of Evan - Buck - comes tumbling through the door, giggling like mad. She's got his unruly curls and crystal clear blue eyes. She leaps onto Tommy, yelling, "Daddy!" A second later, Evan - Buck - comes in and lightly chastises her, calling her Pipa. He's carrying a breakfast tray filled with brioche French toast. When Tommy calls him Buck, he stops in his tracks, looking hurt and confused, and asks if Tommy is mad at him. A twinge of pain spears through Tommy’s head because he knows something is off, but he doesn't know what, so he shakes it off and apologizes. After Buck - Evan - drops his tray off, he kisses Tommy and tells him to have a good day and to remember to get the kids to school. As he eats he catches a glimpse of the silver band on his left ring finger.

Somehow he gets the kids to school, twins Pipa and Emanuel (names a WIP), and then heads for Harbor. When he gets there he's greeted by an unfamiliar woman who asks what he's doing there. When he tells him he thinks he's supposed to be on shift she looks confused. She tells him that after his husband made captain of the 118 last year, Bobby was named Chief, they decided that, with the pay increase, they didn't really both need to work so Tommy took early retirement to look after the kids. More head pain because Tommy is a workaholic and he can't imagine giving up his dream job. The pilot tells him that he gives flight lessons now and does community fire safety courses.

More confused then ever he goes back home and spends the day in a daze. That night he and Evan make mindblowing love and fall asleep wrapped in each other's arms.

Tommy then snaps awake and it's like the entire day was reset, like in Groundhog day. It plays out again, this time Tommy clocks that it's the year 2030. He fucks Evan into oblivion again.

Every time he goes to "sleep" and "wakes up" cracks appear in the dream. Things go fuzzy like a bad wire connection and the pain in his head is constant. He doesn't know how many times he's played out the same scenario when he begins hearing a voice he feels like he should k ow. It's calling him back, but to where?

Finally he comes to for real and find Evan sitting at his bedside, hand clasping his against his forehead as if in silent prayer. When Evan notices he's awake he begins screaming at him for how stupid he was. Tears are coming so hard he can barely speak. At one point a nurse has to come in and drag him out until he calms down.

When he comes back, Tommy asks him what he's doing there. It's been eight months since they broke up, and they haven't spoken, not even once. Evan explains that the hospital couldn't find any ICE information so they had to do some sleuthing. They found out Tommy worked for LAPD and got a hold of the captain of the 217 who immediately relayed the message to the 118. As soon as Evan heard he'd run out the door and not looked back. Tommy swallows thickly and closes his eyes.

They sit in silence for a long, LONG, time until Tommy starts telling Evan about his dream. He doesn't know why, but he feels like he needs to. He tells Buck that they're married and have two kids. Buck became captain of the 118 and Tommy became a house husband. Buck chuckles wetly, commenting on how there's no way Tommy would be happy as a house husband.

Once Tommy finishes, Buck is holding onto his hand again, and he asks, almost under his breath, if Tommy wanted that. If he could have seen them like that before things went south. He doesnt even have to think about it as he tells him yes. He admits that he hasn't stopped thinking about Evan in all these months, not even a hookup was satisfying, and how he regrets everything.

They're quiet again when Evan says, "Me neither, Tommy. You told me you couldn't be my last, but even back then, I knew that wasn't true. You are my everything, Tommy Kinard. No one else gets me like you got me." He takes a deep breath and says, "Be my forever, Tommy. Please."

Tommy breaks down into ugly tears and nods until his head throbs. As it closes out, Evan leans over and they kiss, slow and sweet as Evan brushes his hair back from Tommy’s face.

End scene.

Anywhosits....

(Here's this story idea sort kinda flushed out on Ao3)

(And here's the first chapter on Tumblr)

[almondamaretto]

omg hihi i love how u write sooo i wanted to ask if u could write where the reader tries getting matt jealous by flirting w chris (?? optional it could be anyone else) and he eventually gets jealous and that turns into a smut 😛😛 if that even makes sense 😭 PLSPLS thank you

Attention

Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Summary: y/n gets matt’s attention by flirting with chris

Warnings: weed, smut.

IM BACK (maybe) SO EXPECT MORE SHIT (hopefully) I LOVE YOU GUYS AND I WILL BE MORE ACTIVE I PROMISE (i don’t)

like halfway proof read

✄┈┈┈┈

Wind blew through her hair as she sped down the highway, one hand loosely holding the colorful steering wheel, the other holding a joint up to her pink, glossy lips. 

The glowing warmth of the orange sun hid behind the tall trees, golden rays painting her face as she sped down the street. 

Sza's "Julia" was blasting through her speakers as she pulled up to the triplet's house, music cutting off abruptly as she cut the ignition and exited the black jeep. 

She sucked in a final hit of her joint, snuffing out the half-smoked spliff against her car and tucking it behind her ear. 

With a final tug on her black miniskirt and one last readjustment of the straps of her thong, she strutted her way up to their front door, not bothering to knock. 

climbing up the stairs, the sight of Chris sitting on the couch, legs spread wide welcomed her. Matt was sitting a few feet to his right, scrolling on his phone. Everyone else was scattered around their living room, holding separate conversations as music played lowly in the background. 

"Ayy, y/n! c'mere" a very blasted Chris exclaimed, patting the plush material of the cream couch next to him. 

Matt's head shot up at the mention of her name, eyes fixating on her scantily dressed figure as she sat right next to Chris, leaving barely any space between the two of them. His brow quirked. 

"Hey Matt!" she said, looking at him up and down. His jeans sat low on his hips, his muscle tee riding up just enough to show off the band of his Calvin Klein boxers. 

