#tw descriptors of body

[battle-subway-ghost]

Unraveling.

// Please read the tags beforehand, <3

Paris leaned against the tree trunk, making a desperate attempt at catching his breath. He had been running for- He didn't know, probably hours? He checked the time with his phone, but it still read 3:27 A.M. Same as it had been for probably hours- He didn't know. he couldn't tell… He checked the battery icon at the top- it was nearly dead. The signal may have read "SOS," but he had already tried multiple times to call for help. Nothing.

He wasn't about to try again- Something about the definition of insanity… and instead he put his phone back into his pocket, properly shutting it off to try to conserve what little battery was left. Paris had the urge to sit down for a little while; the muscles on his legs burned, and he was completely exhausted from running for so long. Stupid choice- he knew it wasn't a good idea to run around in the fog like a headless Torchic while he was already lost, but every time he considered standing still and waiting for this stupid, stupid fog to fade, he thought back to…

That. He shuddered, trying to focus on anything else besides that voice- his own voice, feeling a familiar chill crawl up his spine as he started to grow tense again. He could just imagine approaching footsteps- those hollow eyes, the-

He felt something seeping onto his hand, and cried out in surprise as he immediately moved away from the tree, trying to shake off the…

Black ink. Leaking out from the tree like sap. Paris stared at his hand, feeling his head pound at the sight of the stuff… He did his best to wipe it off of his hand, though he didn't have much besides his own clothes to do so. Still- it was better than nothing, at this point.

…He wasted no time getting on the move again, wandering further into the fog, trying to listen closely for any odd noises or disturbances. He couldn't trust his eyes anymore, as the fog had grown so thick that he could barely see past the length of his arm. Paris tread carefully, avoiding tripping on any loose roots or branches on the forest floor. How big was this forest, anyways? Surely he would've found his way out by now.

Then again, this wasn't the same place he had entered however long ago now. He wasn't sure how, but he just knew. He just had to keep walking now, he wasn't even sure if this would get him out, but he couldn't stay still. Not right now.

Paris stopped in his tracks as he heard a twig snap to his left. He turned immediately, nearly giving himself whiplash with how quickly he moved. He instinctively backed away, already tensing up to run-

And there it was.

A Thievul. the Thievul. That damned thing, staring back at him with those hollow, white eyes.

At last.

Paris charged at him, pursuing him as he turned tail and fled. The Thievul was swift, but he was determined to catch him, maybe if he did, it'd put an end to this torment. He wove through the trees with a precision Paris couldn't quite match, as he seemed to blend in with the fog at times- like he was about to fade into it. Paris pressed on, despite the burning in his lungs and the stiffness in his legs.

He finally got close enough to where he could tackle that thing, grabbing him with his hands-

Only to grasp at nothing but air.

Paris hit the ground, falling face first into the dew-covered grass. It took him a moment to recoup and process what happened, as he scrambled to get up, looking around for the Thievul. He was nowhere to be found, as if he vanished into thin air. The fog was starting to clear up a bit, and from what Paris could tell, he had been lead to a clearing in the woods.

He was fuming. He had gone here for nothing! Nothing at all! Revenge- Or even just closure, simply gone! Like that! No fanfare- no anything.

He yanked at his hair, yelling out of pure rage. Rage at the thievul, at himself for allowing it to escape, frustration over this entire stupid situation and this stupid fog and this stupid forest and EVERYTHING-

He stopped after a few moments passed, and finally opening his eyes, watery from the threat of crying. He looked up, seeing- black… patches? He blinked a few times, trying to clear up the blurriness in his eyes. Surely-

No. His eyes weren't playing tricks on him. The fog had receeded at an unnaturally fast rate, but… There was darkness. the inky-black dark of the ink, starting to spread through tears in the scenery, almost. He could feel the panic building in his chest, attempting to run the other way, only to find that the ground underneath him was starting to fade into the same black ink that was beginning to surround him. Paris screamed, trying to pull himself out, only to find that every time he put his foot down he simply got dragged deeper into the inky abyss. He could feel the substance clinging to his skin, unnaturally warm, almost pulsating… like breathing-

Something painful tugged against him, finally prompting him to glance down. his arms- the muscles were starting to twitch and twist unnaturally, his skin shifting around to compensate for the changes underneath. It was agonizing, muscles beginning to stretch and tear, before attempting to mend themselves again.

He howled in agony, nearly collapsing into the ink entirely, barely able to steady himself. it burned. His right arm in particular was getting the worst of it, the sensation similar to what he imagined it'd feel like having your arm ripped off.

…And much to his horror, it was actually hanging loose when he checked. the skin peeled away like wet cardstock paper, revealing red thread coiling around the remnants of the arm, as well torn ligaments and muscles trying to keep everything together- to no avail. It broke apart entirely, and fell into the ink below, slowly sinking down. There was no blood, instead, frayed and torn red thread hung down from what was left.

Paris collapsed- finally, into the ink. It was a miracle he had even been able to stay standing for so long, given that it seemed like he could fall apart like bad paper mache at any second now. He sputtered and coughed as he accidentally breathed in the ink, trying to pull his head back up. He couldn't breathe- it clung to him like tar, pulling him down further- further into the abyss.

Everything was falling apart. the trees falling apart like flayed seams- unraveling before his eyes, leaving nothing behind besides the pitch black abyss.

His head finally sank underneath. The last thing he saw was the bright red string- cutting through the dark abyss as it drifted upwards.

He shut his eyes, and the searing pain melted away.

Silence, at last.

#// edit at noon: hey guys j am so sorry I forgot to put this under a read more. I thought I did #body horror tw #drowning tw #suffocation tw #limb loss tw #amputation tw #<- Well. Not EXACTLY but. best descriptor #hallucination tw #and once again #WHATEVER THE FUCK THIS IS TW #// as always ask to tag #ooc #off-blog post #the unraveling arc #pkmn irl #high stakes pokeblogging #// hoooguh i worked on this for way too long. Yay yippie wahoo

[everlastiingiimmortals]

So, I mentioned yesterday that there was a piece I saw where Stelle was wearing a rather fancy dress, and though I personally adore it because she looks so pretty, Stelle herself was hit with a very strong wave of dysmorphia. (Super brief mention of 1.5 events present! Not tagging spoilers due to it being about two weeks since the update dropped, but I'm giving a heads up regardless.)

Stelle has always, I think, been someone who prefers more neutral clothing, and though she has absolutely no problem with being referred to with feminine pronouns at all, she herself does not like the idea of presenting as particularly feminine. In fact -- and this scares her -- she sometimes does not want to be perceived a physical entity at all. While I do stand by my take and new understanding that Stelle is on the nonbinary spectrum (her disgust was both dysmorphia and dysphoria!), this does go a little deeper: Stelle is very very conscious of the Stellaron housed within her body.

Feeling the weight and warmth of the Stellaron inside, knowing she's artificial, frankly makes her want to tear herself out of her own skin sometimes. In the wake of her possession by Cirrus, I think this feeling only worsened with her horror and disgust at being robbed of her autonomy. That line of thinking became something along the lines of I am (in) a vessel, and this vessel has been tainted. It's very, very awful. And, on her worst days, when the paranoia starts to kick in, frankly? She's not sure if she is Stelle or if she is the Stellaron. Is her dysphoria a factor caused by the Stellaron desiring freedom or having its own thoughts? She doesn't know. There's no way for her to verify the person she used to be before, after all. She has no memories from before the space station. She doesn't trust Kafka.

But she knows the Stellaron speaks. She heard the voice of Cocolia's Stellaron. She knows the one within her pulls towards the desires and wishes of the worlds she's in, too. She's felt it. The existence of the Stellaron within her is why she walks on the Path of Destruction in the first place, its response to the desire of the people of Belobog to survive is why Qlipoth granted her the powers of Preservation. She knows it's why she can adapt to the Paths so fluidly.

She heard its call on the Luofu, too, heard it all throughout the battle with Phantylia.

On her best days, she just doesn't like being seen as very effeminate, because that isn't her. But on those particularly bad days, when she starts to lose sense of where the Stellaron ends and where Stelle begins, she'd really... rather not be perceived at all. Having eyes on her just makes her all the more conscious of the cancer she's housing, stable or not. This ties into her regular discomfort with being spectated by crowds, why she insists she's plain, why she dislikes dressing up.

That being said, no one aside from her twin Caelus (@celestial-narwhal) or Dan Heng would be aware of this extreme discomfort. It's something she keeps extremely close to her chest, and with her resting neutral, straight-faced expression one would find it near impossible to tell what sort of day she's having inside.

#//about; (VESSEL OF DESTRUCTION) #body dysmorphia tw #derealization tw #ask to tag #just in case #i think stelle really truly and deeply understands dan heng's discomfort with himself and his il form #she feels the same way with the stellaron #and to briefly sum up stelle's gender identity she's definitely nonbinary but she's comfortable with most feminine pronouns/descriptors #she just doesn't want to be perceived as very effeminate or present in a traditionally very effeminate way #frankly stelle feels more comfortable in caelus' clothes than her own on her bad days #give her a suit please oh my god no dresses #she'll take a jumpsuit just not a dress #she and caelus also have v similar builds and heights so they can comfortably swap clothes for the most part #which she is very very grateful for bc she misses her sibby all the time

[bookwyrminspiration]

I have no eyes and I eat blood -Fintan Pyran

When I type "no eyes and eats blood" into google it presents me with information on Diabetic Retinoplasty. Dearest Fintan Pyren, if you have diabetes please ensure to get a comprehensive dilated eye exam once a year so you can catch this so you can protect your vision.

Additionally, depending on the definition of "no eyes" and "eat blood," there's a lot of wiggle room here. the direction I'm wiggling in particular is to a make a comparison to The Pale Man (photo linked).

Does he have eyes? Kind of in a technical sense. but are they in his face? Nope! Instead they're removed (and displayed nicely on a plate) and instead inserted into slits cut into his palm when he needs to see. So in a way he has no eyes.

Does he eat blood? Not strictly, but he does eat children and children are filled with blood. So while not on an exclusively blood diet he does eat it, and this ask didn't say you only eat blood so I'm inclined to think this may be acceptable.

Anyway, I'm unsure of the purpose of this ask but with the information presented I diagnose you with The Pale Man and advise you to have those annual eye examinations. Hope this helps <3

#kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #quil's queries #nonsie #how does having no eyes work with getting an eye exam? #don't ask me how am I supposed to know #just make sure you do it #gotta take care of your body and all that! #how do i tw tag for the descriptors here hmm #tw body horror #tw eating people #...i think that works?

[mysacredmuse]

heya !! :D one of my moots sent an ask earlier, I really liked the idea and they wanted me to write it, so here I am !! :)

no jokes about his real name and no comments how "it is not moanable", where there is a will, there is a way 🫡 i could moan his name all day, i am doing it rn actually

reader: female anatomy, gender neutral descriptors, no pronouns used

cw/tw: nsfw - mdni!, mix of a bit rougher and softer sex, missionary, reader uses aventurine's real name so spoiler warning ! , slight nipple licking & sucking, dirty talk (?), creampie

word count: 1.5k

dividers by @/saradika-graphics :)

• Aventurine • Say it again •

Aventurine aligns his cock with your entrance, a mellow moan escaping both of your throats as he gradually sinks his hips lower, then equally slowly sliding his cock inside of you.

