#look when it's about them nothing the finer details

[astrxlfinale]

"In joint operations, I find that's where my best use is at. Where the group moves or needs key ground solidified, I'm best held as the foundation."

These lessons hadn't truly hammered home until his time with the Sons of Calydon. Within their skill sets was a wide and often, full on unorthodox variety. It made them a fearsome band for not only their opposition, but also each other if the utmost harmony wasn't exercised. 'Guess that's a blessing in disguise. Means there's never a matter too alien for me to align with. Though, I have no doubts me n' this specialist here will find the exact makings to make things work.'

Briefly snapping him from that contemplation due to the forthright way him and Lamboo's growing bond was called out. While he certainly didn't mind, catching the Bangboo's reaction that left it practically glowing finally sparked a moment of laughter, disarming and amused as they darted off. "Keep that up and I might be a Outer Ring landmark for the lil one. Least they'll know my door will always be open if they need something."

It also never did harm if Moccus found some new companions to hang out with. Despite oddball fixation for tires (wanting to use one AS a bike no less), they were a lot more shy than they let on.

Lighter's attention found itself drawing towards the finer details of Zarina's abode. Orderly, but not to the point of feeling hardly lived in. "Mm hmm. Won't say you'll find an expert in me, but if I'm familiar with the fabric, s'no issue in getting the job done." Switching up the pace to ensure they were just about side by side, the Champion's eyes briefly opened in surprise at that offer.

"At this rate, I might have to make a game out of this. What don't you do?" The words were tinged mirth as they soon found themselves in the kitchen.

Brief as it was, he did catch a moment of those knickknacks, primarily the pictures. The biker opts to merely let those details hold their privacy for the time being. Having this moment set and unfurled before them simply had a higher priority.

An appreciative whistle escapes him. "Always appreciated a full house, and this certainly isn't lacking in the sweets." Part of him is confident that either Caesar or Burnice would have a field day with all the heat reducing treats. Yet, he'd selfishly have to take the charge. Two of the vanilla ice cream bars would be plucked, while Zarina's chocolate also found itself secured that freeze was sealed.

Joining by her side with a lean at the counter, it'd be amidst that melodious laughter that her side of the 'bargain' was presented. "As a matter of fact. Can't be any ol' parlor's local scarecrow forever. Or a place that loves some team effort. At the mention of the lively mixologist, that actually got a snort from him. "Listen. If we throw ourselves into 'that' beat, not only is five hours gonna zip by, but we might just be thrown onto a brain train of thought that has no stops. Really tryin' to seal our fates so quickly here?"

A harmlessly accusing note was made in that point! The sight of her just embracing some old fashioned laughter being enough of a reward. "But to answer that question? I'd most certainly like to learn. If reputation has any 'threats' here, it'd be me not scurrying up the proper momentum in time."

"As one professional to another, I'm certain I'd be in good hands.. Who knows, get me in the groove, and we can secretly try one of those other brands. There's no way I'm getting too public with 'em, this poor Scarf would wind up weeping."

Translation: He'd just be embarrassed as hell. That was the hidden answer while he took a pleasing bite of that ice cream.

"But-- Why does something tell me you might have a bit too much fun with that? Someone has been all smiles for a good minute now."

You could've just said I'm attractive if anything…

Zarina doesn't say it out loud, but her smile hides away her internal thoughts quite well as she nods at his explanation. Poor as it is, she finds it more endearing. She won't put him on spot as promised, but she puts that away for the ack burner to bring up in the future if the situation arises for it. He must look mighty adorable if she surprises him. Who knows what face he'll make if she calls him out?

No, no. Bad Zarina, you must concentrate on the matter at the hand.

"Oh, I see. It makes sense with your experience to notice the way I walk," she nods, easily moving the conversation along with a thoughtful expression as if she is thinking over what he said in all seriousness, taking every word of his without doubting it. "Some of the Ethereals in the depths of Hollow Zero are sensitive to sounds but don't have the best eyesight."

Bringing up work comes easy, it also allows for his explanation to get 'lost' in the seriousness brought up. However, Zarina will never forget it, instead thinking herself quite merciful for not teasing him. Truly, she is the kindest today. Maybe Lighter gets off the hook too easily with her. but they are still getting to know each other and pushing too hard might be bad. A little bit of teasing here and there might do the trick. Judging by the company he keeps, a bit of playfulness will go a far way.

"So you are acting as either defense or support, correct? Your build tells me you can take on a higher number of enemies. Endurance training must've been tough," she nods, studying him with an analytical look, not hiding away the years of experience as a leader. "Boxing provides you with a lot of defensive maneuvers... It'll be exciting to see if the rumors about you even touch the surface of your potential."

There is no hiding it. She is intrigued and interested. Why not show it? It seems earnest and honesty are a good way to hear more about Lighter as well. A key into a lock. She wants to know more.

"Ehn-na! Ehh-ne-neh!" (Anyone who makes Zarina's serotonin levels rise have my respect! Sons of Calydon have been nothing but generous. It is only natural I want to repay kindness back!)

"Keep buttering Lighter up and he wouldn't want to leave you, Lamboo," Zarina jokes, rolling her eyes again as she passes by the bangboo who appears to be 'bashful' judging by its actions. "Can you grab my blazer? You know where it is. I'll show our guest around."

"En-na!" (Will do!)

Zarina glances at Lighter, offering him another friendly smile before gesturing for him to follow her. The living room has a dark blue pull-out couch, a cofee table, and a small TV, the carpet under their feet white with black lines. General colors of the apartment combine pastels of blue, bits of white, and wood elements across the walls in the shape of artistic additions. Two book cases stand on the sides of the TV, filled with both books and some picture frames. There is a picture of Zarina with Section 1 team, with Lamboo, with another young man who looks all too similar to her (twin sibling?), and just her on the day of graduation with flowers. Zarina wanted this apartment to be light in comparison to her New Eridu abode.

Their conversation continues… Zarina catches glimpses of his expression through the reflections on the paintings hanging on the wall, glass working as a wonderful glimpse. All of it is set to enhance her observation.

"Red Moccus is so lucky~" She says, smiling to herself while remembering the small bangboo. "Sewing, really?" Zarina glances at him over her shoulder. "You're doing well. If you need to learn some new ways to sew, let me know." Just an offer. "You should tell me more about retro games. I actually suck at majority of those and never had the time to enjoy them, but I'd like to hear about them."

They bypass the living room area to enter the kitchen, a table and two chairs remain there for a small eating area. It shows she doesn't accept many guests at this place, it's too small to have a party at, certainly. More private, more to relax and calm down. Compared to the Outer Ring atmosphere filled with orange and red, her apartment's feel has a cooler touch to it. Comfortable, but like stepping in a different place. Sokolova walks to the fridge, beckoning Lighter to step closer as she opens the freezer to show him a set of ice creams in there: vanilla, chocolate, and a couple of fruit ice pops.

"Here. Choose. Close when you're done, grab me a chocolate one, though. Please."

She leans back against the counter, arms loosely crossed under her chest as she lets him choose while addressing his last words.

"Oh, you want me to teach you to dance?" She raises an eyebrow. He didn't answer before if he danced himself, so it only an assumption. "I was thinking about some dances that Burnice got going around, haha, but if you want a synchronizing exercise, then we need to do different type of dance since nightclub dancing is not exactly… synchronized." Zarina laughs, covering her mouth with her palm while imagining the difference.

"If you do want to dance, we can practice here. I doubt the reputation of the Red Scarf would go well if he is caught dancing with me." It's said more as a jest, but she does pay attention to what is important when it comes to reputation. Naturally, it is based on her own perception. "Well, if you did mean that you'd like me to teach you... You didn't answer my question from earlier about that."

[beneathashadytree]

We need double fish dick sizes /j

And you shall get them nonnie!! I hadn’t thought of them before, but when you sent in this ask I sat down and brainstormed for a hot minute, so here come the headcanons I have about Rafayel’s Lemurian form‼️ NSFW ahead, obviously, monsterfucking tropes (literally nothing is realistic here), and reader is gender-neutral!

To anyone else reading this, my requests are still closed!! These are just my ramblings, or old requests I had🫶🏽

Tip jar!

Masterlist

Now, Rafayel’s Lemurian form has an entirely different lower half, obviously, so it does make sense that finer details of his anatomy change too

I would say that he has two… appendages, not cocks per se, and I’ll explain this in a minute

What does resemble a human cock, is really nothing short of absolutely pleasurably torturous, and would be quite literally physically impossible for a normal human to take

10 inches in length, and that’s just me trying to censor things a little… so yes, no one can take him to the hilt (let’s be —ironically—realistic, people)

Girth is pretty complicated, and here’s why:

He’s got a really wide, flared base, but it’s rather thin there, and then he grows narrow in width until his tip

After the flared base, he’s actually got a rounder circumference, so while the base feels more of a stretch, his actual length is what makes them feel so full once he’s buried inside them

Rafayel’s cock has a delicious upward curve near his tip, and it’s made all the better by the slightly angular curves to the mushroom-head

Bonus points for the thick vein that runs along the underside! It’s almost ridge-like, and pairs perfectly with the slight ridges along the sides

I’m a firm believer in the fact that everything related to Rafayel is insanely pretty, so yes, even his Lemurian cock is bathed in gorgeous shades of deep purple, lavender, and a sweet bubblegum pink that flushes a deeper fuschia when he’s past his breaking point of arousal

Now that we’ve gotten his Lemurian cock out of the way, let’s talk about his second—but no less pleasurable—“member” so to speak

I imagine that he hides both under a well-hidden flap along his tail’s midline, right where his human crotch would be, so once that’s pulled back and his cock coaxed into full hardness, you can find his second tentacle-like cock underneath it

It’s thin, even more so than his human cock, is roughly 12 inches long (not very practical, but nothing about his devastatingly beautiful Lemurian form is) and a lot more flexible than you would think—which is good for its two uses

The first is prepping his beloved to take him, which is definitely no easy feat for anyone

He produces a lot of water-resistant slick there, which can help lubricate them easily in order to make the slide more comfortable for them, but it has the side effect of acting almost as an aphrodisiac, which (if in someone whose body can’t take that) may lead to it being too draining to keep up with him and their combined insanely high libidos at the moment

The second—which ties to the first—is that it makes it easier to curl inside his lover and reach their most pleasurable sweet spot, causing them to naturally gush around him and pull orgasm after orgasm before he could even attempt to slip inside their warmth

Again, Rafayel’s Lemurian form is dictated by his biology more often than not, so it’s no surprise that his cum is thicker (to avoid being washed away) and comes out in copious amounts, all for breeding purposes

The Lemurian race was dying out long before they were threatened by external factors and such, so procreation was a very important part of their mating rituals

You can toss that aside though, because it’s purely biological and will only be determined by whether or not his partner can and/or would want something like that; for Rafayel now it’s simply an instinct to be closer and rut deeper into them, so much so that they can’t tell where he ends and they begin

His cum looks quite pearlescent and actually pretty breathtaking, oddly enough; I truly believe it glimmers a little, especially if you look at it under the moonlight and catch the almost gem-like shimmers in its stickiness

Fair warning, it’s quite salty in terms of taste (though not hazardous in composition; he’s all about safety first you know!) and may be a little too much the first time his lover tries to swallow his release down

But that’s nothing a few kitten licks at his pulsating tip won’t acclimate them to, even if it does earn a strangled, breathy moan from him and him shooting his second load of the night on their tongue 🫶🏽

All in all, having sex or even just foreplay with Rafayel’s Lemurian form is overwhelming in the best ways possible—and definitely not for the faint-hearted!!

Taglist: @vash-yuu @angry-and-yandere @nxx-jordiepord @honestlyjustablog @dawnbreakersgaze @tartartagliaboo @lucis-noctiana @riinari-sa @reika-desu @tikitsune @roll-of-royces @lemonsupernova @loveyoutodeep @belovedof @obiwanmcprobie @kalatipunan @eurekazz @bifedebruxa @thescribeswife @mysticangel123 @xenasolos @jvnluvr @dann-acalle @rin-sv14 @yololesgo @an-ever-angry-bi @semi-orangeapple @lavanderbliss @myturnwhen @winterlvod @carsonology @respitable @stellisangelicus-world @kvsqkiii @bitchynightmarepost @snoozeflare @spotted-salamander @cindywasneverhere @ladyparamount @sncrly0urs @huntersmoon1 @musiclover2119 @girl-who-lives-in-delusion @milktsukii @fromdeepspace-withlove @granddearduck @skriblobz @honeyshoney149 @imhere2dosomething @saerotonins @cantescapethevoid @teewritessmth @lovra974 @straykidz143 @reishuus @xinnn6 @vyntagei @bakahimesama @rafayels-procrastinator @scentisterror @sour-chaos (more in replies!)

Sign up for my taglist here!

[violet-eng]

🔞 See you on the other side | Thanos (Choi Subong x fem!reader)

I HAVEN'T WRITTEN ANYTHING IN A LONG TIME, VERY ASHAMED OF HOW BADLY WRITTEN OR BASIC THIS MAY BE.

Anyway, I don't know where this came from, I've had this desire for Choi Seunghyun stuck for like 10 years now, somehow I had to get rid of it. I'm still embarrassed…

Awkward plot, as always, I must add drama because if my life is full of drama then the fanfic just the same.

Summary: Fem reader has cancer, her ex is Subong, who asked her for drugs when she was working at the hospital, she gave them to him because they were for his jet lag and dizziness, but things escalate and she ends up fired and he with some sort of dependency. Anyway, they meet again in the squid game and he tries to fix everything with her because he obviously didn't forget her. And OBVIOUSLY for this first fic we have the typical and respectable BATHROOM SCENE.

