Okay you can’t tell me that Vlad doesn’t have an organ somewhere in his mansion. Upon learning of this, Danny would teach himself how to play the Haunted Mansion theme on the organ and play it at 2am.
Vlad Masters is away on business in Gotham, and the Fentons are coincidentally there for a symposium on ecto-activity. So it’s perfect! Except he goes to the wrong house, er mansion.
Honestly, Danny thought it was one of Vlad’s many mansions. Scaring the old man is his favorite activity after all. There’s a higher amount of ectoplasm here, so it has to be Vlad’s place right?
When Bruce comes out (on one of his few nights off) and sees his carbon copy playing the organ, all thoughts fly out of his head. Danny finally looks up and also blue screens. They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity until Danny’s cell phone rings (the ghostbusters theme??) and he panics. He jumps up and makes a break for the other door rushing through apologies “SorryWronghousegottagobye!” And runs out of the room. “Wait! Who are you?”Bruce exclaims as he rushes after him. They’re on the second story in one of the rooms he rarely uses. How did he know where the organ was? No matter. He’ll catch the kid on the stairs.
Except the kid is already almost at the bottom. How did he get down so effortlessly? The kid practically floated down the stairs.
Bruce gets to the foyer just in time to see the kid realize the door was dead-bolted in multiple spots. He won’t be able to undo them all before Bruce catches up to him.
He slows down and stands behind a pillar, assessing his next move. He needs to be careful here. This is a child after all, no need to spook him any more than he already has. He needs to slowly approach, and ask his questions.
But then the kid does the unexpected. After looking around frantically, he takes a deep breath. Two rings form around his middle and travel up and down his body. His black hair turns ghostly white. He looks back, almost directly at Bruce. His eyes widen as if he realizes he’s being watched. He whispers, barely loud enough to hear, “I’m so sorry, please don’t follow me.” Then, he backs through the locked door and vanishes.
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God, the intimacy of Astarion feeding from you.
Astarion drinking from your neck as he pulls your body closer to his in bed, his chest up against your back, his arms wrapped around your waist. It's a casual thing, now, his whispered can I? and your answering nod, as much a part of your bedtime routine as your bath or his curl care. You sigh as his fangs pierce your skin and his fingers flex against your stomach. His breath hitches when the taste of you hits his tongue, and that's familiar too, the physicality of it, the noises he makes low in his throat as he drinks, the way he grows warmer against you as your blood begins to flow through his veins. Nothing else makes you feel so heady, so intoxicated- so comforted.
Astarion drinking from your wrist when he’s starving for it and can’t wait to get you more comfortable. Pulling him into an alleyway one night on the way home from the Elfsong because you can see how badly he's craving in the way he can't keep his eyes off of the pulse point in your neck. He seizes your arm with both hands (can I? Yes-), bringing the soft skin on the inside of your wrist to his lips. He has just enough presence of mind to kiss the heel of your hand distractedly before he bites, fangs sliding through your skin and into the vein. The sound he makes can only be described as a growl, something feral and possessive (and you'll never tell him that it turns you on, since he would be insufferable about it- a promise to yourself that lasts exactly as long as the space between the moment and the next time you're tipsy and want him).
(NSFW Below!)
Astarion drinking from your inner thigh, one hand holding your leg steady and the other cupping your cunt. You groan, eyes shut in pleasure, as his thumb comes to rub your clit. The pain of the bite is barely pain this way- it collides with the pleasure in your belly and sends you almost out of your mind, overwhelmed with sensation and heat. He takes you all the way there, takes just enough from you to have you relaxed and pliant and soaring somewhere above your own body, plays you like an instrument with all the knowledge of you he's gathered over the months, the years. He knows when you're close, knows to crook his fingers inside you just so, knows the reaction he's going to get when he pulls away from your thigh for just a moment and looks up at you with dark eyes and tells you to come for him, he wants to see it, you fall apart so beautifully and it's all for him, isn't it, tell him how good he makes you feel and when you climax with his voice in your ear and the scent of blood on the air he has the audacity to laugh at how well he understands you, your body.
He's soft, after, softer than he'll ever be with anyone who isn't you. He licks you clean before he takes you to the bath, carrying you with the strength your lifeblood gives him. It's the least he can do for you, with everything you've given him: not just your body, but your trust, your closeness, and he will never stop being grateful.
