#the mermaid's voice returns in this one | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

1800titz · 2 months

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HI. HELLO. Here is my Valentine’s Day contribution. POTTERYINSTRUCTOR!HARRY!! POTTERY MAN! WOOO. Basically almost 7K of clay sexualization and sexually charged fluff (ish). Enjoy! :D

CONTENT/WARNINGS: ridiculous sexualization of clay (I think I’ve managed to fetishize clay in this one??? OOPS), overly suggestive usage of pottery terms, a red-hot, hands-on tutorial for wheel throwing, and embarassingly long descriptions of Harry’s fingers coated in wet clay.

WC: 6.6K

slip: small bits of dry clay mixed with water to create a thick, creamy consistency

Clay is innately erotic.

Wheel throwing is, arguably, the most pornographic art form, its only competing opponent being, maybe, literal body-painting. And that latter one still falls as a close second. Close, but second.

Y/N decides that when she wanders into a little ceramics shop tucked away in a busy plaza downtown. There’s no method to her exploration, but the broad glass windows are adorned with dripping, colorful graffiti and its innards call to her. GLAZED, reads the large sign over the awning in blocky, white lettering, stippled with un-glowing light bulbs that she’s sure light alive in the night.

It’s a cute shop.

Upon entrance, the young woman discovers tables, as if set up for arts and crafts, crackling, clay covered wheels with shorter stools, and long, tall rows of shelving brimmed with colorless sculptures lining the walls. Despite its packed interior, the studio seems empty of people and quiet besides the soft notes of RÜFÜS DU SOL leaking from the overhead speakers. She roams beside the line of wheels over to a shelf by the door, admiring the myriad of statues there, some obviously crafted with expertise and elegant artistry, and others lopsided efforts that probably deserve a pitied gold star for effort.

Her eyes are caught on an unpainted little ashtray that’s got a crooked sort of bee in the center when her gaze breaks away to the sound of footsteps. Maybe the shop isn’t as abandoned as she’d previously believed — a man appears from behind a row of white shelving stacked with more unfinished pottery.

He’s a pretty man, that much she can decide from the downturned slope of his nose and his distracted lash line, focused on twisting the navy rag in his left hand over the tip of his right index finger. A dark baseball cap shrouds his hair, but little brunette tufts sneak out in curled bunches around his ears. That’s where Y/N finds a fun, little red-tinted pearl dangling from one lobe. He’s tatted in patchwork art — a mermaid with its tits out peeks at her from his forearm, soaked over and shining. She assumes he must have just been rinsing clay from that forearm, from his hands, no longer visible over his skin. However, streaks of dried gray stain over his white tee in crackling lines, like an old lamination on a well-loved t-shirt that’s been cycled through the washer one too many times. When he pulls the rag away, she discovers a shade of bright red that’s been painted over his nails.

Almost as if he can sense her presence without looking, his sneakers pause on the tile and he steals a peer up. Yes, he’s quite a pretty man, even when his features shape something caught off guard.

“Hello.”

His voice is rich — this smooth, bass-deep sort of sound driving a foreign lilt, and Y/N thinks that if it weren’t for his lengthy fingers and his cherry polished nails, if it weren’t for his handsomely sculpted face, if it weren’t for his seemingly innate effortless demeanor and style, that voice alone could make her fold.

“Hello,” she returns, aware that a nervous note plucks at her cadence, unlike his own casual greeting. I promise I’m not shoplifting clay pots in silence, she nearly tells him.

Thank fuck for the ability to physically bite your tongue.

“What can I help you with?” the man asks, sauntering forward a bit. It’s probably sort of a polite manner to say what the fuck are you doing here, and the longer the young woman stands in the middle of the empty shop the more out of place she feels, almost like this a private, little haven and she shouldn’t be in here right now.

The song shifts into its choral bass drop of electric keys. That fills the void of the silence as she swallows and fixes a little smile onto her face, fingers tightening over the strap of her tote.

“Oh, I’m just looking.”

The man purses his mouth and walks over to the counter, where the register is littered with paperwork and an eclectic collection of faux plants. He sets the rag down beside a floppy one with its green tendrils dangling over the edge.

“See anything you like?” his hand pinches over his nose, like he’s scratching an itch, before he sniffs and pivots to apparently decrease their proximity, “We’ve got loads — you can make something yourself, or,” another step, and Y/N’s eye bounce from his shorts to his tattooed knees to the hems of his white socks. “…If you know sculpting isn’t your craft, we’ve got ready-to-paint-one's on that shelf there.”

Her gaze follows the direction of his finger, where pasty ceramic bunnies, and angels, and cars line the shelving in multiples.

“I think—“ the young woman’s tongue peeks out to swipe over her mouth, words growing drier the longer she captures his stare. She focuses back on a lopsided rendition of strawberry, its leaves cradling over as a disconnected lid and its stem a crooked handle. “I like these. They’ve got so much character.”

She blinks back over to him and watches a soft smile shape over the cushiony pink of his mouth.

It only takes a moment — one where her sight draws back to the strawberry jar for a smidge of a second, before he’s so close that she can smell his cologne, spiced and clean. She ogles his arm, his hand, the way he reaches out between them to cull the piece, mildly appalled by the way he palms the sculpture and dwarfs it in his easy grasp. It’s such a casual maneuver, made almost as if he’s not fondling over something it’d take anyone else two hands to hold. Y/N imagines the dimpled form of clay coated over to match the color of his nails.

“They do, don’t they? I like this one, too. S’a little …ugly, but, s’in, like, a…” the man’s features twist into something silly and pinched, and the young woman rolls her lips into her mouth to avoid exposing her amusement at the brutal candor. His words catch in his throat and bubble as a short laugh, “I dunno. It’s art.”

He sets it back onto the shelf with a light clink, and turns to face her, posturing against a post in the shelving where the tiers have a break. An exhale becomes paired with his nonchalant lean, arms crossing over his pecs, and Y/N tries intensely not to stare like a hawk at the muscle there.

“I’m afraid people are coming back for these, though. This row came out of the kiln…” forest green skids to the assortment and then bounds up to the ceiling like he’s in thought, before he casts his gaze back onto her, “…yesterday. And there’s a month-and-a-half window for someone to come back and glaze before we toss or sell them to be painted.”

He’s chewing gum. Y/N realizes it when she admires the soft stubble coating his jaw, his cheeks — that’s when she notices the work of his jawline over the minty piece. He tips his head. “Did you want to try sculpting something?”

The edges of her lips break bashfully. “I don’t know if I’d be any good at it.”

One corner of the man’s mouth curls up lopsidedly, and the beginnings of a dimple nudge into place. He blinks and chews a little slower, “Have you ever worked with clay before?”

Her delayed, little no is met with the lopsided beam growing even. He nudges with his chin, deliciously bulging arms still tucked over his chest, his playfully raised eyebrows like a wordless notion of have more faith in yourself, “Then you may just be the next Magdalene Odundo. We’ll make a pro sculptor out of you, yet.”

Magdalene Odundo. Somehow, the name isn’t familiar, but simultaneously, somehow, it feels like a compliment.

Y/N inhales as his digits shift over his tri’s. “Okay.”

“Okay,” plush pink shapes a handsome smile, bordering bright white teeth in straight lines. The man tips his head towards the curved berry vase, and then looks back at her, “Did you want to do something like this? All these over here were made on the wheel.”

Y/N muzzles telling him that she’s no inkling of an idea how someone can morph a lump of clay into a vase, nevermind on a big, spinning platform that moves faster than her eyes can keep up with. The man seems to pick up on the hesitation in her silence.

“S’easy, I promise. I’ll show you how to throw.”

Show her. Okay. At least she’s not going to head into vase-sculpting or wheel-throwing or …whatever he’d called it blindly, fumbling over a block of clay on a twirling tray like a slapstick skit personified. At least it means she’s going to stay in his presence. After a moment of thought, though, (and the way she notes that his eyes make unwavering, relaxed contact with her face the entirety of the silent pause), Y/N decides she’s not sure whether that last bit is actually a good thing, considering she’s probably milliseconds away from, like, bracing a hand onto a the shelf to match his level of coolness, or something. And then subsequently sending ceramic pots spilling and shattering over the tile.

She blinks. Her shoulders rise on her nervous inhale, and he makes one of those playful faces, like he’s waiting for her to agree. The young woman’s eyes wander to the line of chairs pressed to its counterparts of wheels.

“I don’t wanna, like, trouble you—“

“You’re not. S’my job,” he tells her, crimson fingertips drumming. She catches sight of his fabric-clad pectorals flexing when he leans forward a little to tack on, “…And to be honest, it’d give me something to do besides fucking around with clay, which is what I’ve been doing for the last hour.”

Her mouth purses and then settles. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he says again, and then winds around through a row of little tables that resemble the set up of an art classroom, like the kind she’d have in school. She’s ashamed that her gaze wanders down the back of his arm to ogle the rest of his ink.

“You can have a seat at one of those wheels,” he tosses over his shoulder as he heads, she assumes, to wind back around the same shelf he’d surfaced from behind, “Just give me a mo’, and I’ll be right back with some clay.”

It takes Y/N a moment — mostly because she admires the view of his stature from behind as he migrates to a back hallway, irises roaming down the projection of muscles in his back showcased through his tee. They skim down his legs, down the backs of his knees, rest on toned calves. He’s gone far too quickly for her viewing pleasure. The young woman takes another glance at the uneven strawberry-esque vase, and then she pivots to step around the crowded assortment of wheels to crouch into one of those little roll-y stools, feet crossing and uncrossing in the cramped space.

He’s a sexy man, Y/N decides. That’s the word she’d been looking for all along, although pretty would match the descriptors of his long lashes and his pouty pink mouth. He’s sexy, though, in his baseball cap and his little six-inch-inseam shorts (which show off the sculpt of his tanned thighs and the ink over his kneecaps). He’s sexy when he comes out from the back over to her wheel, a gunmetal gray ball of clay cradled in his palm like it’s not the size of two of her own. He’s sexy in the green eye contact he makes when he settles into a stool similar to her own, right across, when his thighs splay because he doesn’t have enough room to sit otherwise, when he rests his elbows over his knees and stretches one arm out to pass off the clay. That’s when their digits brush, because it’s sort of unavoidable. He manages to make eye contact through that, too. Sexy.

“Okay. Clay,” the chilled ball the man hands off weighs her hand down, and Y/N’s gaze flickers up to meet his own when he instructs, “Toss it onto the wheel. Aim for the center.”

The young woman pauses like she’s calculating her aim, gearing up without visibly gearing up, and a little smile tugs at the instructor’s mouth as he waits. The clay lands with a thud onto the plate.

“Great,” he tells her, monitoring the centering, and then jade bounces back up to her face as he coaxes, “Smack for good luck.”

Y/N curbs the corners of her mouth out of mirth, hesitating for a moment before her palm lands over the smooth, gray lump in a halfhearted pat. She blinks up, hoping for assurance. The handsome man’s mouth purses like he’s restraining a grin.

“Harder,” he encourages after a second, the corners of his muted raspberry mouth seeping up a smidge, more openly, “S’not gonna cry. You can go a little harder than that.”

The young woman rolls her lips into her mouth, raises her hand, and follows his request, molding it flatter under the solid thud of her palm. Evidently, it’s a better attempt, because she earns a, “Very good,” in response from him.

She casts her gaze up to find him dipping his hands into the pot of murky water beside the wheel before a fist knocks lightly at the pedal-resembling lever on the opposite side, sending the wheel into a speeding twirl. And to add to her list of shame, the liquid that coats his fingers — that’s.

Yeah.

Y/N swallows and watches those wet hands cup over the clay, partly mesmerized by the way he coaxes the priorly deformed lump into a symmetrical cylinder, stroking up from the base up and back down, and partly mesmerized by the way the cherry polish becomes daubed with slicked clay.

“I’m just gonna get it nice and easy for you, and then you can get to the fun bits,” the man tells her as if he isn’t currently awakening some deep, deviously sexual desires in her by fondling clay. Jade flickers up. “M’Harry, by the way.”

“Y/N,” the young woman tells him in response, unsure whether to focus on his searing eye contact or the gentle press of his hands over … oddly erotic artistry in motion.

Harry unwittingly makes the decision for her by breaking the eye contact and glancing down at his work.

“Y/N,” he says, as if testing the taste of her name on his tongue.

Y/N takes a breath, smoothing her hands down her thighs.

“Y/N,” his strawberry mouth parts a tad for a soft breath in, honey smooth cadence glazed in concentration as he presses a flat palm over the top of the clay, keeping his other hand cupped over the length.

She watches the cylinder mold under his grip into something shorter, and then back up. She watches the way his arms flex, anchored to his body as he presses with the heels of his palms to sculpt.

“This is called coning. Makes the clay centered so your grip stays nice and even when it spins. Otherwise, s’gonna wobble, and you’ll feel it when you’re trying to work with it.”

Sure enough, after a few moments, when the man takes his clay-sullied palms away, what’d priorly been a lopsided hunk twirling over the platform stands symmetrically, shining post his wet grip. When he balls his hand into a fist and punches over the lever a handful of times, the plate slows to a stop. He blows out a breath and the music shifts to the next track in the background.

“Take your bracelet off for me.”

The comment is made totally innocuously. Its purpose is solely to preserve the condition of her jewelry — she knows that when his eyes go to meet hers again and he mentions, “Otherwise, it could get covered with clay, or break. Wouldn’t wanna ruin such a pretty piece.”

