#it doesn’t. but isn’t that such a cool effect

[twistedpink]

DREAM RIDDLE DRIVING ME INSANE (spoilers for chapter 7!)

Really being his “friend that you makeout w/“ but introducing him as your boyfriend to your nosey parents,, He kisses you hard behind closed doors and you can practically taste his scowl!! His lipstick smears against your chin, only dragged further towards your jaw by greedy fingers and sloppy bites,,

“Why’d you say that? You’re wayy too soft, don’t have to prove shit to those saggy dimwits.”

“Riddle! Those’re my parents!”

“So? Ow! Stop hitting me!”

omigod being his impromptu manager for the few paid performances he gets, and organizing gigs for the band because you know he loves performing <3 He hates that you get all bossy when you’re in a groove, but he lets it slide. Totally not because he likes you or anything!!

“This is how we’ll be doing warmups from now on- it’s the safest way!”

“I’ll sing when and how I want, but I wouldn’t be mad if you joined me for a duet with your baby-proofed vibe :)”

Riddle doesn’t keep clothes he doesn’t wear, so whenever you redo his hair it’s shirtless or in one of your tops,, He buries his nose into the fabric to mask any dye smells, but when that “isn’t strong enough” the next best thing is your neck! As revenge you draw hearts into his back with the strongest colour, but it’s not very effective when he shows them off :/ The brat doesn’t even bother cleaning you up, but the post shower clinging is to die for!!

“OOOOOOOOOOO Who made you look this pretty??”

“..You did..”

“YEAHHHHHHHH”

No matter what you pursue and how it aligns with his values, Riddle’s at your back. Hell, you could even be a policeman, and he still wouldn’t ditch you! You’re just too cool :) He’ll never admit it, but if there’s anyone in the world he’s willing to get hitched with, it’s you. (For tax purposes!!) <3

“Even if you’re a little goody-goody, we’re chill.”

“Wait, REALLY? You loveeeee me!!”

“No way!”

[covenofagatha]

Do I wanna know? (Part 3)

Agatha and you have a talk about the future

Word count: 4k

Warnings: 69, oral, smut, angst (hopefully not as much), why would you ever talk about feelings/problems when you could just fuck instead

“What? What part?” you ask, your voice sounding unfamiliar to your own ears. “If it’s the City, it’s fine, that’s not far away, you could even stay here.” 

Agatha purses her lips. “It’s in Albany.” 

Your stomach drops. Two hours away by car on a good day, about four by train. Agatha has a pitiful look on her face and you want to scoff. 

Of course she’s feeling sorry for you. 

“Honey,” she starts, cool and calm as ever and it makes you fucking enraged. She reaches out to touch you again — why does she keep trying to do that? why doesn’t she realize that she isn’t going to fix anything? — but you shove her aside and scramble off the couch, beginning to pace with your head in your hands. 

Is this better than the affair? She still lied to you. She still didn’t tell you about it, she’s still looking to get out. “Why didn’t you say anything?” you demand, pausing to look at her. 

Her jaw tightens. “I didn’t — I didn’t want to before it got real. I wasn’t even sure I was going to go, but my friend reached out and it’s a really good opportunity. The company took me out to dinner last night as an informal interview and I ended up staying the night. I didn’t think you’d come here, I thought you were mad at me or something. Baby, I was really worried about you.” 

In any other situation, you’d feel touched by her concern, but it really just pisses you off even more. This isn’t about you. “I thought you were having an affair,” you say again and her face falls. 

“I would never—”

You don’t even want to hear it. “Look, don’t change the subject, okay? The point is, you did this huge thing without even telling me and now — what? You’re moving to New York?” 

Now she seems unable to meet your eyes, an uncharacteristic shyness radiating off her. “I haven’t even gotten the job yet.”

Your mind starts to whirl with the possibilities. “If you get it, are you going to take it?” 

There’s a thick silence that hangs over you two for a moment and you can see the vein in her forehead pulse as she thinks about it. But her hesitation is all the answer you need. 

“Okay,” you breathe. You don’t even know where your head is at — you’re so fucking mad, but you’re also so relieved that she isn’t cheating, but then now there’s this wrench that could possibly mean the end of things. You’re not going to let that happen. Dropping to your knees in front of her and finally touching her of your own accord with your palms flat on her legs, you earnestly look at her. “We can…we can figure it out, we will figure it out. I can come down on the weekends or you can come here or — I can transfer! I’ll transfer to somewhere in New York and we can get an apartment, just the two of us, and obviously I won’t be much help with the rent because it’s expensive as shit there—”

Agatha pulls you up by your cheeks and kisses you, effectively shutting you up. You lose yourself in the feeling of her lips against yours and you moan softly, everything slipping away for just a moment. In these five seconds, it’s just the two of you and nothing else can come between you. 

But then she breaks away and sighs heavily, resting her forehead against yours. “You just started school here,” she says gently. “I can’t make you give that up. Don’t you like it?”

You shrug lazily. “It’s the first week. I’m not too attached. I’m sure somewhere there will be just as good.” 

“What about your parents? What would you tell them?” 

Why does it feel like she doesn’t want you there? You can’t help the frown tugging on your lips. “I’ll just say that I don’t like it at Westview. I’m sure I can come up with something. They’ll just want me to be happy.” Agatha makes you happy, but there’s a flicker of doubt growing in your stomach.

She cups your cheek and leans back so you’re able to see her eyes. They’re blue as the ocean, full of emotion, and glassy. “Why don’t you give it a few months, hm? I don’t want you to throw away your school and your family just for me. If you really don’t like it, then we can talk.”

“What if I just drop out of school and become your trophy wife? I’ll be such a good one, I’d wear nothing but an apron all day and make your favorite foods and then I can sit on your strap while you eat dinner.” You play it off like a joke, but deep down, you would be more than willing. You hope she says yes. 

Agatha huffs out a laugh and sniffs, tracing a finger down the skin of your face like she’s trying to memorize it. “Wear a short little maid outfit that just happens to ride up and show off your bare cunt when you’re on your knees cleaning the floor?” 

You hum and close your eyes in pure bliss at the thought. “See, now you get it. It would be so perfect, right? 

“So perfect,” she agrees, but her smile lingers until it’s wistful. There’s a longing pang inside you, one that threatens to tear you open, but you push it down. “I know I haven’t gotten it yet, but I won’t take it,” she says quietly after a moment and your brows furrow in confusion. “If you don’t want me to take it, I won’t.” 

Every single morsel of your body is screaming for you to ask her to stay. It would be so easy, and then you could just pretend that none of this — the suspicion, the lies, the sneaking around — never happened. Everything could go back to the way it was before. 

But the slightest fear that she would start to resent you for it creeps into the back of your mind. Sure, she might not mind at first, but over time when her job here gets old and she’s unhappy, she’s going to blame you. She’s going to start to hate you for holding her back, and what if you’re not worth it? 

The last thought hits you like a punch to the gut. Are you enough to keep her content if she stays? Are you enough to keep her happy? 

You’re paralyzed and she’s looking at you expectantly, like it’s an easy fucking decision. You want to complain that it’s not fair for her to put this on you, that she should want to be with you so badly that she willingly gives up the new position for you, but maybe she’s having the same doubts.

The only thing you know is that you don’t want to end up like your parents, with a loveless marriage and a cold, empty house despite the family living in it and the bitter silence of words left unsaid haunting every moment. You don’t want this to become an open wound that festers until Agatha hates you for it. 

“If it’s a better job and if you want it, you should take it,” you say, almost surprised by how eerily calm your voice sounds. 

Agatha looks taken aback for just the slightest moment but nods. “You’re sure?” 

No! Stay with me! I fucking love you! 

“Yeah,” you rasp and she bends down to kiss you again, so sweetly that it hurts. She murmurs something against your lips but you don’t even think to ask what she says because you can’t stop the nausea climbing up your throat. 

You jump back and run to the bathroom before vomiting in the toilet. You sink to the floor, shaking and sweating and trembling, and you’re vaguely aware of Agatha’s hands in your hair, holding it back, and telling you that everything is going to be alright. Is it?

She gets a wet washcloth and holds it against your head while you don’t move from your position, waiting to see if you have to puke again. 

“Had too much to drink last night,” you mutter, feeling like you’re drunk all over again, when she asks if you’re feeling okay. “Thought you were cheating.”  

You hear a heavy sigh behind you and tears prick your eyes. Is she disappointed? Does she think you’re being just a stupid kid? “I wouldn’t, honey. I wouldn’t do that. I promise. I—” She stops and strokes your hair instead.

It feels like there’s something she’s not saying, but maybe you’re just reading into it. 

And then there’s your I love you while she was fucking you, still fresh in your mind. Do you say it again? Do you ask if she heard it? Or just wait until she says it first?

If she does. You can’t get these stupid insecurities and doubts out of your mind and it’s killing you. 

“Do you feel like you’re going to throw up again?” she asks gently and you shake your head. “Come on, why don’t we get you into the shower and then into bed?”

You want to protest just to be petulant, but you’re just so fucking tired. “Okay, mommy,” you say and she sharply inhales, but pretends to be unaffected. Good to know that you can still get to her after you look like you’ve just been through hell. 

She turns the water on and you numbly wait until she guides you up and helps you undress before you step into the shower. You almost buckle to the ground but Agatha holds you up, the sleeves of her blazer getting soaked, but she doesn’t even notice it. 

It’s an awkward position, her on the outside of the tub and you barely standing up inside it, but she rubs your skin and you slowly feel warmth returning to your body. 

You’re about to ask if she’ll get in with you — you see the way she can’t stop looking at your tits and you’re suddenly longing to feel her on you, a reminder that she is yours — when a phone rings. 

Definitely not yours; your phone is always on silent. 

Agatha curses and tells you she’ll be right back before disappearing from the bathroom. The cold feeling starts to grow back in your stomach, creeping up to your throat and gripping tightly. 

“Yes — this is she!” you hear her say from the other room, her voice getting louder as she comes back into the bathroom. You look at her with wide eyes and she gives you a tight smile. “Oh, I did? Well, thank you very much, that is wonderful news.”

The person on the other line starts talking and you can only catch quick muffles of it, but from Agatha’s face, you already know. 

“Of course, yes, hang on just one second,” she says and presses her phone against her shoulder to give you her full attention. Eye contact with her feels like a stab to the gut. “Honey, are you sure you’re okay with this? You can say no.” 

Can you? 

It’s on the tip of your tongue — it would be so easy to ask her to turn it down, so easy to ask her to choose you. She’s waiting for an answer but each drop of water on your skin feels like a chant: no. no. no. You know Agatha’s trying to remain neutral, but you can tell she wants the job, by the way she’s twitching her fingers and the barely concealed pleading look on her face and the way she’s holding her phone so tightly it’s making her veins pop out all bluish and purplish. 

It’s clear that you cannot say no. 

You’re not sure she would ever forgive you, and you’re not sure you would ever forgive yourself. You can’t ask her to throw away this opportunity, not for you. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you say hoarsely, feeling a lot like you just signed a death warrant. 

But plenty of people do long distance, and two hours really isn’t that bad. Plus it just means that with all the waiting, the sex will be even hotter. Her moving away doesn’t mean anything. 

And you can transfer at the end of the semester, so really you just have to make it a few months. 

Agatha’s beam is one of pure gratitude and you know you made the right choice, but she’s back to talking on the phone and your little moment is interrupted. “Oh…two weeks? Of course, I can totally do that.” 

A flash of panic bolts through you and you mouth two weeks? at her. She purses her lips and shrugs apologetically, like that’s supposed to make you feel better. 

The rest of her phone call is blurred out by your sudden inability to hear anything but the rush of the water that has suddenly become so loud it’s taken over all your thoughts and you don’t even realize that she’s hung up and cleaned you off and gotten you out of the shower until you’re shivering and naked and Agatha’s wrapping a towel around you. 

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay,” she murmurs because you’re now uncontrollably shaking and you think you might be crying a little. “Everything’s going to be okay.” She presses kisses to your forehead and cheeks and nose, muttering the same sort of sentients, while the towel around you slips to the floor when you throw your arms around her and cling to her like she’s your lifeline, like she’s everything you’ll ever need, and she holds you back so tightly you think you might fuse into one being. 

The two of you stand there like that until your skin gets clammy and pruney and your eyes are raw. When you finally pull back, your muscles ache and the front of Agatha’s clothes are absolutely soaked, so you tug on them until she gets the message and begins to strip. 

Her blazer comes off, and then she untucks her blouse from her pants and slowly begins to unbutton it, each time revealing more of her perfect pale skin. You can see the faint outlines of her ribs and then her stomach, the red bites from two days ago still there, albeit faded. 

There’s no mistaking the “M” though. A hot thrill runs through you despite the solemn air between you and a fire starts to flicker to life in your stomach. You reach out to trace your mark as if in a trance and Agatha’s breath hitches. 

Swallowing roughly, your eyes dart up to meet her already-dark ones. “We should talk about the job, right? Figure out what it means for us?” you ask, but even as the words leave your mouth, you can feel the atmosphere shift into something else. 

“Right,” Agatha nods, but she can’t stop looking down at your pebbled nipples — from the cold or from her? 

When she surges forward, clasps your cheeks, and pulls your mouth to hers, you know that it’s both. The kiss is messy, teeth knocking against each other and her tongue invading your mouth and breathing each other’s air, and you wrap your arms around her neck to bring her even closer. She didn’t get to take her pants off yet, but it feels absolutely delicious when she slides a thigh between yours and you grind down onto it. Your nipples brush against the fabric of her bra and you can’t help but moan into her open mouth. 

Fire roars beneath your skin, spreading to all over your body, and you suddenly just need more. You need her to overwhelm all your senses until you can’t fucking think about anything else, not the job, not her moving, not the fact that you could’ve stopped this but didn’t — you just want her. 

She grabs onto your hip to guide you against her leg and you whine as she sucks on your tongue. Her other hand comes up to cup your right breast and roll your nipple and you mewl and jerk against her. She tugs and it feels directly connected to your cunt because you pulse and it only gets worse when she flexes her thigh underneath you. 

“Bed — bedroom, please,” you choke out and her mouth doesn’t leave yours, walking you backwards into the bedroom and not stopping until the backs of your knees hit the bed. 

Agatha pushes you down onto it, the duvet beneath you instantly getting wet from your dripping pussy, and she shimmies off her pants and underwear and sinks to her knees in front of you. It’s a sight to behold, her looking up at you from the floor like she wants to devour you, like she would hang the stars and the sun in the sky for you and it still wouldn’t be enough. The power running through you from the heat in her eyes and the ragged heaving of her red chest and the way she tosses her hair over her shoulder is enough to drive you mad. 

“You’re so perfect,” she breathes and it only makes you wetter. You buck your hips against the bed, trying to get some stimulation to your now-aching clit, but it’s not even close to enough. 

But it’s not even five seconds later when she leans in, inhales the scent of you deeply, and then drags her flattened tongue through your folds, making you keen and arch your back. She is so good with her mouth and she never fails to remind you. 