Warnings 🔞🔥: mentions of cancer, SEX, SMUT, oral fem receiving, fingering. That…

In this fic, Thanos would be behaving somewhat bottom/sub? Is real life T.O.P a bottom? ask jiyong, enjoyyyyyy but not too much

〇△□〇△□〇△□〇△□〇△□〇△□〇△□〇△□〇△□〇△□

Three people down, or perhaps it was four? In situations where one's personal safety is compromised, the finer details can appear insignificant. Your hands and legs trembled, and your entire body was a nervous system susceptible to error and misstep. You felt the acceleration of your heartbeat in your throat and ears, echoing in your head, and perspiration running down your cheekbones, the salty sensation in your mouth.

Your eyes turned to the spot where a figure was jumping carefree, holding the surprise in your chest when you saw Subong in the crowd, your Subong. He looked like a hallucination, hovering among the players, jumping over the corpses with a maniacal grin… drugs… your drugs.

The daily game had reached its end. It was shocking that people had died in such a strange way, and there were many questions to be answered. However, the pain was even more overwhelming because cancer was like that: painful, unbearable without medicine, especially in the current circumstances.

'Señorita' the voice was behind you; you felt his presence, the shadow of his figure enveloping you completely, and the scent of his skin and the dye of his hair brought back precious but bitter memories. How much pain love can endure.

'Su-bong', you whispered, though you thought your voice was firm, the nuance was faint and the volume low.

'My baby! What are you doing here?"His arms abruptly embraced you, drawing you into his body, and your cheek bumped against his chest.You felt that familiar, heady feeling of being protected by him — loved.

Away from the crowd, Subong inspects your face, noticing spots of blood that are not yours and a couple of dark circles under your eyes… nothing else.

'You don't look well,' he says with a grimace.

'I need some,' you say, your breathing heavy, your eyes watering, your gaze beseeching, 'You owe me. I got them for you.'

He does not take you up on your request, nor does he attempt to argue with you, because he knows that is one of the reasons you lost your medical licence.

'Say "Aaah"'.

He brings one of his hands in front of you, a colourful pill between his fingers, and slowly touches your lower lip to make you open your mouth.His fingers enter, and your tongue takes the pill, but habit, treacherous habit, appears and your tongue tastes his fingers. A touch of what you had been.

Your eyes meet his as you both reminisce about the good times you shared during your relationship. When you two were an item, he would gently slide his fingers into your mouth, and within moments, you would be caught up in a passionate embrace, him on top of you, making love from behind while whispering a range of compliments in your ear.

'Better?' he inquires, his fingers gently tracing the lips around your mouth. You nod as the memory fades. You feel as if you've tasted a taste of normality, something you haven't enjoyed in years.

The night after games and food, you feel heavy and lethargic. You sweat and shiver, and you realise that it is a reaction of your body. You had treated several patients like this for years, and the helplessness of becoming one had made you fall into a very dark place, almost abandoning yourself.

"Bathroom" you request one of the guards, but your voice is not as steady as your gaze. The guard declines, and you consider that if you had a pen with you, you would have moved him out of your way, as you did with the insurance agent who had refused to cover your chemotherapy.

"It's urgent. I just want to freshen up" you insist, aware that in your position you can't make demands like that.

‘Hey bro, she has cancer, if it was your sister or your mother would you treat her like this?’ Subong appears at the right moment, after having watched you for a long time, “look at her, she can't even stand up”.

He places his arm around you and shakes you vigorously, as if manipulating a rag doll. His methods are deceptively straightforward, yet his success is unparalleled.Even if you had been in optimal health, he would have still prevailed.

You wash your face and pour water on the back of your neck, observing the reflection in the mirror. Your bruised features bear little resemblance to the respectable oncologist you used to be.

Subong's drugs have effectively mitigated your feelings of rejection, causing all sentiments towards the person in the mirror to dissipate within moments. Although you don't recognize yourself, you feel a sense of rejuvenation, as if returning to a state of strength and painlessness.

Subong approaches you, resting his chin on your shoulder, leaning his hands against the sink. You feel his breath in your ear and the soft brush of his lips on your neck, his kisses below your ear, at the precise spot that makes your skin bristle, reminiscent of their days together.

Subong's voice, husky and subtle, with sweet undertones, asks, "Feeling better?" The enigma that is Subong: he seems impenetrable and stoic when he raps, yet under the stage he is a sensitive and playful creature, always with a striking look and a touch of madness.

"Better," you reply, looking in the mirror and observing the closeness between the two of you, as if time hasn't passed, as if you were never done with him, as if your souls weren't on a tightrope drifting off to who knows where. You experience a sense of longing for him, the intimacy, the warmth of his embrace, the soft rhythm of his breathing, the way his lips cling to your skin without kissing you, as if it causes him discomfort to touch you, as if you were made of porcelain.

"When we make that money, I'll pay for your chemotherapy," he says. His voice is masculine and deep, rough, and his eyes are like fogged glass, intrinsically wounded by your illness as if it were his own.

"What about your debts?" you inquire, turning to him, cradling his face in your hands, him still leaning on the sink behind you.

He bends down to look at you blearily, and with a smirk, almost cartoonishly, he says, "Fuck the debt. I only care about your well-being. I'll see who I'll take his share from."

This provokes laughter from you, which you hadn't experienced in nearly a year. The corners of your lips ache, and the sensation of your cheeks expanding sends shivers down your skin.

Subong remarks, "There it is," as he touches the tip of your nose. "My girl's cute laugh." His fingers trace the contours of your lips, evoking memories on your skin with his touch, and reviving sensations you thought were lost.

He knows how to make you feel good, how to tease you, and how to be gentle because he knows your body wouldn't be able to handle it if he used all his strength.It's like when you went to the bars -the body remembers, so you move naturally from soft kisses and panting to one of the cubicles.

Your pants are on the floor, your underwear is around one of your ankles, and you are sitting on the toilet seat.Subong is skilled at rapping, which allows his tongue to glide with delight. He breathes softly as he holds his face between your legs.His fingers glide up your thighs, tracing ancient marks with his thumbs, while his tongue paints your velvety walls with his devotion.

You intertwine your fingers in his hair, your head thrown back, your eyes rolling back as the combination of drugs and his adept tongue takes hold. You hear him emit a low, throaty sound as you discreetly disengage from his grasp and press his face against yours, his nose brushing against your sensitive area.

You inhale his scent, the rhythm of your heart accelerating, and you feel the warmth of his fingers between your legs. His fingers begin to brush against your folds, and you recognize the familiarity of this touch.

"I don't think I can bear it," you whisper, pulling him away from you. Your hands are in his hair, your eyes fixed on his, which are black and smiling as his tongue wipes his chin. His tanned skin is glistening with the crystals of your juices.

"I promise to be gentle. I will make you feel good, baby." The dichotomy of sweetness of his face and the naughtiness of his fingers exploring your womanhood plunges you into an unknown territory somewhere between amusement and discretion.He enjoys seeing the way you squirm at his touch, at his fingers delving inside you and roaming over formerly dominated territory.

He swiftly locates your sensitive areas, his fingers pressing firmly into your body. His fingers disappear into your ecstasy, and you begin to rhythmically shake your hips, in harmony with the intruders testing your last reserves of sanity.

"So… ohhh-"

Subong looks at you satisfied as you begin to chant incoherently. He has always loved to please you, and that's why he has been so devoted to your body, learning every nook and cranny and experimenting with his movements to achieve the perfect reaction of your being, which is now destroyed under his fingers.

"More," you moan, gripping his shoulders with your nails, and he, your devoted instrument of pleasure, takes you to the edge of losing yourself in your own pleasure, of feeling every electric fiber of your body.

"Don't hold back."The rough voice and soft tongue are in full effect, and you can feel your body responding with heightened sensation. Your voice is almost a scream, your teeth holding back your lips, and your shoulders tensing as it reaches its peak, and then it explodes inside you. You exhale hard, your legs wrapping around his head, your hands in his hair, almost tearing out his locks.

"Shit," he laughs, as you shudder and catch your breath. "When you heal, I'll do you better. I promise." He rises to kiss you, his tongue touching the roof of your mouth, and your own taste bathes your tongue.

"How did you know I had cancer?" you know this is not the time to ask, and yet you do.He smiles over your lips as he kisses you.

"When I went to see you at the hospital, they told me you had been arrested by the police for stabbing an insurance agent during your chemotherapy," he says over you, proud as he wipes traces of saliva from your chin.

"You knew my medical license had been taken away. Why did you look for me at the hospital?"

"I wanted to beg your forgiveness. I would ask one of your old friends for her phone to call you, you would have answered them," he said, kneeling down to pull your panties up.

"I am sorry I blocked your number."

"It's all in the past," he says, smiling up from the floor and wiping his lip with his thumb. "It was good," he continues, "when we get out of here, you can unblock me."

"Do you believe we'll survive this?" you pull up your pants and escort him out of the cubicle.

"I'm not certain of anything, but if anything happens, I'll see you on the other side," he says, taking your hand in his and stroking the back of your skin.

"See you on the other side…"

[rivendell-poet]

Quick ask

Do you think you could do a hobbit boys (Thorin, dawalin, and Fili mainly) with a short 4’8 human female reader who is often mistaken as a dwarf and they only realize when she can’t under stand the pet names or courting thing the boys do

Not so quick answer, I'm afraid. But of course! I've ended up not mentioning reader's height or gender in this I'm afraid, but height does end up being implied. Thanks so much for requesting anon - and I hope you enjoy it!

*･༓˚✧❝𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧'𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐝𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐟❞ ‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « headcanons »

○ Thorin ○ Fíli ○ Kíli ○ Dwalin ○ Bofur ○

GN!Reader | No TWs | Wordcount : 1.2k

𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧

✧ Thorin is a big believer in the old, traditional dwarven way of courting.

✧ (Not just because he’s too scared he doesn’t have the words to properly confess to you, and that he wouldn’t be able to take a rejection that way.)

✧ It starts very small, such a tentative gesture that - if it wasn’t Thorin - even the other dwarves might not realise it’s courting.

✧ You certainly don’t, as you smile up at him before thanking him. Wondering why he’s ducked away so quickly afterwards.

✧ (It’s to hide how red his face is becoming.)

✧ Then you don’t reciprocate, at all. But Thorin just thinks he wasn’t quite obvious enough.

✧ His next gesture is grander, although he presents it slightly more gruffly. Again you can see the care and love that’s gone into it, but you don’t just want to assume it’s romantic.

✧ Everything’s accepted. And then nothing happens. And still nothing happens.

✧ You notice Thorin becoming slightly more withdrawn and decide to complain to Bilbo, muttering about how confusion these dwarves can sometimes be.

✧ ‘These dwarves?’

✧ It’s then Thorin realises that, perhaps, you aren’t a dwarf at all.

✧ Finally, he decides to use his words. Coming up to you, and asking if you’d realise what he was doing.

✧ Both of your cheeks are hot as he explains his intentions to you, and you realise all the things you’ve missed.

✧ As his explanation comes to an end, and you explain you’d truly like to court him - he steps slightly closer.

✧ “I know that all people kiss.”

𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐢

✧ He never thought he’d be one for traditional romance, the pain-staking time courting takes. To get all the details just perfect for the beloved he’d end up falling for.

✧ Fíli had always assumed he’d have a whirlwind romance, and the details wouldn’t matter.

✧ It was true, in a way; you could have done anything for him and he’d beam and blush as if you’d hung the stars for him.

✧ But Fíli is determined to make it perfect for you. Because you deserve nothing less.

✧ So he begins to ask some of the older dwarves on what to do, how to make sure it all goes well.

✧ Fíli‘s getting quite far along, gift almost made for you, when he decides maybe he should ask the hobbit as well.

✧ “You- you thought they were a dwarf?” The incredulous tone of Bilbo makes poor Fíli rethink quite a lot of choices. If he didn’t notice that is he good enough to love you?

✧ Taking pity on the lad, Bilbo offers him a smile. “But anyone, dwarf or not, can see the love you have for them. Do it anyway, you just- might have to explain some of the finer details.”

✧ It’s that advice Fíli ends up taking, asking if he can speak to you in private.

✧ He still does things the dwarven way, at the very start. Waiting until he’s finished - and you’re looking at him with a mixture of hope and confusion.

✧ Then he explains things the best he can, what each gestures means, why he chose each gesture. How specifically he’s decided to show his love for you.

✧ Because you’re absolutely worthy of confession twice.

𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐢

✧ The first to start showing his affections, of course. And he decides the best way to do it is semi-casually.

✧ After all, he can always say he was joking if you don’t reciprocate the feelings. Hope you didn’t notice how pink his cheeks were, along with his smile and the shine in his eyes when he looked at you.

✧ “How are you, amrâl?”

✧ Does it get him some stares from the other dwarves? Yes. Is it worth it when you look at him and then quietly respond? He’s certain it is.

✧ Slowly he gets bolder. Jokingly calling you his betrothed, his star, his sun and moon. Each time you seem slightly less surprised, and slightly more comfortable.

✧ Eventually, he decides that he doesn’t just want to joke around. He wants to properly ask you, to be able to properly court you.

✧ “Amrâl astî.”

✧ There’s a moment where he looks in your face for recognition, and then sees blankness.

✧ Something must be obvious in his expression, because you suddenly seems to understand. And then, almost shyly, ask if he’s just confessed.

✧ It’s then that Kíli suddenly realises you’ve never talked back to him in Khuzdul. That, in some respects, you never quite seemed dwarven.

✧ With you still looking at him, he tries again. The confession is longer this time, if slightly quieter - with a few times he’s not as confident - but there’s still just as much love in it.

✧ Once Kíli finally begins to court you, he also begins to teach you what all his nicknames mean.

𝐃𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧

✧ Like Thorin, he’s much more comfortable in sticking with the dwarven traditions as well.