But it’s the way he says it, right? Two little words, so easy off his tongue. So nonchalant, so purely intended with no ulterior motive. For me. For me, for me, for me.

It’s shameful — she’s ashamed. She’s no better than a man, Y/N decides, as she peers to the silver bangle with the sliver of warmth slithering through her chest and snaking to her tummy. She’s no better than a man, objectifying this poor, effortlessly sexy ceramics instructor and his casual commentary on a Wednesday. She swallows.

“Right. Thanks— thank you,” the young woman tells him, her tone garbled with nervous enthusiasm as the fingers of her opposite hand wriggle under the clasp to pop the piece off.

She’s still feeling dubious about the morality of her thoughts once she’s slipped the bracelet into her tote by her feet and sat back up.

“Alright,” Harry starts again, elbows braced to his sturdy thighs, “We’re gonna go over what this little thing over here does, because it’s good to know. It sets your speed. We’ve got options—“

Y/N watches the way his arm stretches, she eyes the tail of the mermaid, the lines of scales etched into his skin. His eyes meet her own again.

“…Fast,” Harry knocks over the lever again with the butt of a vertical fist, a couple more nudges rocketing the wheel into a motion that dissolves priorly visible remnants of clay rings into fast-moving swirls with no decipherable borders.

Another few nudges has the wheel skidding to a full-stop, and then stuttering back up into a spin when he taps over the pad once more.

“…Slow,” Harry fixes his gaze back onto her face and watches the curious concentration there. The man sits back up a tad, elbows bracing over his splayed thighs and fingers crooked and lax, coated with slippery wetness and clay. “Find what feels good for you. S’different for everyone.”

Despite the way the directions are made so innocently, so obviously stated as a tutorial that’s not intended to be taken as something suggestive, Y/N finds a heat teeming over her cheekbones.

“But, I recommend—“ her teeth lodge into the inside of her cheek with subtlety as the instructor hunches a little again, just a tad, to rap over the lever in a pair. The wheel speeds. “—Sticking to something around this.”

The pace of the wheel settles into an easy spin — something that’s still too quick for her eyes to keep up with, but apparently not the fastest setting, judging by the higher speeds he’d displayed moments prior.

“Alright. Here’s where you come in with your undiscovered ceramic talents,” the instructor tells her, the edges of his mouth so obviously restrained, like he’s amused with his own playful banter. His eyes glinting softly under the buttery light cast by the overhanging lanterns,”M’gonna show you how to drill, but you’ll need to get your hands wet first.”

Harry sits back, elbows still braced to his thighs, hands now coated with slippery clay as he waits for the young woman to douse her own into the bucket. The liquid greets her palms with a welcome chill, and when she lightly cups over the cylinder, it slips under her hands with ease. The man clears his throat, and their digits graze again when he touches over her fingers to guide her grasp. Y/N tries not to focus on the way his hands make her own look as if they belong to a child.

“You’re gonna take your thumbs—” Harry coaxes, all concentrated seriousness now, and the pad of his own brushes against the knuckle of her left, “—and press over the top, here. Right in the middle, just like that.”

He takes his hands away and the clay rolls under her fingertips, a divot forming from the pressure of her thumbs.

“Good. Now what you’ve done is you’ve indicated where you’re going to make the opening. And to do that—“ his hands return, unintentionally persuading her own to fall away and sort of hover stagnantly mid-air, in sullied awe, as he dips the tip of his index into the cleft they’d created together.

As if hungry for the finger, the clay parts to swallow the pad of the digit. It broadens its starving mouth, and Harry steadies the spread with his thumb, his pointer delving against the inside of the deepening wall. His opposite hand cups over the body as he molds the opening wider.

Anyways, what Y/N manages to learn from the impressive showcase, before Harry steals a glance to make sure she’s been observing (which she has, very focused, actually), is that clay-working is a dirty, dirty, lustrous art form. Especially under his fingertips. This is all very educational stuff. Perhaps the most impressive step of his tutorial, thus far, is the way that, in mere moments, he cups and strokes and caresses over the clay, drawing the opening tighter. It shrinks until it disappears, and when he smooths his hands over the rounded edges a few more times, the vessel that’s left is an entirely clean slate. Almost as if she hadn’t just spent the last few seconds ogling a weirdly pornographic display of a clay cavern opening in response to the touch of his long finger. This was a horrible mistake, Y/N thinks pitifully — she’s getting aroused by clay working. If there was ever a blaring red indicator that she needed to get laid, this is it.

“I want you to try now,” Harry directs, totally nonchalant. This is just a casual Wednesday for him, Y/N realizes. He casually fingers clay with his sexy, long fingers, and thinks nothing of it. Maybe she’s just a horribly wound-up pervert.

Still sort of stunned, she reaches out and cups over the cylinder, clumsily positioning her thumbs in a replication of the manner he’d shown her, aiming for the center and driving a divot into the top.

“Mm. That’s good. Keep your elbows closer to your body,” he prompts, eyes flickering from her posture to her hands. “Like this.”

Following his body language, Y/N mimics, ducking a tad and tucking her arms to her torso. After a few moments, she lifts her thumbs to find a centered indent, one that’s similar to the one they’d created together.

“Lovely. Now,” the chair makes a little rolling sound over the tile as Harry shifts forward, clay-slicked hands (warm, despite their cool coating) cradling over her own to position, “You’re gonna cup here, and then take this finger and push here. Yep. Jus’ like that.”

The instructor takes his grip away and encourages, “If you need more water, get your hands wet. You can tell you need it if there’s friction — you want it a little wet.”

She wants it a little wet. Y/N decides, as she dunks her hands into the bucket and returns to the clay, she in fact does not want anything wet right now. This is the last place she wants something wet. Her thoughts are disturbed by the way he grasps her at her hands again and repositions — twisted by the slippery feel of his own wet fingers. The clay over his palms has begun to dry now, morphing lighter and crackling, but the tips of his digits are still soaked and darker in shade. She’s awed when the cylinder gives under her touch, the same way it had for him to encompass her finger. It’s like magic, sort of. Very slippery, wet, weirdly erotically undertone-d magic.

“There you go,” Harry tells her, baritone soft, “You’re a pro.” Then, after a moment, “You can go a little harder. Don’t be shy. Open it up.”

She’s not blushing. She’s not blushing, because that would be silly. She presses harder, and the opening widens until it gapes.

“How long have you worked here?” the young woman asks, naturally trying to change the subject from wet and hard things. Hopefully in an organic enough manner that doesn’t imply how affected she is by said wet and hard things.

“I bought this place a few years ago,” Harry responds after a second, tone concentrating as he reaffixes the firmness of her grasp (she tries not to verbally apologize, glancing up), “…Both units. It was a smoke shop before, I think.”

“Oh!” her hands stutter again in surprise, “Are you the owner?”

He fixes them again, brows pinched, and when he glances up, his brow bone is smooth and there’s a soft smile playing over his mouth. “Indeed I am.”

“It’s …beautiful in here,” Y/N tells him, gaze walloping from shelf to shelf for a moment, lantern lined ceilings to vine-coated crown molding, trusting that his hands will keep her own grounded to the piece.

“Thanks. It’s a little crowded, but if you manage to get lost among the …phallic statues and the clay bongs,” he cocks his head, blatantly bridling a simper as he shrugs. At the response of her snort, jade flickers up and the plush of his mouth curls more obviously, “…You’ll find your way out of the maze soon enough.”

As the walls of the clay grow thinner, the instructor takes his grip away, swiping at his forehead with the back of his hand. “Alright. What are we going for here? A mug? A vase? A bong masquerading as a vase?”

Y/N takes the lack of his touch as an indication to lighten her own. She purses her lips thoughtfully. “A vase.”

“A vase,” the instructor parrots, voice low, and then he hunches back over and cups the clay. The young woman returns her hands to meet his own. “I can work with that. We’re gonna build it up. You’re gonna squeeze and lift. Right—“

If his fingers keep brushing hers for the duration of the next …half hour? Hour? (How long does throwing take?), Y/N decides she’ll simply combust. His hands cup lightly over her own, two digits pressed to hers, and hers pinned to the inner wall of the clay in sin.

“—Here. That’s it. You can be a little aggressive. We’ve gotta get it tall.”

Y/N swallows.

“You said you own both units?” she ponders aloud, “Is there …more?”

“My place,” Harry tells her nonchalantly, as if it’s the most casual, normal, every day thing to live over a ceramics studio, “S’just over on the next floor.”

“That’s—“ she realizes her grasp has lightened again, the integrity of the structure mostly only crawling up under the pressure of his own (steady, firm) grip over hers, “…so cool. To have, like, a whole studio right under you.”

“Mm. I think right now…” Harry cranes his neck to peer up at the ceiling, “We’re under my kitchen.”

A little breath of mirth tumbles from her when he grins and tacks on, “I think this is way cooler, though.”

This is The Turning Point.

And if it was a scene title in a play, Y/N thinks it would be capitalized to denote the importance. It’s important, because somewhere along the trail of her perversions, as Harry had guided her hands into the innards of the clay — fittingly describing it as the body — when he’d pressed his hands against her own to widen its base, when he’d shown her the sponge, things had clicked. It had clicked because she realized she wasn’t fucking crazy. Because Harry then said this thing — this one little thing that would have launched her into a frenzied, internal mess of dubious morality on the basis of her perversions—

But then it clicked.

“Careful with the amount of water you’re using now, yeah?” he’d told her, maneuvering her grip over the sponge as they’d smoothed over the lip together, “S’all about balance. …If you go too hard, you’ll make a wet mess.”

Y/N had glanced up. That’s when she’d noticed the way the instructor gnawed into his cheek, almost immediately, almost as if he was amused by some sort of devious inside joke. And then his blocky front teeth had dug lightly into the plush of his pink bottom lip. It was nearly unnoticeable — but she had noticed. Clay was innately erotic, and he was doing it on purpose. It was one, or the other, or both.

For a little while from there, they work in blatantly charged silence. It’s a very short while, all things considered, and she’s willing to clam up altogether and daydream about his digits for the duration of the lesson, but the tone of his next words nearly gives her whiplash.

“So what are you doing on this lovely Valentine’s day?” Harry breaks the silence, once again, his tone so even and nonchalant that Y/N can’t begin to fathom where his composure comes from.

The young woman clears her throat, “Oh. Y’know. Trying my hand at ceramics. The yuzh.”

Jade doesn’t immediately jolt up when he ponders aloud, “Dinner plans?”

“Not any on the calendar …that I’m aware of.”

His touch doesn’t lighten, but he does glance up, mouth all (apparently) disbelieving mirth, “You’re telling me you’re not being wined and dined tonight?”

Feigning offense, the young woman sets her mouth into a line and nudges with her chin in a nod, joking, “Thank you for the reminder.”

Harry laughs softly, one of those little breaths expelled through his nostrils, and he looks back down to the vase-in-progress, gentle grin undeniable. Y/N matches his amusement, faux indignation crackling.

“You’re too pretty not to have a Valentine,” the instructor tells her, then, decibel low, almost like it was meant to be under his breath but also entirely not, and all Y/N can do is sit there with instant heat seeping to her face. Because that’s flirting. That’s definitely flirting. Her sexy ceramics instructor is helping her craft a vase out of clay on a wheel with his sexy hands, and he’s openly flirting.

Y/N stuffs down how initially stunned she is to chew into her bottom lip and volley, “I bet you say that to every girl that comes in here.”

Harry shrugs. It’s still almost an enraging level of cucumber-cool and composed.

“Just the pretty ones.” He tacks on, after a moment, “And only on Valentine’s day. Don’t think that line would fit well on a random Wednesday.”

Y/N snorts. She’s still basking in the pleasant warmth of the flattery when the man peers up and tells her, “I do accept tips, by the way, so. Feel free to leave a tip for the friendly service.”

“I will—“ she snorts, restraining her open amusement at the way his brows crinkle in concentration as he helps her grip, “—definitely do that.”

“Sick,” his tongue peeks out to swipe over his lips, disappearing back into his mouth as quick as the pink had showcased. Jade flits up, the corners of his mouth curled up in a little pause of silence, almost he wants to make it crystal clear he does not actually want a tip for hitting on her.

Anyways, this is all a flustered mess. All of it. Y/N, the pot she’s sure will grow off-center and wobble under her shaky grip, all of it.

“What about you?” the young woman takes a deep breath, hoping some sort of breathing exercise will help slow the buzzy flutter of her heartbeat, “Any wining and dining? For Valentine’s day?”

“Not on the calendar,” Harry responds, sliding her own words back to her, his gaze still honed on the work ahead of them, now impressively morphed from a lumpy, shapeless ball into the beginnings of a vase, “As for how I’m spending my Valentine’s day, I did just show this one pretty girl how to shape and smooth. And now, …m’gonna show her how to shape some more.”

Y/N bats her lashes, and then she observes the work of his clay caked fingers, the way they curl and press over the vase in different points of the body, some motions widening the rim and some drawing it more narrow. He bids their tutorial a pause shortly after, explaining, “I’m gonna give you some creative freedom now. Figure out what shape you like.”

Despite the slight disappointment budding at the close of their conversation, for now, the daunting task of unsupervised throwing is what probably surfaces on her face, more. The instructor catches it when he rolls back in the stool and stands, ogling her for a moment, mirthy mouth caving up in a way that suggests she must look like a deer in headlights.

“It’s intimidating, but I believe in you. I’ll just be in the back for a sec, give me a shout if you need me.”