He held up a peace sign, a silver ring wrapped around his pointer and pinky finger--he shot her a flirty smirk. 

She blinked at him slowly, expecting more of a greeting. 

Rolling her eyes, she brought her knees up on the couch, resting them against Chris and looking into his eyes. 

He started to ramble, sativa taking control of his senses. 

"Y'know we were all waiting for you to get here. Matt especially. He kept asking if his outfit was good enough--and his hair, he messed with his hair way too fucking much." 

Chris grabbed a small strand of her silky hair, toying with it absentmindedly as he spoke with a raspy voice, close enough for his warm breath to raise the hairs on her neck. 

"Yeah? Well he doesn't seem to be interested now." She giggled, brushing a lock of his hair out of his face. 

"Well, that's ‘cause he wants to seem all tough. Don't tell him I told you but he's just a big pussy." He said in a hushed tone, pulling a smile from her lips. 

Y/n couldn't deny Chris' charming and dorky personality--if she were anyone else, she was sure she would be chasing after him rather than sitting on his couch leading him on. 

Matt, however, could have her chasing for miles. Everything he did seemed so intentional and suave; he was always calm and collected--he felt like a refreshing soda after a day at the beach. 

Suddenly, Chris focused on the joint sitting behind her ear. 

He stopped tugging on her hair to slither his hand behind her neck, fingers brushing her skin and creating goosebumps. He grabbed the rolled paper between two fingers, looking at it with heavy eyes and a smile. 

"Thank you, weed gods" He cheered, searching for a lighter. 

Y/n reached into her bra, pulling out a bedazzled lighter. Chris placed the lipstick-stained paper in between his lips, gazing up at y/n with hot cheeks as she brought the lighter up to the end, igniting the paper. 

Matt watched the events unfold with a clenched jaw, losing the faint grasp on his buzz. 

Y/n breathed in a large puff, closing her eyes, and letting the burning in her throat subside. she turned and crawled over to matt, removing the joint from her flavored lips and handing it to matt. 

He took two deep hits, letting the intoxicating substance flow through his anticipating lungs and into his bloodstream. She sat on her knees and watched him intently as he visibly relaxed. 

Reaching up to grab the paper again, he grasped her wrist with a firm, yet gentle grip. They sat like that for a few beats before he stood up, dragging her with him. A large hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her to his side. 

He quickly passed the drug to Chris, who tried to conceal a knowing smirk, before pulling the teasing girl into his dimly lit room, shutting the door with their combined weight pressed against it. 

"Have fun!" Chris faintly yelled. 

The sunset lamp y/n bought for Matt projected an array of warm colors along the pair, the orange light kissing y/n's face, and ethereal and angelic aura surrounding her. 

The denim in matt's jeans became more restricting, he found himself itching to free himself from the confines of the blue material. 

She held eye contact with him, pouty lips parted slightly. 

No words were exchanged, but there was an understanding. Of their shared desire; their shared need. 

His slender fingers gripped the plush skin of her hip, tracing the black elastic band of her thong. His other hand traced up her side, barely caressing the skin and sending a tingling sensation to her spine. His hand caressed the side of her neck. 

Her fingers hooked into the two front loops of his light-wash jeans, searching for somewhere to place her earnest touch. 

“P Power” by Gunna echoed throughout the house, a nice touch from Chris, the designated aux. 

Both were breathing deeply, as if they had just finished a light jog. 

It happened in an instant--she squeezed her tan thighs together, his pinky finger dipped underneath the seam of her miniskirt, and their lips clashed together with feverish haste. 

They each fought for dominance like the push and pull of the ocean. Y/n wrapped her arms around Matt's craned neck as Matt pushed the two further into the door. 

Bringing his hand to the front of her neck, he squeezed the sides of her soft skin lightly--she gasped, tugging on the baby hair at the nape of matt's neck. 

He took control of the kiss with a low groan, applying more pressure to her neck, grinning into her lips as her head fell back. He took this opportunity to start working down her jawline and neck, biting small, aggravated marks into her silky skin. 

Their chests heaved, her hardened nipples poking through the sheer fabric of her shirt and against the rough material of his worn cotton shirt. 

"Oh, fuck." She said breathlessly as his teeth found the sensitive part of her neck, working a dark mark into the flesh. 

Once he was happy with his work, he pulled away from her touch completely, nearly pulling a needy whine from her throat. 

"Fuck, you're hot." He gaped, trailing his eyes up and down her flustered figure. Her hair was messy; eyes droopy, staring at him with need. A thin layer of sweat caused her skin to glow under the sultry lighting, her thighs pressed together and hands resting at her sides. 

A wave of confidence surged through her veins, a product of the drugs in her system. She pushed herself off the door, "you have such a way with words, Matthew," she breathed out, pressing her lips to his once again. 

He sat back on his bed, tilting his head up to meet hers as she climbed onto his lap, shaky legs straddling him.  

Her hands ran back and forth through his fluffy brown hair, pulling sporadically to rouse a reaction from him. 

His hands explored her thighs and hips, each time threatening to push her skirt farther up her skin. He gripped her hips once more, lifting her slightly to lay her down on the bed, lips never disconnecting. 

Wandering hands traced underneath the thin fabric of her blouse, caressing her chest and pinching her hardened nipples, kissing them through the sheer material. 

He continued his assault down her stomach, leaving a trail of wet, needy kisses. The tips of his fingers dipped under the top of her skirt, pulling them down slowly as he left closed-mouth kisses to her hips. 

Y/n’s thin excuse for a skirt was discarded somewhere on Matt's bedroom floor, along with his shirt. 