A dim gasp slips past your lips as Aventurine positions his hands on each side of your head, lowering himself to his elbows to keep close to you. He starts thrusting at a precise, but slow pace. Your arms wrap around his neck as his cock leisurely stretches you out, with no rush whatsoever.

He places a soft kiss on your cheek as he keeps moving his hips in semi-up and down motion, angling them just a bit to reach deeper inside of you. A sweet moan rolls off your tongue as you wrap your legs around his hips, squeezing them tightly for a moment. Aventurine places a soft kiss on your chest before he moves his attention to one of your nipples, letting his lips wrap around it as his tongue begins making tender circles over it.

You let out a pleased sigh as he continues the gentle pace of his hips, cock grinding over your g-spot more and more with each thrust. Your hips arch back into the mattress as your back arch away from it, hand falling into Aventurine's hair as he sneaks in a few tender sucks on your nipple.

Your mind feels hazy, body slightly tense, yet so relaxed as sweet waves of warmth spread beneath your skin. You let go of his hips, spreading your legs around him and letting yourself become more sensitive to his thrusts. You grip on his hair a bit tighter as Aventurine lets go of your nipple with a mellow pop! sound, kissing the middle of your chest afterwards.

His eyes remain on yours for a few moments before you bring your hand to his lips, urging him to open. Your middle and ring finger slide past his parted lips; his tongue gently rolling around them as the pace of his hips remains steady and a bit more deep now.

A breathy moan bubbles up your throat as he makes your fingers nicely wet, slowly letting them slide out of his mouth.

He places a soft kiss on your fingertips, gaze lustful, yet loving as he moves his attention to your other nipple. The wet fingers slide between your bodies, reaching your throbbing clit. You begin drawing small circles to match the pace of his hips, rush of excitement and deeper arousal speeding through your veins. Your hips relax again due to Aventurine speeding up his pace just a bit more, slightly forcing your hips into the mattress.

You match his pace with your fingers, jolts of pleasure making your body twitch in places as his tongue rolls over your nipple. His cock reaches deeper inside of you, stimulating all of your sweet and sensitive spots, making your tummy swirl in excitement and arousal. Your lower tummy becomes more warm as both of you continue to move in sync, squeezing more moans and whimpers out of your throat. Aventurine lets a guttural whimper around your nipple as your cunt leaks more precum around his cock, squeezing it tightly as your orgasm slowly builds up.

There is not a single thought inside of your mind, all that flows in is endless pleasure as your body reaches some odd state of calmness, regardless of the pressure that was building up. You speed up the pace of your fingers on your clit even more, body quivering beneath him as he slightly makes a semi-circular roll with his hips into you, his cock spreading you more while reaching the sweet spots you didn't know were there.

Aventurine slowly lets go of your nipple, placing a sloppy kiss on top of it as he makes another soft roll with his hips, grinding his cock deeper inside of you.

A small hiccup mixed with a gasp escapes your throat. Then again. Another roll of his hips sends tingles through your chest, forcing out a sharper moan as his cock presses into your g-spot perfectly.

You continue circling on your clit as Aventurine continues to tease you with small circular rolls of his hips, enjoying how your body reacts to them. 

"..-vasha-," a soft, yet hiccuping moan of his name rolls off your tongue like honey, head slightly pressing back into the pillow. 

Your words come slowly to him, his cock making a sudden twitch as his hips tense up for a moment, making him remain still.

"What did you say?" he whispers, his voice a bit shaky.

"Kakavasha-," you reply in a soft tone, a mellow moan following behind as his cock twitches again inside of your sensitive cunt. You continue rubbing your fingertips over your clit, slightly arching your hips as your needy cunt leaks more. 

"Say it again." he says almost desperately as he finally continues thrusting into you, his cock pulsating heavily.

You repeat his name through a broken moan as his cock pressures deeper into your g-spot.

"Again." he orders mindlessly, speeding up the pace of his hips just a bit more. A louder moan escapes your throat as you arch your back, chest pressing into his. You repeat his name again, tone unsteady as the heat beneath your skin grows hotter and heavier. He continues to pound into you, gaze fixated on your face, needy and shameless.

"Say my name while you cum. I want to hear it." he says in a serious, almost dominant tone as he straightens himself, towering above you, using his palms for balance.

This new readjustment makes his hips move more easily, more quickly, letting his cock slide in and out of you at a fast pace, without a break. He gazes down on you, eyes filled with some sort of excitement, yet softness.

Perhaps this is a new kink of his, but who knows?

Your eyes roll back as the sudden relentless stimulation on your g-spot sends heavy waves to convulse inside your lower tummy. The pace of your fingers on your clit follows the pace of Aventurine's hips, edging you closer and closer to your release.

"Look at me while you say it." he orders above you, speeding up his hips even more as he becomes desperate for you to cum while moaning his name out. You force your gaze to remain on his, the overall sight of his upper body making you dizzy as your legs grow weaker.

You feel his cock twitch inside of you, excitement more than evident. Your body tenses up, breath getting stuck in your throat as your pussy pulsates and clenches around him in response, the heat in your lower tummy slowly unraveling.

You keep looking at him with an unsteady gaze, eyelids barely open as your release rushes through you in the first few quick waves.

"Kakav.., Kakavasha-, fuck!" you moan out, hips pressing deeper into the mattress as you roll your head back, his cock gliding over your g-spot and prolonging the peak of your orgasm for as long as possible.

Your fingers become twitchy and shaky on your clit, slightly messing up the pace as your whole body feels heavy and light at the same time. Waves of heat rush through your veins, making your head heavy as Aventurine keeps up the fast pace of his hips, pounding into you without a break. 

"Cum inside of me, fill me up, please-," you moan mindlessly as your orgasm takes the better out of you, hips desperately twitching and rolling to meet his cock.

"Who?" Aventurine asks with a small smile on his face, slightly tilting his head as he gazes down at you. You curse under your breath as your orgasm slowly melts away, cunt becoming sensitive and somehow even needier.

"Kakavasha, please, cum inside of me-, please-, " your voice is weak, slightly breaking as you squeeze your legs tightly around his waist, pulling him deeper.

A guttural whine escapes Aventurine's throat, his gaze still fixated on you as his cock twitches inside of your drooling cunt.

He slowly leans closer to you as he remains at the vigorous pace of his hips, cock leaking precum inside your tightening cunt as his own release edges too close. He sucks in a breath, shaky voice sending shivers down your spine as he swallows his own filthy sounds to speak.

"Only if you let me discover in how many more ways you can moan my name out after this." he whispers almost mindlessly and you nod, lips parting as he lets out a strained, trembling and prolonged moan, burying his cock deep inside of you as he finally reaches his release.

A whip of his thick cum sends a tingling sensation through your thighs as it melts inside of your warm cunt. His lips press onto yours, swiftly parting them as his tongue finds yours, making a desperate and needy kiss as he continues pounding into you, cock barely softening regardless of his orgasm.

He was serious about his desire, so you might as well enjoy the long night in front of you.

#aventurine x reader smut #aventurine x reader #aventurine smut #aventurine x you #aventurine x yn #aventurine x y/n #hsr imagines #hsr smut #hsr x reader smut #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr x y/n #hsr x female reader #female reader #muse's writings

[itiswormtimebaby]

Here’s what I’m thinking about: 

Biker!Bucky (who also happen to be your brothers best friend) fucking your thighs. 

TW: 18+ oral (fem receiving), pussy job, thigh job, virgin reader (Bucky is very into it), no piv No YN, Reader is referred to as Bug and is described as being plus size but there are no other physical descriptors. Takes place after Biker!Bucky comforts you when you get way too high. 

Things had shifted after that blessedly damned brownie but despite all the begging you’d done for Bucky to finally split you open and take you apart on his cock he was valiant in his efforts to take it slow. Slow somehow including licking into your mouth at the back of a movie theater while two knuckles deep, having you ride his thigh at the food truck festival, and spending countless hours in bed between your spread thighs. 

It’s where you are now, the soft cotton of Bucky’s bedspread dampening under your sweat soaked skin, his tongue working sinful circles over your swollen nub causing you to clench, almost painfully, down on the two fingers he’s currently working you open on. 

And jesus fuck there’s enough slick dripping past them and onto your thighs for him to drown in; he’d happily go that way, buried face first in the creamy mess you’ve left just for him. 

Alternatively you could just smother him with your thighs, fuck, your thighs- his brain feels like mush as he turns his head just enough to begin placing wet open mouthed kisses to the soft skin of your right thigh, laving and nipping at each stretch mark as he moves across them, furthering wetting his face with you as he does so. He grunts as you pull particularly hard at his hair, arching your back and trying to redirect his mouth to your clit but he ignores you as he begins to lick long stripes across the meat of your thighs, tasting musk and salt and something unconventionally sweet. 

This could be the day, he thinks, your mewls going straight to his dick. He could finally fuck you open, carve out that space inside he now knows you’ve been saving just for him, claim you but- 

“Bu-u-ucky!” Your whine sounds nearly petulant, still wiggling to try and get his mouth back on you, “please!” But no, no  you’re not ready yet. 

Instead he sits back on his haunches, watching for a moment as his fingers disappear and reappear as he fucks you with them, each thrust a little harder than the last before his hands find their way up your body, spreading slick across the ample swell of your stomach before he’s cupping your face and half pulling your upper body off the bed to meet him in a filthy open mouthed kiss. 

“Let’s try something new, Bug.” 

You release a soft oomph as he pushes you back on the bed with little ceremony, back flat. You rub your thighs together in sweet anticipation, the sound of his belt buckle coming undone making you whimper, this could be it, this could be it, this could be- 

But no, instead of pressing the spongy head of his cock inside of you he uses it to circle your clit, thumb guiding it around and around before he begins to languidly thrust his cock through the messy lips of your gushing pussy. The flat length of it provides a friction like you’ve never felt before, your gasps and moans joining in with Bucky’s labored breathing each time the tip nudges your clit on each up stroke. After a few minutes of this, of clenching painfully around nothing, awareness only awarded to the pleasure he gives you and the pain he causes by leaving you empty inside, he pushes both of your thighs up to rest on your plush stomach and begins to fuck them. 

There’s no other way to describe it. Bucky is fucking your thighs, he’s gripping them painfully tight, pushing them together, and driving his length in and out between them, plenty lubricated by the slick that continues to escape you. The tip of his cock still manages to kiss your clit at each stroke. You're delirious with pleasure, keening and moaning and raking your nails down whatever bit of inked skin you can reach, and though his cock feels like heaven between your thighs it’s his voice that ultimately sends you over; 

“Fuck, Bug” he rasps “Fuck, Bug, you feel so good, my beautiful girl- my-Fuck”

His dark hair is limp against his forehead, plastered to it by his own sweat, and his mouth, that sinful mouth is still glistening with proof of his devotion to your pleasure as he continues to talk you through it.

“If it feels this good now just- fuck, just think about when I’ve got you stuffed full of my cock. Christ, I can’t wait, I’m going to fucking ruin you, Bug.” 

With one particularly hard nudge from the head of his cock to your clit you let go with a cry, something that vaguely sounds like his name and has him also reaching his end, painting the messy lips of your pussy white with his cum. 

#bucky barnes x reader #biker!bucky #bucky/reader #bucky barnes smut #plus sized reader #hwita #brother's best friend bucky #bucky and bug

[thebearer]

Can you write about Carmy making Reader say nice things about herself during sex???

minors dni 18+ tw: bad self talk but it's brief. dom!carmy.

