#the Case of the silk stocking

[hrshl-hlms]

What

[kajaono]

Not finished with the silk stocking yet but the johnlock relationship is handled so interesting again (again= as in The hound of the Baskervilles 2002, which was written by the same author)

Sherlock’s obvious jealousy of johns non book accurate (!) fiancée.

Sherlock inviting john for dinner, john replying: „I can’t. I will have lunch my fiancée“ Sherlock replying me „me too.“, which is really ambiguous (on purpose, I think. Especially with the look he gives John during that moment)

Johns fiancée confronting Sherlock about his lacking interest in women, followed by her handing Sherlock a book about certain „sexual abnormalities“

I mean… come on

[nakababakla]

silk stocking was actually compelling and engaging and i was invested until like two thirds in. two thirds in they pull out the dumbest most cliche most cowardly twist ever and now everything is ruined. :(

[throbbinggristle]

La Poupée (1936) by Hans Bellmer. Black morocco leather binding by Louis Christy frames reliquary display cases made by Georges Hugnet on the front and back cover, each containing metal and jade garters attached to black silk stockings extending from a white lace-trimmed bloomer.

[azrielslittleslut]

The Frenzy (pt. 3)

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel and his new mate continue to explore their mating bond... with pancakes!

Warnings: smut, 18+, NSFW, p in v, wing play, scratching, pet names, dom!reader, kitchen sex, recreational use of whipped cream

part of this fic was inspired by this request!

part 1 I part 2

Word Count: 2k

a/n: i have an epilogue planned, but i am still open to suggestions for this fic! being in the mating frenzy with Az makes me feral.

Enjoy!

"I really need food," you say, leaning back against Azriel's bare chest. He wraps his arms around you, and you smile at the sight of the two of you in the bathroom mirror, the soft glow of the morning light softening all harsh edges.

After that time in the bathtub, he had claimed you two more times. The first time, he bent you over the side of the tub, pounding into you relentlessly. The second time had been with him standing, with your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. You had held onto him until your vision had gone white with pleasure. Now, your body felt weaker than it ever had. You were getting a bad case of the shakes, and your need for food had finally overtaken your need to be filled by Azriel.

Filled by Azriel. Your thighs clench together at the thought. You can still feel him moving inside of you, the thick head of his cock hitting that sweet spot, over and over-

No, food first. Fucking later.

Azriel chuckles darkly, sensing where your mind has gone. Indeed, you can smell your arousal permeating the bathroom, mixing with the steam from the tub. "Hmm. It seems we've both worked up an appetite." He leans down and presses a kiss to the side of your neck. "I'm starving."

Before you let yourself push him onto the floor and climb on top of him, you grab a silk robe and throw it on. The cool material feels amazing against your heated skin, and you watch in silence as he slides his long legs into a pair of pajama pants. You rake your eyes over his body, paying special attention to the way his muscles flex, and you remember the way they felt under your fingers as he moved, thrusting into you.

Focus, you tell yourself.

"Let's get some food, love," you say, grabbing him by the hand to pull him out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, and into the kitchen.

The kitchen was small but well-stocked. It had a stove, pantry, and refrigerator neatly organized for convenience. There was a small dining table in the center of the room, with four chairs sitting neatly around it. The magic of the cabin lit the fireplace, casting the room in a cozy glow.

"What would you like to eat?" Azriel asks as he makes his way to the pantry. He opens the door and begins rummaging through the various contents inside.

You lift yourself up, plopping down onto the counter next to the stove. "Pancakes. Oh, and bacon!"

Azriel laughs softly. "Good choice," he says and he quickly gets to work cooking.

You watch in content silence as he makes the food. To be honest, you weren't much of a cook. You had ruined dinner more times than you cared to admit. Thankfully, Az was an amazing cook, and he seemed to enjoy it.

As he finishes cooking, you decide to help him by pulling out some plates and glasses. You walk over to the refrigerator and ask, "What would you like to drink?"

He slides the pancakes and bacon onto the plates. "I'll take some water, angel."

You smile as you grab the pitcher. From the corner of your eye, you see a can of whipped cream. After all, pancakes and whipped cream are the best combination. You walk over to the cabinet to grab the syrup and utensils, placing them on the table as Azriel brings over the food.

The two of you eat in serene silence, but you cannot stop staring at the way his lips wrap around the fork as he lifts the food to his mouth. You feel wetness grow between your thighs as you watch his tongue dart out to lick some syrup from his fingers.

He catches you staring, and he smirks at you. "Like what you see?"

You lean back in the chair, bracing your hands on the table. Your skin is growing hot, and you rub your thighs together to find some relief. "You're doing that on purpose."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he says, but the twinkle in his hazel eyes tells you that he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

You huff, grabbing the whipped cream to put more on your pancakes. Suddenly, an idea pops into your head, and you give him an innocent smile. You raise the can above your head, and you spray some of it into your mouth. You make a show of it, darting out your tongue as you lick it up.

You even let some of it fall out of the corner of your mouth, and you make eye contact with him as you lick it off.

Azriel's eyes darken, full of lust. "Stop that," he commands, his voice dripping with sex.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you respond, mimicking his words from earlier. You watch as his wings twitch, and another idea pops into your head. You rise from the chair, whipped cream in hand. You pad over to him on light feet, swishing your hips in the process. "Wanna play, mate?"

He grabs you by the hips, meaning to pull you into his lap. With a hand, you stop him. "But you said-" he says, his voice strained.

You chuckle, running a finger across his lips. "I want to play with you," you purr. It was time for your dominant mate to get a taste of his own medicine. "Tell me if it's too much."

He nods, his black hair falling across his brow. He leans back in the chair, the epitome of male arrogance. He spreads his legs out, and you notice the bulge standing out in his thin sleep pants. "Do your worst."

You lean down, trailing kisses along his neck and jaw. He grabs you by the waist again, trying to pull you closer. You click your tongue as you pull away. "No touching unless I tell you to. Understood?"

Frustration flashes across his face, but he nods. "I understand."

"Good boy." You watch his cock twitch at the praise. "Can I touch your wings?" Yes, you had grabbed his talons earlier, but you hadn't touched the sensitive part.

Yet...

"Yes, angel," he says, his voice rough. "All of me belongs to you."

Your chest tightens at the sweetness of his words, and it takes all of your self-control to stay focused. You pull the whipped cream from behind your back, and you watch in amusement as his eyes flicker. "What about this?"

He swallows. "Y-yes," he stammers, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He moves his right wing up to you as a silent offering.

You lean down, your hair dancing along the tender membrane. He sucks in a breath at the sensation. You place a hand on his shoulder as you spray some of the cream on his wing, watching as it slides down. He moans softly, but that's not enough.

You want him undone.

Without thinking, you dart out your tongue, licking up the sweetness. You moan softly at the taste, your eyes rolling back.

"F-fuck," he stammers, throwing his head back. Beads of sweat had begun to roll down his neck and chest. "More, please."

You spray more of the whipped cream onto his wing and continue your torture, licking along the various scars there. He starts to thrust his hips up, desperate for release. He was entirely at your mercy, and his pleasure was in your hands.

The thought unlocked something primal in you. You pull away from his wing, which causes him to cry out in protest. You quickly take a seat in his lap, moaning at the feeling of his hard cock against your bare pussy. You spray the cream onto his chest, covering his tattoos. You lick it all off, tracing your tongue along the black. At some spots, you bite him, digging your teeth into his skin.

He grips your hips hard, thrusting against you. "Baby, please. Stop teasing me." His voice is low and desperate, and you are at the end of your self control.

You pull him into a passionate kiss, biting his lower lip roughly. "Fuck me, Az," you whisper, dropping the can of whipped cream onto the floor.

His control snaps, and he lifts you up, meaning to carry you over to the couch in the living room. You reach out and run a hand along the inside of his wing. He moans, his knees buckling, and you giggle as the two of you crumble to the floor.