He hovered above her lower torso, ringed fingers toying with the thin black bands. Her manicured fingers shoved his forehead gently. "Don't be a tease, Matthew." 

He planted slow, teasing kisses to the fabric of her underwear, speaking with a smooth, deep voice in between each. 

"Such a hypocrite. How would you feel if I got with one of those girls out there, huh?" He finished his sentence by pressing one final kiss to her clothed clit, watching her shudder with a grin. 

"That's hardly what happened," she breathed out, sending a pointed look to him. "You know would never get with Chris. Just wanted your attention." 

He continued to kiss down her thighs whilst gently removing her soaked-through thong. 

"Hmm. And is all this for me?" He kissed her inner thigh, centimeters away from where she needed him the most. 

"Yes, god yes. Please Matt." 

"So sweet." He finally said and wrapped his arms around her stomach, pulling her legs over his shoulders. 

His mouth attached to her bundle of nerves, tracing small shapes with his tongue. His movements dragged a long whine from her lips, manicured nails reaching to grip his hair. 

He traced his tongue up and down her core, orchestrating her audacious sounds, needing more. 

He brought his middle and ring finger up, gathering her arousal and pushing his slender fingers into her warmth. The metal of his rings pressed against her skin sending chills over her skin. 

Her noises grew in frequency and amplitude, his other hand shooting up to her mouth to muffle the loudness while he repeatedly stroked her spongey walls. 

Matt could tell she was getting close, harshly sucking her clit while continuing to trace patterns with his tongue, fingers never losing their furious pace. 

Her moans grew louder and louder despite Matt's efforts to muffle them—though he didn’t really mind, anyone who was paying attention when they left already knew what was going on. 

He continued his ministrations even as her thighs threatened to close around his head and as her hips lifted off his silk cotton sheets with overstimulation. 

When the stimulation became too much, she pulled him away from her sensitive cunt. He was as equally out of breath as her, his eyes had become droopy like hers, and his boner pressed harshly against the denim of his jeans. 

He earnestly pressed his lips against hers again, kissing her harshly and sloppily, his hands quickly working on removing their remaining clothing. 

He quickly leaned over to his dresser and searched for a condom, y/n lifting herself to rest on her elbows, peppering his chest and neck with quick kisses. 

“You have all my attention now, doll.” He muttered quietly, almost to himself. 

He slowed down, rubbing his length up and down your cunt, gathering your wetness, watching as you practically drooled at the sight of him. 

“Is this what you want?” He used his other hand to caress your jaw sweetly. 

“More than anything, please Matt.” 

He slowly pressed his length into her, letting her fully adjust to her size before beginning to thrust, slow and gentle movements quickly becoming deep and harsh. 

His enthusiasm elicited loud moans from deep within her chest, hands looking for anywhere to anchor into, landing on his freckled back, leaving raised, stinging marks all over. 

In an instant she was flipped over, and her flushed face was pressed into a plush pillow. Matt continued to drill into her, quiet groans and curses falling from his lips every few seconds. 

“So fuckin’ loud. Want everyone to know what we’re doin’ in here? Huh? You want Chris to hear how good I’m fucking you?”  

She thought was strange thinking about Chris when his brother was fucking into her like this, but the thought didn’t maintain one Matt reached around to rub her clit, mind going completely blank other than thoughts of Matt. 

Once the familiar knot started to coil in her lower stomach, she reached back to grab Matt’s wrists for more stability, her legs starting to shake as her orgasm washed over her, tears beginning to soak his silk pillowcase. 

Strong hands gripped her hips harder as she clenched around him repeatedly, causing Matt to throw his head back in pleasure and let out a sharp breath. 

“Ah, shit. Fuck!” 

He fucked them both through their climaxes, slowing his staggering thrusts and finally pulling out of her pillowy walls. He threw his condom into his trash next to his bed, before leaning over and pressing sweet kisses to y/n’s back. 

“You did so good, sweetheart. So good for me.” he praised, running his hands up and down her sides and back. 

Once she regained her strength, she flipped herself over, heaving chest lifting up and down. Her shaky hands grabbed Matt’s arm and she pulled him down next to her, snuggling into his side. 

“I think you might’ve got a little jealous in there...” 

“Yeah, ya think?” 

[inezrable]

I think I've figured out how I want go3 to end. A card that says "2028, the South Downs". Crowley, yelling at plants in the garden. He stops and his face softens when Aziraphale walks out, but he still glares angrily at the offending plants.

Aziraphale kisses his cheek and says he should come inside. He's made pancakes. Crowley obliges. He doesn't normally eat, but hes grown fond of his angel's newfound skills in the kitchen.

Aziraphale pulls out a chair for Crowley and they sit together. Aziraphale raises his mug of tea, and Crowley raises his coffee.

"To our world," they toast. As they do so, we catch a glimpse of their silver wedding bands.

The camera zooms out and we see two nightingales and their nest. The credits roll as the song A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square plays again. The nightingales are singing.

[ladykailitha]

The Rockstar and the Teacher

Just thinking about a rockstar Eddie and a school teacher Steve who have been together for a decade, but Steve is kept out of the limelight by his choice.

He doesn't want to have his kids harassed because of who he's dating. Plus the whole gay man= pedophile in the minds of most parents.

Things are going great until they aren't.

Steve sees a tabloid with the headline "Eddie Munson photographed outside local bar with boyfriend, hints there may be a spring wedding!" and he's furious. Like seeing red, pissed off.

Because the guy next to Eddie is not Steve.

Whoever he is, he's dressed the same as Eddie. Leather jacket, long hair, chains everywhere.

But he barely has time to get worked up because even though Eddie had been in LA working on the band's next album, he is bursting through their house in Hawkins's door.