Y/N shifts her legs, pressing her thighs together when he adds, “Play around with it.”

All in all, they manage to end the wheel session with (Y/N thinks, impressively) only a couple of hiccups, both being opportunities presented with unsupervised sculpting. When she’d played around with it (his words) a little too much and had coaxed a priorly even shape into something lopsided and petrifying, it’d swung around on the wheel, each turn quickening its slow but sure collapse. She’d called out for the instructor with a frantic note to his name. Of course, both times, Harry had come out from the back and patiently squeezed over the clay, hands and forearms jolting and flexing deliciously as he’d encouraged it back into something centered (yet another opportunity to stare at slick clay glazing over his fingers all over again), reassuring her that it was normal to struggle, especially with her first time.

Y/N wonders if he’s constantly full of innuendos, or whether a ceramics studio is just innately an opportunity for double entendres.

She tries not to make it too obvious when she stands on wobbling legs, when she brushes past him and catches soft notes of his cologne, clean and musky. When he directs her to the bathroom where she rinses clay from her hands into one of those artsy, utility sinks. When she sits at one of the tables, waiting for him to bring the vase over to her, torched and ready for additions, when he gives her another colorless lump. She tries not to make it obvious when she ogles more of his arms, the peek of his nipples through the white, clay-stained fabric of his tee shamelessly. She fears it’s utterly obvious how affected he’s made her, though, when she blinks up at his face, when he shows her what the different little tools in the cup do for sculpting. Y/N doesn’t even look away from him at the introduction of the first tool. She thinks that’s the one that must cross-hatch, driving little lines into the clay.

“This is called slip,” Harry explains, dipping the tips of his index and middle fingers into the cup near the brushes with no hesitation. The consistency over his fingers, when he pulls them out, is like a wetter, creamier, sloppier variation of the same clay she’d worked with.

Christ.

“You put it over the lines you’ve carved to make more clay stick,” the instructor expands.

Y/N swallows when he smears the consistency coating his fingers onto the lines he’d drawn, his gaze bouncing from his touch to her face.

“Like, if you wanted to add a handle to a mug, you’d use this method. Or, alternatively,” the young woman focuses on the way the pads of the digits rub over the lines. They fade away. “It’s like an eraser. Careful with erasing, though. …Wet mess.”

The latter is tacked on as a reminder, and it wonderfully reminds her of the heat coiling in the pit of her tummy. Wonderfully. She swallows again.

“You can probably use that brush to apply the slip, though, if you don’t want to get your hands dirty again.”

Flowers. She sculpts flowers with a searing heat between her thighs, because his added little comment of, “I don’t mind,” as he glances to the slip still glazing his fingers, implying that he doesn’t mind to get his hands dirty, does that to her. Y/N sculpts flowers and they settle into a comfortable sort of silence. It’s one where the only sounds are the soft music playing over the speakers and the occasional noise of pages turning from behind the counter as he leans over it and works through some kind of paperwork. She draws lines into the vase, and brushes on the slip, and presses creased flowers to decorate the bulbous body, concentration etching her features.

She doesn’t notice when she goes over the hours of operation, and Harry doesn’t disturb her, doesn’t tell her that the shop’s been closed for nearly half an hour by the time she peers up and declares, “I’m done.”

“You’re done,” the man repeats and sets the paperwork down, making his way over to the table where she’d set up, “Let’s have a look.”

Y/N sits back admiring her artistry. All things considered, it’s sort of an ugly vase. Despite this, a sense of accomplishment buds in her chest as she stares at her creation.

“I like it,” Harry tells her, nodding like he’s proud of a promising protégé, “It’s quite sweet.”

“Thank you. What now?”

“Now—“ the instructor props one hand onto the countertop and the other against his hip, “You wash your hands, you take a picture, and you come back in three weeks to sand it and glaze it.”

Simple. It’s a simple set of instructions. Y/N brushes crackling, dried clay off of her fingertips against the cloth laid over the table, instinctively reaching for her purse.

She blinks up at him expectantly, “How much?”

Dimples wink awake with his soft simper, and he shifts his stance before he asserts, “Don’t worry about it.”

The young woman’s features shape into something crinkled, something bemused and unwilling of a discount. She shakes her head and glances back down to the tote, “No, I have to pay you. What about your tip?”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest, pecs flexing with the motion. Flexing, flexing, flexing, when will his muscles stop rippling? He sighs, cushiony mouth still smiling, “I think I’ll live. My tip was that I’ve helped you discover a hidden talent—“

Y/N snorts, eyeing the sloppy attachments to the shapely base, fingers still tucked over her wallet.

“—It’d defeat the satisfaction and all the pride I’ve got now,” the man declares, shrugging.

The unconvinced look she gives him coaxes him into a good-natured roll of his eyes, and Harry tuts before he compromises, raising his eyebrows, “But if you must tip me, you can tip me when you come back in three weeks, yeah?”

Begrudged, the young woman takes her hand from the edges of her wallet. “Fine. Okay.”

“Okay. Three weeks,” the man reminds her, a little smile playing over the plush of his mouth.

The world of ceramics is oddly pornographic, Y/N decides. But maybe clay isn’t innately erotic. Maybe it’s the way the man’s fingertips mold its shape, the way his digits look soaked in slip, the way his hands cradle over it as a wheel spins under his ducked stature. Maybe it’s the way his jade irises flit to her face when he makes an educational comment that’s obviously suggestive, Maybe it doesn’t have to do with clay, at all. Maybe it’s Harry.

Maybe it’s the way he tells her, “If I were you, I wouldn’t miss it. Glazing is my favorite part.”

#harry styles #harry styles smut #(ish)? there’s a lot of innuendos in this one #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles one shots #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles valentine’s day fic #valentine’s day fic

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sorbetisfruity · 2 months

Text

Guys Guys GUYSSS I have oh, Oh so many Thoughts right now.

Imagine:

Kiss the Girl scene with MC and TWST’s version of Ariel.

Rielle (his fan-given name) goes to Azul, saying he wants to become a human forever to stay with a human he’s fallen in love with!!

And who’s Azul to deny him?

He quickly finds out that the human he’s fallen for is NRA’s one and only magicless hero.

You!!

And, of course, Azuls not one to make a contract without getting something in return.

Especially when Rielle’s into the human he’s got a teeny tiny HUGEEEE crush on.

Soo, he makes him a deal.

If he can kiss MC within 3 days by sundown, he becomes human forever, and gets to keep his voice.

And if he can’t?

Azul keeps his voice, and him, forever.

Rielle makes the deal without thinking, throwing a scale he ripped off into the pot, allowing Azul to take his voice.

Azul sends him away after the transaction is complete, handing a shell-shaped locket to Jade and Floyd, who were giggling, knowing how this would go.

After hearing the very stupid deal Rielle made, his friends quickly came up with a plan.

You two would have a romantic boat ride, and kiss there!!

It was full proof-it HAD to be!

After all, nearly two days have already passed. They have no choice now.

What none of them accounted for was you-unintentionally-knowing everything.

———————————————————————

“Rielle? Where are ya takin me?” You laughed as he pulled you along, not saying a word to you.

It seems as if he was giving you the silent treatment these past few days, not saying a single word.

It struck you as weird, if you were honest. Rielle was always a chatterbox, constantly talking about things he’d find on the ocean floor and his adventures under water.

However, after talking to his friends, Flounder and Neige, you found out he had a big performance soon and was on vocal rest.

You didn’t believe them at first, as they stuttered nervously throughout their entire explanation. But you knew at least Neige would never lie to you.

Right?

The whole situation reminded you of the original Little Mermaid, with his lost voice and all. He hadn’t even went into the ocean lately, which he tends to do after school.

It all brought a feeling of unease upon you.

Though, you knew Rielle wasn’t in love with anybody, let alone you.

There was no way he made a deal with Azul…right?

Rielle looked back at you, a playful smile on his lips as he brought a finger up, silently shushing you.

You rolled your eyes as you giggled, continuing to let yourself be dragged around by him.

Once you two reached your destination, he pulled back a curtain of long, glowing vines, revealing a small wooden boat.

Your mouth dropped, immediately feeling your stomach start to swarm with butterflies.

Either you were going crazy, or this is playing out exactly as it did in the movie.

The missing voice, the way he’s been weirdly close to you these past two days, not going into the ocean…and now this!?!

You’re going to kick Azuls ass.

Rielle snapped you out of your trance, giving you a worried look.

“Ah, sorry! Don’t worry, I’m fine.” You nervously laughed it off, chewing on your bottom lip.

Rielle got into the boat first, testing the durability of it. Once he felt that it was fine, he reached his hand out to you softly, looking at you with eyes filled with something you couldn’t pinpoint.

You blushed as you took his hand, allowing him to yank you into his hard chest.

He held you there for a moment. His other arm around your waist as he held your hand close to his heart.

You didn’t dare look up. You wouldn’t allow yourself to.

You gently pushed yourself away from his chest, clearing your throat.

“So..you took me out here in the middle of the night to take a boat ride, huh?” You smiled, giggling a bit.

He grabbed your hands once again, making you look up at him.

You regretted it almost immediately.

He looked undeniably gorgeous under the soft yellow lights of the fire flies around you. A dark red covered his cheeks, and even his ears! The color rivaled his hair. His mouth was slightly agape as he stared down at you, seemingly speechless.

He nodded quickly, letting go of you and pushing the boat off before you had time to sit, making you fall back.

“Damn, a warning would’ve been nice..” you said lightheartedly, rubbing your sore back as you looked down at the water.

Your eyes widened as you looked down, swearing you saw a green tail quickly swim past…

You felt Rielle grab your hands with his own, clearly looking apologetic.

“I’m fine, don’t worry!! I was joshin, don’t sweat it Rielle..” you reassured, feeling something bump the boat.

‘Shit…that’s gotta be Jade and Floyd!!’ you thought, biting your bottom lip again.

You looked at Rielle, seeing how his gaze was fixated on your lips. Your face flushed, suddenly feeling hot as you shuffled in your spot.

“Rielle, listen…” you trailed off, watching him snap up and meet your eyes.

“I know what’s happening to you. I know you’re cursed, and I know you have to…kiss me..to break it. I know everything, Rielle.”

You felt another bump under the boat, this one more aggressive than the last.

Rielle looked upset, distraught, concerned..he gripped your hands tighter as his mouth moved, but no sounds came out.

“It’s okay!!! It’s okay. I’m gonna get your voice back, don’t worry Rielle. But first…”

You practically ripped your hands away from his, standing on the boat as you struggled to find your balance.

“I’ve gotta grab something.”

You eyed one of the green, slippery tails that has been bumping into the boat, before grabbing onto it with a tight, firm grip, yanking up one of the tweels onto the boat.

“Shrimpy?” “Floyd! What the fuck?!”

“If you don’t go and get my friends voice back right now, so help me god I will-“

“Calmmmm dooooown Shrimpy! If you want this little mermaids-well, used to be little mermaids-voice back, you’re gonna have to kiss him!! Ooorrrrr, go hunt down Azul.”

“And we are not going to let that first option happen.” Jade chimed in, leaning against the boat now.

“Okay, first of all, I’m gonna hunt down Azul either way. I thought he was better than this but apparently he’s not-and YOU TWO aren’t either.”

“And you!” You turned to Rielle, “you sacrificed your mermaid powers for me?? WHY?! You can turn into a human anyways! There was no need to sacrifice that for me! I’m not worth sacrificing shit like THAT for! Let alone anything!!” You stressed, tears starting to form at the corners of your eyes.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, turning back to Jade and Floyd.

“Take me to Azul. Now. I’m gonna have a little..talk with his octopus ass.”

“Rielle, go back to RSA. I’ll come for you in the morning and let you know what happened, okay? Stay safe. Don’t make anymore stupid deals.” You leaned down to his height, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek before getting yanked away by Floyd.

“Awwww come onnnn Shrimpy!~ Do we get kisses nowwww?” Floyd whined, squeezing you tightly.

“No, you guys aren’t getting anything from me until Rielle gets his voice back. Now let’s go.” You spoke sternly, wiggling yourself out of his slimy embrace.

“Of course, come on, let’s head back to NRA.” Jade chimed in, turning back into his human form as Floyd did the same, knowing you couldn’t breathe under water like they can.

You gave one last look at Rielle, a look full of determination, before walking off with the twins, sighing as Floyd began to talk your ear off.

———————————————————————

Part two Mayhaps?

This scenario has been playing in my mind since the live action Little Mermaid came out btw, I just hadn’t decided to write it out until nowwwww!!

I doooo have a pretty sick idea for a part two where MC (aka YOUUUU) gets Rielles voice back, but I’d love to know if you guys would like a part two just in case!

Byeeeeee guyssss >:0)

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst imagines #twst x reader #disney twst #fluff #twisted wonderland angst #twst angst #azul ashengrotto x reader #twst azul #tweels #floyd leech #jade leech #jade x reader #floyd x reader #twst rielle #rielle x reader #neige leblanche

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stars-for-circe · 3 months

Text

Dead Men Tell No Tales

Tags / cw: Pirate Age (1650 - 1730s), fluff, Pirate!Abby, Mermaid!reader, slight somno (reader kisses an unconscious Abby), mentions of drowning, piracy, strangers to lovers

Taglist: @ourautumn86 @peanutbutterandjayjay @happysparklingshadows @irelandzo @iamaboringrattat @genderfluidlesbain999 @slut4mascss @rxreaqia @kylorey25 @massivepeacefemme @elliewilliamsfavborderhopper @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @ratdungeon @elxarw @mariasabanahabanabana @vvynia @r3starttt

Walking the plank was something Abby knew well, having seen it every few moons. After all, piracy always came with disloyalty - the promises of gold and rum being too tempting not to betray your crew for. But walking the plank herself? That, she was not prepared for.