✧ To be able to confess how much you mean to him without having to put it truly into words. To share something intimate, instead of court with a grand, romantic gesture.

✧ Still, Dwalin spends a lot of time perfecting everything. Making sure that this confession will be right for you, right for him. Right for (what he hopes) can become the two of you, together.

✧ Dwalin doesn’t have a lot of small gestures, but rather one bigger one.

✧ One where - even though you’re not a dwarf - you can so easily feel the love through. His devotion is evident in every part, the love he has for you obvious.

✧ You’re silent until he finishes, and then you ask, “This is the confession I’d been hoping for, right?”

✧ There’s some confusion but he confirms it is instantly. And you meet him in an embrace, a gentle kiss.

✧ He’s incredibly soft with you - but there’s still hints of Dwalin as your lips connect. As he smiles when the two of you pull away.

𝐁𝐨𝐟𝐮𝐫

✧ When he first gives you a carving, he doesn’t expect you to see a grand romantic gesture in it - because it isn’t to him, but more of a subtle way. The polite way of informing you ‘my heart might be beating for you, I hope you don’t mind’

✧ Yet it isn’t as grandiose as so many stories he’s heard. And it isn’t a proper courtship gesture. So he doesn’t expect too much.

✧ But, when he places the carving in your hands, you’re in awe. So thankful. So enamoured by the object he’s left a blushing mess.

✧ As you give him a hug he wonders how you can’t feel his heart, hammering away.

✧ Emboldened by this he tries again, putting more effort in this time. And again you seem to appreciate it like no-one has before.

✧ But you still don’t initiate anything romantic.

✧ Perhaps you want to take it slow? So Bofur waits two, three more carvings before deciding to talk to you.

✧ “I… know you haven’t seen my courting gifts as exactly what you wanted. How- how do you want me to say I love you?”

✧ The way your eyes go wide clue him into the fact, perhaps, you didn’t know originally.

✧ Repeating his words back to him, you can feel your mortification as you explain you didn’t know they were courting gifts. How you’d gladly accept them.

✧ That you’d be honoured to court him.

A/N : As you can see by the vagueness, I definitely have a great grasp on dwarven courting techniques. (and would welcome anyone who'd be willing to explain them to me <3)

« masterlist » thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ Taglist : @celestialhole / @starwars2222 / @withasideofmeg / @nilintakan / @wordbunch ✧ wish to be tagged?

✧ @killermarionette / @bespectacledhuman / @howling-medic / @deannie13 / @paigemackenzie0206

✧ @recordofragnarokfan2 / @themuseinthewoods / @satans-bitch / @ferns-fics / @northernwing

[obsessedwhyyes]

An Empirical Study

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

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

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

Gif by silverformymonsters on Tumblr!

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

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

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

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

Gods, is it distracting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that isn’t all that plagues you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, no. Stop that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now this is just pitiful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“... Darling.”

Nope. Still not looking him in the eye.

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

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

Bastard.

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

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

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

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

You get more than you bargained for.

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

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

So much for a distraction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow hard, but persevere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your face flushes at his brazen comment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well… you could, but that would be impolite.

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you see him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is happening. This is real.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think so.”

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

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

“What do you feel?”

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

“What about them?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“May I?”

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

“Beautiful,” Astarion breathes.

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

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

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

You feel exposed, vulnerable. But… safe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… He's also naked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. You are certain.

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

“Breathe in for me, darling.”

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

His cock enters you.

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

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

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

“Then let's start slowly, shall we?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But something’s different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now then,” he says, “where were we?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But this steadiness does not remain for long.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost. 

Alas, you are ever the overthinker.

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

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

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

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

There's a long pause. Astarion doesn't push you away, but he doesn't relax either.

“I suppose,” he finally says, his tone carefully neutral. “Though I must say, this is… different.”

You lift your head slightly to look at him. His expression is guarded, as you've come to expect.

“We don't have to if you're uncomfortable,” you offer softly.

Astarion’s laugh is short and sharp. “Uncomfortable? Darling, I've done things that would make a succubus blush. This is hardly–”

He cuts himself off abruptly, seeming to realise he's saying more than he intended. There's a moment of silence, heavy with unspoken words.

Then, slowly, hesitantly, his arm comes around you. It's not quite an embrace - more like he's unsure where to put his arm and this is the most logical place. But it's a start.

You settle back against his chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathes - unnecessary for a vampire; a relic of his past which he retains.

“This isn't… unpleasant,” Astarion finally says.

You smile against his skin.

Astarion truly felt like a puzzle box of a man at times. Certain reactions of his, certain words, dance on the edge of your understanding, always just out of reach. For a person of science, not being able to understand him in moments like this was… infuriating. Exhilarating. A conundrum that both frustrates you and drives your curiosity. Each time you think you've figured him out, he reveals another layer, another facet that sends you back to the drawing board. It's like trying to map the stars only to find they've rearranged themselves overnight. Thrilling, yes, but also unsettling. You're used to being the one with answers, the one who can make sense of the chaos. But with Astarion, you're adrift in uncharted waters, your usual compass rendered useless.

And yet, isn't this what drew you to the arcane in the first place? The allure of the unknown, the thrill of discovery? Astarion is a mystery more complex than any spell you've unravelled, a puzzle more intricate than any magical or alchemical theory you've studied. He challenges you, pushes you beyond the boundaries of your understanding in ways both terrifying and exhilarating.

You find yourself wondering if perhaps this is true alchemy - not the transformation of base metals into gold, but the transmutation of the self through connection with another. Each interaction with Astarion feels like it's changing you, reshaping your perceptions, your desires, your very understanding of the world.

But these are hypotheses to be considered in the daytime. For now, you rest, as a curious yet comfortable silence settles over you in the night air.

Masterlist can be found here.

No Pressure Tags: @silverfangmarks @davenswitcher @roguishcat @sparrowbard @chonkercatto

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Poly!plastics x Mechanic!Reader

Reader has been a car person since they were a kid, Since their dad owns a car shop, so Reader knows a lot about cars and is always working one. But every day after school reader goes home and work on a car their fixing up and modding (BMW 1 series 2013) and the plastics just watch them work on their car watching their muscles flex seeing the absolute focus in their face, so they do something Regina’s car needed an oil change like 2 weeks ago and while reader was changing the only Regina snatched the spark plug, just to see the reader look all hot again

Hardest Client

|| poly!plastics x nonbinary!mechanic!reader

|| Warnings; swearing, the girls simping over reader, not much else besides maybe incorrect terms? i promise i tried 🙏💀, fluffy

|| Summary; the plastics startle reader while they're working on a car, informing them about Regina's jeep that needs fixing.

Requests closed!