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Eddie sighed as he turned to the bartender, “Can I have the cheapest beer you got? But you only let me have one?”
The guy nodded at him, passing one over with a sympathetic smile, “Designated driver?”
“Something like that,” Eddie said, his eyes wandering back to the dance floor. At least the two of them were having fun, giggling and twirling each other around. They were cute together, always were. No one could make Steve smile like Robin could, a fact that Eddie was just going to have to accept.
He sipped his beer as he watched them, smiling to himself a little at how happy they looked. Until someone was tapping on his shoulder. Eddie glanced up, surprised to see a guy standing there. He looked… good. J.Crew-esque with a bright smile.
“You don’t really look like the type to come in here,” He said, taking the bar stool next to him.
Eddie gave him a once over, deciding to be quick about not leading him on. He shrugged, “I’m not, but the people I love are.”
The guy nodded along, his eyes trailing to the dance floor. Eddie followed the line of it, frowning when he realized he was looking right at Steve. Robin was in the middle of dipping him, both of them laughing. Eddie swallowed as he looked at them, watching the shine of the bright, colorful dance light cross over his face. He looked gorgeous, relaxed and giggly as he went to return the favor to her. Though now that Eddie was looking around he was realized he wasn’t the only one staring.
“Speaking of that,” The guy went on, “What’s the deal with the guy you came in with?”
Eddie’s frown only deepened at the question, “Who, Steve?”
“Is that his name?” The stranger asked, obviously interested.
At least he had good taste, Eddie had to give him that. Even if the question had his eye twitching, “Yeah, that’s his name.”
"So is he single or is the blonde a permanent fixture?" He asked.
Eddie snorted, “She’s a permanent fixture, all right. But she’s queer as a three-dollar bill, so not much to worry about there.”
That was the wrong answer if the excited look on his face was any indicator.
“You know what kind of drink he likes?” He asked, already motioning for the bartender.
Eddie swallowed, the sick feeling coming back. The worst part is that he could see it. Steve with someone like this. Handsome, self-assured, confident. Actually comfortable in their own skin. He couldn’t help but think they would look good together.
The thought just wasn’t enough to stop Eddie from blurting, “Of course I do. He’s my boyfriend after all.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, why did he just say that? Eddie bit the inside of his cheek at the stupid lie. At how easily it had rolled off his tongue.
“Oh yeah?” He asked, disappointment coloring his voice.
Eddie had ample time to correct himself, to say my bad. He’s my best friend. That was a slip of the tongue. To say anything else.
He doesn’t.
No, not when the anxiety he had firmly nestled in the pit of his stomach finally started to soften. Besides, Eddie liked how disheartened he looked.
He liked it enough to keep lying his ass off. He took another sip of his beer, feigning casual, “Hard to tell since the two of them have been hanging off each other all night. But yeah, he’s mine.”
He hadn’t expected for those words to feel so good.
The guy sighed, “Well, good for you man. He’s a looker, I doubt I’m the only one who had my eyes on him.”
“He has that effect on people,” Eddie said, his eyes trailing around the room. Watching every face that was looking Steve’s way. He hated it on them just as much as he did on the stranger next to him.
Fuck it, he was already in this deep. He might as well keep it going.
“Feel free to spread the word,” Eddie added as the guy stepped away, “It will save me some time.”
“Will do,” He sighed again before walking off, setting his sights on someone else.
The bartender chuckled as he wandered off, clearly eavesdropping in, “You want me to spread the word too? I’ve already got four guys who are looking to buy him a drink when he gets off the floor.”
Eddie was barely surprised.
“Spread it like wildfire,” He said easily, his eyes going straight back to Steve.
Part of him had expected some guilt when people started looking his way. Whispering to each other while Eddie glared at anyone who even looked like they wanted to get to Steve. He knew he could cut an intimidating figure when he wanted to. The way he dressed usually did most of the heavy lifting, but he didn’t doubt how harshly his expressions were coming off. It also helped that every last guy who came to saddle up to the bartender to try and get a drink going for Steve walked away disappointed once he pointed a thumb towards Eddie’s direction. It definitely earned him a disproportionate tip, despite the fact the Eddie was internally freaking the fuck out.
He didn’t feel guilty, but he felt… possessive. Offended almost that people didn't just assume he was taken. Something that he didn’t know how to rationalize. But that didn’t stop him from trying.
from the latest chapter of this fic
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