"Again." It wasn't a request, but rather an order- a command. One followed by a sharp snap of his hips into yours, leaving you arching off the mattress.

"Carmen, p-please." Tears pricked the back of your eyes, mind swimming with pleasure. Every harsh, purposeful roll and snap of his hips was leaving you shaking, breathless and gripping the sheets.

"No. What'd I tell you, huh?" Carmen stilled, his hand moving to your throat, fingers pushing the side of your jaw so you looked at him, dark blue eyes boring into yours. "Keep sayin' it."

"Carmy, this is-"

His hand caught your throat, just lightly enough to feel you gasp, he could feel you clench around his cock. "I told you I didn't want to hear anything come out of that mouth that wasn't somethin' nice about yourself, correct?" Carmen's hips ground into you, coarse base of his pelvis wet with your slick.

"Yes." You squeaked, meeting his small rolls of his hip, grinding down with him, the feeling of the fat head of his cock barely brushing your sweet spot was making your body blaze in heat.

"So do as I ask." Carmen growled lightly, letting his hand move from your throat. "Before I have to get mean."

Your tummy flipped at the threat, shivering at the malice in his tone, toes curling with sensation. You mewled, looking away from his eyes. You felt too vulnerable, cheeks flooding with heat when you thought about what he wanted.

One off handed comment before bed, just one, that's all it took. Standing in the mirror, huffing at your reflection. "Carmy you gotta stop cooking for me. I'm getting fucking huge." You pouted, turning in the mirror. "My thighs are ginormous-"

"-Hey." Carmen snapped, stepping out of the bathroom, toothbrush still in hand. "Stop that. You're fuckin' beautiful, you know that."

You blushed, rolling your eyes. "'m not." You muttered, pinching the fat on your hips with a pout. "It's gross. I know. I'll start going to the gym tomorrow again, and I-"

Carmen pulled you by your hips, turning you to face him. His eyes were hard but not angry... hurt, was a better descriptor. "Hey, stop that." He frowned, lines of his forehead creasing deeply with the pull of his face. "Don't fuckin' say that. Why are you sayin' that, baby? It's not true."

"Carmy, it's ok. You don't have to lie t'me-"

"Excuse me?" Carmen's brows rose at the comment- the allegation. His hands gripped tighter on your hips. "Who are you talkin' to right now, huh? 'Cause you sure as fuck aren't talkin' to me like that, and you're not gonna be talkin' to yourself like that either. No fuckin' way."

He moved you quickly, one hand holding your wrists behind your back, the other snaking a hand down the front of your shorts. You stood in front of the mirror, watching him behind you, his eyes meeting yours in the refelection.

"Take it back." Carmen growled, finger ghosting over your puffy lips.

"Carmen..." You whined, a little embarrassed, a little shocked.

"Take. It. Back." Carmen growled, his hot breath tickling your neck. "Look at yourself and apologize." You protested only for a moment, his palm slapping against your mound lightly, but hard enough for you to gasp, knees buckling.

Carmen shoved your shorts down, letting them slide down your legs to a puddle on the ground. "Say you're sorry."

"I'm sorry." Your voice wobbled, hips rolling into his touch.

"For what?" Carmen pressed, fingers slipping through your slick folds.

"For-For saying I was ugly." You stuttered, chest rising and falling sharply, body electric with heat.

"You're not ugly are you?" Carmen hummed, lips brushing over the sweet spot on the crook of your neck. "Are you?"

"N-No." You hesitated, not at all convincing.

"Hm, that's not good enough." Carmen tsked, shaking his head at you. "Look at yourself and tell yourself you're not ugly."

"Carmen, I'm not going to do that, c'mon." You huffed, a nasally whine breaching in the back of your throat.

"Oh, yes you are." Carmen bit, eyes challenging and glaring at you through the mirror. "You know what I think? I think that's all you're gonna do tonight, you hear me?"

And that's exactly what you did. He kept you in front of the mirror, teasing you while compliments tumbled out of your lips, towards yourself. He'd guide you, mutter a praise into your skin that you repeated. When you did, he'd reward you. Hands bracing either side of the mirror, leaning forwards while Carmen ate you from the back.

"Say it again," He'd encourage, a gentle hand rubbing down your sweat slicked back.

"I'm a pretty girl." You babbled, knees wobbling from his tongue.

And when you didn't? Carmen was quick to correct you.

"I can't hear you, baby." Carmen muttered, a low rasp from between your legs, forehead resting on your ass.

"Carmen, please, that's enough, ok? I won't say it anymore, just please-" Two sharp cracks of his palm on your ass had you squealing, eyes jerking open to look at him behind you, lips in a tight line.

"Don't make Daddy have to punish you, c'mon. You were being so good. Keep going f'me." His tone was soft but firm, a soothing balm that left you blushing and head reeling. Desperate to be good for him.

You whimpered, but turned back to the mirror, jutting your hips back out. "I-I'm a pretty girl." You stuttered quietly, moaning when Carmen's tongue licked a long stripe from front to back, swirling and gliding through your folds.

Now, he had you where he wanted you. In that pretty headspace that had you sweet, fucked out and so good for him.

"Again, baby," Carmen's breath caught in his throat, holding back his own low groan. "Say it f'me again."

"I'm a pretty girl." You whined, eyes glossed over, clenching around him.

"You are." Carmen nodded, a sweet kiss to seal the sentiment. "Prettiest girl, you know that?"

You nodded, keening when he rolled his hips, pushing your legs back to hit that spot inside of you that had you sobbing. "S' pretty. Beautiful. Say it."

"Beautiful." You repeated, a little brainless, parroting his phrases.

Carmen smirked. "Who is?"

"You." You muttered. Carmen's heart swelled, blushing boyishly at the compliment.

"Who else? Hm? Someone prettier than me, who's that?" Carmen cooed, his own abs tightening with every sloppy thrust, your nails sinking into his arms.

"Me." You whined, a whimper that had Carmen sure he was going over the edge.

"That's right. You're a pretty girl aren't you? Prettiest fuckin' thing in the world- fuck." Carmen's hips snapped, deep, holding himself there for a moment. He could feel you clenching, your own orgasm washing over you again, shaking legs and fluttering eyes. He was spilling not long after, face pressed into your neck, muttering over and over the same praises between deep heaves and shuddering moans.

#thebearer #thebearerblurbs #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto smut #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #carmy smut #carmen berzatto fic #carmy berzatto fluff #the bear season 2 #the bear fx #the bear #the bear hulu #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy x you

[absolutekillswitch]

no alarms and no surprises (please)

pairing: luke castellan x thanatos!reader

tw: major TLO spoilers (honestly tho if u haven’t read it yet, begone), major character death, discussions of blood and death, Luke was reader’s first kiss, mentions of past manipulation, lots of crying, and also i made [REDACTED] take way too long to die for the sake of dialogue. Sorry. Also! she/her pronouns are used, but I tried to steer clear of descriptors outside of that so this SHOULD be woc friendly

word count: 3.4k

It was cruel, this end he was facing. Y/N had felt it long before she’d seen it, that deep intrinsic tug within her, that sixth sense that had begun to go haywire since New York had fallen asleep, since the final countdown for western civilization had officially started running. The tug that alerted her to a new death in her vicinity. The curse bore by the children of death, the chained god, to feel the string of fate being cut, to sense lost souls being carried to the underworld by their father. To mourn, but not to see. She’d never felt it as frequently as she did now, feeling like threads tugging her in countless directions, so much so that her aim with her sword was affected. She’d been coined the best swordsman back at camp, after the previous titleholder had vacated the position, but now, it was like she was jittery, like a newborn zebra with a sword in their grasp, trying to learn how to stand and fight all at once, her battle senses being overridden by the unavoidable emotional pain of the fact that every tug she was feeling, was the feeling of a fellow demigod dying.

But then she’d felt that one.

The strength of this particular tug wasn’t lost on her. It was stronger than any she’d faced yet— stronger than the tugs of those she’d slain herself, and stronger than the tugs of those who had been close to her, when they were alive. It was so strong that the metaphysical tug had felt like a real, physical one, like she was physically being pulled in its direction. The proof of it is the crude slash on her forearm, where the kid she’d been fighting back had gotten a lucky shot on her due to her presently distracted nature.

It had to have been him.

She wasn’t sure just who she’d been fighting, and in the end, she doesn’t think it really mattered all that much, if they were a former camper; a demigod, or if they were an armored monster, as with a wave of her hand, the ground rumbles, opening up under their feet, boney, decayed hands dragging them into the earth, only for the ground to close up on them halfway through their forced descent. Y/N didn’t even notice, nor did she really care. All she knew was that she’d put an end to her own fight, allowing her feet to carry her to his side, numbness flooding her body, with a whispered command to her undead soldiers,

“Protect them.”

She’s not even sure how she found him, exactly. She’d just always been able to find him like that. Now seemed to be no exception to the rule, as she followed what she would consider to be the string of fate to his side. The sight she sees when she does is an unwelcome one, however. There’s three of them— she sees Percy and Annabeth crowded around a figure on the ground. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who it is.

“Oh, Gods,” Y/N whispers, hesitating to get closer. She doesn’t know if she can. At the sound of her voice, Percy turns. He looks pale, eyes ringed in red. It looks like he’d been crying, exhausted, eyes wide, as if he were afraid he’d collapse if he even blinked. Y/N wouldn’t blame him, if he did.

“Y/N—“ He hesitates to speak, to try and explain, but Y/N doesn’t let him. She’s already marching over, ignoring the dread building in her gut, the tears in her eyes. And that’s when she sees him.

“Luke,” She whispers, the single word bordering on a gasp. Internally, she’s vaguely aware that this is the first time she’d used his name in years, preferring to call him by his last name, or traitor, at best, or whatever random curse she could think of at the time, at worst. She’d gotten pretty good at it, honestly— the coming up with insults to hurl at him every time they’d crossed paths since his betrayal. But now, all of that is gone. It seems that at that moment, Annabeth and Percy disappeared. It’s just them as she crumbles, falling to her knees before he can even protest. It’s him, not Kronos, she knows. They’d all learned how to tell the difference between the two, when Kronos had taken Luke’s face. Kronos had a colder air about him, eyes golden. Just pure evil that seeped into your bones, that seemed to change even the people around you. But this? This was Luke Castellan. Soft, soulful brown eyes, and a welcoming air about him. This was the guy who had been like all of Camp Half-Blood’s big brother. This was the guy Y/N had been in love with ever since she’d arrived at camp, even if she realized it far too late. Even if he was currently trying to get Percy to make her leave, not wanting her to see him like this. Never like this. Her eyes take stock of his appearance against her will. He looked just as bad as Percy did— worse, actually, given he was bleeding, Annabeth’s knife clattering from his hand to the marble below him. It makes her heart ache, the picture in front of her painted so clearly, even if she hadn’t been present to see it herself.

A hero’s soul, cursed blade shall reap.

They’d realized what the prophecy meant, clearly. Luke had to be the one to take Kronos— and to an extent, himself— out. And when Luke had done it, when he’d touched his own Achilles heel, Kronos had run. So now, Luke Castellan was dying. Alone.

Well— not alone.