Started; November 13th

Finished; November 15th

Author Note; I know absolutely zero things about cars, I had to research as I wrote so I apologize if anything is wrong. bare with me 🙏

~~~

Cars have been your thing for years, ever since you were a kid in your dad's shop. They'd been your whole life. And when you finally got your first car, a BMW I series 2013, you put your heart and soul into that car. Your dad had managed to get it used, knowing that you would be able to fix it no problem. Make it good as new. That was your talent.

It's been a few days and right now you were under the car. Tinkering away at finer details, bringing it to your exact mental image. Which was quite complex for what the car was. As you worked, you failed to notice your girlfriends enter the garage. Gretchen and Karen sharing a glance with a certain gleam in their eyes. Regina with her arms folded, eyes never leaving the spot where she knew you were working under the car. They loved coming to watch you. Seeing you all dirtied up, the way your muscles flexed and how you seemed to know just about everything in this field. It was beyond hot. Honestly, hot may have been not the right word to describe the sight. What's better than hot? Mm, holy? Godly? Something like that.

Probably would have gone the whole time without noticing them. If not for Regina's cat call whistle. Your heart practically leapt out of your chest at the sudden sound, flinching so hard all your limbs hit the bottom of the car. "Ah- fuck-" You grunted, giving your head a rub after smacking it on the surface. Christ. You rolled out from underneath, the creeper (the little thing with wheels that mechanics lay on) sliding along with practiced ease. Your head popped out from under as you looked at your girlfriends. Who were losing it laughing. "Ow." You murmured.

Regina walked over and crouched in front of you, giving your cheek a little squeeze before she wiped the oil smear from it. Only making it worse. Which was her real intention. Then she kissed you. Your lips moving against hers with a force that got a noise out of you. She pulled away, watching you with hints of desire in her eyes. "Better?" Regina had a smug grin across her lips but you nodded.

"Loads.." You pushed out further, getting off the creeper and stretching. A bunch of your bones cracked with your movement, making you grimace and shake your arms a bit," damn. Never gets any easier coming up from there."

Gretchen chuckles and walks over to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. Hardly minding how dirty your work clothes were," so... we have a little issue. With Reggie's jeep." Her hand rests on your chest, getting your attention.

"Issue? Like what?" You look at Regina for an explanation, since it was her jeep and all. Regina plays innocent, as though she totally did nothing to it. Because why would she ruin her own car? It's not like she had a hot mechanic partner she'd get to watch fix it... nope, she sees no reason for why she would ruin it.

"Oh... I was supposed to get an oil change a while ago. Like two weeks or something. Didn't feel like it," Regina shrugged, looking down at her nails. Her tone laced with innocence. You cringed at that. How Regina was even able to use her jeep right now you weren't sure, the engine had to be fucked up.

"Regina. You're going to completely fuck over your car," You sighed. Walking out of the garage at a slight jog to check on the jeep. Regina smirked as she watched you run, admiring the certain... aspects of your body. She glanced at Gretchen and the two shared a silent amusement. While Karen looked a little worried for the car too, following after you.

"Will the car be okay?" Karen asked, looking at you as you pop open the hood. You look at her and give Karen a quick kiss.

"Ain't no car I can't fix. Don't worry," You smiled and got to work. Giving everything a quick once over in the hood before even trying to go under the car to drain it. That's when you noticed something. A whole ass spark plug was missing. What the fuck? Your eyes widened and your head snapped over to Regina. Who was walking over to you with her arms across her chest and Gretchen behind her.

"How do you have a whole ass missing spark plug?" You asked, Regina just shrugged again.

"I dunno." She took it when she got here. That's how. You sighed deeply. Who knew your own girlfriend was your hardest client.

You went back to your garage, grabbing a few tools. You didn't want to drive the jeep in. Just in case you fucked it up further. So you brought the equipment to it. Getting it work while your girlfriends watched in amusement.

[mixolya]

ᓚᘏᗢ — beneath the stars, we became one: chapter 018.

you sat with ayane and milya at your usual spot in the café after school, stirring your drink absently as their voices filled the space. they were catching up on weekend plans and sharing gossip, but you weren’t really listening.

“alright,” milya said suddenly, breaking through your haze. she leaned across the table, her sharp eyes pinning you in place. “what's going on with you?"

you blinked, startled. “what? nothing.”

“liar.” milya crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. “you've been spacing out all day. you're never this quiet unless something’s eating you.”

ayane tilted her head, her expression softer but just as curious. “did something happen? is it about rin?”

the mention of his name sent a jolt through you. “what makes you think it’s about rin?”

milya snorted. “because it’s always men sabotaging women these days. tell us.”

you hesitated, glancing between your two best friends. the thought of opening up made you uneasy, but you also knew they wouldn’t let it go until you did.

with a deep breath, you finally said, “we kissed."

ghe words hung in the air for a moment before milya let out an exaggerated gasp. “you kissed rin?! and you’re just now telling us?!”

ayane's eyes widened in surprise. “wait, what? when? how?”

you gave them a quick rundown of what had happened, leaving out the finer details but enough to paint the picture. by the time you finished, milya was grinning like she’d just won the lottery.

“and now you’re freaking out,” she said knowingly.

you nodded, fidgeting with your scarf. “it's just… i'm scared. what if I get attached and it doesn’t work out? what if I end up hurt again?”

milya reached out to squeeze your hand. “i get it, y/n. after kyo, it’s hard to trust again. but rin isn’t kyo. he's not the type to play games or hurt you on purpose.”

“she's right,” ayane chimed in, more blunt. “you can’t keep running from your feelings just because of some jerk in the past. rin likes you, y/n. anyone with eyes can see that. if you push him away now, you’re just going to regret it later.”

their words hit you harder than you expected. deep down, you knew they were right. you couldn’t keep letting fear control your actions. if you wanted to move forward, you had to take the risk.

by the time you got home, you’d made up your mind. tomorrow, you’d talk to rin.

the next day at school, you kept an eye out for him, determined to find the right moment. but it quickly became apparent that it wasn’t going to be easy.

you saw him briefly before class, standing near the lockers, but just as you worked up the nerve to approach him, someone called his name. rin turned away, his expression neutral as he engaged in a conversation with isagi. you hesitated, not wanting to interrupt, and by the time you decided to wait, rin was already walking toward the classroom.

the second time you spotted him, it was during lunch. he was seated by the window with a book open in front of him, looking as focused as ever. you took a deep breath, clutching your tray, and made your way toward him. but before you could reach him, bachira plopped down beside him with his usual energy, dragging rin into an animated conversation.

by the end of the day, frustration began to bubble up. you caught sight of rin heading down the hall, his bag slung over his shoulder. this was your last chance. you quickened your pace, calling his name.

“rin!”

he stopped, but before he could turn around, someone else beat you to him. a girl from his class - kana, if you remembered correctly - walked up to him with a bright smile.

“hey, rin!” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. she tilted her head slightly, a playful glint in her eyes. “i was wondering if you could help me with something. you're really good at english, right?”

you froze mid-step, your chest tightening as you watched the interaction. rin looked at her, his expression as blank as ever. “what is it?” he asked flatly, his tone polite but detached.

kana laughed lightly, leaning closer. “it's the grammar. i don't understand it no matter what i try. maybe we could go over it together sometime?”

your stomach twisted uncomfortably. she was practically batting her eyelashes at him, and while rin didn’t seem particularly interested, he wasn’t walking away either.

you hesitated, unsure if you should interrupt. buz before you could decide, rin spoke again. “i'm busy,” he said curtly, brushing past her without a second glance.

for a split second, relief washed over you - only to be replaced by a pang of guilt. what was wrong with you? rin had every right to talk to whoever he wanted.

you quickened your pace and called out again.

“rin!”

this time, he stopped but didn’t turn around immediately. when he did, his expression was unreadable, his teal eyes meeting yours for a fleeting second before he shifted his gaze.

“hey,” you started, walking closer. “can we—”

“not now,” he said shortly, cutting you off. he didn’t wait for your response, turning on his heel and walking away.

you froze, your heart sinking. the coldness in his tone stung more than you wanted to admit. was this bad timing or is he actually annoyed?

the rest of the day passed in a blur, the weight of rin's distance pressing heavily on your chest. you replayed his words, his actions - or maybe lack of actions - in your mind, overanalyzing every little detail.

"i fucked up," you mumbled, realizing.

chapter 017 > here > chapter 019

back to beneath the stars, we became one !

my taglist is open <3

a/n: IM SO SORRY THAT I HAVE TO REUPLOAD i forgot the last ch. ...

taglist: @byakgans @bluberrymochi17 @levihanmyotp @x3nafix @etojlee @chuuyalvover @reocidal @syarc0re @azinniyaa @vashyuu @rwbie @idexmids @giaalorine @modxbea @nensi @anqelkoz @sapph1r3x @yuukigyatgyat @morgyyyyyyy @azharyy @chaerinmin @thenightsflower @narcjsistx @totheseok @meekydeeks @aerisevx @imas1mpp

© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[spitdrunken]

notes: Valentino being Valentino (AKA horrible), abusive ‘relationship’, manipulation/lovebombing, uneven power dynamics, loss of agency, heavily dubious consent + implied noncon, physical abuse. Essentially details the progression of how Valentino might go about pimping someone out. He's really not nice in this, be warned!

The issue with Valentino is that, when he wants to be, he can be very charming. No one wants to sell to a person who slaps them around from the very first day, right? To Valentino, first interactions are an art he has perfected and, while he cannot see very well, he does have an eye for the pathetic, and desperate. From the very way someone carries themselves, and how they speak, he can tell who would be the easiest. To discover amongst these people a few so-called ‘diamonds in the rough’, and have them bend to his every desire, is the part of his job that he takes the greatest satisfaction out of.

Perhaps you are new in Hell, the finer details of the realm entirely lost on you, unaware of Valentino’s reputation. Or you truly have nowhere else to turn to, and you decide to take your chances, the idea of fame, money and, most of all, a bit of certainty, is too appealing. Maybe you’re aware of both his reputation, and exactly aware of what kind of guy he is, and you are chasing the kind of relationships you had while alive. Living here has affirmed all of your worst beliefs about people. To be with someone who is certain to hurt you, is easier, more familiar, than someone who might… And, hey, if he’s rich, that helps too, right?

Regardless of your circumstances, Valentino would know how to make you feel special. Hell is violent, unpredictable, and truly lives up to that. Time spent with Valentino in the lavish, beautiful places he hangs out in, almost makes you feel like you aren’t in Hell at all. Sure, maybe he’s a little strict about the kind of clothes you wear, but he’s always so full of praise when you do listen. The gifts he gives are perhaps a little gaudy, but all of them are incredibly expensive, and it includes a phone of the newest series. He tells you so that it’s so you never have to leave him hanging again! And while he laughs at it like it’s a joke, and you do too, it’s the first time something in his expression truly makes you feel uncomfortable.

And wouldn’t it feel good, wouldn’t it make you feel powerful, to have a man who is so famous and powerful, who could practically have anyone, to have set his eyes upon you? While almost anyone would be a little suspicious at first, with time, perhaps you begin to believe him. Maybe you really are special, maybe the rumours about him are true, or maybe they’re not, but they don’t apply to you. You’re the exception. You- You have to be. Otherwise, what’s going to happen to you? You try not to think about it too hard, try to ignore all the talk about him that never stops going around. On social media, the stuff said about him is mostly positive. …Any negative comments you see about the Vees in general, disappear faster than you can blink.

All the while, you’re unaware of the mixture of pity and envy the other demons working for him look at you with. Oh, how they wish they could still believe there was anything good about the demon you’re standing next to. If only they still had hope for a better future. They know exactly what is going on, but even if some might want to give you a warning sign, the punishment that would be dished out for it far outweighs anything else.

You don’t see any of his employees often though, not in this stage, nor the next. Valentino prefers to keep his whores from fraternizing with each other. From his own personal experiences, his early days of being in this business, there is nothing that builds bonds between people like a common ‘enemy’ like him. He wants all of you isolated, and most miserable you can be, in all honesty.

It is exactly the moment that you start feeling a bit more secure about things, that the cracks start to show. He’ll start pressuring you into doing a shoot for Velvette. Those gifts you got you were reaaaally expensive, baby, you know that, right? You kind of owe it to him, is what he tells you. Some pictures might seem harmless enough, but once you’ve given him an inch, Valentino will never fail to take a mile. His requests become more and more pressing, his demands more and more explicit, until any ‘affection’ left in his tone has long since gone cold.

After that, you’re essentially just treated like the rest of his whores, and the exact same treatment. He’s cut you off from any support system you had left, has you living in a company-owned building and, possibly, has you under contract. Where the hell else are you supposed to go? You’d live on the streets if you were to leave now, completely to the mercy of whatever demon might stumble upon you. Now that you've featured in a couple of Valentino's films, it's safe to say that the fame you once might have desired, now becomes one of your biggest burdens. ...You know exactly what people will do to you, given the chance.

If you bring up the kind of things he used to say to you, about how special and important you were, he’d actually laugh at you right in your face. What the fuck? You can’t be serious. You actually believed all of that bullshit? Regardless of your response, it’s likely to make his temper flare, resulting in a punch to the face that knocks you backward a good couple of feet. I’ve got bitches begging to be touched by me, to even be looked at by me. You ungrateful whore.

Unfortunately for you, practically anyone who gets too closely involved with Valentino meets the same fate.

[whereserpentswalk]

Choose a slightly diffrent version of our world to escape to

Weather you're transferring yourself to another dimension or you’re retroactively changing our world is a matter of perspective. Either way, only you will remember the change, and all your loved ones will still exist with as minimal a change to everyone's lives as possible. Transplaner security does not allow the finer details of this process to be understood by mortals.

1- ritual magic and deities are scientifically proven to exist. The exact details on it all are still ambiguous but people know for a fact that these things work and are true. Religious conflict is down, and it's a fact that there's something out there to answer your prayers.

2- the earth is flat and infinite. The seven continents we know are lit by the sun (which is small and goes out at night) which rotates over the equator (the north pole is the center of this map projection). But there are other suns beyond Antarctica, and 21st century civilization is working to contact these other continents. We will never be done expanding our trades routes and exploring for better or for worse.

3- dragons exist. They split off from a difftent fish than other land vertebrates hence the six limbs. There are all different kinds of dragons, living throughout the world. There's nothing magical about them, they just exist.

4- the six continents we know of with humans are just six islands in a vast ocean. Most of human history is the same or similar, just much higher density, thought the same cultures and civilizations developed. Because the population is the same human territory is a single massive city, using unquine technology to harvest food. What exists on the rest of the earth is just starting to be known.

5- necromancers exist as a valid field of art and science. Zombies, ghosts, vampires, liches, shades and other such creatures all exist as functioning members of society. Everyone accepts this as good and normal.

6- humans are capable of using willpower to change their physical sex after completing puberty. The process takes about six months to complete, and is mostly painless. Alongside swapping your sex it's also possible to mix and match traits or completely get rid of the traits of either sex. There is stigma around this, but it's slowly gaining more acceptance as time goes on. Body type and eye color can also be changed similarly, and how old you look is somewhat fluid based on your desires.