He manages to catch you in his strong arms before you hit, and he lays you gently onto the ground, stretching out over you. He pulls the tie loose that holds your robe closed, and you gasp as the cool air touches your skin. "So pretty," he mumbles as he runs his hand along your stomach, all the way down to your throbbing pussy.

He pushes two fingers in, not giving you time to adjust. Your back arches slightly, and you dig your nails into his shoulders. "I need you, Az," you pant, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Now."

He chuckles as he removes his fingers. He reaches down to free his leaking cock from his pants, not bothering to remove them all the way. "Needy little thing," he whispers into your ear as he pushes himself into you with a mighty thrust.

Your back arches off the floor and your toes curl as he sets a brutal pace, planting his toes on the ground as leverage. He throws your legs over his shoulders as he fucks you, and you gasp as he goes even deeper into you, hitting that spot deep inside.

You claw at his back and shoulders hard enough to draw blood. "Oh, fuck yes!" you scream, moving your hips up to meet each of his thrusts.

He moves a scarred hand up to wrap it around your throat. "You like it when I fuck you hard, yeah?" He squeezes just enough to cause you to wheeze as you moan. "My needy little mate is so hungry for my cock."

Something in his tone challenges you, and you smile up at him through lidded eyes. You raise your head slightly, meeting his lust-blown gaze. You reach a hand out, running your fingers across that spot on his wing that would cause his control to break.

Azriel releases your throat as he whimpers, whimpers, and collapses on top of you, his thrusts becoming erratic and wild. You feel his cock twitch inside you as thick ropes of hot cum coat your walls. He keeps fucking you as his wings twitch and his body locks up.

A string of "Oh fuck" and "Oh shit" and "Oh gods" leave his lips as he cums, and you hold him as he falls apart in pleasure.

Still, he keeps cumming.

You feel something wet drip onto your neck, and you gasp softly as you realize it's tears. "My love," you murmur, running your hand through his sweat-dampened hair. "Are you okay?"

"I can't stop cumming," he moans, still thrusting into you. Indeed, you could feel his seed dripping out of you and falling onto the floor.

You smile up at the ceiling as you realize you have just given your mate the best orgasm of his life.

After a few more thrusts, he stops, and you run soothing hands along his back to calm him. His wings slump to the floor around you, as if he can't hold them up anymore. He buries his face in your neck as he says, "I've never finished before a woman before." His tone is sheepish.

He's embarrassed, you realize.

You kiss the side of his head, breathing in his lovely scent of night-chilled mist and cedar. "It's alright. You can make it up to me later."

In fact, he had a lifetime to make it up to you. You hold him close, murmuring sweet nothings into his ear as the sun continues to rise high in the sky.

Would the frenzy ever end?

tag list: @lilah-asteria @ivy-34 @pruvii @kdawgiedawg @anarchiii @andreperez11 @mahiiis-world @matt332011 @azriel-shadowsingerr

[luveline]

Okay, I would love to see an Aaron Hotchner x anemic bombshell!reader (lmao) who gets randomly faint and Aaron freaks <3

“This is oh so difficult,” you say under your breath, a sing-song tone to your voice. You often talk in juxtapositions, unhappy words in silk, cheerful worrying. “This is… stressful.” 

“You don't look stressed,” Spencer says. 

You elbow at him affectionately. “Do I ever? Sweetheart, there's nothing ever so stressful as to wear it on your face. Now come here, you have a pen smudge on your cheek.” 

Hotch could pinch the back of your shirt to stop you, but Spencer holds out a hand to brace you away from him like a disgruntled younger sibling while you laugh and reach for him. 

“Cut it out,” Gideon says. 

“Yes, boss.” 

Hotch turns away from you both to hide his smile. The case is long (as always), difficult (as always), and getting more and more serious as days pass. There hasn't been much time to pause and take stock, and so your playfulness comes at a great time —you need moments of fun like this to stop the weight of the inevitable dragging you down hard.

Your playfulness is unfailing. “So,” you say, quieter now to avoid Gideon’s attention while you lean into Hotch's personal bubble, “what will you make me for dinner?” 

“The same thing I've made you for the last four days.” 

“Ah. Nothing, then.” You tip your head to one side. 

“What?” 

“Nothing. Just feeling kinda weird. I really am hungry, handsome, and you aren't very gentlemanly in letting me starve.” You share a smile. You say everything so particularly, it only serves to endear you to him more and more. It's like… you're just sure of yourself, and in love with the world, and at least a little in love with him. Having you here with him makes the job easier. 

“You're hungry?” he asks, standing up. He expects no answer, nor for you to stand, but you clamber onto your feet quick as anything with wide eyes. 

“I was only–” You pause. 

Hotch can see the moment you lose sight of where you are, that far away gloss to your eyes, the rapid blinking that follows, and your hand thrown out to his too quickly. You grab at his arm roughly and he's crueller in his reaction, grabbing you under the arms with a startled, “Hey.” 

“Is she alright?” Spencer asks, his chair smacking the desk as he stands. 

Your lips pull down into a frown, eyes squeezed closed. He's startled —Hotch didn't even know you could frown outside of a joke. You're feeling that heavy, sudden wrongness that comes with being faint, he'd guess. 

He rides it out with you, holding you tight. After a few moments your eyes peel open, a spark of upset about you that quickly lends to sheepishness. “Oh, sorry,” you say softly. 

“Don't be.” 

You gather your bearings. Hotch moves his hands to a more amicable place on your arms, more to comfort than to hold, while Spencer stands and offers you his bottle of water. 

“She good?” Gideon asks Hotch. 

That perks you up. “I'm always good, sir,” you say, sending a smile at your boss from over your shoulder. “Just flirting with Agent Hotchner.” 

“Did you take your medication?” Hotch asks, cutting the fat of the conversation clean off. 

“Yeah, I never miss it.” 

He is admittedly more concerned about you than one coworker would be for another after a dizzy spell, but you aren't just a coworker. Hotch cups your cheek quickly in his hand to gauge your temperature and deduces from there that it isn't a sickness. 

“You weren't exaggerating about being starved,” he decides. Your iron pills do so much, and you have to do the rest. “Reid, what foods help with anaemia?” 

“Anything rich in iron. Red meat, pork, poultry, dark greens, especially spinach. All kinds of beans,” Spencer reels off. 

“Any of that sounds good to you?” Hotch asks, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. 

You meet his lowbrow with softer eyes, nodding your appreciation. Your lips part to answer him, but you're cut off. “Be quick about it,” Gideon says, glasses slipping down his nose as he turns back to his case file, “we have a lot to do.” 

Hotch buys you a burrito for the iron and a smoothie because you deserve it. You kiss his cheek, and apparently he deserves that for being ‘such a sweetheart’. He doesn't bother pretending he doesn't want it, or the second or third kiss that comes after.

[munsster]

red wine supernova

A/N: guys... i know this is a sapphic song but hear me out on this one.... the lyrics go too well with eddie to ignore 😖 (gif creds: @keery)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Bimbo!Reader

Summary: “Baby, why don't you come over? / Red wine supernova, falling into me” 2.9k words

Warnings: fluff, dumbass pining x2, best friends to lovers, a few kisses, broody & high eddie, cursing, pet names (teddy, bug), teenage boys, underage drinking/smoking

"Hi, teddy!"

It rings in his ears like church bells. Then Eddie sees you and you're drenched in golden sunlight even though it's afternoon and the school halls provide no source of natural light. So maybe you're just beautiful. A vision in go-go boots.

Totally not his type, though.

"Hey," Eddie sighs, exhuasted from the hour and a half English lecture he just suffered. Not to mention, he was already exhuasted from the fact that he barely slept the night before. Which was maybe, possibly, perhaps caused by his overthinking about that nice shade of lipstick you always wear.

"How was Lit?"

"Shit."

You giggle, "that rhymed!" His heart skips a beat.

You're side by side down the halls—you always walk to lunch together—and, like clockwork, you tease him about trying to hold your hand when his ringed fingers brush your wrist. Of course, he would. In a heartbeat, he'd have his fingers clasped with yours like that's what they are molded for. But people would stare, and that's more of a hassle than he’d prefer.