She was still here. She always would be, even if he’d insist otherwise. He hated how she always had made him want to be a better person. Even now, as he lay dying, covered in sweat, blood, and ash. If she tries hard enough, she can almost pretend that they’re back at camp, that they’d had an extremely rough day playing capture the flag, that the pair of them are in the infirmary, making up ridiculous stories for the scars they’ll have as a result of their adventure, shedding tears from their short lived pain in the name of glory but laughing anyway as they stitched each other up, letting the Apollo kids deal with those who didn’t have someone to back them up like Y/N and Luke did— someone to dote on them, and someone to dote on in return. But it gets hard, keeping up this fantasy. They’re both far too battle-worn, both with eyes that had seen far too much, faces years older than they were the last time they’d seen each other. And in spite of it all, all she can find herself thinking is,

‘Oh, love, you grew up without me’.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Luke tells her plainly, his brown eyes fighting to focus on her through his tears that he’s fighting to push back. Had they always done that?

“Yet I’m here anyway. Deal.” She responds, brows furrowing, focusing on the wound in his side. Prophecies be damned, she won’t let him die. He sits up straighter, slumped uncomfortably against a marble wall at the sudden pressure to his side, the daughter of Thanatos trying to staunch the blood flow, trying to give him more time, tears clouding her own vision, hands shaking. She knows deep down that it’s all in vain, but she won’t let him go. Not like this. She’ll fight her father back herself, if she had to.

“Y/N…” He whispers uncomfortably, hating how blood spurts past his lips, onto his chin, as he utters her name. He’s going to die, he knows, he can almost feel the fates beginning to prepare to cut his thread, but there’s some things he can’t leave unsaid. “My— my heart, it was always yours. You know that, right?” He notices how she flinches, expression troubled. “Take care of it, for me. I know you’ll do better with it than I ever had.” It’s true— his entire time at camp, since she’d arrived, he’d stupidly ignored it. He let hate and anger and jealousy cloud his mind for so long, he never really appreciated what was in front of him. It was just unfortunate it was taking his death to realize that.

“Don’t— don’t say that, not to me,” she sobs, shaking hands still covering his wound, stupidly, naively, believing she could still save him. “Don’t make it sound like you’re dying. You’re not dying, damn it,” she still sounds determined, one hand leaving his wound to touch his face, holding his cheek, accidentally staining it with his own blood. “Don’t— don’t leave me here, please, I just got you back,” she pleads, glassy eyes blurring with tears. She thinks, honestly, that this is the first time she’s talking to just Luke, free of Kronos’ influence, since he’d stolen that lightning bolt from Olympus years ago. It’s the Luke she remembers, the one she so sorely missed.

He laughed quietly, reaching up to touch her fingers. Even now, as she was sobbing over him, unable to look him in the eye, she’s the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Her lips were so plump — as if made to be kissed, even in this moment of peril. “The gods might not want me, but I’m glad they’ve given you to me,” he whispered, squeezing her hand in his again. “I’m dying, Y/N. You can’t save me.” This makes her squeeze her eyes closed, shaking her head lightly, as if she isn’t listening. She isn’t, not really.

“No, nononono— stop that,” She cries, her eyes squinting shut in an effort to banish her tears, but it doesn’t work. “I’m— I’m the daughter of Thanatos, damn it, what good am I if I can’t do this? If I can’t keep just one person alive?” She seems to be talking mostly to herself, not giving up her mission on keeping him with her. Not after everything that’s been said, not with everything that’s being left unsaid. “I know this isn’t what I do, that I’m not a fucking sunshiney Apollo kid who can heal someone on a whim. But this is kinda my thing, is it not? Just… Just one. Please, let me save just this one. I’ll never ask for anything again.” She’s looking up at the sky— praying, it looked like, while blinking away her own tears. She couldn’t remember the last time she prayed to the gods for anything, but she was now. To anyone who would listen, though Luke gets the sneaking suspicion she’s talking to her father. The one she blamed, for being unable to save anyone. She couldn’t heal, the best she could do was sit by and watch.

Luke laughed again, but it’s humorless— and it was so cruel, to die when he could feel his heartbeat quickening as Y/N was so close, her lips so near to his, her eyes so lovely. He wished he could kiss her right now, in this moment, on the marble floor, with blood running over his fingers and the dagger still next to them.

“Y/N, promise me one thing?”

“Anything,” Y/N nods softly, her attention turning back to him. She hates how the simple act of saying her name still affected her so much, after all this time. Her tears were cutting through the grime on her face from a hard fought battle, covered in her own and the blood of others, trembling. Still, she finds it in her to make a promise to the dying boy she loved. “Anything. Just—“ she drifts off, nodding, knowing they don’t have time. Luke took a breath, his eyes fluttering shut. For the first time in his life, he genuinely felt like a young man. A teenage boy, holding his girlfriend's hand and wanting nothing but her to keep safe. For a moment, he can pretend. But only for a moment. His breath hitched, and slowly, he felt the life fading from his body — as if it was being drawn from him like water in a cup. He hesitates to speak, but knows he’s running out of time. He can feel it, being sapped from his bones. But in spite of that, he’s not… afraid. He isn’t angry. He almost isn’t even in pain. He thinks it’s her, that it’s Y/N’s aura as a daughter of Thanatos, that no one in her vicinity will feel pain, a divine remainder of her father’s power flowing in her veins, the guide to the underworld, before they’d meet the ferryman. A walking shot of morphine. He’s heard stories from his spies, about how when Camp would lose a camper during their fight with Kronos— with him—, Y/N would stay with them until they passed, holding their hand, telling stories, bringing them peace, so they would go out with a kind face. Much like she was doing now, for him. The Thanatos of the waking world, the guiding light to death. It’s much more than he deserves, and he knows it.

"Promise me.... you'll meet me again... at the River Styx," He whispered.

“I’ll find you in Elysium.” She promises softly through sniffles, brushing his hair out of his face, a forced soft smile on her own face. She wants him to go out peacefully, wants to remember her smiling, even if she wants to scream at the sky and cry until she couldn’t breathe anymore. She’d been pretty good at it, feigning calmness and serenity with the campers they lost on their own side. It made their passing easier. But this? With him? She doesn’t know if it does. He’d always been far too good at reading her, for that. “I swear it, on the Styx, that I’ll find you in Elysium.” She sounds sure of herself, that even after everything he’d done, he’d earned a hero’s afterlife. That’s what the prophecy said, after all, right? Somehow, she knows she, too, will find herself with a hero’s death. Life wouldn’t be so kind to allow her to die of old age. She’d die hard, with a sword in her hand, and anger in her heart. Luke's eyes flickered open to meet the softness of hers, of lips he wanted to taste, of skin he wanted to cover with kisses. For a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of mourning the future he could’ve had with this girl, if he hadn’t been so hellbent on his never ending quest for glory.

Kleos. The word feels like poison, now. Maybe it always had been.

"No —" He whispered, head shaking lightly, "I won't be in Elysium. I’ll go to Asphodel—" He choked. That's where he'd likely be, being punished for his treason. It’s the least he deserved, after everything he’d done. "— and then the Fields of Punishment. But promise me... that you will wait for me, at the River."

“No,” Y/N shakes her head, adamant. He should probably take her word for it— she’s the daughter of the god of death, after all. She had a sense for these things. “Elysium. I’m sure of it. You’ve earned it.” She promises, tone soft. She doesn’t mention how she’d never let her father live it down if anything else took place. She’d tear Hades apart herself, find his soul and bring him back, somehow. Like Orpheus and Eurydice, except she’d succeed. “Regardless— it doesn’t matter. I’ll always find you. No matter where you are, I’ll find you. I swear it.”

He laughed, and it was a sad one. He was so weak, so very weak, his eyes flickering once more, his hand squeezing hers as tightly as he could, wanting to burn her imprint into his flesh. "You are so stubborn, you know that? You always have been," he whispered. Images flash through his mind against his will— her face, always her face. When she’d learned of his betrayal, then later when he’d attempted to sway her to his side. When they would train together in the arena— camp’s two best swordsmen. When she’d have nightmares, constant images of the dead trying to use her, both for her powers and as revenge on her father, who they felt claimed them from the mortal plane far too soon, to crawl their way back to the world of the living, and how, terrified of closing her eyes again, she’d crawl into his bed with him, the only place she felt safe enough to fall back asleep. When she’d kissed him for the first time, on her seventeenth birthday. Because ‘most demigods don’t get to make it to seventeen, so I’m making seventeen count’, as she’d put it. Then, later that night, after his surprise wore off, when he had kissed her. It pains him to think about how he’d only been manipulating her, back then. Had he loved her? Sure, but his mission always seemed more important at the time. He’d do it for them, he’d told himself. The gods would regret every unclaimed child, and every claimed child resigned to the Hermes cabin because they weren’t born with the luxury of having a parent that had a throne on Olympus, one of the big twelve. For kids like Y/N. His hand slipped from hers, and he couldn't bring himself to close his eyes. Instead, he'd watch her, as if he could lock her into his memory. "Will you... will you stay here with me, until my life..." He couldn't finish the sentence.

“Until the very end.” She promises softly, her voice cracking with the effort not to cry. She’d almost given up on trying to staunch the bleeding, one hand resting on his face, brushing languidly, lovingly, over his cheek, just around the edge of his scar. She’s not sure what possessed her in that moment, as she leans down, placing a soft, chaste, yet romantic kiss to his lips. After all, he’d been her first kiss, it felt fitting that she would also be his last. As she pulls away, she whispers against his lips, “I love you, Luke Castellan.”

He was breathless, the kiss like a dagger to the chest, biting deeper than the blade that will end up taking his life. In a matter of minutes, his heartbeat would skip its last beat, and her face will be the last he sees, the last thought on his mind. His hand came up to the back of her neck, holding her as he whispered in return, "... I love you too." He managed only that, before his heart failed him. He was gone, and he didn't make a sound.

Gone with a whimper, not a bang.

The blood that fell from his wound was now staining the pristine marble flooring beneath them, the last remnants of life and love, of devotion and betrayal. Y/N hoped that it would stain forever, a constant reminder of his sacrifice.

Y/N felt his final breath fan across her face, and she knew he was gone. Her eyes remained closed, steady tears rolling down her face, their foreheads pressed together. She can feel him growing cold as she sobs. “No,” She whimpers, his hands, now gone limp, still in hers. “No, please no—“ Vaguely, she’s aware of the rumbling of the ground under her feet, a telltale sign of her powers coming out to play, a throng of undead soldiers aching to burst past the earth’s mantle, to await her command. Her face screws up into an expression of anguish, though she forces the feeling down, knowing that if she didn’t reel in her own emotion, her legion of death wouldn’t hesitate to grab every demigod in her vicinity and drag them into the earth, to take their place in the afterlife. Maybe they’d take her, too. Maybe she hoped they would.

The thing about being the daughter of death, was that when a soul left a body and you were near enough to it, you could feel them leaving the mortal plane, accompanied by her father to the underworld. She could feel it, feel him, Luke’s soul leaving his body. She always did, with the campers they lost during the war, but this one hits too close to home. It’s a startling, chilling, terrifying feeling, that only makes her sob harder, knowing the boy she loved was now in her father’s hands, and out of her own. This was always the hardest part. “Take care of him for me, pops,” she whispers, voice trembling, knowing her father was with Luke’s soul right now, the pair watching over her mourning over Luke’s body. As that realization passes over her, she sits up straight, a ragged scream of mourning threatening to tear her vocal cords apart. In the background, she’s vaguely aware of the voice of Percy Jackson speaking,

“We need a shroud. A shroud for the son of Hermes.”