Eddie skids to a stop when he sees the tabloid on their kitchen counter and holds up his hands.

"I'm sorry, baby," he mutters and Steve chokes back tears, "I was trying to get home before you saw that."

"Why would you do that to me?" Steve cries.

Eddie slowly pulls out his phone like he's getting it out for a cop and hands it over to Steve, who takes it with a frown.

"It's not me, sweetheart," Eddie says. "I can prove it."

Steve looks at the phone and it instantly opens to Steve's face.

Eddie can see the hope spark in Steve's eyes as he looks through Eddie's phone.

Text message after text message about Eddie planning on getting Steve a necklace with both of their initials on it from Steve's favorite jewelry designer.

Eddie's phone pinging him at a nearby bar, but not the one the photo is showing him coming out of at the time it was taken.

Then the final evidence. A fan photo of Eddie and the girl taking a picture just outside of it the other bar at the time other Eddie was supposedly getting his picture taken with his "boyfriend".

"My management and PR team are on it, Stevie," Eddie tells him. "We think it was a setup from the jewelry guy. He lured me to the bar so that they could stage the pap photo."

Steve frowns at the phone in his hand, his fingers gripping it so tightly that his knuckles go white.

"Why?"

Eddie runs his hands over his face. "Honestly?" Steve nods. "To get you to come out in the public eye."

Steve looks at the phone and then back at the paper on the counter. Eddie can see his heart sink.

"I'm sorry," Steve murmurs. "I've been selfish. If I had just gone to LA with you been your partner all of the time, this wouldn't have happened."

Eddie takes Steve's face in his hands. "You are my partner all of the time. Even when we're apart. You weren't being selfish. You had just gotten your degree when we made it big. You wanted to use what you had paid for, and rightly so. This is on them, not you. Never you!"

Steve lets out a shuddered breath and then nods. "Okay."

He lets out another breath and Eddie smiles as Steve straightens his shoulders and cracks his knuckles.

"Give me two hours and I'll have this sorted."

Eddie doesn't doubt it.

****

Two hours later, Steve comes out in a beautiful cream suit and silver mesh top.

Eddie looks up from his place on the sofa and licks his lips slowly. He had been messaging Chrissy, his manager while Steve was doing whatever it was in his office.

"Wow, baby you look good enough to eat."

Steve grins. "It's a good thing you're hungry because we're going out to dinner."

Eddie stands up quickly and puts a hand on Steve's waist. "Are you sure you want to do this? We don't have to. We're already suing everyone for defamation of character and libel."

Steve grinned. "Oh yeah. I've already spoken to Robin and Chrissy and they're onboard."

"K, baby."

****

They arrive at the restaurant and they sit in Eddie's little two seater.

"Last chance, Stevie," Eddie said, looking out at the waiting reporters. "Just say the word and we'll go somewhere more secluded."

Steve shakes his head. "Let's do this."

Eddie gives his hand a squeeze and gets out first.

"Eddie! Eddie!" one reporter calls out. "What do you have to say about that picture in The Sun?"

"That's not me," he says calmly. "That's not my boyfriend. I would never cheat on him that way."

Then a burst of questions asking about his real boyfriend as he moves around the car to open the other door.

Steve steps out looking like sex on legs. But also like nothing anyone pegged as Eddie's boyfriend.

Eddie kisses his hand and Steve blushes.

Suddenly all the questions are directed at Steve, asking if he's the boyfriend? How long have they been dating? What's his name?

Steve just bats his eyelashes and says quite clearly, "I would ask you to respect our privacy during this trying time."

BOOM!

Mic drop.

The reporters clam up, the cameras stop flashing as they stare at him in open mouthed shock.

Eddie swoops in and gives Steve the biggest kiss. And the only reason it was even caught on camera was because the video camera hadn't stopped rolling.

They go inside and Steve gets two messages on his phone and Eddie asks if he's going to look at them, but he shakes his head.

"It's probably just Robin wanting all the inside scoop."

So they finish their meal and walk back out to the valet, hand in hand. It's then when Steve pulls out his phone. He was right about the first message, the second one was from a private number and merely said:

-Ben fatto, mio caro*

Steve smiles and kisses the the screen before tucking his phone back in his pocket.

As they drive home, Eddie asks about the texts.

"Just my mom telling me she was proud of me in the only way she could."

Mrs. Sophia Harrington was too conceited to send him anything directly, especially since Clint Harrington had cut Steve off years ago due to him being gay. But she could send a single message from a private number that she would never use again, to let her son know that she was proud at how well he had handled the reporters.

Eddie just smiles and they drive home in comfortable silence.

****

Steve goes to work the next morning and stops in at the principal's office. He smiles when he realizes the press hasn't figured out who he is yet. But it will only be a matter of time and he knows it.

The principal holds up a printed copy of his resignation and demands to know the meaning of it.

So Steve tells him.

"Steve..." the principal whines when he's done.

"You know you're going to have parents banging down your door the second it gets out," Steve explains. "It's easier for me to just walk away now and not wait for you to have to fire me."

The principal sighs but agrees. "You'll be missed."

Steve nods and stands up. At least he'll have time to say goodbye to his kids.

By lunch time it's gotten around the school that he's leaving but not why.

Steve had sworn his kids to secrecy so everyone could say goodbye, but a couple of his students come and hang out with him at lunch to talk about it.

"I knew you had to someone cool," the one kid says. "You knew too much about Corroded Coffin to be lame ole Mr. Harrington."

Yeah, Steve isn't going to miss that one kid.

He makes it through the school day and some of the parents have setup an impromptu farewell party on the front lawn of the school.