Don't get him wrong, he doesn't actually give a shit about people staring at him, he just doesn't want to give anyone anymore reasons to stare at you. In disgust. Or loathing. With whatever judgements they'd make. Names they'd call you. He's been through the ringer, he'd never drag you along with him.

You're chattering about the state of your new, pink jellies when Eddie catches someone throwing you an off glance. He tries not to think too much of it, and he's not like jealous or anything, but every snicker and whisper sets him off. You're bubbly and kind and it's not fair people look at you different when you're with him.

"You ever notice how people look at us?"

You tilt your head at him as you round the corner of the cafeteria doors.

"You mean like how Dustin makes funny faces when I compliment your hair?"

"No, I mean like that," he huffs, pointing right at the judgemental stares of Melissa and Nicole, who promptly turn away with a gasp. He shakes his head. "And I like when you compliment my hair."

"Well, I like your hair." You smile at him as he pulls out a chair for you. You're the first ones to the table.

"Thank you, bug." Eddie ducks into his own seat, tapping his heavy fingers against the tabletop. "Off topic. I'm saying, you never notice people look at us... funny?"

The metal clasps of your limited edition Disco Fever lunchbox clack against the side as you unfold the lid. Your face contorts, considering the scenarios you've devised in your head if anyone was ever rude to Eddie in front of you. Let's just say your self-defense knowledge would come in handy.

"I guess I notice sometimes, but I just don't care. I like you lots more than I like them," you say, shrugging it off, "And I know how to fight."

His heart swells, face rosy, ears hot as an oven. Of course, you'd say that. You always know what to say.

Too bad you're not his type.

Dustin plops down in the seat across from you, nearly gagging at the way Eddie ogles at you.

"Would you get a fuckin' room already—!"

"Language," you both holler.

"Jinx!" you chirp. "You owe me a soda."

"I'll get you a soda, bug," Eddie hums. Dustin considers stocking his backpack with those little bags they give you on airplanes just in case.

...

"Weird Science or The Woman in Red?"

You're perched on the floor of his living room, wearing silk shorts and a cami. You weigh both tapes in your manicured hands like it'll tell you anything about the quality of the films inside.

"Somethin' to say about Kelly LeBrock, bug?"

"Steve suggested them! And he gave me a discount, so I couldn't just say no," you say with such a dazzling smile on your face, he thinks you're the nicest girl he's ever met. Or, at least, the nicest he's ever seen, no contest.

Just, not his type.

"Go figure," he says, "Weird Science."

"'Cause of the mutant bikers?" You beam up at him where he sits on the couch.

"'Cause of the mutant bikers."

It makes you giggle, which makes him smile like an idiot.

Then Hellfire pours onto Eddie's front porch bearing gifts of humongous chip bags and a six pack of cheap beer. He jumps a little at the doorbell, and you spring up to open the floodgates for the rowdy group of boys. They greet you excitedly and spread themselves across the rest of the couch, an armchair, and the floor.

Dustin tosses you a bag of pop rocks, and you blow a kiss in thanks, promising to bring him by the arcade next week. Eddie feels so far from you, even though your shoulders are pressed between his knees. But he can't see you or talk to you, your attention is divided, and he can't help but feel a little needy. You smack Dustin's hand when he reaches for a beer, and he whines about Mike sneaking one.

"What movie did the love birds choose?" Gareth asks. Eddie takes out a baggie of weed.

"Weird Science!" you coo, slotting the tape into the VCR. Gareth celebrates, sloshing his beer can against the coffee table as the rest of the boys high five and howl. You roll your eyes affectionately.

You laugh, smacking Jeff on the arm. “Oh, you’re all horny perverts.”

Gareth salutes, “At your service!” Which earns him a playful flick upside the head. The opening credits roll, and you stand triumphantly.

“I have to pee, but you guys can let it roll while I’m gone!” you chirp, skipping off down the hall of the mobile home.

As soon as you’re out of ear shot, Dustin whips around to scowl at Eddie who exhales a slow puff from the neon pink bong you gifted him last year. He passes it to Gareth and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I can’t tell what’s worse,” Dustin huffs, “The fact that you’re so oblivious or the fact that she is, too.”

Eddie squints. “What?”

Dustin deadpans.

“Dude, even I can tell you two like each other,” Mike chimes in, “Will thought you were dating from two thousand miles away. Over the phone.”

“You guys are fucking high. We are not dating,” Eddie says.

Mike shrugs. “You should be.”

“Okay, twerp, I’m not taking romantic advice from someone in a long distance relationship.”

“He’s right,” Dustin barks.

“That means you, too, twerp. Besides. Not my type.” Eddie sighs and slumps into the cushions, reaching his arms above his head.

“Yeah, right,” Lucas says, “If she’s not your type, then who is?”

“I don’t know, but she’s not.”

Gareth rolls his eyes. “Sounds like a lame excuse for your cowardice.” Eddie’s jaw drops, and he grabs for his bong.

“You did not just say that to me.”

“I meant it.”

You bumble back into the room, and the conversation screeches to a halt, Gareth whipping back towards the screen with Eddie’s eyes still burning holes in the back of his head.

“What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” they grumble.

Eddie smiles when you plop down next to him on the creaky couch. He can’t focus on the movie with the stray glances he’s catching from the younger boys and the soft looks you offer every so often. Maybe he is gutless. Because when he thinks about you, he’s floored. Then—knee jerk—he has to justify his racing heart with the fact that he could never be into you. But he is. You’re beautiful and funny and sweet to him. You are his type.

Not halfway into the film, Dustin whines, “I’m bored. Can we play a game? Like spin the bottle or kiss marry kill or something?”

“First of all,” Eddie says, “there’s only one chick here, we’re not playing spin the bottle. Second, are you five years old?”

You scoff and pat Eddie on the thigh. “Hey! I’m with Dustin. Truth or dare?”

“Works for me,” Jeff interjects. Eddie glares at him, grabbing his bong from the table. “Truth or dare, Eddie.”

He exhales a puff of smoke, shaking his head.

“Truth”—The boys’ heads turn, wicked smiles on their faces like predators eyeing him up—“Fuck, dare.”

Jeff cocks a brow.

“I don’t like this game,” Eddie says.

“Do you have a crush on anyone?”

“I said dare.”

Jeff grins. “I dare you to tell me if you have a crush on anyone.”

Dustin, Lucas, and Mike chuckle.

“Fuck you all. Yeah, fine, I do. Next,” Eddie grumbles.

“It’s your turn, teddy,” you coo.

“Right. Dustin, truth or dare.”

“Easy. Truth,” he says.

“Is it fun being a little shit?”

You shove his side. “Eddie!”

“Why, yes. Yes, it is.”

“Great,” Eddie huffs.

“Awesome.” Dustin glares at him.

The game continues just like that, a vicious cycle of sarcasm and glares. It’s a little more lighthearted when Lucas asks you if you have a special skill. Without responding, you ask for a deck of cards and stand in front of the screen.

“You boys like magic?”

A few nod, the rest too stunned to speak as you show them a card, the queen of diamonds, and shuffle the deck a few times. You pull a card from the deck, and the boys lean in, anticipating the red queen. You spin the card, and they groan when you reveal the eight of clubs.

“That’s not our card, bug,” Eddie says. He expects you to be disappointed, but you grin and set the deck on the table.

“I know.” Their eyes widen when you reach into the top of your shorts, a card pinched between your fingers. The queen of diamonds. “This is.”

You toss the card, and the boys grab for it. Eddie gulps and shifts in his seat, couch squealing beneath him. Lucas pelts the hard-won card at Eddie, and you curtsy before heading back to your seat.

…

Just as the game gets a little tired, Dustin shoots his hand into the air. “My turn!”

“Okay, but this is the last one—”

Dustin shouts your name.

“Yes?”

“Truth or dare?”

You pretend to contemplate before chirping, “Dare!”

Eddie leans his head back, lulling to the side to watch you smile at Dustin. You catch Eddie staring and stick your tongue out at him. He winks.