“Fuck, Agatha,” you gasp, and you usually don’t call her by her name during sex, normally opting for mommy, but you need the intimacy right now. You need to feel like this is real. 

She groans into you and teases her tongue around your clit, never quite touching it, and you bury your fingers in her hair and gently pull on it. Her eyes flick up to yours as a warning and you loosen your grip. Agatha gives you an almost imperceptible nod and rewards you with one long lick to your clit and your head falls back. 

You can no longer hold yourself up when she thrusts her tongue inside you, and you fall back onto the bed, instantly clenching around you. She feels so fucking good, her tongue curling inside your cunt and her nose brushing against your clit, and you angle a leg up on the bed so she can reach deeper inside you. “God, yes,” you sigh, and your orgasm is slowly starting to build up with each roll of your hips and each time your stomach tightens. 

But something is missing — you can’t help your thoughts from straying and you just need more. 

So you stop her and she looks up at you, the entire bottom half of her face and nose absolutely covered with you. Your clit throbs and you sit up.

“I need — I want — wanna taste you too, Aggie,” you whine and you’ve never used that nickname before, but you think she likes it because she lunges up, capturing your lips with hers again, and knocking you straight back onto the bed. 

She nods while still kissing you, whispering, “Fuck, honey, how are you so hot? How are you so perfect for me?” 

You clench around nothing and you claw at her shoulder blades frantically, knowing what you need but not how to ask for it. 

But Agatha knows — she always knows what you want, except for when it really counts apparently. She gets off of you and scooches on her knees until she’s situated behind your head, facing your body. And then she moves to frame your face with her thighs, her glistening cunt hovering right above your face, and she bends over to pry your legs open before leaning down and sucking on your clit roughly. 

You squirm and palm her ass to pull her down to your mouth, and at your first lick through her folds, she moans right into you, the vibrations making you jump. Eating her out while also being eaten out is an experience like no other you’ve ever had. Every single thing you do to her affects her, which in turn, affects you. 

The positive feedback loop has both of you sloppily mouthing at each other’s cunts, mimicking motions while also losing all sense of rhythm, and when she digs her fingernails into your thighs and scrapes her teeth against your clit, you let out a high-pitched sound that has her riding your face furiously. 

Agatha is getting louder too — you can feel it more than hear it, and you are completely drunk on her smell and her taste and how good she’s making you feel. You dip your tongue into her entrance, stroking against her convulsing walls before swirling around her clit and she pauses what she’s doing for a moment to just breathe heavily against your pussy before diving back in. 

All thoughts of anything else are completely out of your foggy mind and you feel like you’re floating, not able to focus on anything else besides Agatha. 

If you would’ve known that your dad having an affair would have led to you having the hottest sex with the hottest woman ever, you definitely wouldn’t have been so mad about it. 

“Oh, god, baby, you’re so good,” she says into your cunt and it only makes you grind up harder. She matches your intensity, riding your face fast, her clit dragging against your tongue. You groan in agreement and her stomach glides against your nipples while hers do the same and you know that it won’t be long before either of you cum. 

She nips at your inner thigh before plunging her tongue inside you and it has your hips bucking. “Fuck — Agatha,” you cry, barely able to keep eating her out because of how stimulated you are. Pleasure is racing through every ridge of your body and your head is spinning. 

“That’s right, honey,” she pants, lathering her tongue all over your clit. “Cum for me.” 

The tension inside you snaps and you cum, riding out the immense wave as she continues lapping at you and you suck on her clit, triggering her own orgasm. There’s a gush of wetness all over your face and she keeps rolling her hips, chasing the last tendrils. 

That was one of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever had, you think, and when Agatha flops down onto the bed next to you, breathing heavily, you think she might agree. 

“Fuck,” you say, completely wiped out, and Agatha chuckles weakly in response, reaching a hand out to rest her fingers against yours, not quite interlocking them. The two of you lay like that for what feels like forever, just soaking in the silence and the comfort of being right next to each other. 

You’re not sure who moves first — maybe it’s a mutual decision, but eventually you slide up to the pillows and Agatha turns around and moves next to you. Rotating onto your side, you hear the sheets rustle behind you and right on cue, Agatha’s arm snakes around you, holding you close enough to her that you can feel her heartbeat against your back and her breath on your neck. 

She kisses the top of your ear and you snuggle back against her. You know that you should put on clothes and clean up your mess, but for right now, you just need to feel her against you. 

“We’re going to be okay?” you ask timidly. It seems like it was so long ago that you were spiraling out of control because you thought she was cheating. 

Agatha’s arm tightens around yours. “We’re going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.” 

And you think you might actually believe her. 

@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @vyvvycg

[merakiui]

jade is absolutely getting off to the thought of drugging you up with mushrooms and then using them to fuck you

Oh, most definitely. 😌

“You’re an ash-hole,” is the first thing to tumble out of your mouth. The insult isn’t nearly as biting as you’d hoped it would be, for the slurred way in which you pronounce the expletive dulls its sharpness tenfold. It does earn you a quirk of the mouth from Jade. The exact opposite of what you wanted.

You’re sweating out of your skin, body temperature rocket-high. It almost rivals the stifling humidity of the off-campus woods, which you think might be your resting place if whatever shit Jade spiked your salad with stops your heart. Pre-hike salad, your foot!

He’s found a comfortable clearing, the lush grass more inviting than the cool breeze tickling your cheek. It feels like the wind has a dozen tiny tongues and they’re all lapping at your face. With a shiver, you smack Jade’s arm away when he offers to ease you down. The world is breathing beneath you. The tree trunk you prop yourself against has a heartbeat, and you watch the lines in the bark undulate like saltwater waves.

“As a member of the Mountain Lovers’ Club,” Jade says, lowering to his knees in front of you, his backpack now shrugged off. When you blink, he’s right in front of you next, checking to make sure you’re still lucid. Mostly. “You must be able to discern dangerous flora from the safe ones. The mushrooms mixed in with your salad have hallucinogenic properties. In small amounts, they’re fine. Quite the exciting trip, one might say. But there are some species that have hazardous effects…”

You squeeze your eyes shut again and inhale a shuddering breath. There are spiders beneath your eyelids and in your skin. It prickles. You move to slap nothing off your arm and find that, in the seconds or maybe minutes your world has been turned over, your shorts have been shucked down to your ankles. Jade’s spidery digits creep in close, parting your legs, sliding along your hole through the fabric. You’d kick him if your body wasn’t so keen on melting like candle wax. All you can do is wilt and take in big gulps of air as he presses in, fingers curling beneath your underwear, prodding inside such a private, sensitive place. You’re not sure how much time passes. You swim in and out of consciousness, occasionally snapping back to yourself like a boomerang.

When you come to, it’s with a keening cry and he hums, sounding quite pleased. You’re not sure how or when it happened, but you came around his fingers. The embarrassment doesn’t settle for long, not when your skeleton is jittering in its fleshy confines. You think you might be sick. Something is crawling up your throat. Hands? Vomit? It feels weird. Just what was in that salad? What terrible mushroom did he experiment with this time?

And that’s just it. Everything he does is experimental. Never on himself. You’d quite like that—to give him a literal taste of his own medicine and watch him crumple. What a glorious day that would be.

Like a surgeon, Jade slips a pair of latex gloves on. For a horrified moment, you wonder if he really is going to bury you out here. But instead he procures a particularly sizable mushroom from a plastic bag. It looks familiar, but right now there are a dozen names rushing through your mind and none of them can be correct. You watch with even more horror as he tears a little square package open and slides the condom over the mushroom’s stipe, all business. Perfectly clinical.

“Today, we’re going to learn to identify mushrooms and their uses.” He beams. “Starting with this one.”

“I…” Your tongue feels all wrong. Numb. Too long. And then too short. You try to pronounce your next words, but they come out in a messy splutter.

“I’ll give you a hint. It’s edible.” Jade smiles angelically.

Gee, thanks for the help. That narrows it down by a lot, you think, sarcastic.

“Maybe this will jog your memory,” he adds, and when you blink the stipe is pushing against your puckered hole. His fingers are wrapped gently around the cap of the mushroom, holding it steady.

“Wha…” You attempt to crawl back from him, but the tree holds you firm. “Jade—”

“It’s a very popular ingredient in soups and risotto,” he continues, undeterred in his approach.

You dig your fingers into the ground and rip up clumps of grass. It feels wrong. Intrusive. This strange, foreign thing. You squirm weakly, but it doesn’t shake him off.

Dunno, you think, your mouth moving mutely.

“It’s part of the genus Boletus.”

Oh, you hate him something fierce. This smart-ass eel. As if you’d know the scientific name or the genus and whatever-heenus-gleenus. You’ll kill him.

Not really. Because who could kill Jade Leech? Not you.

But the feeling comes something close to death as you imagine yourself weaponizing the blazing sun in your scowl and burning a hole through him like he’s an ant under a magnifying glass. Instead, your expression falls and you give a short, sweet whine. The mushroom presses in shallowly. Jade watches with a delight that can only be described as exhilaration. His smile is preternatural.

It turns out it’s a penny bun. Boletus edulis. He tells you that halfway into working the thick mushroom in and out of you.

“I’m sure you’ll have better luck with the next one,” he assures, and then you see it. The many mushrooms packed neatly away in his backpack, each one packaged in that chilling, serial-killer-like precision only Jade Leech could have.

[honeybummer]

NO SAINTS HERE - on A03 Pairing: Spawn Astarion x Fem!OC/Tav

Summary/Setting: Tav cheats on Wyll with Astarion when Wyll cannot satisfy her needs

Word count - 6k

Rating: EXPLICIT

The camp was silent, the night air crisp.

Tav stormed out of her tent, her footsteps heavy against the cool earth. She wrapped her arms around herself, pacing before glaring up at the stars, as if they were somehow to blame. 

Frustration boiled in her chest. Six weeks on the road with the group. Four of them with Wyll. Four weeks, and he—

“You’ll have a trench dug by sunrise at this rate,” came a familiar, silken voice.

Tav jumped, spinning to see Astarion lounging by the fire, a book in his lap, eyes glinting in the flickering light. His silver hair curled effortlessly behind his ears.

“I didn’t think anyone else was awake,” she said, trying to steady her breath.

“And yet, here I am. Vampires aren’t much for sleep, darling.” He studied her. “Now, what’s got our fearless leader storming about like a bull?”

She shook her head and resumed pacing. “It’s nothing. Go back to your scheming.”

“Darling, my scheming can wait. You look about ready to burst into flames.” He snapped his book shut, leaning in with a smirk. “Go on, then. Misery does adore an audience.”

Tav huffed and started toward the forest, hoping the cool air might clear her head. Maybe a walk, or a dip in the lake—

“Let me guess,” Astarion drawled from behind her, lazily amused. “Our ever-gallant warlock has done something to ruffle your feathers. Am I close?”

“Just forget it,” she muttered, picking up her pace.

Then he was in front of her, hands clasped neatly behind his back, eyes glinting. “You’re practically humming with frustration. Unmet needs, perhaps?”

Her cheeks burned. “I’m not—this isn’t—” 

How could he know?

Astarion circled her. “You’re practically radiating unfulfilled desires.”

Tav turned away, embarrassed. “Astarion, please.” She didn’t want to discuss this with him—or anyone.

“Please?” He smirked, leaning in closer. “Please stop? Or please keep going?”

Tav nearly clamped her hands over his mouth. “Keep your voice down!”

Then, just as smoothly, his grin softened, voice dipping into something almost kind. “Oh, don’t pout. I’m only teasing. If you need a willing ear, I’m right here.”

Tav sighed, the fight seeping out of her. She retreated and sank onto a log near the fire, accepting the bottle of wine he offered. The first swig was long, the burn grounding her.

“It’s nothing,” she muttered, wiping her mouth. “Just me being selfish.”

Astarion settled beside her with a lazy elegance. “You? Selfish? Hardly. Though, I suppose spending too much time with him might have that effect.”

She shot him a glare, unamused. Astarion didn’t like Wyll, but he didn’t like anyone , really—maybe her, on rare occasions.

“He just…ugh, I can’t talk to you about this.”

Astarion lifted the wine to her lips again, and she took another sip. And another.

“How often does he leave you wanting?” he asked, voice soft, almost conspiratorial.

“How did you know?”

His smile was sharp, predatory. “You keep fidgeting. If he’d made you come once or twice like a normal partner, you wouldn’t be this tense.”

He took the wine back and Tav groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.”

Astarion arched a brow. “Does he leave you wanting often?”

Tav swallowed, the guilt curling in her stomach. 

She exhaled sharply. “He…he fell asleep.”

Astarion’s laughter was rich and delighted.

Tav snatched the wine back, taking a long swig. “You better not tell anyone.”

“Oh, please.” He waved a dismissive hand, still grinning. “This is too delicious to share. But really—our gallant Wyll, falling asleep midway? Tragic.”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s wonderful in so many ways, but when it comes to intimacy…he just doesn’t get it.”

The warmth of Wyll’s kindness was something she couldn’t ignore. When he’d asked her to dance after a night of drinking, she’d accepted. And when he’d asked for a kiss, she’d given it. But when things went too far, she hesitated. Yet, when he looked so sad at the rejection, she relented. 

The next night, he’d asked her on a proper date, and she hadn’t the heart to refuse. Not when the nights were so lonely.

The first time he touched her, it had felt nice—at first. It had been so long since she had felt anyone’s hands on her that even the smallest touch had sent sparks through her veins. But then his rhythm faltered, his thrusts erratic. Her body had cooled, and she had lost the tempo.

And then he had finished—and fallen asleep.

He hadn’t even asked if she had come.

The next time he tried, he had pressed his fingers against her, clumsy and hopeful. It hadn’t worked. It never worked.

And she never faked it, either.

But what boiled her blood was the fact that Wyll knew . He knew she hadn’t finished, and still, he had simply gone to sleep . Like it didn’t matter.

She would never do that to him. Never take her own pleasure and leave him wanting.

Astarion’s voice cut through her thoughts. “How unfortunate.”

Tav snorted and drank more wine.

“Perhaps…I could be of some assistance?”

Tav looked at him, stunned. “What?”

Astarion leaned in, eyes glinting with intent.She was reminded how earth-shatteringly gorgeous he was. “You need release. I need something to occupy my time. And I do have an impressive repertoire…”

Her breath caught.

Astarion grinned—lazy, confident. “Unless you’d rather trudge back to your tent and spend another night wanting?”

Tav looked away. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am.” He took a long look at her, up and down. “Such a shame to let you go to waste.”

She shook her head. “I…I’m with Wyll.”

Astarion only watched her.

“I could never do that to him. He’s too…good.”

He shrugged, utterly unconcerned. “Yes, yes, the noble Blade of Frontiers—so devoted, so honorable. But tell me, darling, how devoted can he be if he leaves you wanting?”