It's a tearful goodbye, but Steve feels lighter as he makes his way to car with all his things, then he has in years.

****

The news breaks on who he is later that night and Steve doesn't envy the principal's headache tomorrow, but cuddled up with Robin and Eddie on his sofa, he really can't find it in himself to give a fuck.

They'll later go on the Tonight Show and talk about how Steve had been in the closet for years and how he was forced out by this stunt with the photo. He talks about how other celebrities had been forced out too and that apparently it's not just for famous people.

That because he was with a famous person that meant he had no rights either and how that has to start changing.

He's happy he's out now, but it should have been on his own terms and not the media's.

There ends up being a spring wedding, but just the following year as Eddie and Steve tie the knot, two beautiful rings on their hands and a dazzling necklace at Steve's throat with their new initials on it EM and SM.

There is a mysterious gift of two tickets to a private villa in Italy after their honeymoon that has them both grinning like fools.

****

Here's a little gay Italian Steve for you.

*Well done, my dear

Tag List: @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie

@chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666

@goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

@justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

@cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

@useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95

[kiame-sama]

Humans Are Extinct (Yandere!TWST x fem!Reader) Monster AU pt 16

(Azul usually only enters his full Cecaelia form when he is completely submerged in water, as it is hard to move with tentacles out of water. Azul is not the best swimmer, but he makes up for it with how powerful his tentacles are as he can actually do immense damage with them while underwater. There is a small heart shape on his right cheek beneath his eye among the natural dark coloration on his face. He doesn't like this heart very much until the Human points it out, now he thinks it is his best quality because it was enough to draw the attention of the Human in the first place.)