“I dare you… to kiss the person on your right.”

“Geez, how long did it take you to come up with that one,” Eddie mumbles. But you look to your right, and Eddie looks kind of uninterested, glazed over and staring at the ceiling.

“That doesn’t seem very consensual,” you say, brows knitted just as Eddie lifts his head. Dustin glares expectantly at Eddie who slowly sits up and turns his head, smirking at you.

“You can kiss me, bug. So long as you promise not to bite.”

Eddie’s relieved when you giggle and set your hand on his knee.

“If you say so!” You lean closer, and he blushes at the new proximity. Despite his nerves, he just can’t look away, eyes locked with yours. You huff when it feels like he’s staring straight into your soul. But you’re smiling so sweetly, even with all the rascals chanting ‘do it!’.

You shift your weight and hold onto his shoulder as he slips his arm around your waist so you don’t teeter off the couch. He nods, tip of his nose just brushing yours. You press your lips to his quickly, and he can sense your nerves when you pull away and look down.

Everyone cheers.

You look into his eyes again, and your face relaxes, the heat not so unbearable when you see his smile. You duck to kiss him again, his arm tighter on your waist. He tries not to smile, but you hum softly and, suddenly, he’s a puddle in your fingers.

You pull away when someone whistles, your ears rushing with blood as you drop your feet to the floor and look away, face burning.

Eddie clears his throat. “Alright, you pervs got what you wanted. Can we finish this damn movie already?”

“It’s kinda late,” you hum, “I don’t wanna be driving too close to the witching hour.”

“Wait, what?” Gareth says, watching you stand and shuffle into your slippers by the door.

“Sorry, guys. Just… superstititous.” They wouldn’t have believe you if you hadn’t said it with a genuine smile on your face. Eddie hops up from his seat and follows you.

“I’ll walk you out, bug.”

“Ooh,” Dustin teases. Jeff slaps a hand over his mouth, and Dustin mumbles an expletive against it.

Your little, red coupe is sidled right up next to his van. He always keeps the spot closer to the door open for you. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his jacket, your arms crossed over your chest to keep out the cold. He winces.

“You sure you don’t wanna stay? I can take the floor,” Eddie says, shucking his jacket and wrapping it over your shoulders. You smile.

“Such a gentleman.”

He rolls his eyes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, teddy,” you whisper, craning your neck to kiss his cheek. Your heart-shaped keychain jangles against the car door as you slot the silver key into the lock. When you get the door open and glance at him, he’s stone faced where he leans against the back window.

“Wait,” he huffs.

“Yeah?”

Eddie can feel himself flailing, hands shaky at his sides when you look at him. He can’t tell if it’s because of the cold or his nerves or how worried you look or the fact that this could be his only chance. Don’t be a coward. He expects you to get tired of it. Eventually, you’ll have to let go, but right now, you stand there and wait for him. Oh.

“Sorry, bug. I’m pretty high right now.”

“I don’t mind.” You shrug when he rubs the back of his neck and chuckles softly. “You okay?”

He shakes his head. “You’re so sweet. And you’re so nice to me. God, you’re so pretty.”

“Thank you, Eddie,” you coo, standing close enough to feel the warmth radiate from his chest. He nods slowly, glancing down at your lips.

“Yeah.”

You thumb over the leftover slip of paper in the pocket of his jacket. And you smile, remembering when you passed him that note in chem last thursday.

Eddie sucks in a breath, sighing, “You make me so nervous.” You blink hard, and he’s seering hot under the warm light filtering through the trailer windows. “And you’re so fascinating.”

“Fascinating?!”

“Yeah,” he whispers.

“That’s a new one. ‘S that a good thing?” you say, head tilted watching him push his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah, it’s a good thing. Fascinating is good. To me.” You swear his eyes twinkle a little when he looks at you.

“Well,” you nod, “Thank you.”

“Yeah.” And he can’t stop himself from taking selfish glimpses at your mouth. He feels so stupid for how long he denied his genuine attraction to you. His crush on you. You’d laugh if you knew what went on in his head. “I liked kissing you.”

You take a deep breath, and he steels himself for rejection. He thinks, why should you want anything to do with him after he’s acted so indifferent towards you all this time.

“I liked kissing you, too, teddy.” Holy fuck.

He grins. “You’re my type.” At first, you think he’s joking, but even a blind man could tell Eddie was dead serious. “Textbook description of it, bug. You’re my type.”

You look into his eyes again, trying to gauge if he’s fucking with you. He has to know that you’ve liked him for years. He has to. It’s not like the boys have been subtle about it.

“I… am flattered,” you coo, “Where’s all this coming from?”

“Just. From me. You know? It’s always been there. Had a crush on you forever, just had to tell you now.”

You nod, biting back a grin and shuffling a little closer. He’s absolutely buzzing when you curl your fingers into his bicep.

“Can I kiss you?” His head is spinning when you nod and press up against him. He’s sure you can feel his heart pounding. Especially when you press your delicate palm right to it. His hand fits gently against your hip.

Now, it’s his turn to kiss you. His lips are so soft against yours, tender like he’s nervous you’ll shatter. You giggle and reach for the back of his neck, your mouths falling open against each other in a fit of excitement and heat. He tugs you closer when your tongue slips into his mouth; he doesn’t mean to, but he feels himself smile and spread his hand across your lower back.

Eddie pulls away, eyes flicking wildly across your face just before he pecks your mouth again.

“Bug?”

You nod, eyes refusing to open as he kisses your cheek.

“Be my girlfriend?”

“Yes, teddy, I will!”

You tug him down by the collar to kiss him ferocious, his cheeks instinctively hot with your baby pink fingernails gentle on his neck. You can hear the cheers and high-fives from inside the house, exclamations of ‘finally!’ and ‘i knew it’.

Then Dustin hollers, “Fuck yeah!”

And you both shout, “Language!” just before falling into each other in a fit of giggles.

stranger things masterlist

[angel5ofp0rn]

thinking about the 141 as daddies of babies with afro hair 🙂‍↕️

Gaz would know the basics, naturally, and would take the extra time to make sure his babies always have their hair right. he reminds them how beautiful their hair is and how important it is to take the extra time and care to keep it healthy. if you’re not used to caring for their hair type, he’s very patient in teaching you the basics and hypes you up every time you do their hair on your own.

Price would shyly stumble into a black salon and ask for tips and tutorials on how to care for his children’s hair. he’d make sure he had all the right tools, products, accessories, etc. and make sure he knows how to use them. he does a piss poor job at styling it, and you always end up having to fix it anyway, but at least he tries.

Soap goes all in. he has his babies sat in front of him, and a youtube tutorial in front of them both, and he’s putting in the work. tongue sticking out as he braids and twists and, surprisingly, it turns out better than anyone expected— except him. he was confident from the get go. now it’s your turn, bonnie; boho braids or knotless box braids? i saw a lass earlier with her hair like this—

Ghost is standing by the shampoo bowl, arms crossed, at his children’s biweekly hair appointment telling the hairdresser that money is no object, just make his babies happy. he’s stocking up on bonnets, silk pillow cases, whateverthefuck that is that makes their hair smell so good and makes his li’l girl’s curls look shiny, the way she likes. he has their ipads charged up for their long appointments and is going in and out of the salon to fetch various snacks and drinks for the kids and the hairstylists taking care of them.

[jqafterdark]

Seeing S/O in Lingerie Reaction

From a request in my main blog, this has no smut but VERY SUGGESTIVE so... yeah ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Sebastian Moran, William James Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes, and Louis James Moriarty

Tag/s: Historically inaccurate lingerie

Sebastian Moran

The man whistled as soon as you entered his field of vision.

He looked like a kid in a candy store.

Straight up GRINNING from ear to ear.

If you're showing him a variety, he'll inspect every single one of them.

It's almost alarming how focused he looks.

Little do you know, he's thinking about how to use whatever lace or strings your outfit has to his advantage in the bedroom.

The minute you're within his reach, Sebastian pulls you to his lap to get a closer look.