Notes: and with that, we’re done. This was super fun! I feel like I could go on forever about Luke x Grim Reader (I’m calling them deadwings/grimwings), and if there’s enough of a demand, I just might. Feedback is obviously appreciated !! Drink some water, hug a friend, and don’t forget to pirate PJO 🫶

#JAZZ HANDDSS #happy Friday have some soul shattering angst #and for my next trick I’ll disappear into obscurity never to be heard from again #jk #unless??? #pjo x reader #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan angst #luke castellan x you #PJO angst #x reader #PJO imagine

[carolmunson]

the moon had turned to gold.

(soft!eddie x badatfeelings!gf)

and we're back folks. i'm going through it so i had to revisit my kids. the badatfeelings!gf set is a series of ramblings with no rhyme or reason, flow of conciousness. not from a 'you' perspective but 'she/her' has no physical descriptors.

tw: depictions and descriptions of depression (eddie to the rescue). because i'm sad!

Her eyes have been half closed for days -- wakes up and gets out of bed, makes coffee, reads the paper, gets back in bed for an indescerable amount of time. More coffee, hand fulls of shredded cheese, water from the side table that's been there for days. She hasn't been going into work, just in the dark of her room while the hum of the window unit drones on and on and on. He knocks, opening the door to darkness despite the warm glow of golden hour outside -- her black out curtains a bigger success than she expected. She's awake but not really, eyes glazed over watching snow on the TV she moved to her bedroom.

Summer blues she called it, summertime sad. The air is stale, he can tell she hasn't moved much this morning. She hasn't moved much all month. "Hi." Quiet and soft, rounded edges in his voice, "Bad day?"

She uses whatever strength she has to lift her arm out of the covers and give him a thumbs down. He lets a huff of a laugh out of his nose, "Yeah, I see that." Despite laying in bed all day her body is tense and he knows that maybe she'll feel better about moving when she knows the sun is going down. He thought this vampire sleep schedule shit would've been sexier -- but it's not. It hurts to see her like this, so tired from just waking up, so sick of just existing. He's seen her cry more than he has in the years they've been together. But at least she's like -- crying. She never used to cry at all.

He sneaks onto the edge of the bed, his backside and hips nestling in the dip of her waist over the covers, "Do you know what would be nice?"

"Hm?" she asks, body heavy while she flops over to put an arm around where she can reach. "Taking a shower," he offers, hand resting on her hair, thumb grazing her forehead, "You always feel a little better after." "Mhm," she nods sleepily. "I can put your jammies in the drier so they're cozy when you come out," he smiles, voice still soft, still rounded edges. Her lashes flutter before she looks up at him, glassy and glazed, half here half not. Zombie girlfriend, vampire girlfriend, monster girlfriend, sad girlfriend. She's so pretty, he thinks.

"Yeah," she nods.

"Yeah to the jammies in the drier?" he asks. "Yeah," she says, her voice is quiet -- meek. 'Yeah' was her first word of the day. "That," she nods again, deep breath in through the nose and it rattles at the exhale, "Shower, too."

He helps her up and hears the crack in some of her bones, the stiffness in her joints while her face contorts at the change in position. She's been in the same sleep shirt for three days, some field day shirt from college. Green socks on her feet, the tops shoved down her ankles, one nearly falling off. No crumbs in her bed at least -- he knows she's too anxious for that. But the dishes aren't done and the bag of shredded cheese is abandon on the counter. Mugs of varying fullness off coffee are sitting in random placeholders in the small apartment. Forgetful -- foggy.

"C'mon," he coos, pulling her in at the shoulders to take her to the bathroom. She's so tired from doing nothing that she can't help but keep doing nothing. He pulls off her sleep shirt and panties, he helps with the socks, turning the shower on to a medium heat. Forhead kiss, cheek kiss, cheek kiss. Poor baby.

"Do you need help getting in?"

She shakes her head no.

"What do you want to wear for PJs?"

She shrugs. He figured she would.

He pulls back the shower curtain and she gets inside, he waits for the inevitable sigh she lets out when the water hits her. He peeks in, her naked body not important the way it usually is -- its those eyes, half closed -- less sad, less sleepy. Contemplative, alive. Half dead lover. His ghoulish girl.

"I'll leave them in here for when you're done."

He knows he has time to clean up for her -- easy to get lost in the void when you stand in the shower and that's where she is. Here and gone and here and gone again. Tongue tucked away between her teeth -- he almost misses when she's mean. He misses her so bad, but he takes what he can get, even if it's putting sweats in the drier.

When the hot water runs out she emerges, wet hair dripping down onto the new t-shirt -- still warm like the sweats on her legs. Fresh linen scent radiating off her like her coconut conditioner. She doesn't even care that the rest of the house is warm and sticky from the air outside. It's fresher now, he opened the windows and did the dishes. Cleaned out all the mugs. Opened your bedroom door to let the coolness flow to some of the house, too make things less stale. He lit two candles, sugar cookie scented -- it's all you ever bought because that's his favorite.

"Thank you," voice still meek. Still under twentywords today. Eyes a little more open. He puts down the mug he was drying and tosses the hand towel over the faucet of the sink.

"S'no problem, baby," soft round edges, soft round boy. Patched vest left behind on the kitchen table chair, soft cut off t-shirt left behind. Tattooed arms outstretched to her in the sterile light of the kitchen, the sun is down now -- the stars starting to peek out of a dark navy sky.

She lets herself get pulled into him and it feels like it's happening in slow motion -- face in his chest, he closes in on her like a wave. The pressure is welcomed -- she's alive but barely. Biceps crush on her shoulder blades, her neck cracks -- reanimator boyfriend, zombie girlfriend. Living glass doll that feels better off dead. She falls into the hold while he sways with her, chin on her wet hair.

"Blue moon, you saw me standing alone..." he sings quietly while he sways, his own eyes shutting, "C'mon, sing it with me." He feels her head move in a 'no' on his chest. "It's your favorite," he argues, "It'll feel good." Another sigh -- the inevitable. "Without a dream in my heart..." He smiles at her voice, coming out a little stronger than before, he snickers before beginning again. "Without a love of my own..."

"Blue moon," they start together, he smiles a little stronger. She's doing her best so he doesn't push it when she doesn't keep singing. He peers down while he continues, her eyes are closed against his chest but she feels alive. Just safer. The kind of safe where she'll sleep good tonight, might even eat breakfast tomorrow.

"And then suddenly, appeared before me..."

He shakes her to the beat the song normally has, bum bum bum bum. She huffs a chuckle a the shimmying, smile stretching against the warm fabric of his shirt, the inhale like laundry detergent and summer heated skin. "The only one my arms will ever hold, I heard somebody whisper, 'Please, adore me'..."

"That's me," she interrupts, he pulls her in tighter, the sway stops slow. "Yeah," he sighs out, "That's you. Dropped right outta the sky." "Yeah," she says, head tilting up. The whites of her eyes glisten despite the redness creeping in at the edges. "I ordered pizza," he says, "Cause I know you didn't eat."

Her brows furrow, mouth souring.

"I know, I'm awful," he giggles, "Gotta feed the girl in your brain that isn't so sad -- that's my girl in there."

"M'still your girl even when I'm sad," voice back to sleepy meekness, she yawns.

"Yeah, you are," he confirms sweetly, plush lips pressing against her forhead, "Always my girl."

In the cool white green light of the kitchen they stand in damp solitude -- with a heave of her chest she starts to cry. He doesn't need to know the reason, just as long as she does -- as long as he's there to hold her through it. Alive girl. Fully alive in the darkness of another deep blue summer night.

And when I looked, the moon had turned to gold.

more badatfeelings here

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #boyfriend!eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things au #badatfeelings!gf #baf!eddie

[undiscovered-horizon]

(tw for mentions of nudity)

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

[After days of travelling, fighting and sleeping on rocks, a rest at a tavern is well-earned. Not feeling up to taste the nightlife with your friends, Halsin and you retire early. The evening turns into something heartfelt and domestic as you wash his hair and hum a song he's grown all too familiar with.]

The hot water against your skin is pleasant enough to elicit a chuckle of euphoria from you. It seems like a lifetime ago that you last had a warm bath. In some way, it was.

People downstairs are making good use of their money, time and energy - that you're sure of. Their music and laughter resound brightly but it's muffled by the walls and floors of the tavern, making it sound like the party is not mere meters below you but entire worlds away; almost like a memory of a banquet you're desperately trying to recall.

Despite not being used to the comforts of the city, Halsin was quick to accept your offer of shared bath. Perhaps it was the sharing part, more than the bath, that had convinced him. In any event, his broad back is resting against your chest, although judging by the minimal weight put on your body, you know he's holding back in fear of hurting you. Maybe one day you'll manage to get your point across that you would love to be smothered by the weight of his body.

As your thoughts wander further and further, you don't notice the soft melody escaping your lips. But Halsin does and the enigma of the tune he's grown to associate with you only makes him crack under the burning curiosity:

"You often hum this song to yourself. What is it?"

Only then do you finally hear your own voice. Have you really made a habit out of this? Suddenly flustered, your cheeks begin to burn. You've done nothing wrong and yet you feel embarrassed like a juvenile petty thief.

"It's something the washwomen back home used to sing while working," you explain awkwardly. In an attempt to steer away from the conversation, you reach for the cup next to the washtub. You did, after all, promise to wash his hair. "The river carried their voices, making the song audible pretty much everywhere."

"Would you mind singing it for me?" he asks, hesitance vibrant in his voice. Halsin must have noticed your sudden timidness and didn't want to push on but some part of him longed to hear the song so deeply ingrained in your mind.

You clear your throat. The lyrics first leave your mouth in a shaky voice, unsure whether your singing is pleasant enough for Halsin to want to actually hear it, but soon you let the comfort of the well-known melody take over your hesitant mind.

In my garden grows a rose Little Mania, go water my horse I can’t, I won’t, I’m afraid of the horse I fear the horse because I’m young

Halsin lets out a quiet sigh of relief as you pour the warm water over his hair. He smells of pine needles, sweat and mud but it's a good smell - it's the smell of someone who survived. And considering the strange course your life has taken these past few months, staying alive is the best thing that can happen.

In my garden grows rosemary Tell me, Mania, who’s the one that charmed you? Johnny’s eyes, Johnny’s eyes For they fell in love with my heart so much

The druid feels... odd. Not in the bad sense, of course. Perhaps "unfamiliar" would be a better descriptor. He's not used to having someone care for him in such an intimate, selfless way. After suffering so many losses in his life, Halsin doesn't quite know how to comfortably enjoy a triumph of sorts. Underneath the superficial pleasure and indulgement, lies a bottomless ocean of anxiety. Part of him expects this love to be short-lived like most affections in his long life.

His senses are overtaken by the dizzying aroma of lavender and rosemary as you carefully brush the oils through his hair.