Warnings: yandere, multiple yanderes, platonic and romantic yanderes, bullying, the day of representatives is upon us, Malleus tries, some canon Malleus interests mentioned, unnamed students causing problems, mending some bridges, lending support, light cat vs cat conflict, Dragon, Hellcat, Shinigami, Cervitaur, Nemean Lion, Unicorn, Kelpie, mention of Water Nymph,

~~~~~~~~

This wasn't really how you had expected to spend the day. Through it was interesting at first, after the first hour you and every other companion had already become bored. Every companion except for Malleus.

"This one is a crow gargoyle, made 100 years ago. Out of all the Gargoyles, this is the only one that depicts a crow harpy as a Gargoyle, not to be confused with the crow Harpy Grotesques that line the fencing-"

Grim, Ortho, and Silver were already bored to tears after the long winded introduction to the Gargoyles that lived around Ramschackle as Malleus then moved on to the Gargoyles around the fencing. Honestly, it had been interesting at first to learn about the Gargoyles. Many had history you didn't know and it was always nice to talk to someone about their passions. Given this was the 50th or 51st Gargoyle the Dragon had introduced you to, you were a little bored.

It was while you were envying Grim- who slept soundly in your arms, the both of you atop Silver's back- you heard a strange sound on the wind. The sound was as if there were several voices shouting over one another. As you listened attentively to the sound, you heard a higher pitched cry that made your heart seize.

"What was that?"

"Hmm? That is a Grotesque-"

"No, not the Grotesques, Tsuno, that scream. What was the scream?"

Malleus paused his lecture to listen, Ortho and Silver doing the same before another high-pitched scream split the air again. Silver was first to turn and head towards the direction of the sound, your other two guards easily keeping pace with the Cervitaur. The increased jostling woke Grim who scowled and looked around at whatever was so important to draw your group away from the monotonous Gargoyles.

It wasn't hard to find the source of the sound.

"Come on, you stupid cub! You said you wanted to play, so we are just trying to play! Don't hide from us right after we start playing."

"Leave me alone!"

The crying voice of a young child made your blood boil as you saw the scene playing out in front of you. There were several students you didn't recognize- judging from their arm bands and magestones, they were from Heartslabyul- and they were heckling what seemed to be a young boy who hid in the roots of a tree. It was obvious the boy was crying and the sinister grins on the student's faces told you they had been tormenting him.

"Malleus-"

You didn't even have to finish your sentence before the Dragon acted on your behalf. Clearly the offending students were caught off guard by the sudden and harsh winds that threw them to the ground. They almost seemed ready to fight before they realized it was a less than pleased Malleus Draconia staring them down, the group scattering from the location to try and avoid the wrath of the strongest student among them. It didn't take much for you to memorize their faces, knowing you were due a conversation with Riddle and figuring you could mention their poor behavior to the temperamental Unicorn.

Once the offending students cleared out, you could see the boy better as he cowered among the tree roots. He was wearing a bright yellow shirt that had a few rips and tears in it. His hair was a red to gold gradient that highlighted and complimented his golden ears, tail, and back legs. The young boy was crying and trying to push himself further back into the roots even as Malleus approached, hissing warily at the Dragon and letting out pitiful mewls. He looked like a brighter and happier version of Leona.

"Here, let me try."

The mewling was hurting your heart more than you realized it would as you passed a somewhat displeased Grim to Silver. Malleus didn't allow you to dismount on your own from the Cervitaur's back- your leg was still injured- and instead chose to lift you up with his tail, setting you in the grass in front of the roots the child hid among. Where you wished you could have approached the clearly frightened child on your own, you weren't going to bemoan the fact now.

"It's okay," you began in a soothing tone, your voice taking on a much softer pitch, "they're gone now."

"They- They're gonna come- come back!"

"No, they won't. I can promise you that."

"Stay away!"

You frowned slightly at how clearly afraid the cub was and you shuffled closer, trying to not stress the cub further. He had several scrapes on his soft skin and you couldn't help but feel pity for the clearly frightened child. Honestly, you had half a mind to go straight to Riddle after this and inform the Unicorn of the poor behavior shown by his dormmates. First, you had to make sure the cub was alright.

"Let's try this again, my name is (Y/n) (L/n), what is yours?"

"Ch-Cheka. My name- my name is Cheka."

"Okay, Cheka, where are you supposed to be right now?"

"Unca- Unca said I was- was 'posed to- to stay in the Greenhouse. But it- it's boring there! I just wanted to play..."

"Oh, you poor thing. I'm going to guess those students said they would play with you, but their games weren't very fun, right?"

"They weren't fun at- at all! They kicked and chased me, an-and they yelled at me-!"

The cub cut off with a loud sob and covered his face, crying his little heart out as he curled in on himself. You saw your chance to reach out and grab the cub as he cried, taking it slowly so he could pull away if he wanted to. He didn't fight as you lifted him into your lap, instead he curled against your figure and sobbed into your warm body, seeking comfort and affection after his frightening experience.

"I'm so sorry they did that to you. That isn't fair to do to anyone, especially someone so young."

"They- they hit me, an-and they said I was stupid-! And- and- and then they chased me-!"

You just held the cub and let him cry it out, rubbing his back to soothe him. He seemed like he was around five years old, maybe younger, and he clearly didn't expect anyone to be so cruel to him. Honestly, the more the cub sobbed, the angeier you became at those who dare to hurt him so gleefully. He was just a child, what kind of monsters were they to get off on hurting this poor little cub? Kids could be annoying, sure, but that wasn't an excuse to hurt and terrify them.

"Okay. It's okay now. I won't let them hurt you again, okay?"

"Okay..."

You swayed slightly to try and soothe the cub further, his heartwrenching sobs slowly dying down to sniffles as he cuddled against you. Once the cub has mostly calmed down, he seemed drowsy and low energy. It took a lot of effort to cry so much especially after being so scared.

"Cheka, Honey, where are your parents?"

"Unca is in the greenhouse... I don't know where Dada is... He said I had to stay with Unca, but..."

"Okay. Do you want to go see if we can find Unca or Dada first?"

"I want my Dada..!"

"Alright, let's find Dada. You can stay with us until we find him. We'll make sure those mean students don't bother you again."

"Okay..."

Malleus used his tail once more to lift you and Cheka up, back onto the back of the Cervitaur. Neither he nor Silver seemed put off by the extra weight of the cub. The only one who seemed angry was- surprisingly- Grim.

The little Hellcat's ears were flat on his head and his three pronged tail was lashing in frustration.

"That's my Hooman..."

As he growled, you frowned at the small Hellcat, but you figured he would be less than pleased with the situation. Cats from your world were territorial, especially the males, and now Grim had to compete with Cheka for your affections. He was clearly angry that he was relegated to Silver's arms and not yours as he glared jealously at the younger cub.

"Grim," you started with a gentle but warning tone to the Hellcat, "calm down. Cheka isn't a threat to you."

"Yes, he is. You are my Hooman and that means I should be the one you hold, not that- that cub!"

"Grim, just because we are helping Cheka out doesn't mean you're not my boy anymore. I'm your Hooman, and you're my Grimmy. Okay?"

He was still frowning, but his tail had stopped lashing as he slowly nodded. It was clear he wasn't happy with the situation but he wasn't going to be mean to Cheka either. Now, all you had to do was find Cheka's Dad- who was more than likely a Nemean Lion, judging from Cheka- somewhere on campus.

"Tsuno, is it okay if we pause the Gargoyle excursion for now? I think getting this little one somewhere safe should take priority."

"... The Gargoyles will still be here another day."

"Thank you, Tsuno. You're a good guy."