He takes his time to take in your figure while his hands roam through your body.

Even as you walk away, his eyes never leave your figure.

Like you were one of his targets on missions.

He would definitely tease you, wanting you to get riled up as much as he is.

What's more annoying is he wants you to say that you want to do it before he continues.

He's torn between taking it off or just doing the deed with it still on you.

Whatever position you're in, he definitely has a good view of you.

A mirror might be involved.

"I'm back-" Sebastian abruptly stopped as your eyes met in the mirror, wide in shock.

His eyes traveled down to your new short silk nightgown and stockings, going up and down before smiling.

"You could have just said so," he chuckled, removing his coat as he walked up to you.

You quickly grabbed whatever was closest to you, in this case, a hairbrush, and pointed it at him as you kept a distance.

"Oh no, you don't! Last time, I chased the target through the city with a limp!" you muttered, keeping your distance as your eyes never left him.

"Do you have a mission tomorrow?" Sebastian innocently asked, making you pause.

"...No...?"

"Then that settles it," he smiled, quickly hugging your waist.

"SEBASTIAN!"

"Don't worry, I'll be gentle. Wouldn't want your pretty outfit to rip, now do we?"

William James Moriarty

When you asked him to come with you to go underwear shopping, he was shocked, to say the least.

But he quickly recovered and agreed.

You definitely have his attention now.

While his eyes kept following you while he drank his tea, his smile was different than it usually was.

It was more... devious, so to speak.

While he keeps his composure, a lot has happened in his mind.

While you were picking some things, William acted like a perfect gentleman.

Holds the clothes you picked, heartfelt compliments to boost your confidence, over all the best boyfriend you could ask for.

Almost too good to be true. And it was.

He might have thought of a few scenarios on how the two of you could get away with it in the store.

It helped that it was a pretty private dressing room, considering the store was made just for the nobles, where it was just you and him.

Even the workers were far from earshot, attending to the other customers at the front.

But he didn't continue since he saw you enjoying your little date and didn't want to ruin your good mood.

It didn't help that you would ask him for help to put some of them on, though... Or take them off.

Besides, he has the whole night planned just for the two of you, and he's making sure no one would bother you two.

You hummed happily as you swung the bags in your arms, satisfied with your purchases.

"I'm surprised you agreed to go shopping with me, Will!" you mused as you turned to William, "Didn't you have a meeting later with everyone? Wouldn't you be late?"

William gave you a smile as he grabbed your hand, "The meeting was moved since some of the professors were out sick,"

"Is that so..." you trailed off, shrugging off his response.

William quietly chuckled, remembering the surprised expressions his comrades had when he said the meeting was canceled and assigned a new mission to everyone.

The manor was now empty until morning.

"Well, whatever! I can't wait to try these at home," you beamed, looking down at your new haul.

"Indeed," William agreed, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Sherlock Holmes

He never saw the appeal of the lingerie until he saw it on you.

Now, lace is his favorite thing on your body.

The first time he saw you in lingerie, it was like he shut down.

He didn't say a word, but his eyes were glued to you as he reached his hand out to you.

When you walked up to him, he eyed every inch of your body, engraving the image of you in his mind.

To him, you looked ethereal.

Like beauty personified.

When he did speak, it was soft and breathless, as if you rendered him speechless.

And when you did it, the sight of you in lingerie and covered in hickeys he left is now his favorite thing.

He gets more possessive whenever he sees you in lingerie.

And surprisingly more gentle and slow, wanting to enjoy every second of it.

Now, every time you buy a new set, he likes having a private fashion show.

When you bring him to a lingerie store, he is not embarrassed at all.

Hell, he'd even pick out a few things for you.

You can tell his compliments are genuine with how serious his expression is.

"Sherlock?" you called out, slowly walking up to him.

His eyes were completely wide as he looked at you.

"Sherl?" you called out again, but no response as he continued to stare at you.

You bit your lip as you covered yourself, feeling self-conscious wearing nothing but a bustier with matching underwear.

"Don't,"

"Huh?" Sherlock quickly grabbed your hands, pulling them down to your side.

"Don't hide it. You look beautiful," Sherlock breathed out, mesmerized by your outfit as his eyes slowly looked up at you.

You felt your face flush as you looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

"You're staring too much,"

"I disagree,"

Louis James Moriarty

You almost gave the man a heart attack.

He was not expecting to see you in lace and sheer one night after a long day of house chores.

Was it an unwelcomed surprise? No. Definitely not.

That night, he was just hoping to have some downtime with you after working the whole day.

So when he saw you by your dresser half-dressed putting on stockings, it was like the man turned into stone.

Minutes later, Louis came back and saw you in your robe, relieved to see he was okay.

His face became completely red when he remembered what happened and apologized for walking in on you.

Even though you forgave Louis, he's still scolding himself for liking what he saw.

What's more, his eyes would gaze over your robe when it would slip.

Explaining why he slammed his head on the table was interesting, to say the least.

So when you told Louis it was okay for him to look, he was still shy. But you would catch him stealing glances your way.

He tries to compliment you, say anything coherent for that matter. But he just mutters something while looking at the ground.

However, the moment he got more confident, his hands would not let you go.

Suddenly, he's fluent in dirty talk and knows just what to say to get you in the mood.

And he makes sure you know just how beautiful and alluring you looked that night.

"I truly apologize..." Louis muttered, a cold towel over his head as you chuckled, tying the robe tightly around your waist.

"Don't be. I'm just surprised," you reassured as you removed the towel, making Louis meet your eyes.

You weren't sure, but you swear you saw his eyes tracing your robe down to your chest.

His face turned completely red instantly, making him turn away.

You breathed out a smile as you hugged him tightly, kissing the top of his head.

"I'm really not mad, Louis!" you giggled, swaying side-by-side.

"Besides, that was for your eyes only, you know?" you grinned, making the man freeze as steam came out of his face as you snickered.

"Please don't tease me..."

[hrshl-hlms]

May I propose a watching session of The Case of the Silk Stocking this weekend?

Like we decide on a timeframe in which to watch the movie and like that it's not just me screaming into the void

(fyi, I live in France, so it's GMT+2?) (or GMT+1?) (we're still in winter time)

[kajaono]

Okay, RDJ Sherlock Holmes got heavily influenced by the 2002 and 2004 TV movies

Holy hell, I HAVE to write a meta about that

Especially how it handles the johnlock relationship and Johns marriage

[jintaka-hane]

Laundry in Kuraigana (x f!reader)

Masterlist

Pairing: Dracule Mihawk x f!reader Summary: Living in Kuraigana comes with its own set of rules, and with a master as inflexible as Mihawk, they must be strictly adhered to. Frustrated by his lack of attention, you craft a plan to exact revenge through household chores. Word count: 600

Circumstances have brought you to call Kuraigana your home. And it appears you'll be staying there for quite some time until the situation you've found yourself in is resolved.

It's been three months since you arrived and during this time, Mihawk has set up rules and a household routine, creating a semblance of family life with his apprentice swordsman, the ghost girl, and yourself.

Mihawk doesn't employ domestic staff in the castle, it would compromise his privacy, tranquility and security (already quite compromised considering the castle's new occupants). Therefore, you must organize yourselves very strictly following a schedule of tasks that he has assigned to each of you.

Everything must be neat and tidy, nothing can be left for the next day, and unnecessary items must be discarded to avoid clutter.

Like everyone else, he must also contribute to maintaining the castle: the garden, the orchard, meal planning, cleaning the rooms, washing the dishes and cutlery... and doing the laundry.

Laundry is done three times a week. Once with black clothes, another with colored clothes, and another with white and light-colored clothes. Mihawk will not tolerate, under any circumstances, mixing colors or washing delicate fabrics like silk in a non-gentle cycle. Everything must be carefully planned and each week it's someone's turn, expected to separate the clothes by color, select the appropriate wash cycle, hang the clothes, and fold them, dividing them into four different piles, one for each owner. Each person will collect their own pile, clean and dry.