Hands tied behind her back and a gag in her mouth left only a deathly glare for Abby to give to the men behind her. The men, her crew, behind her. And at least they had the fucking decency to look shameful.

“Captain, why the long face?”

…except for one.

She should have never let that fucker on her ship. Right from the beginning, he was suspicious. It was weird enough that he had managed to sneak onto her ship at the last port, and even weirder that he seemingly had no motive. Abby should have known that his promises of a map in return for safety were empty. That his objective was her fucking ship, not the treasure her crew had sought after. Another boot pushing into Abby’s back made her groan out a muffled swear, the end of the plank now dangerously close.

“Any last words? Advice maybe, for your loyal crew.” A smug snicker broke the silence afterwards. And then an exaggerated sound of realisation as he gestured with his sword to her gagged mouth.

“You must pardon my ignorance captain, I must have forgotten!”

Suddenly, a harsh kick to the base of her spine left Abby screaming in pain as she fell over the edge of the plank. The wind howling in her ears as she scrunched her eyes shut and braced for the ice cold impact of the storming ocean. But the last thing Abby heard was instead his taunting voice that followed her into the depths of the sea.

“Dead men tell no tales.”

A haunting cackle left his mouth as Abby plunged into the vicious swell. The current overpowered her easily, each wave more fierce that the last, throwing her around like a mangled toy. She could no longer tell which was up or down, but the feeling of being pulled down lower and lower gave Abby a sinking feeling that it wasn’t her ship she was heading towards.

Thrashing hard against her binds, she regained her bearings and tried desperately to kick up to the surface, the water surrounding her no longer disturbed by the storm, but instead of Abby’s panicked movements. But it was futile, Abby realised, as she saw that what was once a dark ocean around her was now her own life flashing past. How cliche, she thought.

And it had been a long time since Abby had last dreamt like this - as if death had allowed her one final moment of reminiscing before she was met with its cold embrace. She saw herself as a young girl begging her father to let her sail, dreaming of conquering the seven seas, fighting pirates, finding the most enchanting merpeople along the coasts. Like waves rolling over each other, the played over again and again, each time becoming more blurry than the last.

And when it finally ceased, Abby spent her last breath on a silent vow on revenge. As the ocean pulled her down from the violent waves into its abyssal depths, she swore it. No matter how many lifetimes it took, she would come back and fucking kill him.

Human lips were so enchanting. Unlike yours, Abby’s were pinker, and chapped - most likely due to the fact she didn’t live underwater like you. Heavens, it wasn’t just her lips. Her entire self had you absolutely entrapped with her beauty. Her structured face (that, for some reason, still displayed a frown and furrowed brows, even in her unconscious state), her long hair that was splayed around her head, and her body.

God, her body. You couldn’t help your wandering eyes after you had pulled her ashore from trailing down lower and lower. Her drenched shirt, slightly transparent and clinging to herself, proved as the perfect window for you to see her well built arms and…..other areas, too.

Fuck, you shouldn’t be getting distracted at a time like this. Your family would already be beside themselves with you interacting with a human, fancying one would probably get you exiled. But you really couldn’t help it.

When you had saved Abby last night, it was purely by chance. You were trying to swim down to the ocean floor to stay safe from the stormy surface, and you should have done so. But on your way down you had felt a large splash ripple through the water, and then you saw her. Illuminated by striker of lightning, she was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. And you tried to keep your distance at first. After all, her feet weren’t bound together so she could have swam up herself. But when you noticed her go limp, you couldn’t stop yourself from helping her.

And it wasn’t like you’d be caught, she was fucking unconscious. So you grabbed Abby as fast as you can and pulled her to the surface, and eventually, to the shoreline. You knew this island had people somewhere, so it would only be a matter of time before someone found her - she was safe here, and you could leave her, right? No, but what if she didn’t wake up? What if no one found her in time? What if they tried to hurt her?? Maybe it was best if you stayed until she woke up.

And now here you were, on the beach of a strange island, making fucking heart eyes at a human of all things. A human with the prettiest face you’d ever seen, though. A human, who was still bound and gagged, you realised (no, you weren’t making another excuse to touch her, she really needed your help this time). Tentatively, you reached out and carefully rolled her over. Which was fucking hard considering you could only use your core strength, but you managed to untie her hands and lay her back on her back.

Slowly, you trailed your eyes back up from Abby’s arms to her face, capturing and memorising each and every part of her as your hands followed in suit. And gently, you cradled her head up to undo the binds around her mouth, before placing her back down as they fell apart beneath her.

To anyone else, the angry red marks rubbed raw against her cheeks, agitated and sore from the ropes, would be a disgusting sight. Yet you found her, still, an absolutely breathtakingly beautiful sight. The way it traced her cheekbones, stopping at the edges of her mouth, where pink lips met the marks and met at a soft Cupid’s bow. God, were you being punished for something?

The one person, you couldn’t have, a human, just had to have the most kissable lips out of everyone you had ever met, and it was forbidden. Not only that, she wasn’t even fucking awake, either!

…she wasn’t awake.

She would never know.

No one would, you thought as you stared curiously down at Abby. One moment of self indulgence to end the hours of suffering and pining, that’s all it would be. No one would know, not Abby, and least of all your family. And if anything, it could be considered a ‘thankyou’ for not letting Abby drown in the first place.

You glanced up to the sky, almost daring your ancestors to stop you, before looking back down at Abby. Tentatively, you traced the back of your hand against the side of her face before cupping it into your palm. And with the other, you gently moved the hair splayed around her forehead as you took a long glance to her face. Fuck, you were in over your head. After a deep breath in, you felt yourself moving closer as you closed your eyes, and finally, you sighed as your lips met with hers.

They were cooler to the touch than expected, you thought. But that was probably because the poor girl had just taken an involuntary swim in the ocean. She tasted almost salty, you realised, as you deepened the kiss, how softly moving them against hers. With your eyes closed, all your senses zeroed in on kissing Abby, the roaring waves and screeching seagulls simply turning into static noise. All you focused on was kissing her properly before you would never see her again.

So maybe that was why you could almost feel her moving her lips against yours, returning your kisses with a soft fervour that was so delicate you could have imagined it. A soft hum escaped your mouth as you traced your tongue against her lips, lost in her taste, her touch, her. And it was only when you felt a hand softly tracing up your spine that you realised you weren’t imagining it, that Abby was really kissing you back.

Almost as fast as it had started, you bolted up away from her mouth, a panicked gasp leaving your own. Your eyes darted around her face for signs that she was fully awake, and when you noticed her relaxed state, you let out a sigh of relief. While she may have been conscious enough to kiss you back, Abby was still too out of it to notice where the fuck she was (and why a mermaid was making out with her).

Thankfully, you had time. A very short amount, you realised, as you noticed Abby coming to much faster than before, but time to hide nonetheless. Reluctantly, you took your hands away from her face and moved her hand off your back, before glancing behind you to look for an escape route. And luckily, there was one. As you dragged yourself to the rock pools, you shot Abby one last, longing glance before turning back around and diving into the shallow water from a rock platform. Praying that you were fast enough, you whispered a goodbye to Abby before swimming away to your family, who were surely worried about your whereabouts by now.

And you were. Fast enough, that is. In fact, you were so swift with your departure that you had failed to stay around long enough and see Abby open her bleary eyes and take in her surroundings. But maybe that was a good thing considering how you would have gotten lost in their grey-blue beauty. And maybe you were lucky that Abby didn’t see you go, because the best explanation she could come up with as to how the fuck she didn’t die was simply that the tide had brought her to shore, somehow.

But, for some reason, Abby could not shake the feeling that she had been helped, and she could not shake the dream she had before waking up of someone before her, untying her ropes and caressing her face. She could not shake the feeling of scales morphing into soft skin against her hand as the moving it up higher and higher. And for some fucking reason, Abby could not, for the life of her, shake the feeling against her lips. Like they were kiss-bitten and tingling, and warmer than they should have been considering how cold the rest of her was.

Maybe, if Abby had focused on her surroundings more than her recollection, she would have noticed the obvious trail in the sand leading to the rock pools on her right. And noticed that strangely large tail peeking through the now settling swell in the distance - much to large to be a fish, but too colourful to be a dolphin’s, either. But no, all Abby could really focus on was how for some reason, that stupidly warm, soft feeling on her lips felt nice. Pleasurable, even. But also, how the fuck she was getting off this island.

#tlou2 #abby anderson #the last of us #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #the last of us 2 #abby anderson the last of us 2 #abby anderson tlou2 #wlw #sapphic #bisexual #lesbian

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fangswbenefits · 5 months

Text

The Arrangement (6) - Broken

Chapter summary: A long overdue conversation is finally had and things take a turn....

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Mentions of past trauma.

Word count: 5.7k

Series Masterlist . Ao3

If you could have it your way, you'd immediately cast Mage Hand and shove Ava through the deepest pits of the Underdark, all the way down to Grymforge and until she was faced with molten lava rivers coursing below her.

Whether you'd drop her or not would entirely depend on a set of answers you intended on squeezing out of her – quite literally, if possible.

You crossed your arms, watching as the woman dressed in a burgundy red dress made her way inside, holding that nauseating and overly sweet smile of hers.

She came bearing a satchel, which she handed to Astarion as soon as she stood before him.

“Are you well?” she asked, holding his free hand momentarily.

He gave her a dramatic sigh. “Within reason. It's hardly an ideal scenario, but I'll manage.”

She rubbed her thumb across the back of his hand, nodding with supposed concern on her face.

Something about the way she looked at him made you want to gauge your eyes out.

Ugh…

It took an inhuman amount of mental fortitude and no less amount of restraint to keep yourself from scoffing.

Gale gave you an inquisitive side-glance, but remained silent.

“Who's this? Your playmate?”

Ah.

Lae'zel's bluntness could render many speechless and rabid at worst or slightly taken aback at best.

It seemed that Ava fell under an unexpected third category: sheer amusement.

But it was Astarion who spoke for her, “Ever so direct, Lae'zel." He let out a dramatic laugh. "Charming as always."

"I do not care for such frivolities."

His face dropped with an eye-roll. "It was a joke."

"You're the only one laughing."

You had to hold back a chuckle.

Astarion merely glared at her.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “So, who is she? Your hairdresser?”

“This is Lae'zel – a githyanki extraordinaire. Fierce in battle with her sword and off the field with her words, as you can tell.”

Ava extended an arm out to her, earning a scoff from Lae'zel who refused to return the courtesy.

You beamed in joy at her antics.

Astarion moved to your side and Ava immediately spoke up before he could, “Oh, we've already met.”

“Ah, yes. At The Blushing Mermaid?” he said, tapping his chin.

“More than once.”

You scowled. “A single encounter would have been one too many.”

He glared at you, squinting his eyes inquisitively.

“Feisty . I like you already.” she said with a pout.

You considered hexing her right there and then.

Just like with Lae'zel, she extended a hand out to you.

You crossed your arms instead, earning a narrowed glare from Astarion.

Ava's overly sweet smile only widened.

Astarion then waved dismissively at the only person in the room he had yet to introduce.

“Oh - and that is Gale.”

Unlike you and Lae'zel, he moved to take one of Ava's hand in his own before planting a kiss on the back. “Gale of Waterdeep. What a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, madam."

Gale!

The betrayal had you shooting invisible daggers at him through your eyes.

Ava brought a hand to her chest. “What a gentleman.”

Your patience now spent, you moved towards her. “Where did you go after I ran into you at The Blushing Mermaid?”

Ava turned to face you. “A rather intrusive question, dear.”

“Answer it.”

Astarion was scowling already.

“No. I don't think I will.”

You felt the familiar tingles of fire magic spread along the palm of your hand.

“Where were you when we got arrested, then?”

Gale seemed utterly confused and Lae'zel's face twisted in amusement.

Ava's smile didn't waver once. “She's adorable, Astarion.”

“You little-”

Astarion was already on you before you could lunge forward, rooting you in place.

“Would you excuse us for a moment?” he swiftly interjected, effectively silencing you.

Before you could voice out a protest, you felt him tug at your hand until you were pacing in front of him before bringing both hands to grip your shoulders and prevent you from deterring off the intended path.

“Hey!” you huffed in annoyance.

“Do make yourself at home, darling,” you heard his sweet voice behind you.

“I shall.” Ava chirped.

Your temper exploded from their exchange.

“Actually - don't!” You shouted over your shoulder only to earn a warning squeeze from him.

Astarion pushed you rapidly along the corridor until you were being guided into your own room, door slamming closed behind you.

You immediately jerked away from his grip, turning back around with an indignant growl.

“What in the Nine Hells has gotten into you?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Oh, you were so ready to blow up.

“Me? What is she doing here?”

He quirked an eyebrow at you, crossing his arms. “Is this another one of your jealousy tantrums?”

You gasped at his nerve, outrage nearly blinding you for a split second.

“What – no! I am not jealous! I just dislike her!”

He nodded. “Stating the obvious, but why?”

You groaned in exasperation. “Why what? ”

“Why do you dislike her this much? Surely there must be a solid reason – other than jealousy, that is.”

Insufferable and impossible man!

For a moment, you pondered your answer, not wanting your disdain for her to come across as unwarranted.