Malleus seemed to get a somewhat darker tint to his pallid cheeks, his tail curling and waving with your light praise. Cheka finally pulled away from your warm hug, looking around now at the several monster men that stood around the two of you and even at Silver, who you both were riding. His eyes seemed to train on Malleus before returning to you and he almost looked confused, glancing back and forth for a moment.

"Aunta, what are you? You smell like," he paused to sniff at your arms and shoulder, "like a weird Lizard, but you don't look like a Lizard..?"

"Because I'm Human, Cheka."

"Hooman?"

"Close enough."

"Wait, so you're who Dada is here to meet? He said Unca was talking about a Hooman that stays at the school, and that he had to go to a meeting with the Hooman. Mama told Dada to take me along too, and Dada told Unca to watch me while he went to the meeting thingy."

"Okay, so your Dada is one of the representatives. Got it. I'm guessing you're from Sunset Savana?"

"Yeah! That's Dada's Kingdom and it will be my Kingdom some day too!"

"Gotcha. Well, I know where your Dada will be come lunch time, can you wait to see him until then, or do you want to go see him right now?"

"... Well, those meanies aren't here anymore... And you're really nice to me, Aunta, so I can wait to see Dada. Just don't leave me alone again, okay?"

"Okay, I'll stay by your side until we get you back to your Dada."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

~•§•~

Leona slowly woke from a surprisingly peaceful slumber, humming as he came back to consciousness. It was nice to not be woken up for the hundredth time by his nephew. While he slowly woke a question soon floated up in his sleep hazed mind.

Where was the cub?

Usually Cheka's energy was boundless and insatiable in his desire to play, so he should have technically been the one to wake Leona. The fact alone that he wasn't in Leona's immediate line of sight put the Nemean Lion on edge. He didn't fear what his older brother Falena would do to him for losing the cub, he feared what Falena's wife would do.

That fear and concern was what pulled the Lion to his feet and began his increasingly worried search of the greenhouse. There was no trace of the cub.

"Damn that brat! He couldn't just stay in one place for only a few hours?"

Leona snarled as he began the long and arduous task of tracking the cub, following one of countless scent trails in the hopes he could find the Cub before other students did. Most of those at Night Raven College would have a field-day tormenting such a young cub, and he didn't really want to face the wrath of his brother's wife. As annoying as Cheka was, he also didn't want the cub to get hurt because of his negligence.

One thing was for certain though, he would never agree to watch that nuisance again.

~•§•~

Your rag-tag herd made their way through the mirror and into the Heartslabyul domain, Cheka looking around in awe at the many different rose bushes and the large swooping architecture. Malleus took the lead, followed by Silver, and Ortho brought up the back of the group. You were very thankful Ortho was there as he seemed to befriend the little cub easily and the two were able to talk about everything and anything.

Though you thought the cub was absolutely precious- and a certain part of your brain wanted to adopt and keep the cub- you knew he would have to go home eventually. That didn't mean you were going to let the cruelty others showed to him go unanswered, however. Trey and Riddle were both supposed to be at their dorms today, or so Ace told you, so you figured you could visit as promised and tell Riddle about those students.

It didn't take long for you to locate the Unicorn and Kelpie, both were at the Heartslabyul lake. Riddle was laying on the grass on the bank of the Lake and Trey seemed to be swimming in the water. When your group approached, you could have sworn you saw Cater laying across the Kelpie's back. The moment you called out to them there was a loud splash, and you didn't see the Water Nymph anymore.

Part of you wondered if Cater was avoiding you due to what happened with the Wolves, but you weren't going to push to befriend the Nymph either. There were still things left unspoken between the two of you. You were still injured, so he couldn't possibly face you after what he did.

"Hey, Riddle, Trey!"

You waved as your group approached the equine students who both looked surprised at your presence in Heartslabuyl.

Riddle was first to stand to greet you, but it was Trey that caught your attention. Slowly pulling himself out of the water, you saw that his typically white coat was a deep lake-green. Fins protruded from the backs of his front legs and it was clear his back legs were one large fin, reminding you of a Hippocampus from Greek mythology. His tail- which was usually a fine strands of green like his usual hair- was now stringy kelp looking fins that flicked off water.

He seemed to struggle for a moment as he pulled himself onto the bank, but the large tail-fin split back into two legs rather quickly, allowing the Kelpie to stand. Apaprently Trey wasn't just a white horse afterall and seemed to actually be a Kelpie as you knew them. It made you vaguely wonder why Kelpies weren't considered dangerous to you, as your home legends of Kelpies usually depicted them eating Humans.

"(Y/n), it's such a relief to see you," Riddle started, drawing your attention back to him, "when we heard you were injured, I feared the worst."

"So I've heard. Don't relax too soon, there are representatives I have to meet today, and apparently they will be deciding if I get to stay here or not..."

"What? Where will you go if they decide you can't stay?"

"I don't know. All I know if I have to meet with them around lunchtime. Trey, thank you again for the pastries, we thought they were delicious. Papa Hades says 'thank you' as well."

This seemed to make the two startle somewhat as clear shock was on both their faces.

"Wait- Hades? As in, one of the Seven Hades?"

"Yup. He's staying at Ramschackle for a bit."

"I mean, I expected the patron protector of Humans to take an interest in you, but I didn't think the rumors of him being on campus were true."

"Yeah. He's actually really nice. He said Trey's pastries were some of the best he's ever had."

Trey smiled at this, looking somewhat wistful as he glanced away. Honestly, he hadn't expected anyone other than you and Grim to eat the pastries, but it made him happy to know one of the Seven liked his family recipie. Maybe it would be a good thing if the Shinigami decided he wanted more pastries from the family of Kelpies. It could certainly help their profit margins.

"Glad to hear he liked them. Also good to see you, you seem to be in high spirits despite everything-"

Trey cut himself off as he realized you were cuddling what looked like a small Nemean Lion cub, his eyes wide in shock.

"Is that-?"

"This is Cheka, he's a Nemean Lion cub. He came here with his father, but his uncle- who I assume is Leona- was supposed to be watching him. We found him being bullied by a bunch of Heartslabyul students."

This made a certain dark look of anger take over Trey's features and you vaguely recalled Ace telling you about Trey's many younger siblings. No doubt the Kelpie was furious students from his dorm were so keen to bully a literal lost child.

"Point out these rule-breakers and it will be off with their heads!"

~•§•~

Leona was more than a little stressed as he continued to search, finding what seemed to be the remnants of a scuffle outside of the Greenhouse. Several scents he didn't really recognize mixed with Cheka's scent and led to a large gnarled tree. Obviously some students decided to use little Cheka as sport and this genuinely made Leona start to worry.

At first, he was irritated that the cub had not heeded his warning to stay in the Greenhouse, but if others got a hold of him it was possible Cheka was hurt. Leona didn't like Cheka one bit and hated looking after the nuisance of a cub, but he didn't want the little idiot hurt by any means. It would not only make him feel awful, but it meant the women of his house would turn on him for letting the cub wander off.

He tried to take in as much information as he could despite the many different scents present among the tree. There didn't seem to be the smell or presence of blood, so Cheka was not gravely injured before he left the tree. The only conclusive scent he could distinguish among the many was the scent of the his precious little Mousey.

There were worse people who could have found the cub and Leona hoped his Mousey hadn't gone far with Cheka. Of course, that probably meant the overgrown Lizard was with her, one of his scales being enough proof of his presence among the many. Even if his Mousey was a safe bet to leave Cheka with, he still didn't want to get chewed out by his family for not searching for the cub.

Falena wouldn't let him hear the end of it and neither would Falena's wife. There was also the possibility that Cheka could befriend the little Human and put in a good word for Leona. If the Human liked the cub, he could use the boy to get closer to his Mousey in the future. Turns out Cheka may not be so useless after all.