A few weeks after arriving at Kuraigana, you realized that you were starting to feel attracted to the castle's master. His fierce appearance and strength in combat contrasted with the delicacy and perfection with which he organized something as mundane as household chores.

Without daring to confess your attraction, you have been trying to be subtle, taking small steps like lightly brushing fingers when passing the salt, trying to hold his gaze for a few seconds longer than usual when you spoke, or making comments that you thought he might find amusing or intellectual. Nothing seems to work, always so serious, so stoic, completely focused on whatever task he was doing. It is hard to get his attention. Very hard.

For this reason, you begin to feel frustrated. Is this man simply too difficult? Or are you not attractive enough? In any case, this frustration turns into anger... until you devise a plan to teach him a lesson and get revenge.

Knowing that it is his turn to do the laundry this week, you select your most scandalous and provocative lingerie to place in the laundry basket.

And, to be honest, you have quite a collection.

So, you choose shameless bras of several colors and transparencies, daring black stockings and garters, suggestive thongs, and exciting lace bodysuits. If this man isn't willing to pay attention to you, he will realize what he could have had and didn't. The opportunity he missed.

Throughout the week, you watch as your clothes appear hanging in the sun in the garden, alongside those of Mihawk, Zoro, and Perona. Thus, next to a pair of training pants, a simple white shirt and some socks, there is a sultry red lace bodysuit with transparencies.

As your clothes dry, they appear in your pile carefully folded, smelling clean and ready for you to pick up.

"Don't you think Mihawk is more grumpy than usual?" Perona asks one night, watching as Mihawk tries to concentrate on reading a newspaper, with a furrowed brow.

"Grumpy and... distracted?" Zoro adds, also observing him from afar.

"Yeah? I wonder why," you smile.

-> Alternative ending I -> Alternative ending II

[bearieio]

Hihi!! May I request some soft sleepytime stuff with leon? 😋

leon sleep hcs :3

warnings: none! pure fluff! awkward!totallywhipped!loser!leon (kinda...)

a/n: tired of writers depicting leon as a freakydeaky daddydom typa guy... when in reality he's a (semi-) normal, awkward guy.... (￣︿￣) (i will die on this hill).

leon probably snores… like loud, obnoxious snores. almost ALL THROUGHOUT THE NIGHT. he’s like an old man that you have yo turn over to make him stop.

anyways… leon also loves cuddling with you :(( but he’s SOOOO awkward about it. he tries not to breath because he doesn’t want you to feel uncomfy with his breath flowing directly against you face, so he’ll STOP BREATHING (!!?!!???) for long periods of time😭 his heartbeat never losing it’s fast rhythm.

leon is definitely a catdad. he spends insane amounts of money on his 2 cats, both of them being scottish folds :3

“babe look at this cat tree i got for them,” and it’s a FUCKING BUCKINGHAM PALACE CAT TREE. y’know… THE ONE THAT’S LIKE $2,200!!???

“it was the last one in stock!” he continues, one of the cats hanging on his shoulder, the other he’s cradling like an infant in his arms.

leon WILL NOT let you sleep on the bed if the cats were there first.

“BABE! what’re you doing?!-“ he motions towards the 2 felines resting against the silk and satin pillows. “we’re sleeping on the couch.” he smiles, ignoring the irritated look you have on your face “c’mon!”

leon is literally such a dork. a loser, if you will. he’ll tuck you in and make sure you have water, in case you need it in the middle of the night.

he’s so weird too, he’ll be like sound asleep one moment, but then when you open your eyes again 15 seconds later, he’ll be staring at you like:

leon also talks in his sleep. mumbling and groaning in the middle of the night. and like- he only repeats things he hears..

“barack obama was the 44th president chat- he was the 44th presi-“

…dude what.

“i’m ova strokin’ ma dick, i got lotion on my dick, and i’m strokin ma shit-“

when you ask him about it, he’ll be like, “oh yeah… well, did you know barack obama was the 44th president?” and then he’ll carry on with his day as if he doesn’t have the most outrageous dreams….

when he doesn’t have work the following day, HE DOES NOT SLEEP.

“it’s the voices, babe…” he mutters, his eyes glued to his PC, you can hear the minecraft sound effect of blocks breaking and cows mooing. “they’re telling me….. to beat the ender dragon and finally learn how to use redstone…”

when you try to protest, all he responds with is “the grind doesn’t stop for anybody, baby.” with his back still facing you, he lifts his arm to flex a little but immediately brings it back down to rest on the desk, his keys continuing to make a clacking sound as the light from his computer screen lights up the darkened room.

when he finally does go to sleep, it’s usually on the couch. he’s sprawled out and SNORING.

i feel like it’s super hard to wake him up. he’ll be lying on the bed, lifelessly. when you try shaking him/lifting his arm up his body goes limp, almost like those “i thought my cat was dead videos.”

when you’re finally able to wake him up, you’re on the verge of calling 9-1-1. “HOW ARE THE POLICE GONNA COME WHEN THE POLICE IS RIGHT HERE?!” you find yourself talking to the cats. one of them meows, as if she’s responding to your panicked state.

“huh?” you hear a groggy leon, now propped up on his elbows, “hey kitty.” you turn around to see the cats rubbing against leon’s face.

“WHAT THE FUC-“

masterlist

[pursuitseternal]

Hi first of all, I wanted to tell you how much I love your fanfictions I'm always happy to see something new (ascended astarion and astarion spawn stories are my favourites but the others are captivating too). I was wondering if you could write a story where the original Tav dies and is reborn a few hundred years later and Astarion finds her again. Maybe in a more modern setting where the prudery thing isn't quite so… strong

I apologise for my bad English it's not my native language I hope you can understand it anyway

“Mistrial:” a Modern Faerûn AU

Astarion x Tav |E| 2.5K modern au

Ao3 link

Summary: Hundreds of years without her, Astarion still sits on the bench, Justice Ancunìn hear case after case. Until one day, that young prosecutor gets under his skin, until she confronts him after their trial, until ancient memories stir and things awaken.

A/N: Thank you to @myfavouritelunatic and @brabblesblog for their enabling and encouragement.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“Justice Ancunìn, I have to object,” the little firecracker of a prosecutor ground her high heel into the tile of the courtroom.

Astarion shook his head, tired of her tone already on day one. “You don’t have to, counselor,” he rubbed two fingers against his silver-haired temple, “but given that this is already your twenty-second one today, I can’t say I’m surprised.” She looked at him with sharp eyes and folded arms. The little shit. He did not care for her already.

If this had been in the good old days when Faerûn was at its prime and most debauched, he could have her flogged for her tone and sent to cool in the stocks. And that would have been before he had been turned into vampiric spawn, before he had become hero of Baldur’s Gate with the love of his life at his side. Helping him learn how to hide his immortality and vampirism from the public, learning how to still serve as Magistrate despite his… condition.

That was until time moved on, and his immortality won over the lingering bonds of love. He missed Tav, her brilliance and ferocity, her pointed ears and sweet blood, her passion in life and in the bed.

Like the blink of an eye, he moved on. City to city, career to career as hundreds of years continued their slow grind of time. Until now, now, he stared down from his bench in BGC, new finagled magic in this modern age like cars and electricity and internet. But law was law, and a judge was a judge

It was as if he never left, aside from the new spitfire attorney, just arrived from New Waterdeep, with a ferocity he would have once admired.

He just now found it tiresome. Irritating. He realized after a moment, she had the decency to wait on his final word on her request for objection. He shifted in his seat, narrowing his eyes at her. “Overruled, Counselor Ylfe.” He banged his gavel twice. “In fact, court adjourned until tomorrow,” he stood grumbling to himself. “At least I’ll be spared a twenty-third objection in so many hours…”

His pointed ears picked up on a high pitched scoff. “We shall see,” that lawyer snipped to herself. But that tone, that defiance and jabbing quality… something piqued his interest.

Stirred his ancient memory.