7- every rocky planet in our solar system and most large moons have sentient life. We are slowly making further and further contact with those civilizations.

8- the world is slightly more progressive on basically every issue. It's far from perfect but our world looks like an exacerbated parody of their world's political and social problems.

9- humans don't make contact when they mate, like fish or scorpians. Nobody has sex or desires sex in any way, and human bodies have a lot less sexual dimorphism. Gender is more fluid, sexual assault and harassment can't happen, and physical affection is way more common.

10- humans live longer (the oldest people are in their 900s) and resist illness much better. They have stronger mote athletic bodies, and have appearances that resemble closer what they individually think is pretty. They also need to sleep a lot less and have higher pain tolerance.

11- gender as a concept doesn't exist. People are biologically the same, they just don't have any social construct of male and female. People generally dress similarly to what we'd consider masculine, and he is the default pronoun, but feminine things aren't rejected, or even categorized as feminine. Relationships also aren't considered platonic romantic or family, people are just close to eachother and there's no special word for certain kind of close relationship that's different from others in a socially enforced way.

12- there's a whole new complex set of social constructs that didn't exist in the world you know. This is bad mabye.

Reblog to begin the transportation. Like to awake one of your freinds to the reality of the changes.

[thinkofmehoney]

“A Place for You to Rest”

⇢ Summary: Choso asks Nanami to teach him how to cook, so he can prepare a meal for Yuji. He gets frustrated when he can’t do it perfectly, feeling the pressure of trying to be the best older brother for Yuji after the death of his younger brothers. But Nanami sees this, and when the anxiety it’s getting the best out of Choso, he’s right there to help him.

⇢ contents: NOT SHIP CONTENT!, slice of life, found family, fluff and angst, emotional hurt/comfort, Choso needs a hug, Nanami is a good dad, insecure Choso, canon compliant

⇢ notes: in this au Nanami is like 40, Choso is a half curse so he’s still 150 but appears early 20’s, and Yuji is 10. I haven’t really thought much about details but I’ll probably do it in another occasion!

Ao3 link is in the title

⇢ word count: 1.3k app

���Is it like this?” Choso asked, a little unsure as he roughly chopped onions. He looked really focused, almost stressed.

Nanami observed his movements, and he spoke with the gentle, fatherly tone that characterized him. “Try to slice them in finer pieces. Like this”

Nanami chopped another onion with ease, he has learned to enjoy cooking with the years, ever since he realized that cooking meant he would spent time eating delicious food with his little family.

Choso looked, trying to mimic Nanami’s controlled movements. He frowned at the onion, “I’m trying, but I just… Can’t manage to get it right.”

Choso was starting to sweat and he hasn’t even started to cook the actual meal yet. He asked Nanami for guidance on how to cook, because he didn’t really knew how and also because he wanted to make Yuji’s lunch for school tomorrow.

Choso wanted to be useful, he didn’t want to just live off of Yuji’s dad, the least he could do was to learn how to cook properly. In this way, he hoped he could feel more comfortable too, after all, Nanami wasn’t his dad, so Choso was only living there because he was Yuji’s half-human half brother.

Being the observant man he was, Nanami could notice the way Choso clumsily and hastily chopped the onions. Not because he wasn’t capable of doing it right, but because he was too frustrated.

“Choso, hey, slow down.” He adviced, he didn’t knew if it was the onion, but Choso’s eyes slowly filled with tears.

“I-I can’t, I have to get this ready for Yuji, and you should’ve been sleeping fifteen minutes ago for work if it wasn’t for me.” He desperately explained.

“Kid, calm down, or else you-“ Thump

“Ouch!” Choso dropped the knife on the counter after cutting the tip of his finger.

With a hand on his back, Nanami quickly guided him to the sink to rinse and cool down the wound. It was nothing really, he wasn’t even human after all, he could heal that little cut in a few seconds.

But the way Nanami carefully rinsed it, taking care of him like Choso’s father never did, made him feel warm and safe, like if there was nothing to worry about, because his dad was there for him.

Except, of course, Nanami wasn’t his dad.

“I told you, kid, those knifes are really sharp.” He reprimanded him softly, he used some paper towels to wrap his finger. “Hold this tightly, okay?”

Choso just nodded, looking down at his hands. He didn’t had any words left to say, a little taken aback by the cut.

Nanami sighed, crossing his arms on his chest, leaning back on the kitchen isle. “Now, what is it?”

Confused, Choso tried to answer. “What?”

Nanami gave him a knowing look, and Choso felt like he had been caught. “Choso, you’re the calmest person I’ve ever met in my life. Why are you so distressed?”

Choso only looked at him, trying to hold his gaze, but his lower lip quickly formed a pout, tears filled his eyes. “I just… I just wanted to learn how to cook…”

He sniffed, holding his wounded finger and letting his tears fall. “I want to make sure I can cook a proper meal if Yuji is hungry.” He sobbed softly. “I want to be a good brother.”

Nanami’s eyes softened, seeing Choso crying and holding his injured finger made him look so small, just like when Yuji was even littler. He uncrossed his arms, speaking softer now.

“Choso, you are a good brother to Yuji, you’ve always been.” He tried to comfort him.

Choso sniffed, roughly trying to wipe his incessant tears with his sleeves. “I just… I want to protect him, to be useful.” He cried. “He said he wanted to cook with me, b-but I didn’t know how, I was too embarrassed to say so… So instead I told him I’ll cook with him tomorrow.” he explained, looking at Nanami.

Nanami felt like it was deeper than that, it was more than just wanting to be able to cook with Yuji. He knew that Choso’s younger brothers died some years ago, and that it affected him greatly.

Choso felt like he had to be the best, that perfection had to be his starting point. But even if he didn’t believe it, he was still human, and humans weren’t perfect.

Nanami took a step closer, tilting his head to see him better. “Choso, I can see how much you’re struggling, but you have to take it easier on yourself.” He sighed, it was difficult to see Choso so hurt.

He continued. “I know you’ve been through some painful moments, kid. I know you feel that losing your brothers was your fault.”

Choso opened his mouth, about to say something when Nanami shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault, Choso. But you’re carrying a heavy burden on your shoulders. You’re doing your best now with Yuji, both him and I can see that.”

Choso looked up at Nanami, feeling like he would never stop crying after this. He didn’t know how much he needed to hear that until now.

Nanami continued. “Yuji looks up to you, Choso. Not because you’re perfect, but because you’re there for him, you’re willing to learn and to grow for his sake and that shows how much of a good brother you are.”

He hoped his words could comfort him at least a bit, and they did. Choso nodded, still trying to wipe those tears. Nanami just gave him a soft smile and extended his arms at him. “Come here.”

Choso looked at him for a moment, and then immediately let himself be hugged by Nanami. He felt protected in such a warm hug—like everything might actually be alright.

He hugged him back, letting himself cry on his shoulder, and for a moment, Choso simply let himself be held. He buried his face into Nanami’s shoulder, his tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t care; it was the comfort he’d been craving for so long.

“Thank you, dad.” He didn’t even had time to think about what he said when the word had already slipped out of his lips. His eyes widened, trying to separate from the hug. “I-I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to-“

But to his surprise, Nanami pulled him in again, into a protective hug, gently patting his back. “It’s okay.” he murmured reassuringly, almost like a coo. “If you want to call me that, it’s okay.”

Choso’s eyes widened and filled up with tears again, he felt so relieved that Nanami accepted him. He’s never had an actual father figure before, and he didn’t know he craved one so bad until now.

“Dad…” For the first time, he felt like he belonged somewhere, it wasn’t just him and Yuji against the world, now he knew that there was someone that could take care and protect them too. “Thank you… thank you so much.” he cried

Nanami chuckled, caressing Choso’s hair. “You’re welcome.” He looked down at him. “To be honest… I would’ve been upset if after all these years you didn’t consider me as a part of your family.”

They both laughed at that, and after a few minutes, Choso felt more calmed. Nanami patted his back comfortingly, and held the onion and knife again.

“I’ll show you an easier way to do this, okay? We’ll do this together, it doesn’t have to be perfect.”

Choso nodded, holding the knife and the onion too. “Alright, dad. I’ll do my best.”

thank you for reading!! reblogs are greatly appreciated! <3

[waldau-archived]

hii! I've noticed that you haven't written anything for minghao yet (according to your master list) so I wanted to request something cozy and homey with him. like maybe cooking together or waking up together or something along those lines.. :)

hello anon! i was feeling extra sappy with minghao and this also happens to be my first work for him. thank you so much for requesting it, i hope you see this!

gender neutral reader. warnings: none.

muse — xu minghao | 1,382 words | fluff

minghao blinks his eyes open to the sound of silence. there’s not much he can hear right out, except for the distant sound of cars going past. he lazes around for a few more moments before giving in and checking the time on his phone.

it’s just shy of six in the morning. he needs to be up and at the studio by nine, but he doesn’t feel like moving just yet. he puts his phone away and turns around to you, to watch you sleep.

the first time he’d ever done it was unfortunately a time you weren’t actually asleep, and he’d ended up staring at you for ten minutes before you woke up and apologized to him, saying that you couldn’t pretend to stay asleep without wanting to burst into laughter.

he still remembers how embarrassed he’d been by that, and how you made it up to him with kisses and multiples reassurances that it had been okay, that he could do it again, that it wasn’t a problem at all, you’d just been caught off-guard the very first time.

the thing is — minghao adores you. he’s in awe of you. to him, no one else on this planet even compares to how exquisite you are. he loves how like-minded the two of you are, how affectionate you’re with him, and how much you support him without even saying any words. of course, he loves going out on dates with you, seeing new places with you, seeing you match the outfits he wears, but this might just be his favourite sight in the world.

this being seeing you asleep on your side, facing him, a hand tucked under your head and the other holding his own. as an artist, he’s used to noticing the finer details about everything he sees, so when it comes to you, he could lose himself for hours noticing every single thing about you that makes him love you more.

minghao gently untangles his hand from your grasp, drawing his own blanket over you properly so that you don’t feel cold. he immediately feels the cold winter air hit his bare arms, and he winces as he gets used to it. he’s going to need to workout before he leaves, because there’s no time for it in the evening. not if he wants to finish work fast enough to come back to have dinner with you.

his fingers itch for a brush. it’s been a while since he’s painted something. the last thing he’d put on his canvas had been a rendition of a sunrise he’d been able to see with you a few weeks ago. it had been magical; the beautiful hues of orange and yellow blending with the shimmering brightness of the sea, contrasting the pale hue of the sky.

but nothing looked more beautiful than you sitting next to him, watching the sun rise and letting the water wash over your legs. he’d been tempted to paint you instead, right there, but you’d dragged him out on a monday morning for inspiration, despite the fact that both of you had work soon, and he wasn’t going to let it go to waste.

but he doesn’t really need inspiration. not when you’re his muse.

he runs his fingers across your face as gently as he can, glad that you’re still asleep. you’ve been having trouble sleeping recently, and he’s glad he’s part of why you’ve been sleeping better. he smiles when he notices two faint pillow creases stamped into your cheek, angry red lines that he hopes don’t hurt you at all. you somehow manage to look even more perfect with them.

he doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at you before your eyes blink open slowly, and somehow his eyes are the first thing that yours find. he holds his breath, waiting for you to speak.

“hao?” you ask, voice croaky. “what time is it?”

minghao checks his phone again. “six thirty-seven. you still have twenty three more minutes to sleep, if you want.”

“mm,” you say, before you roll in closer and pull his arm to yourself. “wake me up at seven, then.” before he can say anything, you look up at him. “aren’t you supposed to leave early today?”

he nods. “do you want me to leave?”

you huff and tug at his arm to pull him closer to yourself, and he goes down willingly. “you know that’s not what i meant.”

“what did you mean, then?” he asks, pinching your nose softly.

you’re used to his teasing by now, so you just roll your eyes throw an arm around his waist. “did you sleep well, hao?”

“really well. you?”

“me too. but…how long were you staring at me this time?”

he feigns shock. “you could tell?”

“i can just…feel it, somehow,” you giggle. “won’t you tell me?”

“do you really want me to?”

“of course,” you say, eyes shining despite the layer of sleep clinging to them. minghao wishes he could spend more time with you like this. it’s almost like you’re forcing yourself to stay awake despite having some more time to sleep, just to talk to him. the thought warms his chest.

“maybe forty minutes? maybe more.”

there’s a grin on your face. “correct me if i’m wrong, but…i think you love me?”

he could just refute it, tease you a little, joke that you’re in too deep, but he can’t. there’s something about the early hours of the morning combined with the fact that he has the honour to wake up with you that makes his heart heavy. he’s lucky to even have this, especially with you.

“you’re right,” he says, voice rough, feeling his waterline sting suddenly. “i love you.”

the grin on your face disappears slowly. “hao? is everything okay?”

“of course it is, darling,” he says, bending down to kiss your forehead, brushing off some rogue strands of hair to kiss it properly, tucking it behind your ear so he can see your beautiful face better. “i love you. is that wrong?”

“no, silly,” you say, leaning up to cup his cheek in your palm. your hand is cold. maybe he should’ve warmed you up better. “you sound…sad. like there’s something eating at you.”

he closes his eyes and indulges himself in your touch, trying to work out his words, marvelling at how easily you can read him. “i…love you. you know that, right?”

“yeah. i love you, too. but…?”

“but,” he sighs, “i just…don’t have the right words to tell you how much i love you. i could say i love you a thousand times, but it wouldn’t be enough. i could kiss you a thousand times and it wouldn’t be enough. i could…i could ask you to marry me but nothing would be enough to tell you how thankful i am that you’re here with me. that you’re mine.”

silence, just the two of you in your bedroom, the sounds of life filtering in from outside the window.

your breath is shaky when you speak. “hao.” you drop your hand down to his arm. “i love you, too. you don’t…i don’t need any grand gestures from you. just…be with me. every single day. be mine forever. that’s it.”

“there’s nowhere else i want to be.”

“then that’s all i need.”

minghao presses a kiss to your head. he hopes it conveys everything he’s feeling right now. he’s about to say something more when your alarm goes off, and he really should get going if he doesn’t want to reach work late.

“see you in the evening?” you ask, hand catching his as he attempts to get to his feet. “maybe we can talk about…getting married? for real?”

minghao hasn’t even opened the curtains yet, and he feels like he’s standing in front of the sun again. he’s going to go to work, do well, come back home to you and hold you and hear about your day and eat with you. he’s going to surprise you with a painting of yourself, and he’s going to marry you. that’s the life he’s built for himself with you, and he loves it.

it’s all he needs to keep going, every single day.

“i can’t wait. i’ll be back before you know it, darling.”

taglist: @bookyeom @wootify @strnsvt @cloudycaramel @thepoopdokyeomtouched @minnieminshi @nonononranghaee @hrts4hanniehae @viewvuu @bewoyewo

[cellophaine]

Chapter VIII: FOOT FAULT

Masterlist

Pairing: Art Donaldson x F!Reader

Warnings: Major angst.

Author's Note: Strap in and enjoy the ride 🫡 there will be even more turbulence from now on

GIF Source

Ever since that day, your contact with Art had been far and few between. Every time you texted him, he would respond much later and in brief sentences. The conversations would always start and end with your message, and often about Art trying to balance school, practice, and Tashi. You weren't on that list, even though he apologized for not being able to see you as much. Disappointment wasn't at the forefront of your mind whenever you reread the recent messages. Still, it had smouldered into something hard to ignore.