But you failed.

Miserably.

“She's… icky! There is something really off about her,” you said, sounding far too exasperated to your liking. “I think she…”

You paused briefly, and Astarion furrowed his brows, waiting for you to go on.

Well.

Maybe you should just voice out your suspicions.

“I think she had something to do with us getting arrested - or that man dying. Maybe both.”

He glared at you in silence for a few seconds before bursting into laughter.

“Oh, aren't you just cute?” He said with a click of his tongue. “Ava would gain nothing from such an ordeal.”

You were fuming at his antics, but tried to rein in your temper. “What does that mean?”

“You'll just have to trust me on this.”

What?

“Are you being serious?”

He tilted his head. “I fail to see how my private affairs are of your concern.”

You placed both hands on your hips, glaring at him with perplexity. “You brought her to my home, so it starts being my concern.”

“Please – as if I want to be here in the first place.”

“Then leave.” You immediately suggested, pointing to the door.

He scoffed with a grimace. “Alright. I will.”

“Great.”

“Wonderful.”

He turned to leave, but suddenly halted as he glanced at the covered window to his right.

You crossed your arms, raising your brows. “Well?”

He twirled on his feet, giving you an artificial smile. “Could it perhaps wait until nightfall, darling? I'm afraid ‘burning to ashes under the midday sun’ isn't quite an invigourating activity to indulge in.”

Your shoulders slumped as he disarmed you with his words.

A wave of sickening guilt took hold of you.

Shit.

What a ridiculous thing to have suggested to him, and even more ridiculous that you two just couldn't seem to be on the same page for more than a few hours at a time.

“I'm sorry.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Think nothing of it.”

“I'm really not jealous,” you said with a sigh.

It was true.

For the most part.

“I just worry.”

His features softened and the room plunged into silence.

Astarion eventually broke it with a sigh. “She used to be a monster hunter.”

You arched an eyebrow in disbelief. “A monster hunter?”

He nodded.

You had seen your fair share of monster hunters throughout your travels, and if there was one thing you knew for certain was that Ava did not look the part at all.

“And you trusted her word?”

He snorted. “Kind of hard not to with a stake pressed to my chest.”

Your eyes widened in horror. “She did what?!”

“Do calm down. I was just as skeptical when I first met her, so I foolishly asked for proof,” he said with a shrug. “Let's just say my doubts were put to rest.”

Your mouth dropped open in sheer perplexity.

So Astarion had been meddling with someone who hunted his kind for a living.

This was a whole new level of… derangement. Even coming from him.

You found your voice once again. “And you trusted after that?”

“Yes.”

You blinked. “She hunts… vampires!”

“You never listen to me properly, do you? I said she ‘used’ to be one. She practices Alchemy now.”

A lump rose in your throat. “So…. you and her…”

“Let's just say that we found a sweet spot in between and we each provide something useful to the other.”

You gave him a level look. “An arrangement?”

“I suppose you could call it that.”

Another one? Was Astarion hoarding these? First you and now… her?

And what could she possibly provide him?

And then it was as if your body was engulfed in ice shards.

Wait…

“So… what are the terms?”

Did you even want to know?

He seemed to be wondering whether or not to reply, but eventually spoke, “Well, she helps me feel more at ease in terms of being close to others... intimately.”

Your heart sunk into the deepest pits of your core.

“What?”

Now he looked rather impatient, rolling his eyes. “Do not jump to conclusions. She offered a helping hand once she realised how I... severe this was."

Oh.

“When you walked in on us the other night with her naked by my side… nothing had happened.”

You remembered him telling you this.

“Nothing ever does,” he continued, his words sounding slightly bitter. “So I take comfort in her naked form, but only so that my body can get used to it. Nothing more and nothing less.

A pang of discomfort ran through you and you suddenly felt like an idiot.

The rage you felt towards her dwindled rapidly as you understood the true nature of their arrangement.

Ava was merely helping him out with his intimacy.

“Oh.”

“I suppose ‘oh’ covers it.” he said nonchalantly.

“And what does she get in return?”

He shrugged. “My blood.”

What?!

He had to be joking.

You felt the scalding flames of rage for Ava take over your entire body all at once.

Your jaw dropped and you were at a loss for words.

“You – idiot! ” you growled in a fit of pure outrage, smacking his arm. “A blood merchant?! ”

He was scowling so deeply the lines on his face sank tenfold. “Do you think of me as a child?” he spat, suddenly towering over you. “I treaded this world long before you were even thought into existence.”

“Oh – please do tell me more, you ancient… tree! ” you blurted out, nearly wincing at the weak insult you had just hurled at him.

He snorted. “Your flattery needs working as usual.”

You ignored his taunt. “A blood merchant? Seriously? ”

“She is not one!”

“Then what does she want with your blood?”

“She is doing some research. That is all you need to know,” he ground out between gritted teeth.

Before you could retort, a soft knock on the door was heard.

“Astarion? Ava is leaving,” Gale spoke.

He threw one final scowl at you before heading out.

“Judging from the murderous look on your face, I imagine the conversation wasn't all that pleasant, my friend.”

You clenched your fists tight, brushing past Gale to follow Astarion.

By the time you reached the ample room, you were met with Ava giving his shoulder a tight squeeze.

She gave you a final glare, that sickening smile of hers still dancing on her lips. “I'll be seeing you soon.”

Then she turned to leave as Astarion exchanged a tense look with you.

You felt a gentle hand on your arm and flinched.

Shadowheart.

“If it's of any comfort to you, I am also suspicious of her aura,” she said with a grimace. “Although I can't say I'm surprised he would surround himself with such company.”

Heaving a deep sigh, you sank on the nearby cushioned chair.

She lowered herself at your side, offering you an all-black vial.

You raised a brow. “What is this?”

As you had come to expect from Shadowheart, she gave you the warmest of smiles. “Lavander extract mixed in with some herbs. It is said to keep the worst terrors of the night at bay,” she said, giving your forearm a gentle squeeze. “The apothecary did mention it is only a temporary fix. You must address the root cause of these dreams, friend.”

Your eyes immediately landed on Astarion who was busy emptying the contents of the satchel Ava had brought him.

Shadowheart followed your line of sight and gave you a knowing nod. “The two of you speak but neither listens, and I care too much for you to watch your light dim for him.”

You swallowed hard.

She was right.

Of course she was.

You took the tiny vial in your hand. “Thank you, my friend.”

She nodded curtly. “I shall keep an eye on him lest he does something foolish to you.”

And you knew she meant every single word.

How many times had you counted to twenty? You'd lost track of it already.

Maybe increasing it to thirty and repeating it many more times over would help you muster the courage to do this.

You kept on rasping your knuckles softly against the door to his room, but not soundly enough to provoke a knock.

It was becoming unbearable.

You felt as if something was constantly gnawing and clawing at you from the inside out.

“I can hear you breathing, you know.”

His voice startled you, your heart skipping a beat.

Taking a deep breath for added courage, you gripped and turned the doorknob, swiftly pushing the door open.

There he was.

Sitting by the windowsill, bathed in moonlight as he flipped through a book that lay pressed against his thigh.

He looked positively… ethereal.

The candles scattered across the room, made it feel more homely and inviting.

“Sneaking up on a rogue? My, my… feeling bold tonight, are we?”

Your heart faltered momentarily.

He didn't lift his head to meet you, and you were thankful for this.

You were having a hard time keeping yourself together. Beads of sweat pooled in the palms of your hands and you tried your best to keep your breathing as even as possible.

But this needed to happen.

And depending on the direction of this conversation, you might just leave his room feeling even more heartbroken than before.

“We need to talk.”

That caught his attention, and his crimson eyes met yours.

He arched an elegant brow, pressing the book shut. “Go on.”

Suddenly, you felt cold.

No… freezing .

As if the weight of his stare steadily drained the warmth from your body, even with your robe tightly wrapped around you.

You mustered all the willpower you possibly could.

“Why her?”

A crow's foot of amusement appeared by his left eye. “You'll have to be more specific, darling.”

You heaved a deep sigh of frustration, considering the idea of simply walking away.

Why was this so hard?

But a small sliver of determination kept your focus. “This arrangement you have with her… I…” You paused for a moment, struggling to find the right wording to this. “I just want to know why her.”

Why not me?

Astarion shifted to stand gracefully on his feet, leaving the book on the padded chair.

“Why not?”

Answering questions with more questions was a sure way to frustrate you, but he excelled at this dance.

“Please answer me…”

He took a few steps in your direction, his eyes studying your face as if trying to strip you bare.

“Because it's easier.”

“Than what?”

He didn't answer.

You waited for him to go on, but were far too impatient to hold back.

So, you tried again.“Is she the reason why you're so distant from me, then?”

He tilted his head. “And how did you arrive at that conclusion, I wonder?”

Another question for a question.

“You've been distant from me for a while now,” you said, trying to rub the sweat away from your hands. “And I can't help but think she's the reason why.”

He straightened ever so slightly before closing the distance between you two.

“What I have with her is merely transactional.”

Ah. Well…

You did know all too well of transactions with Astarion…

After all, you had been pushed into one from the moment you had gotten together with him at the Tiefling celebration, even if unbeknownst to you.

“Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you'd never turn on me…”

His words of confession still echoed through your mind from time to time.

“Like what we have now?”

“It is nothing of the sort." he immediately said.

For better or worse?

“How so?”

His proximity had you suck in a sharp breath. “She's not you.”

A cold chill ran through your body.

“That is what you want to know, isn't it? Why I never asked that of you.”

Astarion could be too perceptive for your own good. It was as if he could easily read you like an open book.

You slowly nodded.

“Because you're – well… you're you ,” he said,his face softening. “And as selfish as I am, I could never burden you with this. Not you.”

His words carved into your chest like the sharpest daggers.

Even after all this time, he still regarded himself as a burden to others. That what he had been through had tainted him beyond repair.

But…

“Is that why you push me away?”

He was too close now.

Close enough to throw you off balance with his imposing demeanour.

“How can I not?”

That stung.

Hard.

“Have you any idea how much I envy those who have never met you?”

Your heart dropped.

And then dread took over.

“Or how I envy those who have yet to meet you?”

This had been exactly what you had feared coming into his room.

The confirmation that he was ready to move from you.

That all that was left of your bond with him was this arrangement and the empty shell of what used to be something that resembled a friendship.

Even after he had comforted you last night.

How much of that was truly genuine?

“Do you want to know why?” he asked.

Did you?

“... why?”

Then you felt his icy fingers on your cheek, jolting from the sudden shift in temperature. “Because they get to know you for the first time. They get to experience all of you,” he went on, brushing his thumb across your skin. “In another lifetime, we would have met without the manipulation and hurt and pain.”

You froze in place and your mind went blank.

“You would have met my unbroken self, and I would have adored you unconditionally, because how could I not when everything about you is so easy to love?”

Somehow, this made everything even worse.

Your stomach twisted in knots and you were left utterly speechless.

You had promised yourself not to shed more tears for him, but it was proving to be a challenge as his words seeped into your core like poison.

It was the painful realisation of what could have been.

“And even through all the deception and lies, you could never bring yourself to loathe me. Even when it was decidedly the wisest thing for you to do,” he said, voice steady and calm. “You never loathed me. Not then and not now – maybe not ever .”

Your lips quivered as he spoke every word of truth.

You then swallowed the thick lump in your throat and met his gaze. “You're not broken.”

But it was evident he didn't believe your words.

“And it is not fair that you get to make my decisions for me,” you said, pulling his hand away from your face. “You could have told me all of this, Astarion. We used to have sincere conversations before. What changed?”

He looked away, and you could feel the vulnerability creep into his features.

“Everything.”

You placed a hand to the side of his face, wanting him to meet your gaze once again.

He resisted at first, but eventually succumbed, soft eyes meeting yours.

“Do you regret not going through with the ritual?”

He winced under your touch as if you'd just burnt him.

“A few days ago… that conversation in the cell…”

Astarion didn't look willing to pursue this matter at all.

You inwardly cursed at yourself.

Fuck… you've pushed it.

“Do I wonder what it would be like? Yes – can you blame me for it? To live again without being reduced to a vampire spawn? To tread the lands freely and with so much power that no one would dare cross me?” He paused abruptly as if snapping out of a dream, eyes narrowing at you. “This Wish spell nonsense is dragging, and I feel my chances are slimming with each passing day. We take one step forward and two steps back.”

You felt for him. You truly did.

It seemed that the odds were ever against you, but you also had faith in Gale and your own abilities.

“We'll figure it out. I promise.”

He scoffed. “Do not make promises you can't keep.”

His face looked sour and it pained you.

“You're still the same man I…” fell for…

But you let the final words die in your mouth, not wanting to take it too far.

He stared expectantly at you and, in that moment, you were sure that feeling had never truly left.

You were still foolishly in love with him.

And the confirmation that it could be perhaps reciprocal to an extent was tugging at the frayed ends of your sanity.

“You could have anyone you desire,” he said, with a slight hint of pity in his voice. “From artisans to noblemen – they would all crawl for you.”

It was tempting to accept his praise, but it frustrated you that it felt like he was merely deflecting.

And the trace of pity truly gnawed at your nerves. Why did he pity you? For still having feelings for him?

You snorted. “Well, they're not you.”

Hurling his own words at him had him pressing his lips together.

“I don't know if I can give you anything real. I simply don't know how…”

You caressed his cool cheek. “We can start by rebuilding our friendship.”

He leaned into your touch. “I rather like the sound of that.”

You offered him a reassuring smile.