In my garden grows a berry Tell me, little Mania, were you young? I was as young as a berry in the woods Like a berry in the woods, my love

Halsin doesn't often let himself dream and fantasise. It's better to expect nothing than to allow unrealistic scenarios to break his heart. However tonight, in the twilight of the chamber and with your soft breaths brushing against his neck, he lets his thoughts explore:

Years from now, if both of you manage to survive the upcoming series of misadventures, would this bathing be part of a routine? Dare he picture - after having put your children to sleep, would you regularly brush your fingers through his hair? Would you allow him to do the same for you? Just when he thought his heart could not swell more, the fantasy of a domestic life by your side made him ache. Something so sweet, something he's inhumanly desperate for, appears both out of reach and as the cure for his soul.

A thrilling shiver overtakes his body as he feels your nails gently scratch his scalp.

In my garden grows a lilly Tell me, little Mania, will you be mine? How do I know and tell you? How do I know if my mother will give me away?

Hot water is poured over his hair again. It feels just as good as it did before, if not better. The tension in his muscles dissipates, along with the soreness of day-long hikes over mountains and fields.

Then, Halsin feels your arms wrap around his midsection, your bare chest flush against his back. The hug is tight enough for him to be overly aware of the way your torso moves as you breathe calmly. Soft exhales brush against the warm skin of his shoulder. Perhaps it sounds a little cheesy, but to the druid, your smaller frame fits his bigger one perfectly.

Is this what being loved feels like?

"I know you're a man of virtue and honesty, my love," you murmur against his shoulder, "but can we lie a little and pretend we're still soiled and stay in here for a moment longer?"

His body shakes slightly as a chuckle rumbles in his chest. It still feels hardly believable that someone of your sort to seek his companionship. If he ever rejects your affections, he will have to be under a powerful curse.

"It brings my heart much joy to know you hold me in such high regard," he answers. One of his hands reaches for your palm, cradling it with almost fearful carefulness. Then, in an equally tender manner, Halsin places a chaste peck on the inside of your wrist. "Albeit, I am also faithful to nature."

You giggle when Halsin captures your lips in a passionate kiss. He's quick to turn around, water spilling out of the washtub, and trap you underneath him.

__

Gale's version right here!!

#halsin x reader #gn reader #halsin x you #halsin x tav #bg3 halsin #halsin bg3 #baldurs gate halsin #bg3 companions #halsin #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic

[depravitycentral]

I’m here to share. Uvo definitely loves face riding and would complain if you didn’t sit all the way down. I can’t be told otherwise.

Tw: dub-con oral, manhandling, implied that you're insecure about your weight but no actual physical descriptors used so anyone of any size can read, fem reader, MDNI

Oh absolutely.

To be honest, most of the time you won't even really have the chance to not put all your weight on him - the moment he decides he wants your thighs around his head, your cunt snug against his mouth, and your pretty tummy in perfect view, you're being manhandled and situated into how he wants. His hands are like iron as he grips you and pulls you flush against his face, the loud sniffing noise he makes and the groan that gets muffled against your folds making embarrassment creep up your spine. He's in heaven, truly, and while he wants to pleasure you and taste you, he'd almost be content to just lay there, smelling your musky, natural scent, and feeling all your weight pressing against him.

(He might even come from that - though you'd probably have to reach back and help him a bit. Don't worry, though - he'll do all the thrusting, you just have to make your hand into a pretty little hole - not nearly as pretty as your little hole, though.)

But for the sake of imagination, let's say you're in a situation where Uvogin isn't letting excitement get the better of him, and you have actual control over your body.

Firstly, while Uvogin doesn't force you into actual, penetrative sex, he does force oral onto you. Frequently. He just can't help it; you're so pretty and sweet and sexy, and he has a good sense of smell - good enough to almost, almost, be able to smell when you're aroused.

Even outside of getting to see your face screw up in pleasure and feel your body tremble and shake and writhe for him, he likes eating you out because it feels intimate, loving, and it's something he'd never do for a random hook up - or, at least, not to the extent, enthusiasm, or finesse with which he eats you. So it's an act driven by lust, yes, but equal parts love - which is why he's absolutely not letting you get away with harboring any insecurities.

He likes going down on you in other positions, but having you sit on his face is his favorite by far. When the mood strikes him (or he catches a whiff of something sweet, something heavy, something needy), he'll lick his lips, sending you that familiar grin while his eyes get a bit lidded, his voice low and sultry as he asks if you're feeling a little lonely over there, babe?

It doesn't really matter how you respond - he'll drop whatever he's doing, strip bare and plop himself down onto the bed, the couch, hell, even the floor, that same grin on his face as he tells you c'mere, I'm starving.

He's not very subtle when he brushes all his hair out of his face, getting comfortable and making sure his lips are wet, running his tongue over his teeth in anticipation because he can nearly taste you already.

And if you hesitate? Well, Uvogin's smile will falter a bit, his brow twitching, his voice just slightly more serious when you tells you to get that cute little ass over here, don't make come get you.

That'll get you edging over to him, standing above him and staring, playing with the hem of your shirt nervously because you know what he wants, but it still makes you a little unsure, a little apprehensive, a little insecure.

Uvogin's having none of it, rolling his eyes and pointing to his face, his smirk coming back in full force. Sit right here babe, you just sit down and look pretty and I'll do all the work.

Eventually, with a warning look sent your way, you'll relent, slipping down the shorts and panties over your knees and off your ankles, the warmth of the fireplace nearby making your skin tingle. You'll kneel down and carefully slot your thighs onto either side of his head, his hair brushes against your inner thighs and knees and tickling ever so slightly.

He's watching you the whole time as you shimmey upwards, those dark, smoldering eyes locking onto yours as your folds get closer and closer to his lips, spit already glistening on them as Uvogin's tongue runs over them again. You're barely even hovering four inches above him at this point and he's already practically salivating because he can already smell you, already see you and feel the warmth coming from between those lovely, soft thighs of yours.

Eventually you'll lower yourself down, feeling his breath (a little heavier than normal) blowing against your sensitive skin, your hands coming to rest awkwardly on top of your thighs. Uvogin hums below you, a hand coming up to squeeze and lightly grope at your ass, his fingers big and calloused as the rub against you.

Soon you'll feel him, his tongue running a teasing lick up your folds, the sensation making you suck in a breath and avert your eyes - he's still looking at you, forcing you to maintain eye contact, even though it's a little difficult to see him from this angle.

Those kitten licks turn into him lapping at you, his tongue wide and wet and warm, alternating between large, flat licks over the expanse of your slit, then dipping in between your folds to lightly thrust into you. His lips press against you, adding extra sensation and stimulation, and as he wanders further up, they latch around your clit while he suckles and licks circles over the little bud, making your breath hitch and your balance momentarily falter, your hands moving forward to catch you as your hips tremble.

You're so damn pretty, and with this new, slight angle change Uvogin gets an eye full of your tits, your nipples already swollen and hard, practically begging to be pinched and played with. His eyes flutter closed for a brief moment, and then he's pulling back ever so slightly, an ass cheek in each hand as he pulls and gropes. His voice is a little hoarse as he tells you with a twinkle in his eye to play with those tits babe, y'know I love when you make yourself feel good.

And you do - one hand comes up to lightly pinch at a nipple as he dives back into you, the hands on your ass pulling you down to meet him. The feeling of his tongue swirling along your clit and his chin rubbing against your folds makes you melt, but you're brought out of your reverie when you realize that he's pulling you down, and now nearly all your weight is resting on him.

Immediately you're trying to lift up a bit, to alleviate some of the pressure, but Uvogin only growls, tongue working at you with more fervor as he pulls down again, your hips effectively becoming a tug of war as you each pull.

Eventually he gets fed up, angry that you're distracting him from the lovely taste of you, and he pulls off your clit with a wet, suctioning pop noise that makes you bristle.

What the fuck, babe? What are you doing?

It's embarrassing to admit, but as he stares at you, one large hand moves from your ass to your chin, forcing your head to stay in place and maintain eye contact.

Your voice is small, unsure, ashamed as you tell him that you're too heavy, I don't want to crush you or suffocate you -

He cuts you off then, his grip on your chin tightening and an honest to god angry look settling into those dark eyes. What. The. Fuck?

You don't know how to respond to that, so instead you just bite your lip, your hand leaving your breast in favor of twiddling your fingers just to keep yourself busy.

Uvogin, meanwhile, can only stare at you incredulously. Are you kidding? You're worried about crushing him? Him, who's a whole head - at least - taller than you, easily weighing three times your body weight, and capable of lifting entire semi-trucks with ease? Are you kidding?

Shit, stop it. Stop looking like that. You're not gonna crush me. I can still breath, trust me, and even if I can't I'll let you know. Not that I would mind, though, suffocating on this pussy would be the perfect way to go.

His free hand smacks your ass at that, and you jump a bit, accidentally grinding your clit against the tip of his nose. He groans.

So quit it. Stop holding back. Sit down on my face, all the way. No more of this 'too heavy' shit - if I feel you pull back against I'll force you to stay down.

You can feel him grin against your folds. Even if the overstimulation makes you beg.

And with that, he's pulling you down again, forcing your weight down onto him and holding you steady, before moving his hands away from your ass to instead grope at your tits.

With some slight, short lived hesitation, you don't pull up, instead letting yourself put your full weight on him, and literally feeling the growl he lets out at that, the vibrations seeming to run from your toes to your fingertips.

Uvogin's good with his tongue - he's licking and slurping and sucking, the noises lewd and wet and vulgar, your cries and his hums and groans making your head spin. Soon the pleasure is making you throw caution to the wind, your full weight still on him as you grind yourself against his tongue, the wet muscle thrusting into you almost as deep as your own fingers can reach, your clit rubbing against his nose in a rhythmic, steady pace.

Uvogin brows cock up a bit - you're close, he can tell. With a renewed vigor, he works at that spot inside you again and again, careful to keep the pace the same but the pressure and precision higher, anything to get you screaming his name and feeling those thighs tense up around his head.

Everything smells like you you you - all he can breath in is your scent, and all the can see and hear and taste and feel is you, and Uvogin thinks he might ascend, your presence clouding all of his senses and making heat swell up between his legs and his muscles clench and his eyes water and oh fuck -

You cry out his name and clench down on his tongue just as something warm and wet sprays onto your ass. You're gasping and clutching at his hair, your orgasm overwhelming as he keeps up his movements, though they're a little strained and uneven as his own pleasure becomes unbearable.

Soon the high fades and oversensitivity takes its place, making you squirm and bite your lip, hips shaking and your thighs clenching over and over around his head.

But Uvogin can only stare - he's covered in your slick and cum all over his chin, cheeks and neck, but it just tastes too good to stop now - plus, you're looking at him with teary eyes and your chest heaving, and how can he stop now? He can't, not when you look this good, not when you taste this fucking delicious.

He'll keep at it for another two or three rounds, just long enough until he's temporarily satisfied, just long enough until you'll need his help to stand up on your own to feet. Just long enough until he's proven that you could never crush him - sometimes he can't help but wonder just where you get these stupid, impossible little worries.

He'll crush all those other insecurities while he's at it - it's his job as your partner, after all.

So really, just tell him.

#_lee thirsts #_uvogin #_hxh #yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere uvogin

[galacticgraffiti]

I Am Nothing (Like You Thought I Was)

Summary: Astarion changes after his Ascension, and while you hate what he has become, you cannot seem to love him less.

Pairing: Ascendant!Astarion x gn!reader Rating: Explicit (for a few nsfw lines and mature themes) Wordcount: 2.6k Descriptors: Reader is not described in detail, though there is one (1) line implying that they bottom when they have sex. TW: Angst, emotional manipulation, power imbalance, emotionally abusive situation, blood, biting, blood drinking, non-consensual drinking of blood, non-consensual... taking away of bodily autonomy (?)