The surgery was over a week ago, and you hadn't seen Art since. You told yourself that he was being a good friend to Tashi like he was to you, but a part of you couldn't help but think there was more to it. Your mind had started to accumulate the evidence that had always been there: the lingering look at Tashi, the tempestuous shout at Patrick, and the lack of dialogue between the two of you. The underpainting had taken shape on the canvas, and the finer details began to fill in with your overthinking. You forced yourself to look away from the easel despite being the one holding the brush. To acknowledge it was to admit that Art was only using you, to accept the fact that you weren't enough to be a worthy person in someone else's life, only to be a temporary placeholder, was too much to bear. Your heart fractured, morsel by morsel, when you thought about how his affection wasn't even for you.

The very possibility of it occupied so much of your mind that you were consumed by the thought. Ravenous was its nature; it feasted on the fact that Art hadn't tried to stay in touch with you as much as you had. It revelled in the insecurities that had resurfaced in such a short time. The neverending cycle ran you haggard, and despite your conscious effort to take yourself out of it, it went on.

You barely left your room these days. When your roommates asked you to hang out with them, you would come up with excuses not to. Without Art, you felt like you didn't have anything to do or anywhere to be besides classes and work. And when you weren't at either place, you would be at the library, obsessively watching Art and Patrick's old tennis matches. There was undeniable chemistry between them, and they complimented each other, highlighting the best part about their respective skill set. Patrick was an extension of Art, and vice versa. A bond like that was hard to break, and from the exchanges you'd seen, one on the polar opposite of the other, you wondered if there was anything else underneath all of this.

/

On an unexpected night, while you perused the reading material for the following week's class, your phone vibrated with Art's name lit up the screen. A rush of excitement, tinged with a touch of nervousness, ran under your skin. You put the book down and let the phone ring three more times before picking up.

"Hey."

"Hey stranger."

You cheekily added. At that, Art chuckled softly. The low vibrato of his voice reminded you of just how much you'd missed him.

"Uhm– so, how are you?"

At your eager question, Art sighed. A muffled sound came from his end, the sound of him running a hand through his hair.

"I'm … alright. I'm sorry I haven't called much. Midterm was awful, and practices have been a lot, and, uh …"

He trailed off. You completed the sentence for him.

"… Tashi."

"Yeah."

His answer settled low in the air between you. It stalled the usual effortless flow of your conversations, rendered you speechless, and he, too. You prodded the fragile silence, and it gave away under the push of your careful voice like a shaky sigh.

"It's okay. I haven't had much free time either. Are you doing okay though?"

"I'm fine … for the most part."

The hesitation in his wording piqued your curiosity. Art wouldn't have said that if nothing was wrong.

"What's with the other part?"

A moment of silence stretched over the thinning air. You added.

"Art. You can tell me anything. I'm here to listen."

Another sigh slithered from the other end to the speaker.

"I don't know how to say it, but at the same time, I feel like it's so obvious. I … miss Patrick. But I'm also mad at him for what he's … done."

His incertitude on the latter part made you feel like he wanted to withhold the information itself.

"Hm, I see. From the sound of your shouting it must be something serious."

Art had gone so quiet that you couldn't even hear his breathing. Your voice was barely a whisper when you called out to him.

"Art?"

"Did you catch all of that?"

"Yes, I did."

You toyed with the hem of your shirt between your fingers before continuing with uncertainty. Unsure if you should pursue this.

"I've never heard you shout like that. You must've been really mad."

"Yeah, I was."

"What happened? Did they get into a fight?"

"Yeah, right before the match."

"What did they fight about?"

The nervous twists of your fingers had left fleeting creases on the fabric as you released it from your grasp.

"Tashi didn't say much, … except for the fact that Patrick might be seeing other girls while on tour."

"You're his friend, did he tell you anything about seeing other girls?"

From suspicion born uneasiness in the pit of your stomach as Art prolonged the silence. You tried again, your voice laced with resolution, unwavering.

"Art. How did Tashi come to that conclusion?

"… I don't know."

"Did you say something to her? To both of them?"

"I might have mentioned Patrick's… tendency to have multiple options at the same time."

"Well, it doesn't mean he's not serious about Tashi."

"But he's my friend. I know him. He's always been a player. And he's… you never know with him. Whether he's genuine or not."

"He's your friend. Don't you think he deserves more grace than what you give him? What if it was different with Tashi?"

"I was just trying to look out for her!"

"That's not looking out for your friends. That's meddling and you know it."

"If my meddling could make them fight so easily then they'd never been good for each other in the first place!"

"That's not up to you to decide!"

You couldn't believe that you yelled at him. You exhaled sharply, trying to regain some control and wishing you hadn't said anything at all. But it was too late. It was like putting back a broken vase, but it was splintered in so many tiny fragments that the more you tried, the worse you hurt yourself.

"Look, it's late, and I'm tired. Can we pick this up another time?"

There was an edge to his voice, and somehow, you knew that this conversation would never be brought up again.

"Sure."

You swallowed your fighting words, knowing if you persisted, it wouldn't end well, even though it was too little too late. After saying goodbye, you hung up with a heavy heart. The heavy fog of your argument closed in on you, turning the air you breathed into suffocation.

For days after, your contact was reduced to none. You abandoned the ongoing draft in the notebook Art gifted you and directed your attention to something else. The inspiration you'd drawn had become a withering reflection of the past, of everything good in your relationship. Nothing could revive it; the only thing left was the dwindling hope that things would be alright between the two of you again. You buried yourself in all the other aspects of your life, hoping you could, at the very least, not think about Art so often. But it was impossible. His imprints on you were branded marks, a thing of permanence on your mind and skin.

/

In the quiet hour of the afternoon, the rhythmic sound of a pen hitting paper sounded louder than the whispered small talk from the only two customers in the cafe. The sentence was left like an unfinished thought, and you were searching for the words to wrap it up. The literary competition at Stanford was announced two days ago, and you immediately got to work. For the prized money and a feature in the school's newspaper, you weren't going to pass it up.

The bell above the door rang. You pulled your eyes away from the half-written page to settle on the new customer with a smile on your face.

"Welcome …"

Art stood there, holding the door open for Tashi. She walked in with a pair of crutches, thanking him. His eyes trained on you for a moment before tearing away. His brief gaze was enough to draw heat to your skin. Tashi slowly and carefully made her way to the counter with Art's arms hovered around her. She smiled at you.

"So, this is the place. My friends have been raving about the drinks here. Him, too."

She inclined her head at Art. He only smiled and said nothing in return. You realized then he wasn't going to introduce the two of you. You maintained a polite smile and what you hoped to be a friendly manner.

"Do you want any recommendations?"

"Yes, please. I love anything with berries in it."

"Then I have the drink for you."

You explained what went in it, and Tashi approved with a nod. Only then did you turn to Art.

"Do you want your usual, Art?"

You looked at him pointedly. His face warmed as he pretended to consider the options, even though, up until two weeks ago, he knew the menu inside and out. Tashi's gaze travelled back and forth between you and Art.

"Do you guys know each other?"

You fixed him with a look, daring him to own up to it. He finally conceded and introduced the two of you.

"I think Art mentioned you once or twice."

"Did he?"

"Yeah, you're his friend. Were you the one who came to check on me after …"

She trailed off.

"I did."

Tashi gave you a rueful smile.

"Thank you for that."

"Don't mention it. How are you doing now?"

She looked down at her knee brace briefly.

"Slowly but surely recovering."

"Take care of yourself. You'll be back to playing again in no time."

"I hope so."

Tashi gave a sad smile, and you mirrored with more assurance. You wanted to dislike her, but you felt nothing but sympathy for her. Art watched the whole exchange wordlessly. You broke eye contact with Tashi to address Art.

"Do you want your usual, Art?"

He nodded, and you told them the total. You watched as Art paid for Tashi despite her refusal. Jealousy flared hot and heavy in your chest, yearning to take back Tashi's place that used to belong to you. But who were you to him to feel this way?

You dropped the change into his hand and pulled away quickly as if you were burned by the thought of your skin touching. You didn't make eye contact and walked away quickly, and though you knew it was rude, you couldn't help it. Your bottled-up feeling was barely contained now; it bubbled and wanted to break free of its confinement. The sound of their soft-spoken exchange churned your inside, making you sick with envy. You made the drinks, and like a habit, you grabbed a marker to put a heart on Art's. But you caught yourself and set the marker down.

You pushed the drinks towards them. The smile on your face felt strained now, and you weren't sure how much longer you could keep this up. You settled for a small wave as opposed to a verbal goodbye, but Tashi interrupted your thought.

"It's very nice to meet you."

You reciprocated her smile.

"You, too."

You looked at Art briefly before wordlessly turning away, making yourself busy with an inane task. With their backs to you, you discreetly stared at their closeness. Despite knowing your problem wasn't with Tashi, you couldn't help but feel envious. You wished you could be her. Beautiful, talented, and doused in Art's attention. With a conscious effort, you tore your teary eyes away from them and set your sight on the open notebook on the counter. If you lingered for a moment longer, you would have caught Art's eyes looking back at you with a longing that you were all too familiar with. Only this time, unbeknownst to you, you were on the receiving end.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! I'd love to read your thoughts on the story!

For updates, please follow @cellophaine-archives

[smut-anarchy]

Own Me - Chapter Five

Tags: Dom!Mattheo, Gryffandor!Reader, Cursing, Blackmail, Anxiety!Reader, Dubious Consent, Language, Titplay (IDK What to Call It)

Word Count: 3,101 Words

A/N: I've decided every fifth chapter will be Mattheo's POV or a Dual POV. Enjoy my last fic of the year!

Chapter Five: Wandering Eyes & Wagers

Mattheo's POV:

His eyes opened sluggishly, the heavy weight of sleep still clinging to his eyelids this morning. He stretched his joints, only to be stopped by the slumbering weight next to him, a Ravenclaw girl whose name he couldn’t quite remember softly dozing in his bed. 

He slipped out of his bed, going to the connected bathroom in an effort to run a hot shower for his tightened muscles. It was about thirty minutes to breakfast, his stomach gurgling in reminder that he was starving.

Exiting the shower with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist he saw the Ravenclaw girl had woken up, though she made no move to leave. Her hungry eyes following the droplets of his shower, biting her lip suggestively. 

“Good morning,” she said huskily, voice trying far too hard to seduce him, “Come back to bed and we can have a repeat of last night.” He rolled his eyes, last night being one of several attempts to flush out a burning lust he’d felt since a certain Gryffindor sat on his lap and let him spank her luscious ass red four days ago. 

“I’m good, Cornelia.” He dismissed, riffling through his drawers for clothes, “Last night was fun but we’re done here.” Fun was being generous, average would be more fitting, the girl in his bed not nearly as entertaining and effortlessly appealing his little pet, though at the time his weed addled mind had convinced him the Ravenclaw would be sufficient fun for the night. 

“It’s Cordelia.” The girl hissed, eyes shooting daggers at him. 

“My mistake.” He rumbled, not really caring, he took a wild shot at the name. Though to be fair he’d been high as a kite when she’d said it, his weed induced haze fogging up the finer details of last night. 

Cordelia huffed, collecting her clothes with a string of curses and putting them on, calling him a ’selfish asshole’ before slamming his door closed. The past few days his mornings started in a similar way, whatever girl he’d slept with the night before storming out with similar colorful words for him.

His flings were too desperate for his attention and too expectant for more after they’d been underneath him. No matter how high or drunk he was, he never suggested a night would be anything further, but lately he’d been more short with his casual hookups once the morning came. Ever since he’d kissed you in that closet his taste was partial to little smart mouthed Gryffindors who looked so fucking tantalizing in cat costumes. Something about your easy to read face, stubborn head and sweet little gasps and moans had him hooked, enjoying his powerful hold on you far too much. 

At first, he thought he’d found an easy way to get by in class — you’d do all his classwork and homework, he’d fluster you for entertainment here and there and then life would go on as normal. But then you’d broken his friend’s nose with your head and, with little specks of said friend’s blood on your face, you’d told him how much you didn’t regret it. 

Before you’d quite literally crashed into the common room, he’d known you as the frumpy Gryffindor girl who hung out with Lovegood. Your cardigans and sweaters always hiding your figure, but then you’d taken it off so he could lay on your supple thighs and he’d realized the utterly enticing body you’d had — soft skin, perfectly rounded hips connected to pillowy thighs and a perfect ass, breasts that aways seemed to be straining against the tightness of your button up uniform shirts and soft, plush lips that spilled out venomous words and soft moans for his greedy ears.

The day in the closet he hadn’t actually meant to kiss you, he only meant to reinforce his hold over you to curb your smart mouth and feisty temper. Yet, when he had your soft body pressed between the wall and his own body, with your wide fluttering eyes, pleading voice and pouty lips he couldn’t deny the inviting desire to kiss you. Then he did and he’d decided right then and there that you’d be far more suited to fulfilling his needs outside of classwork.

At the Halloween party you’d confirmed his suspicions that you were a virgin, he’d promised your virginity was safe from him, and it was, but magma flooded his veins at thinking about everything else he’d do with you and your tantalizing body. Your whimpers and cries while enduring your punishment had gotten his blood pumping more than anything else had in a while, immediately after you’d left he’d invited an attractive Slytherin to his dorm, trying to fuck out the excess libido in his system you’d buried within him.

He was sure you didn’t even realize what you were doing, his sweltering lust making him keenly aware of you and your body. Two days ago in Charms you’d been sitting next to him, innocently taking notes on your parchment when you’d dropped your quill, it was only a few seconds, but you’d bent over in that unbelievably short red skirt to pick it up and peaking underneath was your lace covered ass, still flushed with his handprints. He’d hardened almost instantly, his marks on your body igniting something primal within him. You’d gone back to taking notes, none the wiser, but he’d spent the entirety of class trying to focus on Flitwick’s droning voice and not your perky, reddened bottom.

His mind was plagued with you and the things he’d wanted from your alluring body, though he promised himself he’d ease you into everything. After all, it would do him no good to overstimulate his anxious pet so soon; First he wanted you needy and begging and he was slowly pushing you there. 

A knock at the door broke his fantasies, Theo popping his head in, “I see Cordelia left.” Mattheo gave a dismissive hum, loosely tying his tie around his neck. 

“You’ve been on a streak this week,” Theo stated, a teasing smile breaking onto his face, “Any reason why you’re fucking anything that moves in the castle? Someone got you all hot and bothered mate?” 

“Let’s just go to breakfast you bloody git.” Mattheo grumbled, not giving his best friend any time to probe him further.

Breakfast at the Great Hall always soured his mood, he was not at all a morning person so the loud chatter and brightness shining through the large windows usually gave him a dull headache until his eyes and brain adjusted. He sat between Enzo and Theo, piling various breakfast foods onto his plate, his eyes roaming the tables for you.

There you were, clad in one of your many oversized red cardigans, smiling at Harry fucking Potter. Unlike what most people thought he didn’t have burning hatred for Harry, definitely annoyance that the golden boy could do no wrong and seemed to get away with practically everything, but since his father was in jail they’d crafted a fragile peace — you don’t bother me, I don’t bother you. Although, watching you lean towards Harry with a sweet smile and  laugh made Mattheo want to punch the bespectacled wizard for reasons he couldn’t quite name.

Draco, sensing the growing frustration coming from Mattheo, turned around to find out why only for his gaze to find you and Harry. “Your pet straying already, mate?” Draco snarked, still bothered by your bold attack against his nose. Enzo, Theo and Blaise, once caught in their own conversation, snapped their attention to Mattheo. 

“I’m not worried Draco, she knows her place.” He waved Draco off, not wanting to let on how much the sight irked him. He was right of course, so long as he had the shards of that vase tucked away you couldn’t stray from him, though he’d rather not see you cozying up to Potter. 