Tav inhaled sharply, gripping the wine bottle too tightly. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh, but it is.” He shifted closer, his thigh brushing hers, voice dipping, silk and sin. “Why should you suffer for his shortcomings?” His lips curled, firelight casting sharp shadows over his face, making him look almost… dangerous. “You deserve better.”

She clenched her jaw, willing herself not to react. But Astarion saw it all—the flicker of hesitation, the breath she swallowed down.

“Tell me, darling,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Have you ever been worshiped?”

Her breath hitched. She turned away, but his voice curled around her like smoke, thick and intoxicating.

“I mean properly worshiped.” His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “The kind that leaves you trembling, moaning my name.”

Tav squeezed her thighs together.

Astarion hummed, catching the movement, his grin sharpening. “No? Tsk—what a tragedy.” His fingers ghosted over her arm, sending a shiver down her spine. “I could teach you, you know. Show you what it’s like to be devoured.”

She swallowed hard. “Oh, please.” Her voice was shaky. “You don’t even like me.”

Astarion laughed, soft and indulgent. “Oh, my sweet girl,” he murmured, shaking his head. “You really think that matters?”

He leaned in, just enough for his lips to ghost over her jaw, not quite touching, but so close. “Liking you isn’t the point,” he whispered. “ Wanting you is.”

His fingers brushed her collarbone, barely there, his touch sending a shiver through her. “And gods , do I want you.”

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. “So tell me, darling,” he drawled, smirking as he tipped her chin up with a finger. “Would you really rather go back to your tent, aching and unsatisfied, all because of some foolish notion that I need to like you first?”

Tav knew parts of his backstory, how he was trained in the art of desire. How he could get anyone into his bed. She shouldn’t fall for it.

“Imagine it, love. My hands on your body, my lips on your skin—making you feel everything you’ve been denied.” His eyes darkened. “Wouldn’t that be… delicious?”

But.

Heat pooled low in her stomach.

“I—” She exhaled shakily, grasping for something solid, something real. “I shouldn’t—”

“Oh, darling.” His fingers curled under her chin, tilting her face to his. “Why shouldn’t you?”

She met his gaze and drowned in it. Red eyes, deep and endless, full of promises she shouldn’t want.

“Tell me,” he whispered, lips just shy of hers. “Do you want me to stop?”

Tav’s heart thundered.

She should say yes.

She should.

The fire crackled, but it wasn’t what made her burn. It was him—his scent, his nearness, the coolness of his skin against her heat.

“I could make it easy for you,” he murmured. His lips nearly brushed hers, teasing, coaxing. “I wouldn’t make you do a damn thing, darling.”

Tav’s fingers twitched. Her breath shook.

“All you would have to do…” he breathed. “Is spread those pretty, little legs for me…”

She shuddered violently..

“Just like back…and let me…”

Tav bit her lip.

“ Have you.”

And then—

She cracked.

With a frustrated noise, she grabbed his collar and crushed her lips to his.

Astarion groaned low in his throat, as if he had been starving for this. His hands were on her in an instant—one threading into her hair, the other gripping her waist and yanking her against him.

Gods. He devoured her.

His lips were soft, insistent, his mouth moving against hers with a desperate sort of hunger. His fangs scraped her lower lip, sending a bolt of heat down her spine, and she whimpered—actually whimpered.

Astarion growled.

In a swift motion, he had her beneath him, the firelight flickering across his pale skin as he loomed over her. “Now, that’s more like it,” he murmured, his breath ragged, lips already red and swollen from kissing her.

Tav barely had time to process before his mouth was on hers again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against hers, his hands everywhere —her waist, her back, her thighs.

And gods help her, she was burning.

His cool fingers trailed under the hem of her shirt, barely touching her skin, and yet it sent a full-body shiver through her.

“Cold, darling?” he murmured against her lips, but his grin was wicked, knowing. “Or is it something else?”

She shivered again, and his fingers dug into her waist, his hips pressing against hers just enough to make her feel—

A gasp tore from her throat, and he chuckled, the sound dark and delighted. “Oh, my sweet thing,” he purred, his lips ghosting down her jaw. “I can’t wait to feel your heat.”

Tav squeezed her eyes shut, trying—failing—to remember why this was a bad idea.

But with Astarion’s mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, his hands exploring her like she was something to be devoured—

She found she didn’t care at all.

Except. 

There was a rustling nearby. 

Tav scrambled out from under Astarion and got up. She stood there, panting, while her worst fears came true. 

The flap of Wyll’s tent rustled and he came into view. He looked around and then spotted them on the far side of camp, by the fire.

“Tav?” he asked, rubbing his eyes and walking closer.

She wiped at her swollen lips, trying to look composed. Astarion, on the other hand, remained utterly unruffled, lounging back on his elbows with an infuriating smirk.

“Tav?” Wyll repeated, stepping forward, brow furrowed. “What are you doing up? I heard something.”

She swallowed hard, panic twisting in her gut. But then—relief. His expression wasn’t one of suspicion, just sleepy confusion. He didn’t see. He didn’t hear.

Before she could string together a response, Astarion beat her to it.

“I woke her.” His voice was smooth, nonchalant, as if nothing had just happened. He shifted up, stretching lazily before giving Wyll an almost bored look. “I needed to feed.”

Wyll’s brow furrowed deeper, his gaze flickering between them.

“She offered, of course,” Astarion continued smoothly, waving a dismissive hand. “And I’d hate to refuse such a generous donation.” He grinned, showing just the hint of fangs. “We were just about to get started.”

Tav nearly choked.

Wyll’s lips pressed into a thin line. “She needs her sleep. It’s late and I—”

“Oh, no need for that,” Astarion cut in, voice silken with amusement. “Tav was very eager to help.” He leaned closer, resting a hand on her shoulder. Casual, but his fingers pressed just enough for her to feel him. “And you know how these things go. Could take a while.”

Tav clenched her jaw, trying not to react.

Wyll sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Just… be careful, alright?” He looked at Tav, something soft in his expression. “Don’t let him take too much.”

Astarion placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “What do you take me for? A savage?”

Wyll didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he exhaled heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright. I’ll see you in a bit, then. I’ll probably be asleep, so just wake me when you get back.”

Tav forced a nod as Wyll turned and disappeared back into his tent.

The moment he was gone, she whipped toward Astarion.

“What the hell was that?” she hissed.

Astarion grinned, utterly unrepentant. “That, my dear, was me getting us out of trouble.”

Her pulse pounded. “By implying we were busy?”

He gave an elegant shrug. “Well, weren’t we?”

Tav opened her mouth to argue—only to close it again when she realized she didn’t have a damn thing to say to that.

Astarion leaned in, voice dropping to something dark and wicked. “Now then. We should put on a little show, don’t you think?” His fingers ghosted over the pulse in her neck.

“This is what you offered, after all.”

“Fine,” she muttered, rolling her neck for him. 

But he didn’t lean in. 

“I say I bought us some time. Come on.” He grabbed her arm and led her deeper into the forest, away from camp. 

“Where are we going?”

Astarion said nothing as he pulled her through the trees. The deeper they went, the thicker the shadows grew, moonlight slicing in jagged slivers through the canopy.

They passed the nearby waterfall, the sound making her uncomfortable. She couldn’t hear if someone or something approached.

Tav’s heart pounded—not from fear, not from the dark, but from him.

“Astarion,” she tried again, breathless. “Where—”

But before she could finish, he spun her, pressing her back against the rough bark of an ancient oak. He leaned in, his hands braced on either side of her head.

“I thought you wanted to be fed on?” he teased, his voice a silken purr..

“I…” she started, but Astarion was already moving, brushing his nose along the curve of her jaw, lips hovering over her pulse.

He dragged his lips down the column of her throat, slow, indulgent.

“I could take my time with you,” he mused, voice barely above a whisper. “Taste you properly. Make you feel it.”

Tav’s breath hitched, her hands curling into fists against the bark.

He chuckled. “Oh, my sweet girl.” His tongue flicked out, just the faintest brush against her pulse, and her knees buckled.

Astarion caught her, hands sliding down to grip her waist.

“Careful now,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t want you collapsing before we even start.”

And then—he kissed her.

Not teasing. Not playful.

Hungry.

Tav gasped against his lips as he pulled her flush against him, the sharp edges of his body a contrast to the softness of his mouth. His hands tightened on her waist, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss.

Heat flooded her, spiraling down her spine, pooling in her stomach. She shouldn’t be doing this—she really shouldn’t—but gods, she wanted him.

Astarion nipped at her lower lip, then soothed it with his tongue. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered. “And I will.”

Tav dug her fingers into his shoulders, her breath coming fast.

She didn’t say a word.

His mouth trailed down her neck and brushed against her collarbones. His quick fingers began loosening the ties to her pants and she let him. 

Astarion hummed in approval as her body melted against him, his fingers making quick work of the ties at her waist. “That’s it, darling,” he murmured against her skin. “Let me take care of you.”

His hands slid beneath the waistband of her pants, the coolness of his touch making her gasp, her skin prickling with heat as he grazed the edge of her undergarments.

“Now, tell me: Am I allowed to touch you?”

Tav could hardly speak, but she managed a breathy, “Yes.”

Her head tipped back against the rough bark as his hands slipped beneath the fabric, skimming over bare skin. She sucked in a breath.

He chuckled, low and wicked. “So responsive. I do love that about you.”

His fingers dipped lower, and Tav gasped, her hips jerking into his touch. He grinned against her throat, his free hand sliding up her ribs.

“You poor thing,” he murmured, lips tracing the shell of her ear. “He never even tried to take care of you, did he?”

His thumb swept over that bundle of sensitive nerves and she squeezed her eyes shut, breathing quick. 

Astarion’s other hand slid under her shirt and palmed her breast. 

Tav squeezed her eyes shut tighter, heat flooding her face. She shouldn’t be doing this. She should stop. But then Astarion’s fingers pressed just right, and all thoughts of Wyll, of guilt, of anything beyond him dissolved.

Wetness flooded past his fingers as he continued to rub against her.

He kissed her again, swallowing the whimper that slipped past her lips. His body pressed fully against hers, trapping her between him and the tree, and gods, she could feel him.

“You’re exquisite like this,” he whispered against her lips, his fingers still working her open, still teasing, still keeping her just on the edge. “Soft, pliant, desperate .” He smirked, nipping at her jaw. “Would you like me to finish what I started, darling?”

Tav nodded. 

Astarion’s lips were at her ear, nipping as his expert fingers circled her again and again and again. 

Just right. 

Tight, little circles. 

She gasped in a breath to say ‘faster’, but he already knew. 

And then she was clutching his arms, legs weak as she tried to keep herself up. The warmth curled and curled, the pleasure so close to breaking and—

Astarion pulled away. 

Tav gasped out a horrendous whine and looked up at him. He smiled.

“Oh darling, I almost got you there, didn’t I? And, oh, how easy it was. I had you falling apart with your clothes still on.”

Tav huffed, suddenly angry. He was making fun of her. He probably never wanted to sleep with her at all. Just to laugh at her. 

But then Astarion was lifting her shirt over her head and grabbing her waist. 

And then she was on her back, the cool forest floor shocking her as Astarion loomed above. His lips found her neck first, before drifting lower—across her collarbone, down the slope of her sternum.

When his tongue flicked against her navel, she jolted, hips bucking instinctively against him. He only laughed, a dark, pleased hum.

"So eager," he mused. His fingers hooked into the waistband of her pants, pulling just enough to tease.

“Will you be quiet for me darling?” he asked. 

She shook her head, there was no way she could keep quiet. 

Astarion groaned, low and pleased, and then—her pants were gone.

His hands were everywhere, mapping every inch of newly exposed skin. His mouth followed, trailing heat in its wake, and when his lips finally—finally—settled between her thighs, she lost any hope of staying quiet.

The first lick was like the rapture.

Tav's back arched off the forest floor, her hands gripping into Astarion's shoulders as a moan ripped from her throat. 

She writhed beneath him, her hands clenching the grass under them. His tongue licked up her center and then lazily stroked around her clit. 

Tav's hips bucked, desperate for more. "Astarion, please," she begged, her voice shaking with need. "Don't stop."

His finger sought her entrance, sliding easily inside her. Her hands dug into his hair when he curled that finger inside her just right. And when he added another, she was moaning loudly, shaking. 

He pumped his fingers, curling them expertly. The pleasure erupted.

And then she wasn’t breathing—only writhing, shaking, and spasming against him until the waves of pleasure finally subsided. 

Then she gasped for air, body falling back against the forest floor—limp.

And…it was easy to get there. So easy. 

Astarion was seductive, attentive, and it made it all so easy.

It made her think… 

“I never thought your cunt would taste as good as your blood,” he said, smiling. “But it does.”

Tav opened her eyes to see Astarion licking his lips, the shine of her arousal on his chin. 

She could see the straining of his pants, the evidence of how aroused he was. She sat up quickly, feeling her head spin, and reached for him. 

“Lie back,” she said.

Tav wanted him to feel as good as she did. She had to repay him. 

Astarion hesitated for a moment, his eyes boring into hers with an unreadable expression. Then, he lay back, resting on his elbows, his eyes never leaving her face as she straddled him. 

She loosened his stays, releasing him from his confines. 

Astarion’s cock was imposing, long and thick, pale and smooth. Her hand wrapped around its girth, a shiver running through her body as she gripped it.

He was far larger than Wyll. 

The second she touched him, Astarion's eyes widened with hunger, his breathing quickening as she stroked him. He reached up, brushing his fingers through her hair. 

"I thought I was meant to take care of you,” he said. 

“You did.”

His cock was like velvet in her hands, the hardest velvet she had ever felt. She stroked him a couple of times, and he shuddered. She was captivated by the way his pale skin moved over his glistening head. The head of his cock was so swollen with blood it looked purple. 

She ran her thumb over his head, licking her lips, wishing she could taste him. Gods, he would fill her mouth completely. She could hardly imagine how he would fit inside her. 

“Tav,” Astarion gritted out. 

She pumped him again in her hand, squeezing harder. 

Astarion’s hands found her waist. “If you do not mount me, I will fuck you myself.”

She grinned, feeling like she was in power. She stroked him several more times before Astarion shifted, bucking his hips and lifting her until she hovered over him. 

Scrambling, Tav placed her hands on his shoulders and shifted her weight on her knees so she was more in control, but Astarion yanked her down. 

Her legs trembled as his tip brushed against her glistening folds. “Wait—”

Astarion leaned in and nipped at her neck. “I am a man of my word, Tav. Now sit.”

Tav swallowed and lowered herself gently. There was pressure as his head pushed against her. His thick cock bowed slightly at the pressure, and then it slid inside. Just an inch.

Immediately she felt that burning stretch. 

She had felt it once. One night, when she wasn’t very aroused, Wyll had pushed himself inside her while she was still dry.

But she wasn’t dry this time. She was dripping wet, and Astarion still stretched her. 

The vampire’s eyes locked onto hers, his expression unguarded as he watched her struggle—watching her intently as she slowly, slowly descended onto him.