A/N: Please read the warnings carefully. This is not smut, this is hella angsty and was - at least to me personally - somewhat emotionally taxing. Take care of yourself. If you have any questions, feel free to message me!

Main Masterlist ⋆✦⋆ If you prefer AO3

I Am Nothing (Like You Thought I Was)

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

You can’t remember what changed, exactly. It was something in his eyes, perhaps, something about the way he looks at you. The corner of his mouth not forming the half-smile you have gotten so used to, or even the possessive sneers he adopts sometimes.

It has been so long since he looked at you as anything more than his… pet. His pretty little consort, if he is in a good mood.

In the beginning, you didn’t realise that that was what you had become to him: A pet, a companion only because he did not want to be lonely after all these centuries. A trophy he could show off at his dinner parties. His own personal meal, ready whenever and wherever he wants - especially in front of hungry guests who know exactly they could never have you.

Hells, you even enjoyed the thought of it at first: To belong to him entirely - to be his and his alone. Forever.

His fangs have marked you hundreds and thousands of times through the years, and you have borne it willingly. Because you love him.

There is nothing else to say, really. Astarion has just… captured you. He is it for you. You knew it the moment you laid eyes on him, knew it the second he held a dagger to your throat only to apologise and join your mission moments after. You knew it when he bared his back to you, bearing the scars of years of abuse, and of… the Ritual.

Ah, yes. The Ritual.

It changed everything. It changed him. Seven thousand souls, sacrificed - killed - in the name of your love, and all you could think about was that he would finally be free. Sometimes, you think back to that moment, and you try not to feel ashamed that you did not even try to persuade him otherwise.

But you had never seen him as scared as he was the night you faced Cazador. And you had never seen him angrier, either. So when Astarion ripped Cazador from his coffin, when he stabbed and slashed and twisted his sword in the belly of his abuser, you… let him.

He deserved revenge. He deserved to kill him, to be free of him, to never be made to feel small and powerless again.

You liked it. You loved it, even: Loved him, free of torment, bloodied with his eyelids heavy from violence. Because you thought it meant his freedom.

And when Astarion turned to you, face smeared with warm blood, the infernal runes on his back glowing, and his eyes so big and full of bloodlust and fear, you could not say no. When he carved the runes into the back of his tormentor, savouring every scream of agony, you could not say no. You watched, and you loved Astarion all the more for every tear of pain he wrung from Cazador’s wretched body. And you let yourself forget it would not just be Cazador who would die for your love to be free.

The Ritual is by far not the only moment of weakness you have ever afforded yourself throug the years, but it is the one that has changed your life the most.

Seven thousand souls. All for the happiness of your love. All for him, for his freedom and his might, for him to live in the sun and never know hunger again. For him to be able to love you without fear.

Thing is- the Ritual never made him happy. It just made him other.

Astarion looks at you different after the ritual. He looks at you like… he owns you. You don’t realise it in the beginning, not for a long time. His words are sweet as ever, his hands gentle when he touches you. His fangs are sharp but his lips are soft, and he calls you his pretty little thing and his love. He calls you His, and you take it to be an affirmation of love, not one of ownership.

Eventually, though, you start to understand what he really means. It starts to sink in when you deny him, and he talks of still taking what he wants. When you disagree, and he does not hear you out. When your neck is covered in bruises, and you still don’t find it in yourself to deny him. Because even with the blood of seven thousand souls dripping from his hands, even with the way his eyes turn cold when he looks at you, even with the things he asks you to do and the kind words he used to have so many of growing few and far between, you cannot stop loving him.

And so you stay, through the cruelty and the ecstasy, through the nightly soirées and the everchanging guests of the palace, through the dark masses and the bloodlust. The joy of his kisses is enough to keep you chained in place without needing to lock you up.

You remember how he used to be: scared and alone, eager to manipulate if only to save himself, because no one else had ever looked out for him.

You remember what he became as you travelled together: kind and thoughtful, even though he kept pretending like he wasn’t. Sweet and caring, protective and assured. How much he overcame to love you, and surely that must be worth something, mustn't it?

When you look at the man that stands in front of you now, in all his glory, bathed in the light of his Ascension, you decide that he is still worth staying for. Every time.

You sit next to him, you offer your neck to him, your wrist, your thighs and your shoulders, wherever he can reach, though he does not hunger for your blood as he used to. But he likes showing off, and you are his favourite trophy.

You can’t say how long you have lived in Cazador’s palace. Years, maybe.

Astarion takes you to bed every night, to drink from you, to hold you. And that is the thing that keeps you here, with him, even after all this time: He still holds you like he cannot sleep without you, and you are always there when he wakes up from his nightmares, gasping for air, crying out the name of his tormentor, of his long-dead parents and friends. In the darkness of these nights, there is a humanity to him that you cannot find when you look into his eyes in the sunlight that he so craves.

You are not so foolish as to think you could save him. You gave up on that thought long ago, after he made you sit at his feet with your wrists still dripping in blood, just to let it flow down the stairs before his throne and tell the guests of his soirée that they could never have you - that they were not even allowed to lick your blood from the floor - because you were his and his alone.

No, you can’t save him anymore. A small sliver of your soul holds onto the hope that he might… get bored. That he will grow tired of the favours that people ask in exchange for gifts of gold and knowledge, that he will grow tired of sitting in the sun while you read to him. That he will get tired of you. That he will make you leave, because you are not strong enough to do it on your own.

And as Astarion stares at you from across the table, his fangs showing as he curls his upper lip in displeasure, you think that, maybe, you will be so lucky.

You are not.

Astarion’s hand grabs your jaw and tilts your head into the light of the candelabra.

“What’s that?” he asks, and he sounds so disgusted that you nearly start to cry from his words alone. For all the hope you had that he might let you go, you never wanted him to hate you.

“What is what, my love?” The nickname falls easily from your lips, years of habit and a tinge of truth. Your love. For all his mistakes, he is still that.

His finger traces your brow in a surprisingly gentle movement, and your breath catches. But the look in his eye is still one of revulsion and contempt. He pulls at you until you get up to follow him, stumbling through the halls of the manor to stop in front of the big mirror he usually keeps covered. 

The mirror. One of the only things his ascension did not fix: Astarion still can’t see his own reflection. Sometimes, you wonder if he keeps you around just to ask for accounts of his beauty that he will never be able to see.

Dozens of portraits have been made in his honour, the artists killed so they would never surpass their masterpiece: Him. None of the portraits manage to capture his ethereal beauty, the cruel twist around his mouth or the pain that still lingers in his eyes. None of the artists understand him the way he would need to be understood to be painted the way he wants to be seen. The way he wants to see himself. 

You have caught him on bad nights, standing in front of the empty mirror you see before you now, staring into the silver surface with flaming eyes like he could will himself to appear if he only wanted it enough. It has been years since then. Now, he only asks you to describe him to himself, when he is buried deep inside you, when his pale hands glow on your skin in the moonlight, and his fangs are sunk into the bruised flesh of your neck. You excel at it, because after all, one thing is still true: You love him. You understand him in ways nobody else ever could.

The mirror has been covered up for a long time, collecting dust as you assumed its supposed function.

Now, Astarion pulls at the velvet cover, and your mirror image is revealed to you. Astarion’s hand wraps around the nape of your neck as he pushes you closer to the silvery surface.

“What is that?” he asks again, so accusatorily that you shy away from your own reflection. You see nothing out of the ordinary: Your own face, his mirror absence behind you. Maybe your hair is a little messier than you would like, maybe the bruises on your neck more prominent than you would prefer. But you look just like you always do.

Astarion’s finger traces your brow again - and you realise what has him this riled up.

A faint wrinkle, barely visible, stretches across your forehead like a thin, twisted branch. 

You worry too much, as Karlach would have put it. Gods, you haven't seen her in ages. You don't even know if she still lives.

“I-” you set on to explain, though you don’t know what exactly you could say to calm him. When Astarion is in this mood, there is little to do but wait it out. The storm always passes eventually; with sharp fangs slicing your skin or cold hands finding their way beneath your robes to watch you writhe and beg. 

Astarion’s gaze now is colder than it has ever been, and it makes you shiver.

“You are ageing.” He spits the words at you like venom.

“Such is the nature of things, my love.” Your voice is dry with annoyance, but you cannot find it in you to care. What a useless thing for him to lose his mind over.

Astarion’s face glows with the beauty of an anger that is senseless as much as it is boundless. You can barely look at him when he twists you around until you are pressed up against the wall, his body so close to yours you can feel the coldness of his skin. Nothing hurts more than to look at him like this, his red eyes devoid of any affection. He didn't used to look at you like this in the beginning… did he? You can’t remember.

His words are poison, his fingers digging into your throat with every syllable he spits at you.

“No, no no. Not in the nature of me. Not in the nature of my world, the universe I have created.” He is aflame with an anger you have not seen in years. It tugs at your heart. All of a sudden, he looks almost as he did before the Ritual: passionate and full of emotion. It doesn't matter that it’s not affection that sets his eyes aflame. At least it’s not indifference.

Astarion wrinkles his nose in disgust, looking you up and down.

“This… this just won’t do,” he mumbles, tilting his head and eyeing you up and down.

To say your heart leaps in joy would be a lie. It leaps in terror. You know what happens to things Astarion has no use for anymore. They are discarded, and if they used to be alive, they are discarded dead. 

He might make an exception for you, for his consort, his pet, his trophy. But he might not. These days you can never tell.

“I have waited too long,” he whispers, almost like he has forgotten you are even there. His iron grip on your neck loosens, and you twist around, trying to escape his grasp, not to have to look at him anymore. You can’t bear it. You close your eyes and breathe.

When you open your eyes and see how he looks at you, tears fill your eyes at the expression on his face.

There he is.

After all these years of hoping, of waiting and praying to every god, he is standing before you again: Your love, unchanged by the years, eternally beautiful as he already was before his Ascension. His eyes glow red and his fangs are sharp as ever, but his face is delicate and full of fear. You have not seen him like this in… forever.

“I have waited too long,” he says again, sadness dripping heavy from his eyes. “I… We have waited too long.”

His hand runs up your side, caressing your face, and the look in his eyes is so warm that for the first time in years, you don’t feel like you are freezing from the inside out. You bask in his affection.

“What did we wait for?” you whisper as Astarion buries his face in the crook of your neck, his soft lips warm on your chilly skin. He presses against you and you let him, even though the wall is cold and hard behind you, because this is all you have dreamed about for so long. A sign that he is still in there, that he is still capable of loving you the way he used to.

His lips move against the delicate skin of your throat when he answers.

“For you to be ready.”

Your head falls back as his nails rake down your back, and his thigh presses between your legs. Your fingers weave into his silver hair as your breath catches at the warmth in your chest.

“Ready for what?” Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. The familiar sharpness of his fangs sinking into your skin is no surprise.

“To be mine.” Astarion’s words sear holes into your skin, deeper than his fangs ever could. “Forever.”

You let him push his fingers into your mouth without resistance, your lips parting easily as blood red eyes burn into yours. Astarion smiles a smile that is only fangs and cruelty. 

By the time you feel the world flicker, your consciousness fading into darkness, it is already too late.