“It’s funny, I’ve never seen them talk before,” Enzo wondered aloud, “Do you think he fancies her?” Looking at Enzo’s mischievous smile it was clear he was trying to rile Mattheo up, his friends finding amusement whenever you came around. He kept picking at his food, trying to drown out the conversation between them of whether or not Potter could be into you, until he’d heard Blaise’s smooth voice.

“Well he is staring at her tits, so maybe he does like her.”

His eyes snapped up, sure enough while you were animatedly talking the Gryffindor boy’s eyes kept glancing down at your chest, the first three buttons of your blouse left open for an ample view of your breasts. 

Oh fuck no. 

Mattheo slid his thumb over the ring connected to your necklace, watching as your carefree eyes zapped to alarm, scanning the crowds for him with your hand unconsciously playing with the gem around your neck. When your confused eyes met his he tipped his head toward the exit, leaving his snickering friends and empty plate at the table without another word. 

It was less than two minutes when you’d followed him through the doors, your appearance clearly frazzled by the mid-mealtime beckon, your wide eyes searching him for the reason he’d called you out. He didn’t give you much time to wonder, offering a gruff ‘come with me’ before dragging you to an empty bathroom where he locked the door. 

“What has gotten into you this morning?” You huffed at him, clearly annoyed by his rough handling. 

“What has gotten into me?” Now he was more annoyed with you than Potter, “What has gotten into you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Come here, Kitten. Let me educate you then.” He held out his hand, inviting you to take it, which you hesitantly did. He had you stand in front of the sinks, facing the mirrors so you could see your reflection. “What do you see?”

“Me?” You questioned, your oblivious mind not realizing how tempting you were looking to any hot blooded male in the castle. 

“Let me show you what I see.” His voice was deeper than he’d ever heard it, a mix of anger and lust coating every syllable. He pressed his front against your back, pulling your hips towards him, eliciting a small squeak from you. He let his hands unbutton the chunky knitwear you wore, sliding it off your body slowly. Without the cardigan his hands slipped under your button up shirt, feeling the smooth skin of your waist, gently caressing upwards until his hand met the band of your bra.

“I see,” He narrowed his eyes at your glassy ones, “These fucking perfect tits begging to be touched.” His fingers glided underneath your bra, pushing it up, allowing his fingers to stroke your soft, firm breasts. Your breathing deepened at the skin contact, small gasps coming from your lips. “And if I could see these from the Slytherin table, what do you think Harry was looking at while you were chatting, hm?”

You shook your head, staring into his eyes from the mirror, “Harry wouldn’t look at them. He wouldn’t do that.” You protested. His fingers found your peaked nipples, pinching them softly, forcing a keening whine from your plump lips. The sound went straight to his dick, the hardening length straining against his pants.

“Harry was looking at them.” He growled, his anger simmering at the memory. “He doesn’t know this body is mine, does he, Kitten?” The flush on your face was dipping down to your chest, your heated skin swelling in his hands as he pulled and flicked your hardened nipples. You shook your head, your eyes fluttering closed, overwhelmed by the sensations his hands were causing. 

“Use your words, Kitten. And look at me.” 

Your hazy orbs met his own, “No, he doesn’t.” Your voice wavered, your tongue coming out to lick your lips, an action that stirred Mattheo’s already hard cock. In a brief moment of weakness, he grinds his throbbing erection against the fullness of your ass, the rounded cheeks barely covered by your risen up skirt. 

“Maybe you need a reminder not to show off what’s mine.” He didn’t wait for a response from you, though later, he swore heard a faint ‘yes’ from your lips. He turned you around, scooping you up in his arms and depositing you on top of the sink. He wasted no time in ripping open your shirt, the buttons flying throughout the bathroom. 

“Take off your bra for me Kitten, now.” He growled, his eyes soaking up your disheveled and trembling state. You’d unclasped your bra, letting it fall to the floor with a shaky exhale. His predatory gaze raked over you, making sure to commit the view to his memory. He barely even touched you and you were all blushed and panting, your exposed breasts with perfectly hardened peaks inviting him. 

“So good f’me…” He cooed, his lips capturing yours in a consuming kiss, the dominance of the kiss being complimented by the silkiness of your lips. His hands threaded themselves in your hair, his hold roughly pulling on your scalp, the pain causing you to release a shivering exhale. When his tongue met yours you’d mewled, the bruising kiss having you arch into him, seemingly looking for more, your hands desperately gripping his shirt.

Greedy little thing doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

He’d released your lips, you gasping for lungfuls of air, and he’d let his lips continue on a path down. His lips ghosting over your neck, offering kisses and nipping at the untouched the skin. You’d let out a particularly wanton cry when he’d sucked a dark spot onto your collarbone, the sound and purpling bruise filling him with pride and an animalistic desire to make more.

When he sucked one of your perky nubs into his mouth he heard your breathless, urgent gasps as your hands tangled themselves in his curls. Your bones softened underneath him, your body melting against his mouth, sliding further onto the sink. Still, he held your hips against his own, every so often rutting against you for a delicious friction. 

He gave both sides equal attention, not stopping for too long, nipping and sucking on all the available skin. You were too far gone, drowning in the wake of every sensation he gave you, your responsive body intoxicated by him. You yanked his hair after one specific bite to your nipple, the searing pain causing him to let out a low moan. He did it twice again after that, chasing the blissful high between pain and pleasure.

His kitten knew how to give as good as she got.

This was one of the most tame sexual experiences he’s had in a while, both of you far too clothed, and yet he couldn’t get enough. Your whimpers and gasps easily setting a sizzling spark through his veins. There was something about the sensitive and needy way you responded to him that only made him want to devour you in the most dominating, burning way he knew how until there was nothing left of you but embers.

He’d finally released you in a puffing breath, looking at his handiwork, all across your chest were hickeys and bite marks, the skin flushed red from his kisses and your arousal. You yourself were panting, your dazed eyes following him as you quivered on the sink. He fought the urge to slip his fingers between your legs, knowing that if he indulged himself now he’d ruin all his progress. 

He tried to smooth over his appearance, knowing he’d have a much better time of it than you who was still leaning against the sink he’d set you on, clutching your shirt closed because the buttons were still scattered somewhere in the room. 

“W-why?” You rasped, your wide eyes now having more clarity than before. It was unmistakable, the shame and desire at war within you. Your eyes pleading for more but shame that you’d let him, the man solely controlling your fate, do such a thing to you and you’d enjoyed it. Merlin, he was sure he’d never get tired of your expressiveness. 

“Because I wanted to.” He smirked, a toothy grin breaking on his face. 

“Mattheo, please… I can’t keep doing this with you.” Your soft, breathless voice begged.

“Of course you can, Kitten.” He trapped you between his arms against the sink, his eyes darting down to your kissable lips that he suddenly had a taste for again. “Don’t be mad because you liked it.”

“Liking it isn’t the point! I thought I was supposed to do homework and errands not-not this!” You sputtered.

“You do, what I tell you to, Kitten,” Mattheo purred, a taunting smile on his face, “But I’m in a good mood after having those perfect tits in my mouth.” Your face blushed, eyes sheepishly darting away from his. 

“Next week, the guys and I are having a poker game. If you last the whole game without begging me for more, I swear I won’t touch you anymore. Hell, I’ll even forget the vase deal and you can go back to your life.” His deep voice hummed, his confidence suffocating the air, “But if I win, I can keep doing what I want until I’ve had my fill of your body.”

He saw you hesitating, a brief flash of hope flickering across your face. “All I have to do is not ask for more?”

“That’s all, Kitten.” 

You nodded your head, “It’s a deal.” He found it utterly adorable that you thought you could win against him. He could see himself becoming addicted to the rush he had around you. 

“It’s a deal.” He repeated, grabbing your chin to give your lips a soft peck. Though that soft peck turned into a heated clash of teeth and tongues, Mattheo not being able to help himself from craving your luscious lips. When he’d stopped your pupils were blown wide, the tongue that had just been tangled with his own flicking out to lick your lips, staining them with the taste of him. 

Merlin, she wasn’t even trying to get a rise out of him.

He unlocked the bathroom and slipped out, offering one more teasing smile to you before he left. As he left he could hear you cursing him for the marks on your body and your missing buttons. He never made it to his first class that day, too busy back in his dorm wrapping his hand around his dick, stroking it to the thought of you and the excitement he had planned for you next week. 

[futurequibblerjournalist]

The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black names explained:

I’ve gotten a few asks about my thoughts on the Black family and specifically their names and the middle names I’ve assigned them so I figured I’d make a post and explain them all, along with how I see the meanings of their names translating to their personalities! I was originally going to do the Black sisters and brothers in this one too but it just got too long so you guys are getting Riddle era Black family until I return with the second installment vjnbjgnbj

tw: brief mention of rape in Lucretia's section

Walburga Irma Black:

Unlike most of her family members, Walburga is not named after a star. Her first name is an alternative spelling of Walpurga which comes from Saint Walpurga, a nun born in 710. Saint Walpurga was also given an annual feast day called Saint Walpurgis Night or Saint Walpurgis Eve. Ironically one of the things she was hailed for was battling witchcraft. She was said to repel witches and was known as a healer of illnesses and one of her only talents not fully related to her religion is noted to be very detailed embroidery. I like to pull things from things like this, especially when it comes to characters we know very little about, so what this tells me about Walburga is that she likely did not have a lot of (female) friends which fits with the fact that I generally think the Black family kept to themselves. She was a skilled healer, which is very interesting considering how she’s usually portrayed as a woman who ruins so much. Is she aware of this aspect of her personality and that’s why she decided to learn so much about healing? And at last, she’s talented at embroidery. This yet again fits with another headcanon of mine that the finer families in pureblood society showed their status through things such as embroidery or homemade lace, to show that the women in the family were so well taken care of that they could focus on nothing but raising a family and making said family look good. I would imagine Walburga was taught by her mother.

Speaking of her mother, Walburga gets her middle name from her mother, Irma Black (born Crabbe) which means she is once again not given a name with a connection to the stars. Irma means complete; entire and is derived from the Old High German word ‘irmin’ meaning ‘world’. One could argue that while Walburga does not have a star specific name she is named in a way that could be interpreted as someone’s whole world.

Alphard Pollux Black:

Alphard is named after the star of the same name, the brightest star in the constellation Hydra. Alphard comes from the Arabic al-fard which, if Wikipedia is to trust lol, means “the individual”. The star is also known both as “the backbone of the Serpent” and “the heart of the Serpent”. From this I like to pull a bit of personality. Alphard has a clear connection to his family, one with a noticeable connection to serpent imagery through the Black family’s consistent history of being sorted into Slytherin. He’s an individual, he’s got the backbone to stand out yet still in a way more acceptable to the family and he’s got the heart to still show love and kindness towards Sirius. I think, and I don’t know if this is an unpopular opinion, that Alphard values his family a whole lot. Which is ironic, because in part that’s what gets him blasted off of the family tapestry. Another name for this star is Soheil Solitarius, which translates to the bright solitary one. I interpret this to think he’s got some sort of loneliness to him, even within a family with so many people. That is what being too much of an individual in the Black family gets you. You can only push it too much before you become an outsider and I think Alphard is living right on the cusp.

Just like Alphard, Pollux is yet another star that is the brightest in its constellation, this time it’s the Gemini constellation. Just like how Walburga got her middle name from her mother, Alphard got his from his father. The name Pollux, albeit also the name of a star comes from the twins Castor and Pollux in both Greek and Roman mythology.

As a fun little extra thing, I think Alphard’s fun older guy that he seduces whenever he feels like it (Arvid Thicket) calls him Hydrae and occasionally he calls him Hydra’s Heart because he’s a sap lol.

Cygnus Phineas Black:

Cygnus was the third Cygnus in the family, being named after his paternal grandfather. It's suspected that Cygnus I was likely Cygnus's great-great-grandfather which would be the father of the second man he's named after, former Hogwarts headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black. Cygnus, the constellation derives its name from the Greek word for swan. Looking at the most common symbolism associated with swans, we can assume Cygnus has a certain amount of wisdom to him, which also works perfectly with the fact that he was named after a former headmaster at a respected institution.

Speaking of said former headmaster, Cygnus got his middle name from Phineas Nigellus Black, the most disliked headmaster of Hogwarts, at least believing the statement from Cygnus nephew, Sirius Black. The name Phineas does not come from a star but instead it is a name of Hebrew origin meaning “the mouth of a snake”/“serpent’s mouth”. From this we can pull that Cygnus not only shares the typical views of his family, but looking at a similar saying “having a serpent’s tongue” which means having a tendency to speak maliciously, we can assume that Cygnus might have been either particularly opinionated, a tendency to come off as harsh or negative or both. I would also like to note that Cygnus is specifically named after Phineas Nigellus and not Phineas Nigellus’s son of the same name (as he was disowned for supporting muggle rights).

Lucretia Elladora Black:

Upon first glance, one might think Lucretia is another Black not named after a star. That would technically be correct, though she is named after an asteroid known as 281 Lucretia, an asteroid belonging to the Flora family in the Main Belt. Lucretia also shares her first name with a noblewoman from Ancient Rome. Lucretia was raped by Sextus Tarquinius and subsequently committed suicide after confessing about the rape to her father and husband. It's said that this act was the/one of the first stepping stones in the rebellion that made the Roman government transition from a kingdom to a republic. While I won't go into details interpreting the fact that her namesake was raped, we can look into the fact that Lucretia was noted to be exceptionally devoted to her husband. I think this is especially interesting given how the Prewett family is connected to the Weasleys. They likely weren't at the time Lucretia married Ignatius but even if they were she probably walked the line of marrying someone too different from the Black family and yet she was so devoted to Ignatius that to her it hardly mattered.

Lucretia's middle name Elladora comes from Elladora Black, the sister of Phineas Nigellus. Elladora was actually alive when Lucretia was born (she died six years later in 1931) so it wouldn't be far off to assume that the two possibly had some sort of relationship. Elladora is another name not derived from a star or anything similar, though it is speculated on Elladora Black's wiki page that the name comes from Elladora's mother possibly being named Ella and Callidora Black (the character known as Callidora Black is born after Elladora of course, being the daughter of one of Elladora's nephews, but knowing how the Black family liked to name their children after previous relatives it does not seem completely unbelievable that there was a Callidora Black born before Elladora that she could have gotten the second half of her name from). There are two takes on "Ella", that it comes from the Norman form of the Germanic "Alia" which means "other" or "Aella", a Greek name meaning "whirlwind". Either way, looking at Lucretia one could argue that they fit in regard to her marriage to someone who is from a family that is not necessarily the most respected and in later years is very much considered an "other" to the Black family. The second half, "Dora" is derived from the Greek word "doron" and means "gift". It kinda follows a similar pattern to Walburga's middle name. Just like Walburga is "someone's whole world" Lucretia is "gift/a gift". Considering the usual take on the Black family I think this is kind of sweet.