Tav's body trembled, every nerve ending on fire as she tried to ease herself down. Astarion's girth stretched her, filling her in a way she had never experienced before. 

She bit her lip against a scream, and for a moment, she froze.

Astarion's hand left her hip to thread through her hair, stroking the strands gently as he whispered soothing words in her ear.

"That's it, darling..." he murmured, "Just relax and let me in... I won't hurt you."

Tav's breath hitched, her body slowly relaxing at the sound of his voice. She took a deep breath and lowered herself further, trying to focus on his words as more of him filled her until she was seated fully upon him. She was unbearably full. 

Her eyes watered from the intensity of it all.

"You see, darling?" Astarion sighed against her neck. "I told you it wouldn't hurt."

She let out a noise.

“Yet,” he hissed, bucking up into her once. 

She let out a guttural moan and gripped his shoulders tightly. She leaned forward, making it easier for her to control the movements and she began to ride him. Up…and…down. 

Slowly.

It was all she could take.

Astarion's hands gripped her waist tightly as he matched her pace, his hips rising to meet each of her thrusts. 

Her forehead met his as they continued, skin glistening, bodies tightening. 

“Fuck,” she muttered, breathing heavily as she clutched him tightly. He felt incredible, so fucking incredible. She had never felt like this. 

Astarion sat up more, using one arm to wrap around her waist so he could better control the movements, and she knew he knew what he was doing. 

He was a master at it. 

So, when he angled himself differently against her, hitting a sensitive spot, Tav whined so loud she was sure the camp might hear. 

Tav’s head tipped back, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as she rode Astarion. His hands were firm, guiding her, coaxing her deeper into pleasure with every movement. His mouth was everywhere—her neck, her collarbone, the tops of her breasts, teeth scraping just enough to make her shudder.

And then—

“Tav?”

The voice cut through the night.

Astarion went still beneath her.

Wyll.

A sickening wave of realization crashed over her. What was she doing ?

Wyll was kind. Wyll was good . And he didn’t deserve this.

She scrambled off Astarion, nearly toppling over in her rush. He let out a soft, amused tsk but didn’t try to stop her. Her pulse was a frantic drum against her ribs.

The crunch of boots on leaves sent a fresh jolt of panic through her. Wyll was walking nearby.

Tav ducked low, crouching behind a thick patch of brush just as his silhouette came into view. He was holding up a lantern, its warm glow slicing through the trees, illuminating the furrow in his brow.

He was several feet away.

“Where did you go…?” he muttered to himself, turning his head from side to side. His expression was wary but not suspicious. Not yet.

Tav willed herself to stay silent. Through the gaps in the foliage, she watched as Wyll turned the other way, his lantern swinging slightly. He scanned the forest. 

A hand clutched her ankle and yanked her back, her breasts flattening on the cold dirt. Before she could yelp in surprise, a cold hand clamped over her mouth, quieting her.

“Hush, darling. We wouldn’t want your sweet, ignorant beau to see you being ridden by a dangerous vampire,” he whispered.

What was he…?

His body climbed over hers, his knee spreading her thighs. Her heart pounded as she saw Wyll slightly turn his head in their direction. 

Astarion’s hand was still clamped over her mouth, his body a solid weight against her back. His lips brushed against her ear, his voice a whisper of silk and sin.

“He’s so close,” Astarion murmured, his hips shifting against her in a slow, deliberate grind. “Do you think he’d hear you if I made you moan?”

Tav squeezed her eyes shut, her breath escaping in a ragged exhale against his palm. He was insane . Reckless.

The lantern light wavered, flickering through the brush.

Tav felt undeniable pressure against her backside, and then Astarion exhaled in her ear as he slipped inside of her again. His hand muffled her gasp as he pushed himself deeper. 

His other hand was braced on the dirt, the veins in his hand raised as his hips pressed against hers. 

Astarion was larger than Tav, and heavier. She tried to raise her torso, to better see, but Astarion’s weight held her down. 

“Shhhhh,” he whispered in her ear, his voice so sweet and silky. 

Tav swallowed hard, her pulse hammering against her ribs. She could feel Astarion’s amusement in the way he held her, in the way his fingers dug into the earth beside her. He was enjoying this—the thrill of being on the precipice, the sharp edge of danger just a breath away.

Wyll’s lantern swung closer. Tav could see the gleam of his boots through the underbrush. He was only steps away.

They were lucky the waterfall hid some of the noise, but there was no way Wyll wouldn’t hear the sound of skin slapping against skin. 

Astarion’s lips moved again, his breath hot against her skin. “Do you think he’d be angry, pet?” he mused. “If he found you like this? Would he be heartbroken?” He punctuated his words with a strong thrust of his hips. “Or simply humiliated?”

Another deep thrust.

Tav clenched her jaw, willing her body to stay still, to not tremble beneath the weight of him. She should be ashamed. She was ashamed. But gods, it was hard to think when Astarion was like this—when he made her feel so alive.

When his cock was sliding through her and it felt electric .

He began to pick up the pace and Tav dug her fingers into the earth,nails biting into pebbles. 

No, no, no. They were making too much noise. 

Wyll was going to hear. 

Through the brush he swung his lantern and walked a few steps to the thicker side of the bushes. 

Astarion grinned wickedly, his eyes locked on Wyll's movement. "He might hear you, darling," he whispered, thrusting more forcefully now. 

He was fucking her into the earth, just like how a vampire might.

Tav bit her lip. She had to stay calm, focus on keeping quiet. But her walls were clenching, her arousal growing higher and higher. 

She had never felt an ascent this intense. 

She was going to erupt.

Tav felt Astarion begin to speed up, his movements growing more urgent and desperate. Her name was whispered over and over again from his lips as he plunged deeper into her with every thrust.

A twig snapped to the far side of the forest and Wyll turned his head, and began to walk farther away. 

“Finally,” Astarion grunted, and began pounding Tav into the dirt, hand still over her mouth. The slap against skin was audible now. There was no way Wyll couldn’t hear it, even as he was walking away. 

Astarion let out a groan, his rhythm faltering for a moment, before picking back up. His pinky caressed her bottom lip, and she could feel the slickness between them as he pushed himself closer, deeper. 

“You know, pet. I said I was going to feed. We have to keep up appearances, don’t we?”

His mouth grazed the back of her shoulder, then up her neck. “Should I bite your scruff while I fuck you in front of your boyfriend? Like a wild beast?”

The shame of it all mingled with the dirty delight that coursed through her veins. Astarion was right; she had never felt anything like this before. The devilish thrill of being caught, the illicit nature of their encounter in front of Wyll... It was too much, too intense.

The pleasure was building, her body coiling tighter and tighter. 

Wyll turned around and began walking back toward them. 

Her panic flared and she writhed.

Astarion’s hand clamped down harder against her mouth. “Shush darling,” he whispered tightly in her ear. “Can you keep quiet while I bite you?”

They were going to get caught. 

She might as well give up.

Her head fell against the floor as her body coiled tighter and tighter and tighter. 

Astarion’s teeth sank into the side of her neck, biting part of the muscle in her shoulder. The pain was more intense than when he first bit her all those nights ago. 

She bit his own hand, body shaking. 

Wyll had stopped moving. The light from his lantern flickered in the darkness, casting eerie shadows over the forest floor. Tav could almost feel the glow of the lantern, and she knew that any moment he might see them.

The thought was almost too much for her to bear. 

In that moment, Astarion gave a deep thrust, and she felt his cock swell slightly, and his seed erupted inside her. 

The heat was unlike anything she had felt before, the pressure of his come making her walls flutter and clench. 

Her body reached its peak, the pleasure came in beautiful, powerful waves, and she cried out in spite of herself. 

Astarion’s hand instantly tightened on her mouth.

The sound was small, muffled, but it was there.

As if on cue, Wyll whirled around. Astarion stopped moving completely, but his cock was still spasming, and her walls clenched again and again, making her breath in quick gasps through her nose. 

Astarion pinched her nose, as well as covering her mouth, so that no noise came from her.

His mouth was still on her skin, and she felt a trickle of blood leak down the side of her neck. 

The shine of Wyll’s boots was a few inches away, right on the other side of the bush. And Astarion was as still as stone on top of her. 

Her lungs were burning. 

The lantern was almost illuminating them. Any second now Wyll would yell at them. 

“Where the fuck is she?” Wyll mumbled, and stepped back. 

And back. 

And back.

And then finally, the glow of his lantern disappeared as he walked deeper into the forest. 

Astarion removed his hand and Tav gasped in a breath, chest heaving in gulps of air.

Astarion licked up the thin line of escaped blood, savoring it as he slowly withdrew from her. She winced at the pressure, her body still thrumming from what they had done.

She let out a shaky breath. Her limbs felt weak, her heart still hammering in her chest. Gods . What had she just done?

Her fingers reached up and brushed over her throat, where his fangs had sunk in moments before. She could still feel the ghost of his touch—his hands gripping her, his lips at her skin, the heat pooling between them. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to glance over her shoulder at him.

He was brushing dirt off his thighs.

Tav slowly pushed herself up from the ground. She knew she must look disheveled. Hair a mess. Eyes glazed. Face flushed. 

Astarion stood there, utterly at ease, a lazy smile curling his lips as he extended a hand to help her up. His fingers lingered at her hips before he let go.

He then pressed her bundle of clothes into her hands. Tav accepted them, her fingers trembling slightly as she clutched the fabric to her chest.

She bit the inside of her cheek, shaking her head at herself. Reckless. Stupid. She had let herself get carried away—let him carry her away.

Astarion pulled his pants up and over his glistening cock. Tav couldn’t help but stare. 

His seed slipped down her thigh.

Astarion walked up and slid his hand gently against her skin, catching his seed, before plunging his fingers inside her, forcing her to take all of him. To keep him inside her.

Tav gasped and clutched onto his arm.

He laughed, low and knowing. “Oh, darling,” he whispered. “We’re going to have so much fun together.” 

Astarion sucked at his fingers when he withdrew them from her trembling sex.

He patted her bare bum, smirking as she sucked in a breath, and then, just like that, he turned and strolled back toward camp.

[a-bottle-of-tyelenol]

agere yamada hizashi headcanons !!

— requested by anon —

— I personally see him as a caregiver but anon said ‘regression headcanons’ so I included both —

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

💚 - as a caregiver, I see him as that well meaning guy who is slightly irresponsible and doesn’t really know what to do with kids (think a bit like dewey from school of rock but more reliable). I actually headcanon him as being quite bad with kids, able to dazzle them for fifteen minutes before he has no idea what to do. because of that, he makes some questionable choices when taking care of kiddos— blasting rock/punk music that isn’t the most child-friendly (because music exposure is always good), letting them eat whatever they want (because food is food), and letting them sleep wherever they want (because at least they’re sleeping).

⭐️ - as a little, his personality really depends on the day and why he’s regressing. hizashi has a bad habit of running until he’s got nothin’ but fumes left after working three jobs and refusing to let himself feel anything meaningful. so, sometimes he regresses because he’s exhausted and at his limit, leaving him overly emotional because he has to process all those yucky feelings he spent weeks burying. other times, he regresses on his own and is a hyperactive chatterbox! he didn’t have a lot of friends until high school because of how loud and annoying he was (his quirk only made that worse in his early years), so he likes being given the space to heal that part of himself and yap about whatever he finds interesting as a 6-8 year old (which is his typical range).

💚 - hizashi sees himself as the fun caretaker and always tries to encourage his littles to jump around and yell because it always feels better to let that energy out. he’s a literal rave dj in his free time and he likes putting on shows in the living room where he remixes kids songs and cartoon theme music into have a sick bass drop for a dance party.

⭐️ - on the opposite end, he really likes having quiet time when small. his days are full of noise and people, from obnoxious teenagers to the boisterous performances he has to give on the radio, so he likes having quiet evenings where he can cuddle up to a caregiver and read. he really loves reading when small and likes to annotate his books with pretty highlighters, doodles, and multi-colored pens and tabs.

💚 - he’s shockingly good at gentle parenting. it’s not a shock because I think he’s too mean or strict for it; no, it’s a shock because he doesn’t know anything about child development or what gentle parenting even is and he just naturally leans towards treating kids that way. he (and aizawa when he’s a caregiver) firmly believe in natural consequences and find it more effective to talk through a kiddo’s big emotions. hizashi doesn’t let kids walk all over him (the opposite, really. he’s scary as a disappointed teacher) but he doesn’t like punishing them either, especially regressors that usually have trauma in their histories. at most, he might have a little write him an essay (depending on their age) or sit and cool their jets if everyone’s too frustrated.

⭐️ - he also hates punishments when he’s small too. hizashi was the classic class clown in school, which often got him in trouble for talking/distracting the class or bordering on being disrespectful, so he can handle small acts of defiance being met with a stern tone or a warning. but he hates anything more than that. a big thing with him is that he wants everyone to like him all the time (which was why he was a class clown at all) and feels as though the stronger or more negative parts of him will chase off the people he loves. he doesn’t like inconveniencing anyone and that feeling doubles when he’s regressed. he wants his caregiver to like him and any hint of disappointment or genuine displeasure sends him spiraling.

💚 - he often goes into teacher mode while caregiving just because most of his knowledge in dealing with children is as a teacher. it makes for some really amusing moments where he realizes that a toddler won’t have the same level of understanding as a high schooler and he has to pivot into something else (like the time he tried talking about gothic english poetry to a little in babyspace and found them staring at him with wide, questioning eyes). he got better after some experience and now his teaching usually surrounds cultural things— 80s movies, classic music, and food from other countries since he enjoys cooking. basically just whatever pop culture he can expose to the youth.

⭐️ - he is the embodiment of the “got any games on your phone?” meme. he’s a total ipad kid and is obsessed with screens. he loves media of any kind and it’s his favorite way to unwind so it’s hard getting him to do anything except stare at a screen watching movies, listening to music, or giggling to interviews his hero friends do. that being said, he’s very mischievous and playful so sometimes you can distract him away from his phone by introducing something else— like splashing around in a pool or going to the park where he can force his caregiver to follow him onto the gym equipment.

[moonfurthetemmie]

I present to you

Glaze and Tempera

Tempera (any pronouns):

Energetic, and very outwardly chaotic. Frequently talks without thinking. They tend to have the wilder ideas of the pair, not that that’s saying much. I’m gonna project so much adhd onto them by accident

He thinks it’s hilarious that Ink, the one who’d be the worst parent, was saddled with two clones to take care of, instead of just one like everyone else. Temp enjoys going out of his way to irritate her.

Temp’s fighting style is basically ‘run in circles and tire out her opponent while sticking her pointy stick wherever she can’. She’s strong and fast, and if there’s one good thing she can say about Ink, it’s that she was a good teacher when it came to fighting.