[ghostofhyuck]

NCT Dream when you take off your promise ring in the middle of an argument

Mark Lee

Once Mark saw that you left your ring on the dining table, he'll be very confused. Sure you two had an argument earlier but it wasn't enough for you to take off your ring. There's still a lot of unsolved arguments between the two of you and he doesn't want to add more to it just because you removed your promise ring. That's why instead, he'll ignore it and give you space. 

Huang Renjun

Renjun will be ANGRY if he saw the ring laying on the floor. He feels like you broke your promise to him and didn't value the ring he gave to you. He'll storm to you mad and will confront you. Another fight will be created and now it's because of the ring. It'll go on until you two eventually break out and lower one's pride to apologize. 

Lee Jeno

Jeno notices that the ring is on the corner of the kitchen sink. He's used to you removing it whenever you cook or wash the dishes and there's no day where after you do your chores, you wear the ring immediately. Maybe you just forgot to wear it again, maybe. Jeno thinks, that's why he'll pick up the ring and approach you even though you are giving him the silent treatment. He'll carefully grab your hand, place the ring there, and leave. 

Lee Donghyuck

Donghyuck will be in shock when you suddenly threw him your ring while you two are in the middle of an argument. He'll be frozen when the silver band went to his face and you stormed out of the room mad. His heart will start beating out of nervous because of what happened and will eventually go to you and apologize. 

Na Jaemin

It was a huge argument, and for once no one wants to apologize first. When Jaemin noticed that the promise ring he gave to you rest idly in your jewelry box, he knew that the argument affected you big time. Jaemin wanted to resolve the argument but he knows that his emotions are still getting in his way, that's why he will choose to ignore it even though it breaks his heart to see the ring inside the jewelry box.

Zhong Chenle

He'll be angry when he saw your ring finger empty. Chenle will ask you where is it even though you two aren't supposed to be talking to each other. You'll ignore him until to the point where he has to search the whole house for the ring, and when he sees the ring, he'll return to you and will wear the ring to you. "We're not in good terms, but don't ever take off the ring." he said in a serious tone. 

Park Jisung

Poor baby will be hurt to see you remove the ring in front of him and even give it to him. He'll be confused as to what to do with the ring but because the argument was something serious, and you two agreed to have a cool-off, he'll keep the ring until you two are okay enough to fix your relationship. :<

[obsessedwhyyes]

An Empirical Study

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

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

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

Gif by silverformymonsters on Tumblr!

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

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

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

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

Gods, is it distracting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that isn’t all that plagues you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, no. Stop that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now this is just pitiful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“... Darling.”

Nope. Still not looking him in the eye.

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

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

Bastard.

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

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

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

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

You get more than you bargained for.

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

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

So much for a distraction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow hard, but persevere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your face flushes at his brazen comment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well… you could, but that would be impolite.

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you see him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is happening. This is real.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think so.”

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

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

“What do you feel?”

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

“What about them?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“May I?”

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

“Beautiful,” Astarion breathes.

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

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

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

You feel exposed, vulnerable. But… safe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… He's also naked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. You are certain.

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

“Breathe in for me, darling.”

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

His cock enters you.

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

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

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

“Then let's start slowly, shall we?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But something’s different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now then,” he says, “where were we?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But this steadiness does not remain for long.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost. 

Alas, you are ever the overthinker.

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

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

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

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

There's a long pause. Astarion doesn't push you away, but he doesn't relax either.

“I suppose,” he finally says, his tone carefully neutral. “Though I must say, this is… different.”

You lift your head slightly to look at him. His expression is guarded, as you've come to expect.

“We don't have to if you're uncomfortable,” you offer softly.

Astarion’s laugh is short and sharp. “Uncomfortable? Darling, I've done things that would make a succubus blush. This is hardly–”

He cuts himself off abruptly, seeming to realise he's saying more than he intended. There's a moment of silence, heavy with unspoken words.

Then, slowly, hesitantly, his arm comes around you. It's not quite an embrace - more like he's unsure where to put his arm and this is the most logical place. But it's a start.

You settle back against his chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathes - unnecessary for a vampire; a relic of his past which he retains.

“This isn't… unpleasant,” Astarion finally says.

You smile against his skin.

Astarion truly felt like a puzzle box of a man at times. Certain reactions of his, certain words, dance on the edge of your understanding, always just out of reach. For a person of science, not being able to understand him in moments like this was… infuriating. Exhilarating. A conundrum that both frustrates you and drives your curiosity. Each time you think you've figured him out, he reveals another layer, another facet that sends you back to the drawing board. It's like trying to map the stars only to find they've rearranged themselves overnight. Thrilling, yes, but also unsettling. You're used to being the one with answers, the one who can make sense of the chaos. But with Astarion, you're adrift in uncharted waters, your usual compass rendered useless.

And yet, isn't this what drew you to the arcane in the first place? The allure of the unknown, the thrill of discovery? Astarion is a mystery more complex than any spell you've unravelled, a puzzle more intricate than any magical or alchemical theory you've studied. He challenges you, pushes you beyond the boundaries of your understanding in ways both terrifying and exhilarating.

You find yourself wondering if perhaps this is true alchemy - not the transformation of base metals into gold, but the transmutation of the self through connection with another. Each interaction with Astarion feels like it's changing you, reshaping your perceptions, your desires, your very understanding of the world.

But these are hypotheses to be considered in the daytime. For now, you rest, as a curious yet comfortable silence settles over you in the night air.

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