On the opposite end, to talk a bit more about Elladora. She is noted as the Black that introduces decapitating house elves and hanging their heads on plaques when they're no longer useful. I think Lucretia would share a similar sentiment to her namesake and a more aggressive/demanding way of handling the elves does not seem far off.

Orion Regulus Black:

Orion is a constellation known for featuring a number of bright stars. It is also known for being a good star to navigate from. Looking at this I think it fits with Orion being the head of his family but also the head of Black family in general based off of the fact that he and his family were the ones to live and grow up in 12 Grimmauld Place, the ancestral home of the Black family. I’ve always found this very interesting with him being the youngest as well. In ancient Egypt the stars of Orion were regarded as a god and to me this tells me that this man holds himself in high regard, likely above others even his fellow Blacks. Ironically the bible mentions Orion three times, naming it “Kesil” which literally means fool. I think this perhaps speaks more to others perception of him rather than his own. I would suspect that perhaps due to his age there would be circumstances where he wouldn’t be taken as seriously, something that would surely infuriate a man who considers himself godlike. In Greek mythology he is described as unnaturally strong which one could pull from for a physical description though I don’t personally. What I find interesting is that he stood up to Gaia saying he could kill every animal on earth and was thus punished for it by Gaia sending a scorpion (the constellations of Scorpius) after him. He was later revived by Ophiuchus, the serpent bearer. He’s described as a hunter and a skilled one and while the best way I can think this translates to what we know of him in canon, it could be the way he protects his ancestral home with quite skilful magic. The fact that Orion is made up of so many stars, especially bright ones could also symbolise the Black family in general and how many not only came before him but also how tight knit the family is that he is literally made up of them. This could also be a nod to their incest tendencies, especially given how Orion is the only Black we actually know of (other than his wife of course) to marry another relative.

I am personally a big fan of Orion’s middle name being Regulus, no matter if it’s from a cis or trans Regulus standpoint. Either Orion named both his sons after himself which seems entirely on point with a man that likes himself so much, or Regulus looked enough up to his father and valued family naming traditions enough to name himself after the man. Obviously sharing a name with his son there's going to be some overlap when it comes to personality traits that you can pull from it. Regulus means "prince" and/or "little king" in Latin and this is another time where you see Orion with a name that means something of great importance/something that is generally speaking better than someone else. It is also known as "the king", "the great", "the mighty" and "the centre" as well as one of the royal stars in the Persian monarchy. Even if the whole "heart of the lion" does not fit with Orion in the same sense that some might think it fits Regulus, I'd argue that Orion values/possesses/wishes to possess a good amount of the things that a lion traditionally symbolise, such as courage, nobility, royalty, strength, stateliness and valour.

This ended up so much longer than originally planned which is why I'm saving Bellatrix, Andromeda, Narcissa, Sirius and Regulus for another post lol. Hopefully someone enjoys this ramble vjnfjbngjb I've already made multiple people listen to it as it was being made.

This was inspired by an ask I got from @starchildlazaro so I figured I'd tag you since it turned into a post instead of just a normal answer,,,

[lsunstreakerl]

Famiglia-Familie

Chapter One Analysis:

First off- most of chapter one is kind of over a few concurrent days, so this is a bit shorter than my analysis for the other chapters is going to be.

- I imply in later chapters that Max sees more of the accident than what I actually write in chapter one, and that's true! There's a couple of reasons for that, one being that I just didn't want to write that, and the other being a super convenient excuse for reason one! the human brain, especially a young one (like, maybe, 14?) is going to block out a traumatic event, especially the finer details. Max's brain is literally rewriting what he's seeing in front of him and during the actual crash, in order to try and minimize the psychological damage.

- This ties into the way that Max struggles to even refer to the accident later on- he cuts himself off before he says "Jos", he won't call it "the accident" or even really think of it at all. Max divides his life solidly into a "before" chunk and an "after" chunk.

- "But issi/sunny, why was Force India even there?" Honestly, the way GP and Max meet in this fic is complete chance. There are so many spots where it could have gone otherwise, but it doesn't. I mention at the beginning of the fic that it's leading up to the race weekend, but it's still a wednesday, so there's a lot of the support staff driving around. A group of the Force India guys, including GP, were carpooling back to the hotel when they see the accident site, and they're genuinely just being good samaritans when they stop their car and start trying to help people.

- Max's arm is bothering him a bit while he's still stuck in the seatbelt, but the way that it has him restrained, (which he can't see) is actually doing him a bit of a favor at that point in the fic. It's cutting off blood flow, so Max isn't feeling how majorly fucked up his own bones are. (For curious minds: in this fic, Max has a spiral fracture down the body of his right distal ulna, comminuted fractures across his fingers in a few spots, and an impact fracture on the distal end of his right radius. There's some impact damage on the proximal ends as well, where the elbow joint forms, but it's not as severe as the fingers and wrist.)

- Because of the way Max landed, Hayden isn't able to see the way his arm is caught in the seatbelt until he asks Max to start moving, at which point he asks for the knife. Hayden does have a moment here where he's looking at the injury and wondering if it might be better to let EMS cut Max out, but he's worried they won't get there fast enough, and this is a kid, trapped in a metal van, when there's lightning out, and he makes the decision to cut Max out, and whatever those consequences are he's willing to live with them. (Triage is traumatic and stressful and for those of you who care about original side characters, yes, Hayden goes to therapy.) ((also because he saw a dead man))

- When Hayden cuts Max out of the seatbelt to pull him out, Max gets that blood flow back, which allows his arm to tell his brain "we have a problem!" Which is why he starts screaming. Rough night for him.

- Max is having such a genuinely awful night the entire time that that as soon as he's out of the car and someone (GP) is being kind to him, he decides he's going to cling, and he's not going to let go, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. GP is such a genuinely nice guy, and Max is tugging at all of his heartstrings, that he's like "sure I'll go to the hospital" because GP and the Force India crew could see Jos, and they know that Max is alone now.

- Max gets morphine in the ambulance. yippiee!

- Max is terrified in the hospital, because of everything that's been happening, and his arm, and all he has now is this unfamiliar stranger he'd decided to cling to, so he's like "fuck it, all in, I'm attached to this guy now" and then he doesn't want to even let GP consider leaving, which is why he makes life harder for the hospital staff by refusing to let go of GP.

- The Force India guys called Colin as soon as they pulled over, letting him know about the accident and that they were going to help. Colin keeps in touch with all of them throughout the night, finds out from one of the other guys that GP is with a random kid in the hospital, and acts accordingly. (Has people collect emergency supplies for a teenager and put it in GP's room)

- GP has a reputation in the garage for being soft hearted, so no one is at all surprised about how the situation actually ends up, because of course the guy who always breaks for squirrels and gets out of his car to carry a turtle across the road takes in a child in an emergency, that's just how Gianpiero is.

- When GP first calls Colin is the hospital, he's mostly just getting reassured that it's all okay, and to do whatever he needs to do for the kid. Colin tells him that if Max needs to come to the garage with him for the next few days, Force India can accommodate that.

- Max isn't really thinking about the "not talking" thing until he's confronted when the social worker, where he makes the conscious decision not to speak, both because "that makes everything real" and also because he's in an unfamiliar country, and he doesn't have a legal adult taking care of him, and he doesn't want to say the wrong thing and accidentally back himself into a corner.

- "He didn't get letters for very long" is one of the subtler more heartbreaking lines, because Victoria continues sending him letters for months, Jos just doesn't let Max know about them, so Max thinks Victoria stopped sending them, and Victoria thinks her older brother doesn't like her.

- GP goes through the legal hoops in the background of this fic. Colin has to vouch for his employment status a million times, he has to call the British Embassy in Germany to get the ball rolling on emergency foster certification and then standard foster certification, he has to get the emergency foster certification from Germany, and he has to juggle so many emails. Your average person would be completely overwhelmed, but GP is a race engineer, and being overwhelmed is kind of his job, so he handles it pretty well.

- Max goes into emergency surgery to handle some of the worst parts of his arms and fingers, but the hospital is still super clear with GP that Max needs to have some follow ups. (Max ends up with some serious hardware in his hand. He still has struggles with fine motor skills, and he's got killer osteoarthritis in his fingers, wrist, and forearm, but the brace helps with it.

- "issi/sunny, any hospital that lets a pediatric patient leave that soon after a surgery of that magnitude without a thorough welfare check should be ashamed of themselves!" IM NOT HERE TO BE REALISTIC IF I WANTED THAT I WOULD GO TO WORK.

- Max not looking in the mirror goes hand in hand with him not speaking, or acknowledging the accident. He knows he's injured, he knows as soon as he sees himself in the mirror with his injuries that he can't fool himself anymore, so he's not looking at all.

- GP has no idea what to do with a teenager, which is why he's kind of awkward at first. It's important to note that GP, again, has zero clue who Max is. GP thinks he's taking care of a kid who had a normal home life before a traumatic accident. GP does not think he's taking care of a kid who was already traumatized even before the accident, and he's not able to pick up on some of those warning signs until he and Max are living together.

- "Why doesn't Max go straight to Michael?" Max is 14, and has been told his entire life that nothing is more important than racing, and so of course this would be true for a world champion as well, and Max is so petrified of being a burden that he doesn't want Michael to know at all, because he knows Michael will drop everything to take care of him. (He's been raised to think that kind of behavior is soft and he doesn't need it.) He especially doesn't want to tell Michael right before a race as well. Max is also still trying to pretend it's not real, so the less familiar faces he's around the better.

- Max gets really into the data partially as a coping mechanism, because if he's looking at the data and trying to learn then he's not thinking about the accident. This is also why listening to GP read it out loud is soothing to him. GP has a nice voice, and Max can listen to him rattling off numbers and variables for hours. This is also the beginning of a little routine for the two of them when one of them is having a hard time, where they sit and they go over data together. (nerds)

- The Force India engineers are so excited to have someone genuinely interested in what they're doing that they fall in love with Max immediately.

- The Force India garage also knows why GP has Max- they know that Max is from the accident, and they know he's very grim and quiet, so they actually do kind of make a game out of trying to make him laugh, or at least smile.

- Yes, that is the actual qualifying and race results for Force India in the 2011 German GP.

- I don't actually know if Paul di Resta is a good guy or not, and I didn't want to look it up. ignorance is bliss and all that.

- Max taught himself to be ambidextrous because he thought it would be a cool party trick, and instead it's totally saved his ass now that he literally can't move his right hand.

- "issi/sunny, did you actually look at places for rent in Buckingham for this fic?" guys, I ended up on one of the Buckingham city council's 117 page documents detailing next years public transportation plans from like 2013. do not underestimate the depths I will go.

- Max trying to figure out what he would even want in his room is a bit heartbreaking, and GP doesn't understand why Max struggles with it so bad. (Again, GP is assuming Max lived in a house somewhere, when Max's house was the van, and the van is gone.)

- GP gets attached to Max almost immediately. Here is this quiet kid, from a horrific accident, and he's so scared, and for some reason he's putting his trust in GP, so GP isn't going to betray that. And then GP finds out that his quiet kid is so smart, and that he likes looking at the data, so of course GP is like "give him all the data he wants" and the garage loves him because he's quiet and well mannered and genuinely interested.

- Word gets around the paddock pretty quick about the accident in general, because it made local news, and then it also spreads that one of the race engineers from Force India is actually taking care of a kid from the accident site, so Max has always got people looking out for him when he's around the paddock. (Max doesn't realize this in the fic) he's quite literally a grid kid, in the realest sense.

- GP spends the entire time he's driving from his old flat to the new house freaking out about the whole thing. He's very careful and responsible to not ever show that in front of Max, but trust that there are multiple points in this fic where he is internally flipping his shit.

Feel free to ask questions/request clarification on things! If you actually read to the end of this 🫶

[lavenderscented-stories]

HIIIII HEEY HEELLOOO!!!!! :D

Subspace angst no comfort, no specific scenario but I want that man to SUFFER.🙏💥

Hello! I hope you are doing well yourself, here is your request.

cw // hurt no comfort, inaccurate portrayals of explosions

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Subspace was smart enough to not bring you anywhere near his line of work as you were much too important to be subjected to such dangerous situations, yet you kept poking and prodding about it everyday.

Much like his skin, his resolve slowly corroded overtime as the comfort he felt in your presence grew. He wanted to share the deepest parts of himself yet he knew the risk would be much too taxing for the reward to be worth it, yet despite that knowledge he took the gamble.

It felt so liberating to talk about it!! From small mundane things like an annoying coworker to extravagant breakthroughs like the crystals he told you everything, and you seemed to be so enthralled it somehow made him fall for you more than he already had.

So when you brought up the idea of actually going to his workplace he was most certainly skeptical, but after mulling it over he gave into the temptation.

He wouldn’t realize that it was his worst mistake yet until it was too late.

Subspace strutted through the halls as he prattled about his reputation in his line of work, while he knew you adored him and everything he did he still wanted to brag about his achievements before getting into the finer details of his work.

“Oh yes- I know my work is absolutely enthralling but make sure not to touch anything!! I wouldn’t want my dearest to accidentally explode a… Darling??” The scientist looked behind him to see you yet was met with nothing, his heart sank in worry as he started backtracking through the halls to find you.

He walked through the halls as he called out your name, going from room to room in an even pace filled with more confusion than anything.

Yet you never answered back.

Slowly the dread started seeping in as he quickened his pace and called for you more urgently. Why hadn’t he asked a Biograft to accompany you!? How were you able to slip away so quietly- when did you leave?? Why didn’t he notice that you left?? He was always so attentive so why had he failed now of all times??

Finally he found you. You had somehow found yourself in one of the rooms that held the more dangerous experiments, yet despite regulations it wasn’t locked off. He sighed in relief and was about to call out for you when he noticed that you were reaching out for something.

His eye widened in panic but before he could warn you about the crystal, it was too late.

A catastrophic explosion rang out as Subspace flew back from the impact of the explosion- his head hitting the wall. After a few seconds of recovery he shakily got up and clumsily ran into the room as panic and adrenaline fueled him.

He hastily looked around at the now messy and ruined room trying to look for you. His eyes finally landed on you as his heart skipped a beat and he looked down at you in horror.

He quickly kneeled down and cradled your body in his arms and tears formed in his eye.

A small crowd formed in front of the room- each gazing upon the scene in realization and horror. Subspace hadn’t cared for his reputation as he whipped his head to face them and screamed.

“SOMEONE- GET A DOCTOR!!” His voice was raw as it cracked with desperation, he gasped as sobs threatened to spill out from his throat and he turned back with his head hung low as he clutched you like a lifeline.

As paramedics came to the scene he reluctantly let go of you before being escorted to treat his own wounds, he prayed for you to be alright yet deep down he knew the revolting truth.

You were already dead.