It always tends to wear outfits that have one little piece that seems out of place. It think it’s funny. It try to get Glaze to do it, too, for the bit, but Glaze just calls it an idiot (affectionate). Other than that, neither twin has a set sense of style. Temp tends to flip through more “gendered” outfits than Glaze; as in they’ve got more outfits with different ‘gender’ vibes than Glaze. Glaze tends to lean into more feminine outfits, even if she’s all over the spectrum of ‘feminine clothes’

Glaze (she/her):

Just as chaotic as her sibling, but you wouldn’t know it just by looking at her. She seems to be the sensible one, which the twins absolutely use to their advantage when they’re getting up to shit.

More calculating and sarcastic than Tempera, Glaze is hard to get along with at first. They both have trouble with new people, but Glaze tends to be more wary.

She has mostly the same physical capabilities as Temp, but she has better reaction times. She prefers to watch for and take advantage of any and all openings, and goes for quick strikes and careful dodging.

Glaze isn’t too fond of the way she and the others were created just to keep an eye on a couple of statues. None of them are, but her especially. Why do they have to deal with this? Why couldn’t the older ones just find some random people to make their apprentices or something?? If she can, she’s going to find someone to replace her in this. This is stupid.

…She rethinks this plan some after Corvus and Orion are revived.

She and Temp frequently ‘coordinate’ outfits to be of completely opposing vibes. Glaze has just as many spiky vests and emo jackets as her sibling.

Also!

Ink

She was literally the worst person to be the caretaker of a kid, out of everyone. And she ended up with two. It’s a good thing everyone decided to do group parenting shit, because Glaze and Tempera would probably have way worse issues.

She did a little bit of research into what kids need, but only in terms of like, basic necessities for survival. Kids are just little people, they don’t need that much attention, right? She can leave them to their own devices somewhat.

Glaze and Temp are lucky the others reminded Ink that small kids are stupid and adventurous, and that she needed to make sure they couldn’t get into anything toxic or otherwise dangerous.

She did teach them how to fight though. If nothing else, she was a good mentor for fighting.

Glaze and Temp may have called her ‘mom’ when they were young, but now she’s just ‘our legal guardian, Ink.’

Other little notes:

Tempera’s weapon, according to heroforge, is called a sang kauw. It has a crescent-shaped blade over the handle that can be used for blocking or striking.

Glaze and Temp’s weapons are summonable like Ink’s, I just wanted to show them off.

Tempera’s morality alignment is Chaotic Neutral. Glaze’s is True Neutral

Before I got them names, Glaze and Temp were referred to as the ‘DS-Ink-coded twin’ and the ‘OG-Ink-coded twin’ because of the double inks in the original dream

They are so fucking chaotic they live in my head rent-free I love them so much they’re so stupid

[no1ryomafan]

The urge to do a breakdown of arma and new ryoma specifically to try to understand why new ryoma is not at all acknowledged compared to arma despite new having far more screen time and being explored as a character then arma is so strong even though the answer boils down to two things: “art style preference” and “no one cares about ryoma as a actual nuance character” but both of those points makes me so mad💀

[adaine-party-wizard]

gritting my teeth and stopping myself from getting involved in a Discourse on the misunderstanding webbed site because i know it won’t end well for me

[melhekhelmurkun]

Is it just me or do the Slytherin and Hufflepuff common rooms (famously located in the dungeons for some fucking reason) just seem like the absolute worst for depression

[satorhime]

୨୧ㅤִㅤׄ COUGH SYRUP ― GOJO SATORU.

satoru is a bit of an idiot who will do anything to get you to speak to him after an argument.

𓈒 ݁ ₊ content ﾉ fem reader, clingy satoru, established relationship, mild argument, fluff, not proofread, randomly started missing my boy :( <3

satoru can’t function when you’re upset with him. 

he knows he should be an adult about it — he is an adult, after all. he should give you space, let you simmer down. most people do not do things such as send one hundred and fifty text messages (he counted each of ‘em; you left him on read one hundred and fifty two times. who does that?) to your phone while you’re in the middle of grocery shopping and they most definitely do not take a sick day because their significant other is mad at them. 

 but then again, satoru isn’t like most people. 

which is why he’s currently sprawled out on the sofa in the middle of the day, wrapped in your favorite throw blanket — one that still smells faintly of your perfume. tissues litter the coffee table and floor around him, an unconvincing movie set of misery. call him manipulative, but it’s the only thing he’s got left in the tank since, for the last seventy-two hours, you haven’t spoken more than five words in a sentence to him. 

you’re his main source of enrichment, his brain stimulated by your sweet kisses and good loving so when you take that away, you’re stripping away his heart and soul. he’s got nothing left. he might as well die.  

in satoru’s brain, he figures that surely, if he’s coughing up a lung, you’ll feel bad for him and start talking to him again. in sickness and in health, right? 

by the time you walk through the front door after making a quick run to the supermarket for groceries, he’s in full performance mode, clutching his stomach with a groan. 

the sound is so realistic that you feel a sudden stab of worry, wondering if he’s injured. rushing into the living room, you find all six foot three of your boyfriend balled up on the sofa, looking like walking death. 

or trying to, anyway. 

“satoru?” you ask, eyebrows arching as you set your grocery bags down on the floor, taking out your phone and glancing at the time on the lockscreen. “why are you home? it’s eleven am.” 

“baby,” he groans pitfully, looking up at you. his glacier blue eyes are red rimmed and shimmering suspiciously — like he squeezed them shut repeatedly until he got the desired effect. satoru sniffles for good measure, huddling into the blanket. “i’m sick,” he announces, his lower lip wobbling, dragging out the last syllable like it physically hurts him to say it. 

“sick? you seemed fine when i left this morning,” you say, taking a step forward. you reach out a hand, pushing back his wintery locks to check for a fever. his skin feels normal, cool to touch even. your eyes narrow. you’re dubious — satoru never gets sick, yet it is his favorite act whenever he’s in the doghouse and wants attention. that, and he’s a terrible actor. you purse your lips, irritated. this is what he does instead of just apologizing? 

“i wasn’t fine emotionally,” satoru whines back. “i’m heartbroken here. it’s debilitating my health rapidly.” 

your expression doesn’t budge and satoru’s pout deepens when he realizes you’re not buying it. he clutches the blanket tighter around his big body, exaggerating a shiver for good measure. “you’re my life force, angel. my happiness. my —”

“stop it,” you interrupt and hold up a hand, fighting the smile tugging at your lips. you’re mad at him — you are. “but let me get this straight. you called out of work because i wasn’t talking to you?” 

“it was a medical emergency. do you have any idea what it’s like to go hours without hearing you voice?! without seeing you smile at me? you wouldn’t even let me use your body wash last night so we could share the same scent. i barely survived the night. any longer and i’d be a goner,” he sighs dramatically, then remembers he’s supposed to be on his last leg and hacks, phlegm rattling in his throat. 

“you’re obsessed,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to hold firm. but your damned heart has selective memory and it is making an appearance again, rapidly forgetting why you’re still mad at him. oh, you had a right to be upset over what he did, but it seems insignificant now when he’s in front of you, groveling like a servant at a throne. 

“angel, come on,” he presses, sitting up on the sofa and reaching for your hand, hurt flashing bright across his eyes when you step out of range. if you let him pull you down on that sofa with him, he’ll sweet talk his way into you forgiving him without consequences. he’ll do that anyway, but you won’t make it easy for him. “i’ll do anything to make it right.” 

“don’t angel me. you can’t just manipulate me into forgiving you with your big pretty eyes,” you wag your finger at him. “i bet you don’t even know what you did.” 

“i know, but it’s working, ain’t it?” he grins, shamelessly dropping the congested tone in his voice. “and i know what i did,” he scoffs. “you’re mad at me about that thing.” 

yes, that thing.

two nights ago, your body pillow — your very expensive, weighted body pillow which happened to have a giant render of your boyfriend on it, went missing. you’d commissioned it to have something to cuddle with on those nights when satoru is away on business and you miss him in your shared bed an unhealthy amount. you’d become a little too attached to it, though, while satoru wanted nothing more than to burn it. 

“he has a name,” you hiss, swatting satoru’s knee as you struggle not to laugh. “don’t call mr. comf-toru-ble a thing! he’s sensitive.” 

“see?” satoru says, scrubbing a hand over his handsome face before gesturing around wildly. “you even named it.” 

you give him a sharp look. “he cost me an entire paycheck— an entire paycheck that three days ago, you gave to the garbage collectors because i was cuddling him instead of you!” 

“i was feeling neglected!” he defends, voice pitching higher in his affront, placing a hand on his chest. “you spent the whole night with it. meanwhile, i— your husband— was right there, cold and alone. i can’t let me steal my wife.”

“we’re not married, satoru,” you remind him, then pout. “unlike my husband, the pillow doesn’t hog the covers, snore, or throw out things that i really like.” 

“it’s not hogging the covers, it’s redistribution of them for my comfort,” he grins playfully, but upon seeing your serious expression, he concedes, sobering up. in truth, he knows he messed up and went too far. it was childish to throw out something that you bought because of his frequent bouts of absence. maybe if he was around more, you wouldn’t need to cuddle with body pillows that look like him. “look, baby. i’m sorry. it was a moment of weakness. it’s not everyday i gotta be in competition with myself, but i’ll make it up to you! i even ordered you another one.” 

“a moment of jealousy, you mean,” you counter, but there’s no real bite behind your tone now.

“hey, you gotta see it from my perspective though. it’s kind of crazy seeing you cuddle with a pillow that looks like me when the real thing is right here,” satoru gestures down the long line of his body, though it looks more comical than inviting when he’s wrapped like a overstuffed burrito in your throw blanket.

“mm,” you nod, “well, maybe if the ‘real thing’ is a good boy, i’ll cuddle him more often.” 

“deal,” he answers immediately and when his muscular arms shoot out from behind the blanket and reach for you this time, you let him. his arms circle around your waist, pulling you into his lap. it was just a few days of silent treatment, but satoru wastes no time tucking his face against the dip of your neck, breathing in your sweet scent like you’re something precious and rare he lost ages ago and is just discovering again after eons. 

he’s squishing you, he knows it, but god he hates it when you’re mad at him — and you, in return, hate being at odds with him too. you both make too much sense to each other to be apart, and there’s upset in the balance of the world when the two of you are in an argument. 

“worst seventy-two hours of my life,” satoru blows out a breath of relief, the air tickling the hair at the nape of your neck, drawing a shiver down your spine. “never do that to me again, angel. you hear?” 

“don’t throw out my customized satoru merch again and i won’t, baby,” you coo, smiling. 

“you’ll still choose me over the other guy though, right?” 

“we’ll see, ‘toru, we’ll see,” you answer playfully, yelping when he darts in to nip at your ear in retaliation.

getting comfortable in satoru’s lap, you lean in to put the both of you out of your miseries and forgive him with a kiss when you get a whiff of menthol and childhood memories wafting from his chest.

 “are you wearing vaporub?”

[jinwoosbabyboo]

𝙲𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚙 𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛

LADS Men and a cramp simulator. This is how I imagine they would handle it.

A/N: I’ve gotten many requests for a cramp simulator so this is for those who wanna torture their man hehe

𝚉𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎

[Before]

Of course he is berating you with questions. Where did you get this? why do you want him to do this? Will this have long lasting effects?

Believes you when you say your cramps are bad so he’s having a hard time understanding why you want to cause him immense pain

Agrees anyway because he will always do whatever you want him to do

[During]

This would be one of the rare moments you see Zayne break his calm cool and collected composure

“Are you sure you’re not having a heart attack every month?” He’s leaning on any surface he can find long after you’ve taken the simulator off of him

I imagine he has a high pain tolerance, but this was too much “You can turn it off now” you turn it up. “My love please turn it off” red in the face sweating and hands are shaking

[After]

You gave him your heating pad to help with the lingering pain “I was unaware of what you were dealing with every month”

Prepare to be pampered every time you get your period now; he's stocking up all your feminine products, tea, heating pads, painkillers, and your favorite foods and snacks

Monitors your heart closely during the week because he's worried you might have a heart attack

Brings up the option of medical grade painkillers, but immediately changes his mind because he doesn’t want you getting addicted

“Next time you start you period just take the week off” insists you stay home and let him take care of you, bringing you tea and rubbing your stomach

𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚕

[Before]

Overconfident to start — he can sense when you’re not feeling well, but can’t sense your cramp pain he just knows you’re not okay

Believes you when you say your cramps are bad, but "there’s no way they’re that bad" he has a high pain tolerance so “this will be a piece of cake turn it up”

[During]

Trying to hide the grimace on his face when he feels the first ‘cramp’ “Keep going?” “Yea this is nothing” he’s already sweating

Screaming, whining, crying and damn near throwing up “I’m dying there’s no way im not dying I see the light” “You’re not dying” “YES I AM”

“This is what you go through? No wonder you’re so mean” “I was being nice this is what I actually feel” you turn it up and he throws himself on the floor “I’M SORRY I’M SORRY TURN IT OFF PLEASE” gasping for air as he rolls around

[After]

Leaves you little snacks and gifts outside the door whenever you get your period now

Has never asked “Is it really that bad?” again because he knows the answer now; gets pains just thinking about it

Had to go lay down and take a nap after you took the simulator off of him.

Stocks up on heating pads and rubs your stomach and back religiously now

𝚇𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛

[Before]

Isn’t nervous, but also isn't excited “I’m ready”

Is only doing this because you promised him hotpot afterwards

“You’re no stranger to pain” “Im not a masochist” “Debatable”

[During]

The pain was so bad that it pissed him off “This is complete bullshit” “I’m not interested in continuing this turn it off please”

When you turn it up so show him what you actually experience he’s kneeling at your feet begging you to turn it off “My Star please I understand please end this”

Accidentally grips whatever is near him so hard he breaks it

sweating, red in the face with tears in his eyes

[After]

Nurse Xavier now

Whenever you get your period he’s making you lay down and take it easy all week.

Is helping you in and out of bed

Leaves either a tampon or fresh underwear with a pad already lined in it on the counter for you when you get out of the shower

Loves these weeks now because he can nap with you as much as he wants

Carries you everywhere “Xav I promise I can walk” “With cramps as horrendous as those? You really are superwoman”

𝚂𝚢𝚕𝚞𝚜

[Before]

Nonchalant as always has almost a bored expression

“I still feel pain Princess, but I'll indulge you”

You tell him to sit down, but he opts to stand

"You shot and stabbed me before I can handle this" "I scratched you" "You stabbed me clear through the chest" "What?" "What."

[During]

Panting and red in the face does his best to try and handle the pain

Breathing heavily and doubled over leaning against the nearest surface he can find

“Okay okay thats enough” brought him to knees once again “I thought you could handle pain?” “That does not mean I enjoy it”

Has to sit down for a while completely still like a statue after that

[After]

Already pampered you during your periods, but he’s upped it now

Literally tracks your cycle and makes sure he’s always nearby incase it comes early

Wants you to stay with him the entire time “I need to go to work Sylus” “No you don’t you need to rest”

Makes a nesting bed for you and is at your beckoned call

[kryptonitejelly]

draco malfoy x reader (female)

the one where Blaise notices the Malfoy signet ring on your finger.

send draco requests.