He finally groaned as he rested in his chambers, only moments after shutting the doors and sliding off those scratchy robes. Gods, he missed silks and wigs and velvets. Not this cheap crap everyone wore. He went to his cabinet, taking out a discrete green bottle and pouring himself a mug of its swirling ruby contents. He popped it in his microwave, one improvement on the campfire he would not begrudge using.

Not when it made his stash of blood warm for once.

But even as it hummed, his mind kept rolling over his day. Especially that stubborn, annoying, irritating prosecutor with her defiant eyes and jutting out chin and crossed arms and swaying, perfect hips, and……

“Justice Ancunìn, I figured you would finally have a moment for us to address how to best proceed civilly in your own chambers,” his head shot up, his gaze narrowed as he watched her stride on into his offices.

Her.

“What in the hells are you thinking, Counselor Ylfe?” he spat, fighting hard from baring his fangs at her. A habit eroded from nearly a millennia of practice almost overturned just at the sight of her. “You know any discourse outside of the courtroom can result in a mistrial?”

“This isn’t about the trial, this is about your abject disdain for me, personally, it would seem.” She did it again, crossing her arms and swaying her hips in that tight little black pantsuit of her hers.

Astarion let his eye wander. There was something about her… not many females cut so fine a figure in trousers, or slacks or whatever the fuck they were now.

Not since… her. The other her in his life. His true love. That was the last time he even gave a woman a second glance.

Her hair hung over her shoulder, but now, up close, he could see two pointed ears peeking through her crown of long and flowing hair. Elf. High elf.

He locked eyes with her, that piercing shade… his mind raced and wandered… flying through ancient history for some, the warmest of memories for him. Emerald Grove, Shadow Cursed Lands, the real Baldur’s Gate…

“Didn’t you hear me, Your Honor?” she snapped at him.

Astarion shook his mess of silver locks, smiling in a way that no longer hid his fangs. “I’m afraid I was… lost in the sea of my long and winding memories… darling….”

That made her freeze solid. Her smooth face drew into an inscrutable expression, her cherry red lips parted… “What did you call me…?”

Only then did he realize the slip of his own tongue, how that pet name he vowed never to use flowed right off of it. “D-darling.” He repeated, as shocked as she was at the impropriety. “I’m sorry, Ms. Ylfe.”

“Don’t be,” she instantly replied with a shake of her head. Then she smiled, even as her brows furrowed. She looked at him, at his pale face and silver hair and… dark brown eyes…. “Have you always worn contacts, Mr. Ancunìn?”

“How…” but before he could interrogate that true suspicion, his microwave dinged.

“You better get your drink, Your Honor…” That lilt in her voice was new, he noted.

“I’ll wait,” he shrugged. “I can always reheat it later. First I’ll have to apologize for my… behavior today.”

“I should hope so,” she grinned, walking around and sitting on the edge of his desk. “Treating a lady with such disdain… only to about face and call her darling the next moment… seems something only a true, black-hearted rogue would do…”

“What?” he went rigid. Bending forward, that old instinct to fight or fly racing through his nerves after centuries.

“I’ve never been a fan of contacts,” she smiled so easily as she leaned back against the top of his desk, fingers splayed on his files and papers. “Better if you just showed the world your natural eyes, Mr. Ancunìn….”

His nostrils flared, his breath racing and head swimming. But this time there was no fucking tadpole, he knew that.

“What’s your name…” he hissed, narrowed eyes leveling at her.

“I can tell you, unless you’re bent on letting your stash of blood from getting cold…. Astarion.”

His hand flew to her neck, bringing her up into his face, fangs bared, hackles raised, every long suppressed vampiric sense firing on all cylinders now as he smelled her. “Name,” he commanded.

“Taveria Ylfe,” she swallowed under his hold. “But those close to me have always called me Tav….”

“Tav,” her name was a gasp in his throat.

“And I know you,” she said, breathy and quick. “I didn’t know how… but there was something about you that made me… unsettled.”

“Twenty-two objections later and you call yourself… unsettled?” he smirked, lightening his hold, but stroking his fingers on her skin.

Her skin.

“Well, darling,” she purred, "lifetimes of perfect memory for our kind, and I should have recognized my lover with the crimson eyes and pointed fangs.”

Astarion shook his head, swallowing the rising ball of emotion that caught in his throat. “I’d cry, but it’ll make my contacts hurt,” he gave a wet laugh. His thumb traced on the side of her neck, two circle marks in her flesh, like moles or scars…

“You found them, the brands I’ve have on my flesh ever since you, Astarion,” she added, eyes batting shut under his touch. “I’ve looked for you in every lifetime, my true love with roguish swagger, red eyes, pointed fangs, and massive…”

She paused, pursing her lips.

“Ego?” he offered as an answer, but she shook her head.

“Cock,” she grinned as she bit her lip.

“I was hoping you’d say that… darling…” He hissed as her hand grasped at the gusset between his legs. “Looking for your evidence?” he growled, a roll of his hips into the pressure of her touch. So ancient and familiar. “You’ll get it, darling, if you want it…”

“I do, Astarion,” she sighed, fingers stroking back and forth on the cotton of his pants, feeling that rising erection instantly straining back.

A monsterous growl in his throat, a burning hunger in his belly, he grasped at the back of her neck, pulling her against his lips.

The age-old dance, the same taste. Closing his eyes, his body transported a millennia ago… as if he could smell blood and woodsmoke and magic in the air mixed with her scent. Had he suppressed so much of his senses he couldn’t recognize her scent? Had he ignored the same beat of her heart in her chest, same musical rush of blood in her veins?

He shook his head to let all that go, realizing her hands already tore through her own blazer and button down, clothing now cast to the floor. Already, she had shimmied off the desk, pressing harder into his kiss. He waited for no further invitation, hands instantly sliding her slacks from her perfect curves, his own clothing suddenly feeling too tight and too abrasive.

Astarion only wanted her skin on him now. After so long. He couldn’t move fast enough, his reflexes had dulled from neglect, his dexterity a fraction of what it once was with her. But it, too, slowly crept back, his hands making quick work of his own clothes.

Suddenly, those fingers remembered the smoothness of her skin, rekindled their dexterity. His hand clawed into her hair, the other stroked down her belly, backing her perfect body to perch on the edge of his desk. The gasp he drew from her lips as he sank two fingers into her folds woke something feral in him, something ancient. Vampiric.

“Tav,” he hissed, nuzzing against the music of her artery, rubbing along the stream of her blood in her neck. “May I, please…”

“Mmm, I want to see your real eyes before you take anything of mine, Astarion,” she purred, arching against him. One hand splayed on the desk behind her, she smirked and watched. Never had anyone removed contacts so quickly, so dexterously.

As he blinked, her heart poured open. That scarlet glare, that tilted head, those mussy silver curls. “I can’t believe it’s you…” she sighed.

His eyes went wide, shining in his unshed tears and well of emotion. “I’m so tired of words, Tav,” he replied, voice cracking with that exhaustion and unbridled desire now. “Just give me all of you, to lose myself in, to lose these long and draining years in, years without you.”

Not another word as said, nothing but the groans of their joining once more, the shudder of their bodies as they fucked, the creaking of the wood beneath her as he slammed his hips against it. Cock buried deep in her cunt, fangs digging into her neck.

Both parts of her were hot and leaking. Blood spilled from his mouth once more—warm and fresh and sweetened with her taste. Arousal leaked into the wood beneath them, her musk and sweat the only perfume he longed to smell.

He swirled his tongue over his bite marks, fresh bleeding wounds that swallowed those scars she was born with. A lasting brand on her skin as she had forever been on his heart, his soul.

He couldn’t bring her close enough to him, fingers clawed into her ass to keep her from sliding away with his frantic thrusts. And she had already wrapped herself around his waist, already scratched up the places of his back that weren’t riddled with scars still. Clutching him tightly to never lose him again.

Their lips were sealed together, locked as they sucked and moved and danced in their ancient kiss, the taste of her blood sending them both reeling into oblivion. She keened as her walls spasmed around his cock, that familiar ripple and beat of her climax pressing against his every wild and erratic thrust.