To be honest, you were more than perfectly fine with that prospect.

Even if a part of you craved more than a friendship, you were also aware that some wounds took longer to heal.

His wounds.

Your wounds.

And the ones you shared together.

So long as he didn't push you away with no solid reason, you would be fine.

And so would he.

Then you came to the conclusion that…

He didn't need her.

He didn't need Ava at all.

You were there for him.

There was no need for him to meddle with strangers when he had you as a friend.

“You don't need her.”

His eyes widened slightly. “What do you mean?”

“You don't have to resort to her for intimacy,” you said carefully, waiting for his approval. “I can help, if you so wish, of course.”

Much to your dismay, he scowled rather deeply.

“I have already stolen too much from you.”

You shook your head, gripping the lace near your collarbone, tugging gently. “You cannot steal that which is freely given.”

And you meant every word.

You then gripped the string of your robe. “May I remove this?”

He silently nodded.

As you undid it, the silk fabric began to slide down your arms, leaving you to stand only in your nightdress.

His eyes dropped from your face and roamed along your frame.

He took a few steps in your direction until he was standing close enough that you could feel the coldness of his skin.

“You don't have to do this.” he said.

You gave him a reassuring nod. “We can stop if you don't feel comfortable.”

His eyes found yours. “Can I look at you? Bare?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Slowly, you unravelled the first lace at the front of your nightdress.

Suddenly, Astarion's hand gripped yours as you moved to the next one further down.

You took a deep breath, fearing you had overdone it.

That he would stop you.

Only… he didn't.

Instead, he picked the string in between his fingers, giving it a tug until it came undone.

His eyes never left yours and you felt shivers prickling at your skin, as he exposed more and more of your skin.

You felt another tug and the fabric loosened.

“I do wonder…”

Another one.

You bit down on your lower lip, holding his unwavering gaze.

And another one.

Your chest heaved more rapidly as your heart hammered in your ears.

This time, his eyes dropped as he worked on the last strings.

“... do friends do this?”

A chill ran down your back as it dawned on you that there was a contrast to this.

Just a few hours ago, he had been tying the very same laces to preserve your modesty in a moment of vulnerability.

But now, you had been the one to initiate it, and he had undone each of them until your front was fully open.

“It depends…” your voice was but a whisper.

He pushed the fabric aside just enough to expose a hardening nipple.

“On what?”

You couldn't bring yourself to provide a decent reply as you felt his thumb ghost the underside of your breast.

Then he flicked the sleeve from your shoulder, until it draped down your arm.

“Are we really just meant to be friends?”

Heat rushed to your face at his bluntness and you looked at him dazedly as if drunk on his words.

“Is that why I plague your dreams at night and your thoughts during the day?”

Astarion had a gift for words and he could almost make it seem like he could easily make love by using them, if he so desired.

Or completely make you crumble under the weight of his words.

You couldn't bring yourself to answer any of his questions, as you felt the burden of the truth weigh down on you.

“You are beautiful.”

His sincere praise almost drew a gasp from you.

You had the other sleeve sliding down as well, until the nightdress slipped along your body, pooling at your feet.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you were standing fully naked in front of him.

There was familiarity in it, but that wasn't what had your heart fluttering.

It was how he silently glared at you as if awestruck.

“So very beautiful…”

This time, his words of praise made you feel too self-aware and far more exposed than simply being naked.

Reflexively, you brought your hands to cover your bare chest.

You had always felt undeserving of his attention.

Astarion was what some might call the epitome of physical harmony.

His body was a work of art and his beauty unmatched.

“You don't ever have to hide from me,” he said softly, taking one hand in his. “Come here.”

He slowly guided you towards the window, the full moon up high casting its pale glow down on you.

“Look at the window.”

You did so, watching your lonely and washed out reflection show up on the clear glass.

Fleetingly, you wished you could see him, too, as he came to stand behind you, placing both hands on your shoulders.

But there was no one there but you.

You stood alone, but felt his presence all the same.

“You are a sight to behold,” he said in a whisper, his lips close to your ear. “Do not ever doubt it.”

“So are you…”

He chuckled, placing one finger under your chin, and tilting your head towards him.

You suddenly felt your knees buckle under you as his lips ghosted over yours.

“May I kiss you?”

Oh.

That startled you and your eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

His brows furrowed lightly. “We don't have to, of course.”

You wanted to.

More than anything.

But this wasn't just about you.

“Maybe we should take it slow?” you suggested, the coldness of his lips nearly touching yours.

He drew back slightly.

“Is that what you want?”

“Maybe it's what you need.”

He hesitated at first. “I think… I need this.”

Doubt flared inside you like a wildfire. On one hand, you feared he was rushing things once again.

On the other, he seemed rather at ease with the prospect of going further.

So maybe…

“You need to let me know if it's too much.”

He inched closer once more. “I will.”

Your heart clenched hard before rapidly doubling its pace.

You fully melted into him as he took your lips in his, keeping you still by gripping your chin lightly in between his fingers.

This kiss was familiar.

It was measured and controlled.

This one felt and tasted like… home.

It was reminiscent of the last kisses you had shared before Moonrise Towers. When both of you had gotten so comfortable with each other, it felt like second nature to be so intimate.

This wasn't driven by lust like the one you shared at The Blushing Mermaid only a few days prior.

It was driven by yearning.

Longing.

He pressed down on your chin with his thumb, parting your lips for his tongue to slip through, and your eyes quickly fluttered shut.

How you had missed this… tasting him as he completely overtook your senses.

His cold touch set your skin alight and you had to grip the hardwood shutter by the window to keep yourself from melting away.

You broke from him to let out a soft gasp when he pressed himself against you, his growing erection nudging at your lower back.

As touch starved as you were, you still held back, not wanting to overstep any lines.

He trailed his tongue along your lower lip, and you slowly turned to fully face him, cradling his face in your hands never parting from him.

The kiss morphed into something more urgent and primal, as if he had waited an eternity for this moment.

Your body was now fully flushed against him, and you heard the faintest growl emerge from his throat when you pressed into his bulge.

He suddenly broke the kiss, causing your eyes to fly open.

“Too much?”

“Yes.”

Astarion slowly tore himself away from you body, his face tense and his eyes avoiding yours.

For a split second you felt panic take over your mind at the fear of having hurt him.

“Astarion…”

But he quickly straightened himself, offering a reassuring smile.

It felt genuine and you allowed yourself to relax.

“Are you well?”

His face seemed blank for a moment. “Of course.”

Your heart dropped at the realisation that his words, once again, did not match his body language.

“Maybe we rushed it…”

As if your voice had snapped him out of a trance, his eyes finally met yours. “It's hard not to do so with you.”

The impending sense that he was trying to compensate with words began to loom over you.

He swiftly circled you and moved back to help you slip into your robe, careful fingers tying it snugly around you, yet you felt more exposed than ever.

“Astarion, I didn't mean for-”

He pressed his forefinger to your lips. “I was the one who got carried away. Do not take the blame for that. Please.”

You felt relief slowly settle deep within you.

Astarion's words did match his body language this time.

You then heaved a big sigh as he dropped his hand.

“Do you wish for me to stay? We can talk about it…”

He closed the space between the two of you and pressed a light kiss to your forehead. “Not tonight.”

You nodded understandingly, enjoying the tenderness.

“Will you still seek out Ava?”

He pulled away to meet your gaze. “I might indulge in some of her words of wisdom, yes.”

“And will you still give her your blood?”

“I believe so.”

You felt the beginnings of a frown settle on your face. “You don't have to…” … not anymore .

“You also don't have to give me yours, yet you willingly do so,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “As do I.”

“But it's different with us… I can easily withdraw my consent.”

“Correct.”

You hesitated for a moment. “I just worry that she might take it too far…”

A genuine smile of amusement tugged at his lips. “Ava is not someone you should worry about.”

Well, it was easier said than done.

There was still an unsettling feeling about her brewing within you. You couldn't quite place your finger on what it was, but it was still there…

“If she tries anything to hurt you-”

He immediately cut you off. “Oh, I am quite sure you would bestow upon her a curse so great that historians all over Faerûn would rush to document such an event in their books.”

Your outer shell of toughness cracked open and you chuckled.

“I would hope they do that.”

“A cautionary tale, if you will,” he nodded with a sly grin.

“And I will gladly do that to her should the situation call for it.”

It wasn't an empty threat.

He nodded. “I don't expect anything less from you, darling.”

You stared at each other in silence for what felt like an eternity.

It felt… comfortable.

Your heart felt full from finally having had a heartfelt conversation that was long overdue.

There were still edges to polish and fears to keep at bay, but, for now, it felt enough.

“Have a good night, Astarion.” you offered a sweet smile.

He returned it. “Dream of me – well, the satisfying kind, I hope.”

“So do I.”

“And if not, you know where to find me."

His words of comfort wrapped around you like the warmest blanket.

You nodded, snatching your nightdress from the floor to exit his room.

With a final glance over your shoulder, you found that his smile had wavered ever so slightly, and did your best not to overthink it.

And as the door to his room clicked shut, you shook your head and held it up high, determination setting in your mind.

You were going to talk to Ava.

TBC

#astarion x reader #astarion smut #astarion x female reader #astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #astarion fanfic

1K notes · View notes

spiderwcd · 3 months

Text

siren lake c.b.

pairing: colby brock x mermaid/siren ! f ! reader

summary: they come to explore the haunted lake, but maybe it wasn't just haunted.

warning(s): mentions of deaths, near drowning, profanity, near-death experiences mystical creatures, etc.

w.c.: 3.3k

a/n: guys, please don't hate me!! i've been away so long, ive been having writer's block and then i've been so busy with my life and having the worst luck ever (they weren't wrong about that fanfic writer curse) but trust me! i have a lot of works saved, slowly plowing through them.

images from pinterest !

“Dude,” Sam abruptly jumped from his seat on the couch, carrying his laptop over to Colby. “Look at this.” He pointed the screen towards him, revealing his discovery.

Colby curiously averted his gaze over to the screen, reading the article that was pulled up. “W-What am I looking at here, Sam?” he inquired, raising a brow towards him.

“Well, someone sent me this article about this supposedly haunted lake,” Sam began, plopping himself next to Colby on the couch. “They say that these entities are haunting it, causing a bunch of disappearances.” He finally added.

Taking a moment, Colby glanced at the article, contemplating. “I mean, it’s worth a shot,” Colby muttered, facing towards his best friend.

In due time, they arrived in Michigan, the Land of the Lakes. Colby had been studying about this mysterious lake, finding holes in different stories. It was something unknown to him, unable to find an obvious answer here.

“Okay, so as we know,” Sam began, looking over at Colby from the driver’s seat. “This lake is in the middle of the forest, near some campsites.” Sam clarified.

Colby nodded, understanding his statement, “Don’t forget to mention the disappearances, also about the spirit that drowns first in the 80s.” He pointed out.

Sam nodded in return, pursing his lips as he attempted to dig further into his thoughts. “Oh, what about the mermaid theory?” Sam suddenly blurted out.

Colby scoffed, looking over at Sam with a slight grimace. “Seriously? Mermaids?” Colby murmured, flipping through his notebook. “I mean, sure, it’s a fun idea to entertain, but we both know that’s not real.”

“Oh hey, come on,” Sam nudged Colby, still steering the wheel of the car. “It’s nice to have an imagination here, Colby.” Sam chuckled, patting him on the shoulder before placing both hands on the wheel.

Colby shook his head, smiling as he studied the pages of research. He examined the illustration on the page, deep into toying with the idea. He shook his head once more, closing the page as he thought about the ridiculous idea.

The car came to a halt, prompting Colby to face upward to the scene. His jaw flew open in amazement, admiring the large forest surrounding them. The middle showcased a lake larger than he had envisioned.

“Woah,” Colby muttered, exiting the car to get a better view. “Did not expect it to be so gorgeous out here.”

“Even if this comes to a dead end, at least we’ll have a good time in the middle of the forest.” Sam joked.

“You must be Sam and Colby,” they had suddenly heard, causing them to avert their gaze over to the voice. “Hi, I’m Ben.” The man waved over towards the two.

The duo made their way towards their host, introducing each other.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Ben had asked them.

“Oh yes,” Sam nodded, glancing around once again. “Very nice, exceeded our expectations.”

“That’s great,” Ben chuckled, leading the two towards the cabin that peered over the ominous lake. “Cause the two of you will be staying here, so get used to it.”

Sam and Colby glance at each other for a moment, following Ben towards the door. As they entered, they studied the room. It wasn’t one of their Airbnbs, but it was still nice, grateful for a roof and not a tent.

Colby’s eyes slowly averted towards the window, as if an irresistible force was pulling him towards the lake. But swiftly pulled away at the pat on his shoulder, facing towards the grasp.

“Isn’t that right, Colby?” Sam asked him, confusing Colby.

“Huh? Oh yeah, for sure.” Colby randomly replied, going along with Sam’s story.

“Alright, I’ll let ya get to it then,” Ben sighed, making his way toward the entrance. “I’ll come back in the morning to check on y’all. Remember to check the list I left every night.” He pointed out.

Once Ben had exited the campground, leaving the duo alone in the woods. Colby let out a breath as he planted himself onto one bed, rubbing his eyes slightly.

“Well, what did you want to start with?” Sam asked, plopping next to him. “Did you want to do the intro or do more research?”

Colby peaked from his hands, looking towards Sam. “Uh, let’s just figure out our intro and record that, followed by more research,” he answered.