-

The air smells like a combination of Draco and yourself, but mostly Draco - notes of citrus overlaid with the scent of tea and smoky wood. His sheets are cool against the surface of your skin, a sensation which lends a sharp contrast to the warmth of his bare chest against your cheek. You can feel one of his hands tracing patterns onto the skin of your back, as he other hand fiddles absently with your fingers which you have splayed out across his chest, a lazy post-coital haze surrounding you both.

“Who knew the Draco Malfoy would be one for cuddling,” you say teasingly your fingers tugging lightly on the long slender digits which are still tangled with yours. This isn’t the first time you’ve been here, your naked form flush against Draco’s in the same bed in which he had you legs hooked over his shoulder, his name a litany on your lips just mere moments ago.

“I’m not,” he scoffs with a roll of his eyes, as he manages to squeeze your fingers in his, a subtle battle for dominance among you both.

“Alright then,” you say both suddenly and with a calculated carelessness as you push your hands, fingers still tangled in his against his chest as you make a move to sit up. The covers slip easily down your skin with no clothes to act as friction. It exposes you, your nipples hardening upon contact with the cool air. You’e barely managed to get up when you feel the arm wrapped around you shift, fingers pressing more firmly into your hip to pull you back down.

“Where do you think you’re going,” Draco questions. He keeps his tone indifferent but the arm which has tightened around your body tells a different story.

“I’m sure Theo likes to cuddle,” you express matter of factly, keeping your expression innocent and it earns you an icy gaze from the blonde, cool grey boring in you. Draco observes you for almost a full minute before speaking.

“I’m sure he does not,” is what he finally says as a retort, his tone more disgruntled this time.

You open your mouth to disagree only to feel your back pressed flat into the mattress, Draco’s body now covering yours, his movements swift. You see the glint in his eyes as he lowers his head towards yours.

“Draco,” you breathe his name out. He doesn’t respond but presses his lips to yours. His hands find yours, fingers tangling together, pinning your hands above your head. You kiss him back, teeth nipping his lip lightly which earns your a low growl from the back of his throat. You can feel Draco hardening, his length pressed against your stomach. Your almost miss it with the competing sensations overtaking your body - lips, hands, skin, but your brain manages to register the feeling of Draco slipping cool metal from the signet ring on his last finger onto your index.

-

“Well, well, well - look who decided to join us,” Blaise calls out too cheerily, taking in the sight of you and Draco walking into the small sitting room in what had come to be Draco’s side of the Malfoy manor.

“It is surprising that I’m joining you in the sitting room of the Malfoy manor,” comes Draco’s reply which earns a good natured chortle from Theo and an eye roll from Pansy.

“Well, you can’t blame us for thinking that you two would be,” Blaise pauses for dramatic effect, “…otherwise occupied.” His unsaid words clear.

As with the rest, you and Draco had been childhood friends. However, years of tension that neither of you had acted upon had only cumulated more recently, and with Pansy’s blessing, into this, whatever it was. You both hadn’t yet spoken about it, the touching, sleepovers, sex, and there had been no outward proclamations to the world at large that either of you was anything other than single, and yet - it was no secret among anyone who knew either of you that you were both very unavailable.

“You mean book club?” You managed to keep a straight face as you question Blaise too innocently. It earns you a smirk from Draco and an amused chuckle from Pansy, your joke clear as you stop by the table facing the floor to ceiling windows which they are sitting by.

You reach across the table for a handful of blueberries from a bowl beside Theo’s elbow when you feel Blaise grab your wrist lightly, his fingers curling around, as he holds your wrist up in triumph, brandishing it around. You place your free hand flat down on the surface of the table, stabilising yourself as you lean forward into Blaise’s pull.

“I didn’t know book club members were all given the Malfoy signet ring,” he grins wildly at the discovery. The group’s gaze flickers to Draco’s hand, noticing the lack of the ring, usually a mainstay, on his the last finger of his left hand.

“If I join book club could I get one too?” Theo quips cheekily as you feel your cheeks start to heat both at your current plight as well as with recollection of what had been a subtle act of possessive on Draco’s part earlier.

“Zabini,” Draco says, tone still even as he reaches over, his hand curling around your forearm, tugging you out of Blaise’s grip, while ignoring Theo, “if she’s wearing the Malfoy signet ring don’t you think you should think twice before manhandling her?”

“Is she yours Draco,” Pansy adds to the chaos, an equally wide smirk on her face as Blaise lets your wrist slip out from his hold with ease while throwing you a wink.

“If you thought otherwise then you lot must be more dim than I thought ,” is all Draco says as he sits down. He lets you drop onto the chair beside him before reaching over to pull the piece of furniture and you closer to his side, the drag of it on the floor audible.

It earns him a whoop from Blaise, two hands thrown up in the air from Theo as he yells “finally”, and a laugh from Pansy who blows a kiss at you.

Draco slides his arm across the back of the chair, before looking at you brows lifted slightly, but his question is clear, you’ve never spoke about this and Draco wants to know - are you okay with this?

“I am,” you say as you lean forward to press your lips briefly against his. It only causes a louder ruckus at the table.

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane preference] reacting to their s/o wearing parfum

As usual, if you'd like to read more of my work, I have an ongoing Arcane fanfiction, Everytime It Rains (based on the alternative timeline). Click here! to read it. As for this headcanon, I had run out of my perfume stash and just restocked with Scandal, Black Opium, Honey Aoud, and Bianco Latte (all sweet with vanilla notes). So, this headcanon is my way of channeling the euphoria of my perfume obsession.

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky | | Ao3 |

Jayce:

He’s not overly sensitive to perfumes. If you spray it while in the same room as him, he doesn’t feel the need to leave because he can’t breathe.

For this very reason, it always takes him a little while—not to notice it, but to figure out where it’s coming from.

The sweeter the scent, the more likely his first assumption is that you’ve bought or baked something sweet while he wasn’t around.

When you laugh and tell him there are no sweets and it’s your new perfume, he’s a little embarrassed but in a sweet, endearing way.

He’ll hug you, press his nose into the crook of your neck, and take in as much of the scent as he can to memorize it.

He doesn’t have issues with any scent. Sweeter ones make him sniff you more often because they make his mouth water, while spicier, “evening” notes are something he enjoys when you’re resting against him.ù

Viktor:

He’s very sensitive to perfumes; freshly sprayed scents give him headaches and make him feel short of breath.

This is probably a lingering effect from Zaun—his body reacts viscerally the moment the air isn’t clean and well-oxygenated.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate it. You just need to let the alcohol component fade a bit before getting close to him, or at least spray it in another room.

He’s a bit more reserved than others; he’ll sniff it from your wrist while holding it lightly.

“Mh… yes, I’ve always dreamed of being in a relationship with a pastry shop.”

“You mean a pastry chef.”

“No, I know what I said.”

Ekko:

This man is a truffle dog; he notices the moment you arrive with a different scent.

His talent is playing it cool, becoming flirtier, and acting like a caricature of a gentleman trying to court you.

He prefers spicier scents to sweeter ones. If you wear something with vanilla notes, he’ll tease you, saying you smell like “the cake served by a Piltie’s servants,” but he doesn’t actually dislike it.

If a mission is particularly bad or he has a bad feeling about the day, he’ll ask you to spray some of your perfume on a handkerchief he keeps in his pocket, so he can hold on to your scent and feel closer to you.

Vander:

You could spray it directly into his nose, and he couldn’t care less. With the bar, he’s used to strong smells from cleaning products, spirits, and late-night disasters.

The alcohol in perfumes doesn’t bother him.

The downside is that he doesn’t notice it right away—he just doesn’t pay attention to it.

He generally tries to give you his full attention, but these little details sometimes slip past him. When you point it out, he’ll immediately try to make up for it if he remembers noticing something different in the air that day.

He’ll sniff it from your neck, slowly moving downward, justifying it as “trying to see how it blends with your natural scent.”

Silco (old man):

He prefers bold perfumes with character, like amber or woody scents, and finds excessively sweet ones rather childish.

He won’t hesitate to share this opinion in front of you.

He’s the kind of man who enjoys tobacco, wears Acqua di Giò, drinks warm whiskey—in short, he favors bitter and spicy notes.

But that won’t stop him from quickly growing accustomed to the scent he initially disliked so much, the one that makes you recognizable even as you ascend the stairs.

He’ll look for something similar or with complementary notes to gift you himself, though he’ll never admit that he’s come to appreciate it.

Silco (young man):

It’s rare for there to be an occasion to wear perfume, which is why the same evening you show up at the bar wearing it, he notices immediately.

He doesn’t have a particular preference for perfumes. But his love language is sarcasm, so regardless, he’ll make an ironic (but not mean) comment before telling you it suits you.

When you’re away, he’ll look for a piece of your clothing with the strongest scent to sleep with so he can feel close to you. When he’s the one far away, he’ll ask you to give him something, anything, with a bit of your scent on it.

He won’t sniff you in public—only when you’re alone, in private.

Jinx:

She loves sweet scents and hates bitter or overly amber ones.

“You smell like a pastry.”

The sweeter the perfume, the more likely you’ll catch her sniffing you or your things, just a moment before she clutches her stomach, whining about craving chocolate, caramel, or something sweet.

She’ll ask for a spritz of your perfume too, so she can smell as if “she just walked out of a bakery.” too

She prefers when you spray it in her hideout or in one of her rooms, so it clings to things and improves the overall smell.

Vi:

She doesn’t notice it right away because it’s not the sort of thing she pays attention to.

On one hand, she doesn’t love perfumes or anything that covers up natural scents. She prefers your smell—your skin’s scent—the one that drives her wild.

On the other hand, perfume is a fancy thing that hasn’t been much of a reality in her life, except for the cologne Vander used to wear.

Which was suffocating because he always overdid it.

She prefers spicier scents over sweet ones but doesn’t dislike anything.

She’ll kiss your hand and offer her arm, mimicking a fancy Piltover couple, babbling nonsense about non-existent upcoming galas and the finest shoe polish brands.

Caitlyn:

“How does she react?” When? When she’s accompanying you to buy it?

If you’re torn between more than one perfume, she’ll buy you the other without letting you know.

She notices immediately when you wear it, smiles at you, lifts your face, and kisses you with the unspoken understanding that this small indulgence is your personal little secret.

Those days tend to heat up quickly, often ending on the bed before you even realize it.

For the most important evenings, she’ll suggest which one you should wear.

Mel:

She hates overly sweet perfumes, finding them suffocating and cloying.

She doesn’t overdo her own perfume either, spraying twice into the air and walking through the mist so it’s not too strong or unnatural.

She prefers it once it’s already faded, so she can still breathe when she kisses you.

Ultimately, she’ll grow accustomed to whatever you wear. Sure, she’d prefer a citrusy or more floral scent, but as long as it’s on you, anything is acceptable.

Sevika:

She prefers none at all. She likes the natural scent of skin, whether it’s faint or strong.

She finds perfumes draw too much attention.

She’d never tell you this outright, though. However, if your perfume is too sweet, she’ll tease you, saying she didn’t realize she was dating a brioche. If it’s too strong and bitter, she’ll joke that you’re giving her PTSD and making her feel like she’s at work.

She doesn’t mind when you wear it on nights out together, because if someone notices the scent and turns around, they’ll see you’re with her.

[lumiambrose]

smut, minors do not interact !

Thinking back on the first time you rode Sae…

Sae typically prefers to fuck you in missionary or doggy. Any position that allows him to perfectly control your body to his desire while he’s drilling his fat cock into your holes.

Although after a particularly exhausting training, any will to dominate you beneath him vaporised the moment your soft thighs straddled his lap. Slowly rolling your hips against his growing length, letting out tiny mewls at the slightest friction.

“Go on, angel. Use me.” He whispers into your ear, only fuelling the heat in your core. Your desperation is unlike ever before as you speed up your pace, a wet spot appearing on your shorts.

It’s cute he thinks, watching you getting all hot and bothered, and he hasn’t even touched you, let alone take off your clothes. He’s curious, curious how much you can handle as his hands place themselves on your hips, helping you move yourself on his toned abs.

“Ahh~ Sae! Please—need more!” Your moans are barely coherent as you quickly remove your top. The cool air hitting your chest briefly before being quickly replaced by Sae’s warm tongue. Licking and sucking on your sensitive spots.

“You need more, hmm? Well go on. Take what you need, mi amor.” Fuck—you can’t hold off any more, you pull away temporarily, ridding yourself of your shorts and panties, then Sae’s clothes.

You don’t even realise how rough you are as you push him back onto the bed, eagerly chasing what’s yours. Slowly sinking yourself down on him, letting out a whiny moan as he bottoms out inside of you. And Sae? He’s never been so turned on, the sight of you almost in control, taking what you need from him.

His palms roam your body; sliding from your chest down to your thighs, teasing any skin available to him. Anything to elicit a reaction out of you whilst your so desperately riding him.

Your entire body shakes as you shift back and forwards on top of your boyfriend, nails digging into his toned biceps as your puffy eyes can barely stay open. “So big!” You whine, throwing your head back in pleasure.

“What a needy little thing. You’re gonna milk my dry, love. You know that?”

That doesn’t stop you, of course. In fact, his words have quite the opposite effect. You continue riding Sae, you can feel your close, and so is he. It’s obvious once he starts moving you himself. Large hands digging into your hips as he bounces you up and down on his length. Pulling out so just his tip is in only to slam back into you, abusing your poor holes.

“Just like that, angel. Take my dick for me, okay? You can do it.” His words send vibrations straight down through you, shivering as your climax finally reaches. Rapidly crashing over you, your entire body convulses around Sae, squeezing his cock dry as you ride out your orgasm, moaning and whining like a bitch in heat.

Sae isn’t far behind either. “Fuck, amor. Gonna fill you up. Gonna make you so full.” You can’t understand the rest, it’s all a blur anyways as you feel hot ropes of cum fill you to the brim. It’s warm, he’s warm, and you’re tired.

Not giving either of you a chance, you collapse on top of him. Allowing the both of you to have the best sleep either of you have had in a while.

©lumiambrose ─ do not translate, repost, copy any of my works

[cruel-seduction]

Theodore Nott Headcanons

Warning: This piece contains themes of possessiveness, obsessive behavior, and dark romance undertones. Theodore’s devotion might be overwhelming, intense, and not suited for everyone’s taste. Reader discretion is advised.

(+ Requests are open so if you wanna request something, go ahead)

mdni 18+

Theodore Nott 

6’4 | He’s taller than Mattheo, and yes, he lords it over him (quietly, of course, because Theo is above petty behavior… unless it’s funny).

Lean, but don’t be fooled—this man is cut. He’s that deadly kind of fit where you don’t notice at first because he’s always wearing loose sweaters and looking like a poetry major. But the second the sleeves roll up? Oh. My. God. Veins for DAYS, hands strong enough to snap a wand in half (or your will to argue).