His forehead resting against her shoulder, the scent of her blood there was the last little push he needed, losing himself in the trembling warmth and comfort and pull of her body. His cock pulsed hard inside her, thrumming against her muscles as he came harder than anything for a thousand years. Forcing his head back up, he locked eyes with her, face twisting and arms shaking as he came. Lips pulled back to show those glistening and reddened fangs.

Her hand braced hard at the back of his neck, keeping her with him as his hips thrust, slowing as he emptied into her. At last he stilled, a foolish, young smile on his gaping lips, lips he licked clean.

He would tell her sometime, how she had made his undead heart remember how to beat and love again twice now. How she brought him back to life over and over again. But with that haze in her eyes, the way she clenched still around his cock, he knew this wouldn’t be the end of their reunion.

Thank the gods.

Lips curling as she met her mouth in a kiss, she drew him in again for more. “I have a hotel…” she whispered.

“And I have a penthouse, darling,” came his instant reply between her ravenous caresses.

“Hmm,” she laughed deep in her throat, their kiss still working slowly, unable to break apart once more. “As long as you keep it cleaner than your tent once was, I accept. Someplace for us until the morning when we return to court…”

His fingers, coated in the scent of her arousal, stayed her mouth. “Tch, surely even a young thing like you knows this will end in mistrial now,” he smirked. “Not even I can think of a clause that allows for lost soul mates to continue in court after such…” he glanced at the mess between their legs, “…debauchery.”

“Oh well,” she feigned disappointment, sliding off to retrieve her clothes. “Worth it…”

Suddenly his arms gripped her, pulling her by the swell of her ass, flush against his naked body one more time. “It’ll be days before either of us must return to court… long, exhausting, pleasure-filled days, darling.”

Tav dove up for his kiss, standing in her tiptoes to meet that smirk that haunted her for centuries. “You better hurry me away to your place, Astarion, or someone will find us here making up for lost time.”

Reluctantly and with a deafening sigh, he relented, busying himself to dress again.

“Oh,” she commented, that taunting tone in her voice, “and don’t think I missed how you never answered it your place was still a mess of chaos again.”

He turned, shaking his head as he refastened his belt. “Well, even if you are disappointed in that regard, I can assure you…” he gave her that look, those half-lidded eyes, that sharpened fanged smirk, “you won’t be left wanting in other regards.”

[captain-charlemagne]

Cosplay Build Breakdown - Stede Bonnet

When I completed this costume a few months ago, I promised I would write up a build breakdown on how it was made, and what it was made of, and provide information in case anyone wanted to build it for themselves. I can't promise that this will be exhaustive, but it will be informative, and you can always reach out to me if you have any questions!

Details under the cut!

The Coat

The coat was made of silk duchess satin and lined in silk dupioni, and because this was a uniquely tailored coat, I had to draft the entire pattern for it myself. The buttons are screen accurate and airbrushed gold, antiqued with a black acrylic wash. The trim along the front edge was hand dyed twice to achieve the dark gold color seen here, and hand stitched on to preserve the curve of the garment. I hand wove soutache braid into the trim as well. The trim toggles along the left side of the coat were crocheted by me out of a gold baker's twine.

The pockets are functional, but that's not what makes them special.

This vertical trim is extant from the 18th century - three hundred years old, sourced from a seller in the UK who specialized in antique trim. Since I couldn't know what was used on screen, I went for something that existed in the historical Stede Bonnet's time.

The shoulder devices are called cockades, and I hand made both of these! They're hand-gathered little beauties!

The Waistcoat

The waistcoat was a modified 18th century waistcoat pattern - I had to draft in the waist seam and alter the pocket placement. The fabric used was the screen accurate fabric from Rodeo Home Fabrics - it's called Metro, and the shade is "Jade". Because this pattern was meant for cis men, I had to add in a (period accurate) lacing mechanism to accommodate the hips I was born with, as w ell as any weight fluctuation. The pockets are functional, of course, and the fob medal is a 3D print by Kitty Krell, modeled after the screen accurate Oddfellows fob medal that we see him wear on screen. Not seen as well is the linen shirt underneath, which was made in the 18th century style. The lace used on the sleeves and linen cravat is not screen accurate - but it is close, and it is vintage! The cuffs are attached with velcro so that I can change them out depending on which outfit of Stede's I am wearing, so I only had to make one shirt!

Other Things

The black sailor's neckerchief was made from black raw silk, and the breeches were made from an 18th century pattern - they have a functional drop front and functional knee buttons and buckles!

The stockings are silk stockings, and come from American Duchess. The shoes also come from American Duchess, but I had to paint the heels red myself and add the silk ribbon. They are open lachet style, just as we see him wear on screen.

The Wig

I styled this wig myself - it was a lengthy blond lacefront from WigIsFashion, which I stitched additional wefts into the back, and put into a whole pincurl set. I steamed the set with a hand steamer, and plucked the recedes while ventilating some hair into the widows peak to better emulate Rhys Darby's hairline. From there, it was just a matter of styling and trimming the wig into the right shape.

And that is about that! My rings were sourced on Etsy and are turqouise, garnet, and aventurine.

Thank you to R.L. Photography for the photos, and an immense, endless thank you to my partner, my Edward, @sonotthekraken for all your endless cheerleading and support. Because of you, I was able to take home the Best in Masters Award at Fan Expo Dallas, and take wonderful, beautiful photos with you. <3

[quinloki]

Any thoughts on yan sabo?

I personally haven’t delved too deep into him but from what I’ve heard he’s a bit unhinged in canon?

Like I saw him when he was a cute little kid but adult sabo? No clue what his vibes are

Buttt I’ve gathered some dark I’ve read about him and made some bullet point of stuff that repeated

-bondage

-basement?????

-extreme power dynamics (more than usual with Yanderes)

- pet play??

- ive seen some with sadism

-gloves……..😏

- he’s really put together on the outside, great at hiding it?

I am all for it

I recently read a fic with slight zombie themes and 😦…..🤭

-💧

Any thoughts on Yan Sabo? Oh yeah.

Canonically this poor guy's been through a LOT. Losing your memory is a trauma all on its own, and he's grown into who he is without a clear conscious understanding of who he *was* and what he knew before. So I think there was always something leaving him feeling a little off.

When he finally does regain his memory it's in the midst of a cold and terrible LOSS.

Sabo's probably not a stranger to loss, being in the Revolutionary Army, but losing Ace - Remembering him, and losing him in the same breath - that's different. I feel like where there were cracks in his psyche, there were now deep gouges.

But he also has a heavy responsibility - not just with his position in the RA, but also a profoundly desperate drive to keep Luffy safe.

And to keep himself safe.

That loss, that deep terrible loss, he can't let Luffy feel that either.

So that's the platform you're building from canonically.

Popular fanon for him as yandere is pretty much as you say: Put together - at least on a surface level. Good at hiding because he's aware it's not exactly "right".

I think the whole "raised as a noble, or old money and having Proper and Right manners ingrained in him" helps him know how to hide it.

Yandere Marco is smooth as silk, and highly unlikely to ever get caught. Yandere Sabo smooths his rough edges with silk, and while it's not a given he'll be caught, he has plans in case he is. Yandere Crocodile is somewhere between them, smooth, but not as smooth, with plans upon plans upon plans in place of the silk.

Control is the name of the game too. If Sabo can control everything then nothing will go wrong.

Right?

Certainly. And so there's the perfectly planned and stocked basement, as a last resort of course, but it's sound proofed, and luxurious, with sunlights in it for proper vitamin D and health. Don't mind the little spouts that release a soft puff of sweet scents into the air.

They're safe. Just to help keep you calm and aid in sleeping. It's not ideal to be in that basement, he understands. But even if no one would hear you, he doesn't want you screaming yourself sick.

You'll have to learn manners the way Sabo knows them to come back upstairs. He'll be patient, don't fear, it's okay if you're in the basement forever, he'll still love you.

xD the gloves stay on whether it's yan or not lol

That fic you read recently was this?? Cause this was amazingly good.