They didn’t waste any time, every minute counted for them. Considering the way the sun crept through the blinds and curtains, the time was very limited. Colby’s fingers started to cramp from the various writing and typing, along with the migraine sneaking in.

“That’s it,” Colby blurted, tossing the pencil down. “I think it’s time to throw the towel. I need a break.”

“Me too,” Sam sighed. “If I have to write one more thing, my head might explode.”

Colby dryly chuckled, planting himself onto his feet. “I’m just gonna go out onto the pier. I need some time alone.”

He opened the door, letting the cool wind hit his face. He quickly closed the door, walking towards the wooden structure. Colby let out a groan as he crossed his legs, overlooking the large body of water. He ran his hand through his hair, attempting to relax as he listened to the soft music of the forest.

But he lost his train of thought, a splash ringing out. Colby curiously raised his brow, searching for the source of the ripple of water. He focused in on one area, unable to take his eyes off.

Colby soon got interrupted by a ringing from his pocket, pulling his eyes away from the lake. He picked himself off the wobbling planks, retrieving his phone.

“Hello?” he answered, still glancing over towards the ominous lake.

“Colby, get in here,” Sam waved over from the window, still on the line. “I found something.”

Colby hung up the phone call, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. As he entered the cabin, Sam quickly dashed his way and shoved his laptop into Colby’s face.

“Look.” Sam smugly grinned.

Colby looked at his best friend before looking back towards the screen.

‘Sirens in Michigan?’

“Sam,” Colby tried to protest, but Sam was persistent.

“Listen, we hunt ghosts. How much different can this be?” Sam scoffed, attempting to change Colby’s mind. “Can you at least be open to the idea?”

Colby looked at Sam with a blank look, crossing his arms. “Fine, we can be open to the idea, but I’m still skeptical about it all.”

The next day arrived, prompting the boys to prepare their video at last. Colby stood at the edge of the lake, awaiting Sam to finish setting up the camera. Sam gave Colby a thumbs up, signaling everything was ready.

“Hey, what’s up guys!” Sam greeted. “It’s Sam and Colby, and we’re here at the Siren Lake in Michigan!” he panned the camera towards the lake and treeline.

“We’re here to investigate the various spirits that might be roaming the lake,” Colby began explaining. “But also, as the name suggests, there might be more than just spirits here.”

“That’s right guys,” Sam chimed in. “There are supposedly sirens, aka mermaids, in this very lake.”

“If you ask me, I don’t think there’s such a thing,” Colby raised his hands in defense, causing Sam to shake his head. “Listen, ghosts and demons have a lot of proof and we’ve seen them, but mermaids?” Colby scoffed.

“I think you’ll say differently later,” Sam smirked. “Cause one of us is gonna have to go onto the pier and talk to the said spirits or whatever roams that lake.”

The two continued to talk, making their way around the lake for a bit.

“Okay, so the history of this lake begins with a family, as most do,” Sam began. “The Bradson family had owned this lake from generations ago until the 80s.”

“The only reason they had sold it off is because they used to run a camp here until odd drownings had appeared,” Colby added. “And all of them were all men.”

“That doesn’t give us a lot of comfort, does it now?” Sam joked, nervously laughing into the camera.

“Our guide and the owner of the campgrounds will be here in a moment to explain more in-depth,” Colby explained. “He knows more than we do.”

Just in time, a car pulled back onto the dirt road. Ben exited his car, greeting the boys once more.

“Perfect timing,” Sam laughed. “We just began introducing you.”

Ben chuckled, making his way towards the two, “Almost as if I was summoned here.” He joked.

Sam turned on his camera, recording once more, “So actually, as we closed our camera, our guide just pulled in.” He chuckled, pointing it towards Ben. “Say hello to Ben.” He introduced

“Alright, Ben, we just want to know what you know,” Colby started, crossing his arms slightly. “Tell us your secrets.”

“As you must already know, this used to be a campground until the 80s,” Ben began. “Do you know why they call it Siren Lake?” He asked the two.

Sam glanced over to Colby with a grin, causing Colby to roll his eyes.

“Yeah, we might have an idea,” Sam answered.

“Well, people started talking about how the victims were all men,” Ben pointed out. “A rumor started that they were ‘seduced’ over to the water and murdered by a siren.”

“Really? Sirens?” Colby scoffed, laughing a bit.

“Yep, since the lake connects to a river that leads to the ocean, they assumed that something supernatural might cause of this.” Ben chuckled at Colby’s reaction.

“Can you tell Colby is a skeptic about mermaids?” Sam teased.

“Oh, that’s alright, he won’t be by the end of the trip,” Ben replied.

While heading to the pier, Ben entertained the group with tales of the profound history and personal experiences of different individuals.

“So tell us, have you seen the siren?” Sam asked curiously.

Ben thought about it for a moment. “You know, I have,” he nodded. “I was letting a group of guys stay here for the night. I went to check on them and they were freaking out about their friend seeing something. So I went to check out the lake because I figured they saw something and freaked out. But when I stopped at the edge of the pier, I saw something peeking at me through the water.”

“Woah, that’s so weird,” Sam muttered. “What did you do?”

“Well, I thought it was someone playing some joke, so I yelled at them to get out of the water and it was private property.” Ben shrugged. “But they just stared at me for a second so I pointed my flashlight over, which made them go underwater and splash away, and I saw bluish silver scales on the biggest fish's tail I’ve ever seen.”

Sam looked over to Colby, a smug look on his face as if he was saying ‘told you so’.

“I’d be careful, boys,” Ben warned. “Even you, Colby, sirens are no joke. They will lure you and drown you. Just be careful.”

“Thank you, Ben.” Sam thanked him, shaking his hand before letting him return to his daily work.

Sam turned over to Colby, “I told you, what happened to having an open mind?”

“I’m trying, but mermaids? It’s hard to wrap my head around.” Colby responded. “I already have enough of ghosts and demons.”

Sam rolled his eyes at his best friend. “Okay, let’s just talk about the spirits. Surely you’ll keep an open mind about that.” He patted Colby on the back, pulling out the various equipment.

Sam turned on the rem pod, placing it down onto the pier, followed by the Alice box.

“Alright guys, so we’re now gonna talk about the spirits,” Sam sighed. “There were about 3 guys that drowned. They weren’t even able to recover any of their bodies because of how deep this lake is.”

“Yeah, so their bodies could still be down there,” Colby added, shivering at the thought of it.

“There’ are a lot of theories about how these guys died, most of them saying they were drunk or under the influence. There’s also speculation that they died from how cold the water was, causing hypothermia, but of course, there’s the siren theory,” Sam stated. “Sirens, though, tend to just kill to kill. It’s said that it killed them because they were terrible guys.”

“They were awful, apparently having a reputation of being sleazy and gross,” Colby added, having a grimace grow on his face at the idea. “But we’ll try to find out through the spirit box and maybe the Estes method.”

“I think since I’m more open-minded, unlike my colleague,” Sam teased, pointing the camera towards Colby who shook his head. “I’m gonna be doing the Estes method.”

They quickly turned on the devices in hand, thinking of questions.

“Alright, Uh, is there anyone here?” Sam asked to the open, listening carefully as the crickets chirped and the night wind blew past them.

“...you…”

“Who are you referring to?” Sam responded.

“...water…”

“Yep, there’s water here. Is this where you passed away?” Colby nodded, shifting his weight.

“...rocks… drown…”

Sam snapped his head towards Colby, a confused look painted on his face. “Woah,” he muttered. Colby agreed, looking back at the Alice box.

“Who are you? Are you one of three men that drowned here?” Sam added, biting his lip as he rubbed his chin with his finger.

“...Mike…”

Colby’s jaw dropped, facing the camera. "They're not gonna believe that, but one of the men who passed away was named Micheal Anderson," Colby said, his jaw dropping as he faced the camera.

“...unknown…cold…”

Sam’s face contorted to one of confusion, looking at Colby for answers. “Maybe they’re saying they don’t remember how they died? I mean, the water gets freezing.”

Colby nodded, attempting to decipher the various words and their meanings. “Can you tell us what happened? Did you guys just die from the cold water or drown from drinking too much?”

“...none…strange…”

“Huh, maybe the siren theory was right?” Sam nudged Colby.

“Yeah right,” Colby sneered. “Maybe they died from something else.”

“...careful…”

“Look, it’s even trying to warn us,” Sam pointed out, but soon the familiar red light and blaring sound appeared from the rem pod, alerting the two. “Oh my god, that scared the fuck out of me,” Sam murmured, pointing the camera towards the flashing device.

“Is that you Micheal? Or is someone else making that flash?” Colby asked, stepping away from the rem pod as the light continued to circle.

“...pussy…”

Colby blurted out in laughter, followed by Sam. “Wow, maybe they were jerks.”

“I think maybe the Estes Method will give us a simple answer then,” Sam said, calming down from the fit of laughter.

Colby turned off the spirit box, handing Sam the bandana followed by the headphones. Once he had put them on, Colby showed the camera that Sam couldn’t respond.

“Okay, so let’s begin,” Colby sighed. “Okay, can you give us a straightforward answer to what happened here? You guys are being very hush-hush about the answer.”

“Pier,” Sam blurted out. “Something dangerous.”

“Yeah, some can say drinking and swimming are dangerous,” Colby joked. “Can you clarify more?”

“Beware of the woman,” Sam answered.

Colby felt his heart drop, unable to comprehend what that could mean. “Uh, what woman?”

“She calls for you,” Sam responded, confusion in his voice. “Watching you.”

A shiver ran down Colby’s spine, goosebumps covering his skin. “W-Wha… Watching me?” Colby repeated, hearing the familiar splashing near the pier.

Colby snapped his head up, his eyes attempting to adjust to the dark as the moonlight hit the ripples. Colby pointed his flashlight over to the deep gray water, searching for the source, just as he had done earlier in the day.

Sam continued to speak, unknowing of his best friend’s search. Colby’s feet stopped at the edge of the pier, ignoring all the sounds in the background. He let out a sigh of relief, unable to find any evidence of anything going on.

But as soon as Colby put down his flashlight, he felt large hands pressed up against his back. Colby, unable to retain his balance, fell into the deep cold waters, which had created a large splash that traveled to Sam.

Sam tore the headphones and blindfold off his head, turning around to look at Colby as he floated to the top.

“Woah, you alright, man?” Sam hurried to the edge, squatting down as he offered a hand to him.

Colby let out a laugh, swimming towards the pier. “Someone fucking pushed me in.” He muttered, reaching for Sam’s grasp.

He was about to grab Sam’s palm, but felt a tug at the end of his legs. “What the fuck, something grabbed-”

Colby’s sentence soon cut off as he got pulled under the water. He kicked the unknown entity, gasping for air as he heard Sam’s voice muffle as he called out for him.

Colby thrashed, adrenaline kicking in as he attempted to free himself. Colby looked down at the void of the lake, unable to find the source. Water filled his mouth, oxygen slowly escaping his body. His body sank, and the energy to fight slowed.

Colby had accepted there wasn’t a way out of this doom, looking up as he slowly descended into the seemingly never-ending waters. His vision slowly distorted as he examined the murky waters above him.

“Wow, I never realized it was a full moon tonight,” was all he could think about

Just as he thought it was the end, he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. A figure slowly circled him as it made its way past the moonlit waters, a glow of bluish silver reflecting as its hair sprawled around it.

Well, it wasn’t rather it; it was a woman. Colby wanted to react, but his body slowly shut down as his vision darkened. She was beautiful, her skin flawless and her long hair engulfing them as she touched his face as if she examined his features.

Colby’s vision became dark, becoming unconscious. She doesn’t remember men being this flawless, gliding her fingers across his skin. His tattoos caught her eye, something odd about painting skin to her. A frown grew on her face, looking back up at the land above as blue and red lights danced around the surface of the water.

She looked back at Colby, knowing the minutes were passing by. She quickly grabbed his arm, carrying his limp body up. Peeking over the water, she glanced around at the various people walking around. She bit her lip, brainstorming ideas.

The mermaid decided it was best to leave him by the shore, where Sam was pacing and freaking out. She knows if she does this, who knows if her identity will be safe? But something against her nature knew this one thing: she did not want the beautiful man to perish.

She drew him above the water, grunting as she pulled his seemingly lifeless body towards the wet rocks. She looked back at him, her brows furrowing as she fought within herself whether she did the right thing. Under the water once more, she dove, splashing as she vanished, making her way under the pier to observe the scene.

It wasn’t long until many flashlights lit up the shore, revealing Colby’s drenched and pale body. Sam let out a cry, watching as his best friend coughed and gasped for air as the water exited his lungs. Sam embraced him, relief washing over him as he recovered from his accident.

Colby sat at the edge of the patient compartment of the ambulance, wrapped in a towel, drowning out as the EMTs and various cops talked to Sam as he stared towards the lake. Something inside him was fighting whether he had made up the mysterious creature or, by some miracle, it was all true.

Colby jumped as Sam’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Dude, what the hell happened? I thought you were gone. The cops said you were lucky to even make it out of that lake.”

Colby looked up at Sam before glancing back at the body of water. “I think a mermaid just saved me.”

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

thank you guys for reading!

I'm sorry if it's short, Its just something I put together in one day. I do value your opinion, so please do tell me what you think!!

expect more stories soon!