He doesn’t work out. Like, ever. He’s just naturally like this. Probably from lugging around all those dark magic books and the emotional weight of his trauma (we love a man with issues!).

(He could choke you with one hand while quoting Dante and your ghost would thank him. RESPECTFULLY!)

Has that sleepy, “don’t bother me, I’m too cool for this” kind of vibe. Until he’s pissed, and suddenly it’s quiet rage central. A single glare from him could silence an entire Great Hall—and probably has.

His abs? Unfair. They’re there, but in the casual, effortless way that makes you want to cry because why do they look that good without trying? If you’re lucky enough to see him shirtless (bless your soul), you’ll be rethinking your life decisions.

Quidditch player energy without ever actually playing. His thing? Sitting in the stands, sipping black coffee, and judging everyone while looking hot.

"YOU WANNA KNOW IF I’D FOLLOW THEODORE INTO A CURSED FOREST AT MIDNIGHT JUST BECAUSE HE SAID SO??? THE ANSWER IS YES. I’D GO, NO QUESTIONS ASKED."

You think he’s calm and controlled until you see him in a duel, and suddenly he’s throwing hexes like he’s possessed. It’s giving “do-not-poke-the-bear” energy, and it’s hot.

His smirk? Criminal. It’s the kind of smirk that makes you forget how to breathe for a second and then hate yourself because he definitely knows the effect it has on people.

“Mia cara,” he says, and you’re done for. No wand needed. He just obliterated your whole existence.

Theodore Nott | Personality

He’s quiet, but it’s that kind of quiet. The "I could verbally destroy you with a single sentence but choose not to because I have better things to do" kind of quiet.

(WE LOVE A MAN WITH RESTRAINED CHAOS!!! IT’S SO SEXY!!!)

His reputation is split down the middle. People either think he’s the chillest guy in Slytherin or they’re low-key terrified of him. There is no in-between. He doesn’t go out of his way to make people uncomfortable, but if you catch his bad side? RIP to you, my friend.

Very composed most of the time, but don’t mistake that for softness. Theo doesn’t raise his voice; he raises his eyebrow. And somehow, that’s worse.

"You really thought that was a good idea? Cute."

Stone-cold when it comes to confrontations. No yelling, no theatrics—just a quiet menace that makes you wish he’d scream at you instead because this is SO MUCH WORSE.

However, if it’s for his friends? Oh, baby, the gloves come off. Someone messes with Mattheo? He’s done. Someone insults you? They’re not showing up to class tomorrow. He’s terrifyingly efficient when it comes to protecting the people he loves.

Doesn’t talk a lot in fights, but his insults are cutting when they come out. And he does it with a smirk that makes you want to both slap him and kiss him.

"What’s the matter? Spellbook too heavy for you? Or is it just that your brain isn’t working?"

Unlike Mattheo, he doesn’t get in trouble for starting fights. Oh no, Theo’s the one who talks his way out of detention, leaving the professors wondering how they ended up apologizing to him.

Let’s be real, Theo has layers. He’s the kind of guy who looks calm and put together on the outside, but his mind? A mess. Overthinks everything, but you’ll never know it because he’s mastered the art of hiding his emotions. (He’s good at this, but it’s also probably why he sleeps like four hours a night.)

Moody, but in a subtle way. You’ll notice when he’s upset because he’ll get even quieter, or start tapping his fingers on the table. He’s not the type to vent about it—he’ll just say “it’s nothing” while his jaw clenches so hard you swear you hear it crack.

Theo loves order. He’s a perfectionist and gets mildly stressed when things don’t go according to plan. He doesn’t lose his temper, though—he just sighs dramatically and mutters something in Italian like "Per l’amor del cielo..."

(BILINGUAL KINGS ARE UNFAIR. WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE CAN INSULT ME IN TWO LANGUAGES?)

A total academic weapon. Not because he tries super hard, but because he’s just naturally brilliant and does the bare minimum to get top marks. He can explain a spell you’ve been struggling with for days in five seconds flat, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Always looks like he’s in control, but put him in social situations? Total disaster. Theo’s not awkward, but he doesn’t do small talk. Half the time, he just nods politely and hopes whoever’s talking gets the hint.

Has the driest sense of humor. He’ll drop a sarcastic one-liner so deadpan you’re not even sure if he’s joking.

"I think your essay was… bold. Choosing to write it in such a confusing way must’ve been a creative choice."

Drinks coffee like it’s water. Black coffee, of course. None of that sugary stuff, though he secretly loves when you make him try your sweet drink.

Doesn’t like parties but goes because the group makes him. He’s the guy sitting on the couch, watching everyone else make fools of themselves while holding a drink he hasn’t touched. (He’s your ride home because you know he’s always sober enough to apparate responsibly.)

Theodore Nott | Boyfriend

Ah, Theodore Nott, the walking paradox of calculated charm and quiet vulnerability. Having him as your boyfriend is like playing chess against a master—except the stakes are your heart, and he already has you in checkmate before you even realize the game started.

Manipulation, Thy Name is Theo:Theodore isn’t one to beg for your love; oh no, he’s too smooth for that. Instead, he’ll make sure you think choosing him was your idea all along.

He’ll subtly nudge you into needing him.

He anticipates your desires before you even say them aloud:

"Thirsty? I grabbed your favorite drink. Tired? Don’t worry, I already finished that essay you were stressing about."

He’s not loud about his possessiveness, but it’s there. You don’t realize it at first, but suddenly, every other guy who tries to get too close to you is either giving you a wide berth or “just happened” to fail their next exam. Coincidence? With Theo, nothing is a coincidence.

(We love a man who’s low-key terrifying but only in a protective way!)

How He Realized He Was in Love:Theo didn’t believe in love. Love was messy, uncontrollable, and entirely too risky for someone who thrived on precision and control. But then you came along, and everything changed.

It was slow at first. He didn’t notice it happening until one day, you smiled at him across the library, and he felt his carefully constructed walls crack.

And then it hit him.

“Merlin, I’m in love with her.”

Of course, Theo didn’t panic outwardly. No, he spent the next week internally spiraling.

"What does this mean?"

"What if she doesn’t feel the same way?"

"How do I tell her without sounding like an idiot?"

Eventually, he decided that subtlety was overrated. One evening, while you were sitting in his dorm, flipping through one of his books, he just said it.

"I love you."

You froze, unsure if you heard him correctly. He didn’t look away, his intense gaze pinning you in place.

"You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know."

Affection, Theo Style:Theo isn’t flashy or over-the-top, but he’s deeply romantic in his own way.

Words of Praise: He’s a master of compliments that don’t feel like compliments until you think about them later.

"You’re too brilliant for this school, you know that?""How do you manage to look stunning even when you’re furious with me?""You’re the only person who’s ever managed to make me lose focus, mia cara."

Subtle Acts of Service: He’s always doing things for you without making a big deal out of it. Your favorite quill broke? There’s a new one on your desk the next day. You’re stressed about a test? He’ll quiz you until you feel confident (and then reward you with a kiss for every right answer).

The Praise Kink Is Real, Babe:Theo doesn’t just praise you to make you feel good. He needs you to know how much he adores you. Whether it’s your intelligence, your kindness, or just the way you look in his sweater, he’s always quick to remind you of your worth.

"You’re too good for me, you know that?" he murmurs against your ear, his hand resting on your hip. "But don’t think for a second I’ll ever let you go."

(Is it hot in here or is it just Theo?)

The Possessiveness Comes Out in Subtle Ways:

At parties, his hand is always resting somewhere on you—your lower back, your shoulder, your thigh. A quiet signal to everyone else: She’s mine.

If someone flirts with you, he doesn’t cause a scene. Instead, he’ll step in with that dangerously calm demeanor, his words laced with thinly veiled threats.

"I believe you’re in my seat." Translation: Touch her again, and you’ll regret it.

Theodore, the Unexpected Softie:For someone so composed, Theo is surprisingly soft when it’s just the two of you.

He loves curling up with you on the couch, one arm draped over your shoulders while he reads aloud from a book he thinks you’d enjoy.

Sleeps with one hand always touching you—your waist, your hand, your hair. It’s the only time he truly relaxes.

Occasionally whispers “I don’t deserve you” when he thinks you’re asleep.

Having Theo as a boyfriend is a rollercoaster of intensity and tenderness. He’s the type to protect you from the world while also making you feel like you’re the center of his universe. And honestly? We’d ride that roller coaster over and over again.

Theodore Nott | Obsessive Devotion

If Mattheo is chaos in bed, Theodore is calculated destruction. Theo doesn’t rush—no, he takes his time. He knows every move, every word, every touch is designed to drive you absolutely insane.

The Slow Burn King:Theo isn’t just about getting you off; he’s about making you beg. He’s not the type to drag you into the nearest broom closet and go at it like a madman. No, Theo prefers to let the tension build—catching your eye across the library with a smirk, his hand brushing yours during dinner, leaning in close to whisper something sinful in your ear when no one else is looking.

"You’re squirming, mia cara. Tell me, what’s on your mind?"

Possessive but Polished:He loves control—holding you still with a firm grip while his mouth works wonders between your thighs. Theo thrives on the sound of your moans and whimpers, each one a confirmation that you belong to him.

But don’t get it twisted: his possessiveness is refined. He’s not shouting it from the rooftops; instead, he’s branding it into your skin with every kiss, every bite, every low growl of, “Mine.”

(We love a man who can ruin our lives with just one look.)

Praise You Like a Goddess:Theo is the king of praise. He’s not subtle about how much he worships you, and he makes sure you know it.

"You’re so perfect, amore mio. I could stay like this forever, just watching you fall apart for me."

He’ll kiss every inch of your skin like it’s holy ground. He’ll tell you how beautiful you are when you’re flushed, trembling, and completely at his mercy.

And if you praise him back? Game over. Tell him he’s a good boy, and suddenly you’ve unlocked the most obedient, eager-to-please version of Theo. He’ll do anything to hear you say it again.

Control with a Dash of Chaos:Theo’s not loud, but his intensity is deafening. He thrives on being in control, but sometimes he loves to break his own rules. If you push him just enough—maybe tease him in public or drag him into a forbidden situation—he’ll snap in the most delicious way.

"You think you can play games with me? Let me show you how this ends, bella."

Experimentation, but Make It Sophisticated:Theo isn’t one to dive into wild kinks without purpose, but he’s creative when it comes to trying new things.

Silk ties? Check.

Blindfolds? Of course.

Whispering Latin endearments in your ear while he has you completely at his mercy? A standard Tuesday night.

And don’t get me started on the way he uses his fingers—this man could write symphonies with how skillfully he plays your body like an instrument.

Stamina for Days:Don’t let his cool demeanor fool you—Theo can and will go for hours. He has the patience to draw out every moment until you’re gasping and begging for release, and then he’ll do it all over again.

"Oh no, dolcezza. We’re not finished yet. Not until I’ve had my fill of you."

Switch Theo = UNLOCKED:Normally, Theo’s the one in control, but when you take charge? When you straddle his hips, grip his jaw, and order him to behave? He’s putty in your hands.

"Tell me what you want, bella. Anything—it’s yours."

And the best part? He loves it. Watching you take what you want from him, hearing you praise him as he falls apart under your touch—it’s enough to drive him to the brink every single time.

In Private, He’s All Yours:While Theo keeps his emotions tightly guarded in public, behind closed doors, he’s all in. He loves to hold you afterward, running his fingers through your hair and whispering sweet nothings as you both come down from the high.

"You’re everything, you know that? My whole world."

Having Theodore Nott as a lover is like being the muse of a masterpiece—every touch, every word, every moment is designed to make you feel like the most desired person on the planet. And honestly? We’re not complaining

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

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[briefinquiries]

Tyler Owens x Reader: I Choose You

Request: Anonymous said: "jealous tyler or jealous reader would be interesting to read ��"

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: none!

A/N: not sure how i feel about this one but I gave it a go and wanted to make sure I posted!

Tyler tells himself that he’s over thinking… maybe even reading too much into things. 

But God, he swears he isn’t imagining the way that you and the reporter he’d agreed to let tag along for the next week naturally interact with one another with such ease. 

Tyler is not a jealous person– he’s confident and secure and he trusts you. Jealousy is petty and it’s stupid. And Tyler’s been trying his whole life to prove to himself and everyone around him that he’s not stupid.

Tyler has a loose shock to repair before the storm they’ve been tracking rolls in later that day. He’s currently laying on the dirt at the rest stop they’ve pulled in, with a wrench in his hand. Dani’s shining their flashlight for him, and it’s important he stays focused. And he tries… really, he does. 

But Tyler looks up just as the reporter laughs at a joke you’ve made. And then, he reaches out to touch your arm for the added effect. Tyler nearly drops the wrench he’s holding on his face at the sight. 

“Easy, T,” Dani says, studying him closely. 

He takes a deep breath before looking back towards the truck. 

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Dani asks, kicking his shoulder gently with their boot. 

“Nothing,” Tyler grumbles in a tone that screams there is absolutely something wrong. Thankfully Dani doesn’t push. 

…

Throughout the rest of the week, Tyler tries to talk himself down whenever jealousy rears its ugly head. He keeps telling himself that he’s being irrational– you’re not flirting with the reporter everytime you walk with him into the gas stations they stop at, or offer to ride with him in the van instead of Tyler’s truck, where you normally sit. You’re just trying to be friendly… make him feel at ease. 

But did he really have to look at you that way while you studied the GPS monitoring system? Or share his fucking cookies with you when everyone ate lunch in the field? And did you have to laugh so loudly at every single joke he made?

Tyler finds out on the second night he’s tagging along that Henry’s a fucking Columbia grad on top of a stupid self-proclaimed comedian. The two of you are sitting around the fire talking about graduate degrees when Henry turns towards him. 

“Did you two meet at school then?” Henry asks.  

Tyler smiles, but instead of warmth it’s laced with sarcasm. “Nope, I don’t have one of those fancy degrees, Henry. In fact, none of us but her do.” 

Henry turns back towards you and proceeds to ask more questions about your time studying meteorology at the U of A. Meanwhile, Tyler is left to simmer in his own self pity, wondering if it bothered you that he isn’t educated like Henry. 

Tyler has to spend the rest of the week fighting the urge to make it known you’re his– he’s had thoughts of keeping a permanent hand planted on your waist right in front of Henry. Maybe if he pulled you in for a kiss a little more often, and really claimed you as his, this guy would back the hell off. 

But Tyler quickly shakes away the thought. 

Because claiming you like an object is stupid, and Tyler is not stupid. 

…

Tyler grabs you a coffee from the nearest gas station and brings it back to the motel because he’s really trying to move past all this shit. You’re sitting with Lilly and fiddling with the drone when he tries to hand it to you. 

You offer him an appreciative smile that warms his entire chest. Tyler’s definitely been overreacting, because you’re looking at him with such love and admiration in your eyes. 

“Thanks, but I’ve already had some today,” you say, crushing every hope inside of him in an instant. “Why don’t you give it to Dani?  They take their coffee the same as I do.”

“When did you have time to get coffee?” he asks, trying to play it cool. 

You reply so simply, like the words don’t slice right through his heart. “I didn’t, Henry brought me one.”

Tyler’s jaw tightens. It’s a gesture you don’t notice, because you’re too busy focusing on the drone half in your lap. 

What you do seem to notice, is the way he scoffs. It makes yours and Lilly’s heads both turn. 

But before you can reply, Tyler’s already walking away. He clutches the coffee firmly in his hand and without a word, drops the full cup in the trash can outside the motel. 

…

Tyler has to remind himself that he’s not angry.

At least not at you.  

You and him have a great relationship. He trusts you and that’s all there is to it. Whether it’s Henry or whoever else–  you never gave Tyler a reason to be worried. 

But Tyler doesn’t like the way seeing you with the reporter makes him feel. Because at any moment, you could leave him for someone with a more respectable career– someone with fair skin and button up polos who just looked like they had their shit together. Someone with a college degree… someone a hell of a lot smarter than him. 

Seeing you with him made Tyler feel vulnerable, like he had something to lose– because he had everything to lose. 

…

The crew spends another week chasing in Oklahoma. The season’s winding down, but they still managed to catch two EF0s and an EF1. 

Tyler’s been avoiding you for most of the week. He’d offer the truck space to Boone and Lilly, he’d sit next to Dexter around the fire at night… hell, he would hardly even look at you. 

You turned down his coffee earlier in the week. Only after the fact did you realize that you should have just taken the damn thing. You understand that rejecting him after he went out of his way to do something nice for you hurt his feelings… But you can’t understand how that turned into an entire week of the silent treatment. 

On numerous instances, you try to approach him. But he always has somewhere to run off to. 

“I gotta help Dani with the van’s oil change.”

“I gotta see if Boone got the footage we need.”

“I gotta give Dexter a hand with the radar.”

You’re getting sick of it. 

You try to distract yourself for the rest of the week– you ask Lilly to explain more about how to work her drone, you keep on top of the radar– looking for forming storm cells, and you try to make the reporter Tyler had invited along for the week feel welcome. 

Henry’s nice– he’s completely new to storm chasing and has loads of questions all the time. You find it slightly annoying that he’s so interested in Tyler… but you get it. And even though you’re a little irritated with Tyler for your week-long silent-treatment sentence, you still want him to sound as good as possible in the article, so you talk him up every chance you can. 

You know that this lack of communication can’t last. And the second Henry goes back to Boston to write his piece, you plan to corner Tyler and force him into telling you what the hell you’d done wrong. But until then, you don’t want to cause a scene. So, you sit back, spend more time talking with Henry about Tyler, and try like hell not to lose your mind.

…

It’s more for his own sanity than anything. It’s like seeing you with Henry has caused this sudden realization to pop into his head… You can do better– and honestly you deserve better than him. The thought is all consuming. It makes focusing on anything else incredibly difficult. 

“You gonna tell us what the hell is up?” Lilly asks one day. 

Tyler’s currently standing in the bed of his truck, tinkering things that didn’t really need to be fixed just to stay busy. 

“What do you mean?” he replies without looking up.

“I mean are you going to tell us why you two love birds haven’t spoken in like three days?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tyler notices Boone glancing his way with an expression on his face that says he was wondering the same thing. 

“We’ve spoken,” Tyler says dismissively. 

“Telling her you don’t have room for her in the truck doesn’t count,” Lilly retorts. “C’mon, seriously, Ty. What’s wrong?”

Tyler sets his tool down and looks down at Lilly. “Nothing is wrong.”

Lilly rolled her eyes. “Okay, well are you sure she knows that? Cause Dani and I saw her crying in the bathroom.” 

Tyler lets out a long exhale– the thought of you upset instantly filling his insides with sorrow. But the thought that he was the one to make you upset is even worse. 

“I know it’s not my business,” Lilly adds. “But I’ve been watching you give her the silent treatment all week, and that’s not going to fix anything. I know Henry’s still here and it’s been a crazy week–”

Tyler can’t help the scoff that escapes his lips at the mention of Henry’s name.

Lilly pauses before a look of understanding washes over her. “You’re pissed that she’s been hanging with Henry.” She says it as a statement instead of a question. 

“I’m not–”

“I’ve known you for six years, don’t even try to deny it. You are– you’re jealous, aren’t you?” 

With his lips pursed in a thin line, Tyler raises an eyebrow at her. “Maybe I am. Does that make you happy? Is that what you want to hear?”

Now it was Lilly’s turn to scoff. “Of course it doesn’t make me happy. You’re being an idiot.”

“What?” 

“I said that you’re being an idiot,” Lilly says, annunciating each word insultingly. 

“Yeah,” Tyler nods. “I’m well aware that I’m an idiot, but thanks for reminding me.”

“I said you’re being an idiot, Tyler. Not that you are one. Now stop sulking and fucking listen for once in your goddamn life.”

It’s so out of the ordinary for Lilly to snap that Tyler actually does shut his mouth. 

“You invite a reporter on the road with us and then you don’t give him the time of day to answer any of the questions he has. You’re short and curt and to be honest, kind of fucking rude anytime he asks you anything. Y/N is being polite– and she’s hosting the guest you invited along. So don’t fucking blame her just because you’re insecure.” 

Tyler can feel the anger rising in his own chest, he wants to get defensive– to snap back at Lilly. But deep down, he knows she’s right, so he stifles any comebacks and instead hangs his head. 

Lilly sighs. “You’re not an idiot, Tyler. So stop acting like one.”

…

After letting Lilly’s words really sink in, Tyler decides that she’s right. For the first time all week, he’s motivated to actually talk with you and make things right. 

Or at least he is right until he sees Henry approaching you in the parking lot. He’s too far away to hear what Henry has to say. But he’s not so far away that he doesn't see the folded up piece of paper that he passes you. 

In an instant, everything Lilly had said– along with all the things he’s said to convince himself he’s been overreacting flies away with the wind. Because Henry just gave you his fucking phone number. 

Tyler turns– needing to get as much space from whatever exchange he just witnessed as he possibly can. In a few, long, angry strides, Tyler reaches his truck and climbs inside. In the distance, he hears Lilly call after him. But he pretends he doesn’t hear. Instead, he slams the door shut, starts the ignition and drives away. 

…

“Where’s he goin’?” Boone says just as you approach him and the rest of the crew. 

“Dunno. He didn’t say anything to you?” Dani asks, turning towards Lilly. 

She shakes her head, eyes squinting against the bright sun. 

“What the hell is his problem?” you say frustratedly, biting back tears. 

Stupidly, you’d let yourself get your hopes up earlier in the day when Tyler had offered you a small smile over breakfast. You had thought that maybe things were alright, and that he was finally over whatever had been bothering him so badly. 

But now you’re standing in the cloud of dust he just left behind after taking off in his truck without a word to anyone and you know that isn’t the case. 

“Here I was thinking I helped last night,” Lilly says under her breath. 

You snap your head in her direction. “You talked to him?”

She shrugs. “I tried to.” 

“Did he say why he’s been so upset?”

Lilly hesitates. And truthfully, you understand why. Everyone here was Tyler’s friend first. You were the last to join the crew– inducted into the group just by being Tyler’s girlfriend. They have no obligation to be loyal to you over Tyler. 

“Forget it,” you say defeatedly, turning away as soon as you feel the familiar burn of tears behind your eyes. “It doesn’t even matter.” With that, you make your way towards the RV, painfully aware of everyone’s eyes trained on you the entire way. 

…

Tyler drives to the nearest gas station, desperate for space to clear his head. 

He knows he’s being dramatic and irrational at this point, but if he stayed at that rest stop another second, he didn’t know what would come out of his mouth. He really really had to get it together. But he can’t escape the fear inside of him– the one saying that meeting Henry helped you recognize that you could do so much better than him.

And now you had his phone number, to reach out whenever that realization hit. 

Why wouldn’t you be interested in Henry? He’s got a goddamn master’s degree from Columbia, he writes articles for the Globe, works out every morning before they go chasing–  apparently makes hilarious jokes… 

Tyler rests his forehead against the steering wheel and groans.

…

Tyler’s gone for an hour. But when he finally parks the truck back at the rest stop, he hasn’t shaken the sinking feeling inside of him. 

In a preemptive attempt to avoid questions he had snagged a bunch of snacks from the nearest gas station. If you ask where he’s been, he can just say he had a hankering for potato chips and call it good. 

Except, you don’t even look at him when he gets out of the truck. Boone’s got corn hole set up in the dirt. It looks like Boone and Henry versus Dani and Dexter while you watch. He only watches for a moment before bringing the bag of snacks into the RV. 

Secretly, Tyler’s been simultaneously excited for and dreading the end of the week. He’s excited for Henry to leave and excited to sleep in his own bed. But he’s dreading being back in your shared house. It’ll be the first time the two of you are forced to be alone, and he knows he’ll have to find the words to describe what he’s been feeling. 

But apparently Tyler’s stupid, because he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. 

All he knows is that he doesn’t want to lose you. And seeing you with Henry makes him feel like he’s about to lose you. Tyler doesn’t know how to say that to you without coming across as a total lunatic.  

…

You don’t want to cause a scene at the rest stop. But the minute you see Tyler head for the RV, you’re out of your seat and beelining it towards him while the rest of the team is distracted.

As soon as you hoist open the door, you find him hunched over the fridge, grabbing a water bottle. 

“What the hell?” is all you can manage to blurt out. You’re fuming and on the verge of tears. But you can’t help it– Tyler’s silent treatment has just about pushed you to the edge. 

Tyler whips around at the sound of your entrance… and maybe it was a little dramatic– but you need to get your point across. 

There’s a long pause while Tyler’s eyes study you. 

“Are you gonna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me all week?”

You’re met by more silence.  

“This is ridiculous, Tyler. Will you just talk to me?”

Finally, Tyler scoffs, “The reporter gave you his number, right?  Why don’t you talk to him?  I’m sure he’d love to talk.”

In an instant, a wave of understanding washes over you. But it isn’t overshadowed by the anger you feel. 

“Are you serious right now? You’re jealous of Henry?”

He shuts the fridge before cracking open his water bottle dismissively, ignoring your questions. 

“Tyler, are you forgetting that you’re the one who invited him with us this week? I mean, did you think he was just supposed to sit back and observe? He’s a reporter, of course he’s going to have questions… Questions that you were way more qualified to answer, but you were too busy being a jerk all week to answer any of them. So I did it for you–”

“I never asked for you to do that.”

“You didn’t have to– I did it for you!” you cry. “I did it so that he’d write you a good story– because you deserve that.” 

“Oh, how convenient. So you two just get along so well for my sake then?” he says. 

You exhale sharply. “Are you kidding me right now? We’ve spent the last week talking about you! I’ve been talking you up– telling him stories about what you do– how good you are at what you do– all the people you’ve helped–”

Tyler rolls his eyes. “Yeah right,” he scoffs. 

You pause, anger slowly melting away at the realization that he genuinely didn’t believe anything you were saying. 

“Tyler,” you say seriously. “There is absolutely nothing going on between me and Henry. I’ve been answering his questions and telling him how fucking brave and generous and smart you are–”

“Don’t patronize me,” he snaps, voice cracking just slightly. “Just forget it, it doesn’t matter.” He sets his water bottle on the counter before moving to step by you. 

“Tyler stop–” you say, reaching for him. But he’s too quick. He reaches the door before you’re able to stop him. 

“Will you please stop walking away from me!” you blurt out frustratedly, tears forming in your eyes. “You’ve been running from me all week– I just… I just want to talk about this. Please–”

Tyler doesn’t turn to face you, but to your relief, he stops before opening the door. 

“There is nothing happening between me and Henry, Tyler. I mean, I promise you, absolutely nothing– I… I don’t know how else to convince you. But there’s nothing going on. I’m not into Henry–”

���I know,” he says quickly, eyes squeezing shut. 

You let your mouth fall open, confusion washing over you. “What?” 

“I know there’s nothing happening between you and Henry– I trust you and I believe you.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “So why are you so mad at me?”

Tyler pauses and bites his lip before saying, “I’m not mad at you–” he tries to explain. “I just… I don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

“I don’t understand why–”

You sigh. “Tyler, you’re not making any sense–”

Tyler’s face twists in anguish. “Why aren’t you into him?”

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s everything I’m not. And I mean– Seeing you with him– it just made me realize that you can do so much better than me,”  Tyler says desperately, the pain almost palpable in his voice. “He’s got the fancy degree– he’s obviously smart–”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes his sentence, because the idea of anyone ever being better than Tyler was even more ludicrous than him being jealous in the first place. “Tyler, you’re smart–”

“I didn’t go to Columbia. I didn’t even finish my first year of undergrad.”

“I don’t care about any of that– you know I don’t–”

“Why?” he blurts out harshly, finally turning to look at you. “Why do you even want me when you can have someone like him?”

Tyler didn’t think he was good enough for you– and that admission broke your fucking heart. In an instant, all the reasons you loved Tyler flow through your head. There’s so many, you can’t even keep up. 

So instead, you reach into your pocket and pull out the note Henry had given you just hours earlier– the one Tyler apparently saw him give you. He watches as you unfold the piece of paper, quickly revealing that it’s not a phone number. 

“It’s his mom’s cookie recipe,” you explain. “The ones you refused to try. I talked to him about how you have a sweet tooth, and I said how much you love chocolate chip cookies, so he wrote it down for me. I thought I might be able to make them for you when we got home. Because I love you– and I love doing things that will make you happy. Because that’s what you do for me– you make me happy. All the time, just by existing.”

You watch as the realization washes over him.  

You sigh. “Did you ever stop and think about how I feel the same about you?”

He pauses before looking at you questioningly. 

“I mean, you’re you,” you say, gesturing towards him. “People adore you, Tyler. And rightfully so– but I’m always worried you’ll find someone better. But I don’t get hung up on it, because I trust you. I trust that you mean it when you tell me you love me and you choose me. And I need you to do the same for me, Tyler. I need you to trust me. Because I love you– and I always will.”

Tyler exhales, his eyes watery. 

“Can you do that?” you plead. 

To your relief, after a moment, he nods. 

You don’t hesitate before closing the gap between you and wrapping your arms around his middle. You lay your head on his chest just as his arms wind around your shoulders in an attempt to make up for all the hugs you’ve missed out on this week. Because as much as you love chasing in Oklahoma or Texas, your absolute favorite place to be is at home in his arms. 

“Cookie recipe, huh?” he muses above you, chin resting on top of your heads. 

You nod. “I’m a horrible baker, but I was going to give it a shot.”

Tyler tightens his grip around you. “Well horrible baker or not, I love you and I choose you.”

You let your eyes fall shut and inhale the familiar, comforting scent of him. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” you say honestly.