#colby brock #colby brock fanfic #colby brock imagine #colby brock smut #colby brock x reader #colby brock x y/n #sam and colby #sam golbach #xplr #sam golbach x reader #jake webber #jake and johnnie #johnnie guilbert #xplr merch #xplr club #colby #sam goldbach

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tending-the-hearth · 11 months

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everything i loved about "the little mermaid" live action

Ariel's melody being her siren song!! that little new bit of lore!! i also really liked that it added more depth as to why Ursula wanted her voice in exchange for her becoming human

the way Ariel became almost angry during the bridge of "Part of Your World", she was so frustrated that she couldn't do the things she was dreaming about, like YES let her be mad!!

full body chills during "Part of Your World" + the first reprise

Ariel helping Max onto the boat 😭😭😭

I've mentioned this before, but Ariel hearing Eric's voice before seeing him!!! hearing him sing before seeing him!!! agh!!!!

Eric holding Ariel's hand on the shore after she rescues him 😭

the detail put into each of Ariel's sisters was so stunning, i'm so excited to read more about them in the books! i loved that they each had their own specific vibe

THEY INCLUDED THE FACT THAT URSULA AND TRITON ARE SIBLINGS YES THANK YOU VERY MUCH

"For the First Time" being a voice over, as Ariel's thoughts, and then the scene shifting to complete darkness except for her to represent us being in her head and hearing her thoughts, and the way it gets cut off when she realizes she can't say "hello" to Eric? i cried

The Jodi Benson cameo and her giving Halle!Ariel the fork 😭 literally her passing on the mantel of Ariel 😭😭

Eric and Ariel being total nerds with each other??

The way Ariel "told" Eric her name using the constellations???? and him saying it was written in the stars???? hello????

Also Eric saying "my little mermaid" made me so soft wtf

Eric and Ariel running around and giggling in the castle and being the definition of puppy love like they're so goofy and in love i adore them

the "Part of Your World" reprise after Ariel sees Eric with Vanessa shattered my heart, the MOST heartbreaking song

Grimsby kicking the ring away after it falls near him, my man knew exactly what was going on, he's known Ariel for three days and is already a ride or die

just Ariel and Eric holding each other so tightly after she gets her voice back, and Eric refusing to let her go until Ursula literally has to throw him away

ARIEL BEING THE ONE TO KILL URSULA USING THE SKILLS SHE SAW ERIC USE OH MY GOD IT WORKED SO SO WELL

i like that they added a chunk of time passing between Ursula's death and Eric and Ariel reuniting, it added a little extra drama and emotion when they finally saw each other again!

listen i'm an absolute sucker for a "hug before kiss" reunion and i was SO happy that Eric and Ariel had that, it fit them and their relationship perfectly, the way Eric just clung to her, and Ariel's happy smile as she hugged him back 😭

The mermaid statue and the dress representing the land vs. the sea???? and both returning back to where they're supposed to be but having new meanings????

Ariel's wedding dress being pink to (probably) pay homage to her pink ballgown in the animated movie was such a good touch, and i loved the length!!

Triton and Ariel's goodbye, where he says "you shouldn't have had to give up your voice for me to hear you"???? hello my father issues jumped tf out and had me sobbing in the theater

literally the entire movie was so beautiful, i could talk about it for hours, this is the best live action remake honestly, and Eric and Ariel (specifically the live action version obvi) have moved up to become my favorite Disney Princess/Prince pairing, just behind Belle and Adam (bc let's be honest, nothing can top them)

@queen-with-the-quill bc i know you're seeing it soon! more things i forgot to tell you lol

#the little mermaid #the little mermaid 2023 #the little mermaid spoilers #ariel #prince eric #disney

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libraryofgage · 7 months

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Mermaid/Pirate Steddie Two

Part One

Have I already posted something today? Yes, yes I have but also I finally got through my block on this one hfjdks

I'll be working on Addams Family Steddie next but idk when that part might be coming out lol

anyway, as always, if you see any typos no you didn't ;)

---

Steve has taken over Eddie's large porcelain bathtub after it was moved to the main room of the captain's cabin. Steve is lounging in it now, a week into being on Eddie's ship, with his tail draped over the edge so he can submerge his head and breathe through his gills. It's infinitely more comfortable, even with the seaweed still wrapped along the length of his tail and reminding him of its presence with every twitch.

He sighs, bubbles rising from his gills in the "I'm beyond bored" pattern that Robin would light up at seeing. But she's not here, so Steve is left to once again turn Eddie's bat ring over in his hands, fingers brushing along the wings.

Eddie had shown him a drawing of an actual bat, and Steve still thinks they're freaks of nature. But he finds the ring itself a little endearing if only because it was Eddie's ring willingly given.

He smiles softly, the gesture only dampened by the sharp jab of worry over his guppies and Robin. They're probably losing their scales with worry themselves, scouring the sea and putting themselves at risk of being seen in their hunt for him. Steve can't even fault them, either; he would do the exact same thing if Robin or any of his guppies had been captured like that. He has done the exact same thing.

Steve sighs again, this time the bubble pattern expressing exhaustion and "What the fuck am I supposed to do now?" He kind of misses having someone who actually understands what his bubble patterns mean, but he knows it wouldn't be fair to get frustrated with anyone for their inability to gain meaning from bubbles floating toward the surface.

He thinks, maybe, the worst part is being confined to the tub. Sure, it's infinitely better than the fucking bucket from the other ship, but Steve is still getting restless. He's like a guppy that's watching its siblings swim but still doesn't have the tail strength to swim itself. He feels trapped and has way too much energy with nowhere to spend it.

Steve hasn't mentioned this to Eddie, though. He'd been planning to, of course. In fact, he intended to tell Eddie that morning, but then they'd docked at some port city and Eddie had run off with the promise of being back soon. Steve had tried not to feel a little abandoned, left by himself with fucking nothing to do while Eddie prances around on land.

Before he can get too far into this line of thought (he's about three minutes from convincing himself that, really, Eddie shouldn't have left and could probably be taught the basics of bubble patterns as punishment), Eddie practically barrels into the room, vibrating with something Steve only recognizes as excitement when he sees Eddie's grin.

Steve surfaces, pushing his hair out of his eyes and leaning on the edge of the tub, twitching his tail slightly and exercising incredible control to keep from preening when Eddie's gaze lingers on it. "What happened?" he asks, slipping the bat ring onto his thumb, the only finger it fits.

Eddie drops to his knees, scooting closer to the tub until their noses are almost brushing. "I've got a surprise for you, sweetheart," he says, voice light and eager.

"Where is it?" Steve asks, returning Eddie's smile.

"It's on the deck! Do you trust me?"

For a brief moment, Steve thinks Eddie is about to throw him back into the ocean. Which, like, wouldn't be a bad thing, but Steve would be incredibly offended by the suddenness and wonder if he'd been imagining the draw between them.

But he's sure Eddie wouldn't do something like that without asking first, so he tucks it away as something only slightly possible. Steve nods and pulls back, bracing his hands on the edge of the tub before pushing himself up. He perches on the edge, his balance a little unsteady as he looks at Eddie.

Thankfully, Eddie catches on quickly. He scrambles to his feet and scoops Steve off the edge of the tub, one arm under his tail and the other wrapped around Steve's back. Steve holds onto Eddie's neck, still a little paranoid about being dropped despite Eddie's prior insistence that he wouldn't let anything happen to Steve.

"I think you're gonna love it," Eddie says, his voice soft and his breath warm against Steve's cheek.

Steve gets the urge to ask again, but he holds back as Eddie carries him up to the deck. The sky is covered in clouds, keeping the sun from blinding him when they emerge from the stairs. The deck is concerningly large for such a small crew, and Gareth is currently lounging against the mast, a hat pulled low over his eyes as he sleeps.

He's not very attention-grabbing, though. Not when there's a large...contraption in the middle of the deck. It has four wheels and is shaped like a boat, big enough for Steve to sit comfortably without his tail draping over the edge. There are cranks of some kind on the inside of the boat, and Steve realizes it's filled with water as Eddie carries him closer.

"What is this?" Steve asks, trying not to grimace at the discomfort of his scales beginning to dry out. They're starting to feel tight and itchy, a sensation he really hates, like they're going to split apart at any second.

Eddie grins wider and carefully sets Steve into the water, making sure he doesn't bump the tail or the seaweed wraps. He points at the crank to Steve's left and says, "That will make the back wheels turn. If you crank forward, you'll go forward, and back will make you go backward." He then points to the other crank by Steve's right. "This one controls the front wheels. Forward will make them turn left, and backward will make them turn right. You should be able to move around the deck with this."

Steve stares at the cranks for a moment before glancing up at Eddie. When he receives an encouraging nod in response, he slowly turns the left crank forward, lighting up when the boat does, in fact, move forward a few inches.

He's so overwhelmed with joy that he can't help the notes bubbling in his throat, rising and rising until he can't hold them back anymore. Steve doesn't even think before singing, a wordless tune that conveys just how truly happy he is, one that would leave Robin flabbergasted because she's never heard this tune before.

Because this tune is for courting gifts. Like, really fucking fantastic courting gifts. The kind of gifts that blow everything else clear out of the water and leave a merperson dazed and bubbly and floating without any direction from sheer happiness, bubbles bursting through their gills in joyous patterns.

Steve has never sung this tune before, but he's not at all surprised that Eddie is the person who managed to coax it out of him.

-----

Eddie knew the boat would be a good idea, but now he's thinking it was the best idea he's ever had and ever will. Even after hours have passed, after Steve has watched the sun drop below the water and asked Eddie to carry him back to the cabin, complaining about his arms being sore from turning cranks, Eddie is still reeling.

He's never heard a more beautiful sound. Eddie keeps replaying the tune Steve sang in his head, frustrated with his inability to recreate it just right and too flustered to ask Steve to sing it again. Because he gets the feeling it was special, something that Steve can't just do at the drop of a hat, but something he did because of Eddie.

Eddie twists his fingers in the sheet covering him, turning his head to glance at the tub where Steve is leaning against the edge. His eyes are closed, but Eddie knows he isn't sleeping yet. Steve submerges his head when he sleeps.

"Hey, Stevie," Eddie whispers, almost like he doesn't want Steve to hear so the comfortable silence continues.

Steve hears him anyway, of course, the flare of fin along the edge of his ear twitching slightly. He tilts his head a bit more, squishing his cheek against his arm, and somewhat lazily says, "Yeah, Eddie?"

Eddie turns onto his side, meeting Steve's gaze. "How'd you become a caretaker?" he asks. It's not the question he actually wants to ask; he wants to ask Steve to sing again, to let him drift to sleep to beautiful notes and lingering melodies.

He watches as Steve tenses slightly before forcing himself to relax. He takes a deep breath, his gills fluttering slightly before slowly exhaling. "A while ago, my pod had an...altercation with a pod from the southern seas. They kidnapped one of the guppies, Will, and the other guppies decided to rescue him. They snuck off one night and I followed them when I discovered what happened and..."

Steve trails off, frowning as he tilts his head to look at the small window, staring at the moon through the glass. "Well, long story short, there were lots of fights, our pod lost its previous caretaker, and we gained a new guppy the southern pod had captured. After everything, I couldn't let the guppies out of my sight, and they kept coming to me and Robin whenever they had problems. So, eventually, I just convinced Robin to be my partner and raise the guppies."

There's a lot going unsaid in that explanation, but Eddie knows better than to pry right now. Steve will tell him when he wants, and if he never wants to, that's fine, too. Eddie won't fault him for that. "Did you have a job before that?" he asks.

Steve hums softly, still beautiful and soft, but not at all the melody Eddie really wants to hear. "I used to scout for the pod," he says, "I would swim ahead and make sure an area was safe or find spots to rest when the pod traveled. When we stopped for long periods, I'd help gather food for the pod."

"You like caring for the guppies more," Eddie says, and it's not at all a question.

"Yeah," Steve replies, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "The guppies are great."

"Tell me about them."

"Well, first is Dustin. He's a little sea urchin, always talking back and getting into trouble, but he's sweet. Will is usually pretty quiet, but he's got a great imagination. Mike always hangs around Will, and he's kind of a squid, but he's going through an awkward growth phase. Lucas is the most active of them, and he likes to shadow the scouters when he can. Erica is his little sister, and she doesn't let the others get away with anything. Max is daring and brash, she tends to dive head-first into stuff, but she's also really protective. El is quiet like Will, but she's really smart and really caring. They're such a handful. Robin and I never have a dull day."

His voice is trailing off toward the end, and Eddie knows he's just moments from falling asleep. "I'd like to meet them someday," Eddie says, his voice softer than before, the words spoken more to himself than Steve.

Of course, that doesn't stop Steve from hearing him anyway. He hums again, this one quieter, and groggily mumbles, "Of course you will, Eddie. That's part of the courting."

And then, like he hasn't essentially rocked Eddie's entire world, Steve slips down in the tub. He submerges his head in the water, and Eddie can hear the quiet murmur of bubbles rising to the surface and popping as Steve breathes.

Eddie stays frozen for a few minutes, staring at the tub, and suddenly wondering if, maybe, somebody somewhere happened to write a merperson courtship manual.

Tag List (there's still room, so let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@mugloversonly, @raisedbylibrarians, @thegirlwiththelibrarybag, @savory-babby, @vankaar, @beckkthewreck, @itcanbepalped, @imfinereallyy, @finntheehumaneater, @mightbeasleep, @weekend-dreamer7

@whenindoubtb72, @troublemaker2azz, @just-a-tiny-void, @upallnightogetloki, @mxmakessense

#steddie #steddie fic #high seas steddie #merman steve harrington #pirate eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things fic #steddie fluff #my writing

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