You are not only His. You have become His Creation. Forever.

Dive into Angstarion - become insane with me.

@purgetrooperfox @ashotofspotchka @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @ulchabhangorm @queen--kenobi @samspenandsword @pinkiemme @baba-fett @witchklng @ladykatakuri @certified-anakinfucker @fanfiction-i-llike @voidinfernal @foxferret02 @rosieofcorona @savagemickey03 @perseny @margoisthemoon02 @shiiunn @saucyhedgehog @darlingbravebelle @tonysoffice @pupshr00m @midnightdragonzero @thatweebitch @triangleshapewinner @supercalifragilisticprincess @palpipeen @fuckalrighty @meabravo @silly-gooseastarion @mila-bee @shit-i-say-throughout-the-day @idkwhatsgoingonwithme @aeryntheofficial @jekasha @cometstail @beesherbsandivy @gub @codename-indigo @nogitsune-the @solarrexplosion

#astarion #astarion bg3 #angst #astarion x reader #astarion x you #i cannot stress enough that this is not smut #bg3 #gala writes #angstarion

[ordinarybry]

Repose

Your harem is made up of 3 men who think you are a goddess and who worship you as one. One of them comes to you to confess something.

Tw; underlying yandere tendencies, reverse harem, Fyodor Nikolai and Sigma are concubines, Female reader, no body or skin color descriptors, reader briefly mentioned to have hair, Nikolai is horny 24/7, all 3 have their abilities in separate AU, all 3 have done questionable things, murder, violence (brief), religious mentions, sexual themes, reader described as (Lady, Grace, Queen, goddess, light, love, dove, angel), bed described as a nest (non abo).

Hidden behind long wisps of curtain in a royal chamber three bodies lay entangled within the others limbs. Silken sheets weaved through and between warm skin and stray pillows around the large cushioned mattress. 

White and lavender cropped hair scattered along the torso his head laid on, ear resting upon his Lady’s navel as his lower body covered in a pair of soft briefs lay lax within the loose sheets along the curve of his lady’s calves and feet. A second body lay partially upon the woman’s upper body, his head curled downward as his lips kissed upon her roots. Soft waves of snow shortly curled around his features, the scar on his left eye distracted the dark haired man watching from the single section of long hair previously freed from its braid curling somewhere around the man’s back. 

Fyodor supposed the entire bed was a piece of art at this point, but the centerpiece was the beauty that laid bare between two of her concubines. A thin dew laid on her skin that reflected and shimmered in the golden light peeking through the stained glass directly behind the headboard of their nest. 

The sight reminded the man of what he and his fellow harem members had to do to get here, to step through the chambers of a goddess and be permitted to stay through the night; though, memories of their sins came and passed quickly. ‘A worthy price to experience this art, only a Goddess could be so perfect.’ 

Like a bend of flowing water, his lady had washed the blood staining their palms away. Their sins reposed in her wake, for sullied hands are unworthy of her skin. His body had moved to the side of her nest, fingers caressing her hair. “It is time to wake my love .” his whisper had been heard as her lashes fluttered, sleep slowly left her being.

Although Fyodor wished to continue watching her wake, he had come to confess.

Softly kneeling before her, Fyodor lowered his head. Eyes closed, he whispered solemnly “I wish to confess my sin, if you will hear me.” 

She turned her body slightly, rising on an elbow. This was not the first time Fyodor had kneeled before her with the intention of confessing a crime, and although she had continuously told him he need not be so formal, she knew the man needed this.

He needed her to listen, needed her to judge him, or he would not rest. 

Reaching for his cheek, she gave him her full attention despite the man behind her resting his arm under her breasts and nuzzling his nose into her neck. 

“I will hear you.”

“Your grace, I have sullied myself once again. After you retired to your chambers, I heard a conversation outside of the war hall. The king’s hand was speaking lies. He spoke deceitfully of you to the king.”

“What lies did he speak, Fyodor?”

“He said that you being named the heir to the crown was folly, that you are unfit to rule without a husband and that the king should marry you to the eldest prince of Kou to unite our armies and continue his strong line. He said that you must bear a child of royal blood or your worth would simply be wasted.”

“..and what did the king say?”

“The king denied you would need a husband to guide your people to prosperity and spoke of how much the people adore you. "The people’s heir” he said. He said he would not be insulted by his own hand undermining his decision to name you Queen and that he would hear nothing more. Then, his hand said that he had already sent a raven to the Kou and that the prince would be arriving within a fortnight to claim your hand.”

“I see. I don’t mean to rush this along but, Fyodor, to what sin are you confessing?”

“Murder.”

“Who has been murdered?”

“The hand of the king.”  

This confession caused Sigma, who had been only lucidly listening to the conversation, to turn onto his stomach and set his wide eyes upon the side of Fyodor’s face. As Sigma shifted closer to hear Fyodor better, Nikolai’s cat-like grin came to light as he too removed his focus from his angel to his friend. Nikolai, shameless and eccentric, had long since stopped bothering his lady with hearing his sins. He merely giggled, this confession is much more interesting than past confessions.

“Fyodor, do you mean to tell me that you murdered the hand of the king for speaking ill of me and sending an invitation for a suitor?”

“That, your grace, and, I have always hated him for never seeing you as you are and only being interested in you bearing children, as if he thinks of you as a breeding sow. I waited until the king left the room and used my ability to punish him for his crimes. Then I threw his body out the window.”

She thought for a moment. Of course, nobody would know it was Fyodor who killed her father’s advisor, she had Sigma purge any information about Nikolai and Fyodor’s abilities long ago in fear of being accused of using them to quicken her ascension. Although, one could say they are putting her coronation as Queen on the fast track, but if she were being honest- there was only one time she had asked for the punishment of another. Her Nikolai was quick to take the job and from how terrified Sigma seemed when returning to her after supervising Nikolai’s work, she could tell that Nikolai did his work well. That was the only time she had asked her harem to intervene with someone, all other times, even those she did not know of, had nothing to do with her and her wishes.

Oh the trouble these men have caused her in the past. Despite this, she had never regretted taking them in as her concubines. The passion they held for her, an eternal flame of devotion, had been what captured her interest. To put it simply, she did not plan to marry. She would rule as Queen with her harem at her sides, no husband needed.

There was no point in worrying about others finding the king's advisor dead, the murder could not be traced back to Fyodor. She truly had nothing to worry about, and if she were being honest, she wanted the man dead long ago anyways.

“You are forgiven for your sins. Now, please, join us. I could sleep a while longer.”

Nikolai giggled again behind her, “How today's confession was like poetry! I am envious of you Fyodor, you had our dove’s attention for so long this morning! I want some attention now my lady, please, I promise I’ll be good!” He spoke as he squeezed her midsection and rubbed his cheek along her shoulder. As he placed a few kitten licks on her neck, Sigma had untangled himself from the bedsheets. “Have you no shame, Nikolai? Her grace asked to sleep a bit longer and you are showcasing yourself bare and excited against her wishes!” 

Nikolai huffed as he was hit in the face with a pillow “Shameless am I? I disagree, I think myself free. Free to freely show how much I wish to pleasure my dove for freeing me. Besides, she has never refused me before..”

“Now, Kolya, if I am not going to get to sleep longer, I can think of someone in this room who could use my warmth more than you right now.” 

Fyodor looked up finally as his savior, his light, rose a single finger in his face and curled it in her direction twice. He softly smiled, Nikolai whining about ‘fairness’ as Fyodor rose softly. He reached for his tunic clasps, but it seemed his lady did not wish to watch him strip naked today. 

She rose to her knees and held his hands in hers over his tunic before leaning to his ear to whisper “allow me, love. Just lie down, let me forgive you and cleanse your body properly.”

Fyodor could have cried.

She always showed them gentle care, but seldom did she take the lead, and when she did, it confused Fyodor. She called it worshiping her boys, thanking them for their devotion to her, returning the favor for all of the times she has met her high from their tongues, showing her appreciation to how hard they work to protect her.

Fyodor knew as well as the others that she never had to do such things. It was always their devotion to her, they never expected anything in return, much less deserved anything in return.  But whether their lady wished to spend her day basking in her sheets, being railed all night long, riding them to completion, or simply curling her body into theirs while reading a book, they would never refuse. Whatever she wished, it was their pleasure.

As Sigma dragged Nikolai to the washroom by his arm, he mentioned that the bath would be warm for them when they were ready to wash up, but Fyodor couldn’t think of anything but the woman above him. Brushing the tips of her fingers lightly over his pale chest, parting his tunic while staring into his mulberry shaded irises she watched his eyes close. His long straight lashes seemed to darken as his ears and nose began to flush a rogue shade.

‘Yes,’ she thought, ‘he truly is most beautiful like this, they all are.'

Being their goddess wasn't ever all that difficult, dare she say it almost came naturally to her. She had three men so devoted and passionate they were willing to commit atrocities in her name without a second thought.

During her descent down to Fyodor's carved hips, she couldn't help but wonder exactly how her boys would react to a certain redhead and his bandaged brunette friend traveling to the capital city to join her harem on her cousin's request.

And, of course, what they're going to do about the Kou prince who is presumably on his way here.

Maybe, just maybe, her harem boys would use the prince as a bonding activity with the new arrivals. 'hmmm...'

Part 2?

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd x reader #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #nikolai gogol bsd #nikolai gogol x reader #bsd sigma #sigma x reader #yandere bsd #yandere fyodor #yandere sigma #yandere nikolai gogol #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #reverse harem #rv harem x reader #yandere harem #royal reader #ability au #female reader #boost #please boost #i am insufferable #i am insatiable #that was a weird dream #but not unpleasant #pt 2?

[jo-harrington]

As Above, So Below - Series Masterlist

Van Helsing - Kas!Eddie/Fem!OC - Soulmates

This story is told from 2nd Person POV (you/your)

Minors DNI - This fic is for 18+ readers only.

Summary: In order to undo a centuries-long curse, you travel to Hawkins to defeat a great evil and close the gates to Hell once and for all. Unfortunately, you uncover many unsettling secrets including some about your lost love, Eddie Munson.

Warnings (in no particular order): Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Smut (Specifics Tagged in Chapters), Major and Minor Character Deaths, Violence, Gore, Body Horror, Blood, Manipulation, Transformation, Corruption, Religious Elements, Criticism of Religion, Biblical and Other Literary and Pop Culture References

This story is going to be EXTREMELY HEAVY to write, so I will not be putting out a posting schedule. Chapters will get posted as they are completed.

OC is of European/Italian-American descent on her father's side and her mother's side can be left up to interpretation. She is loosely Roman Catholic and you will see why I say loosely if you read. I will not be giving her a name, or any major physical descriptors if I can help it but her cultural identity is integral to this story.

Note: You do not need to have seen Van Helsing (2004) to understand the premise of this fic. You should, however, read the prequels.

Prequels: Heaven - Hell - Purgatory

Hymns of Heaven: A series of "additions" to the prequel timeline based on cryptid and monster requests. April 1984 Mothman - April 1984 Immortal Snail - May 1984 Splinter Cat - May 1984 Sully - June 1984 Chupacabra - July 1984 Will-o'-the-Wisp - August 1984 Manticore - August 1984 Frogman - September 1984 Fresno Nightcrawler - September 1984 Thunderbird/Horned Serpent - October 1984 The Kraken - Halloween 1984 Werewolf - December 1984 Freddy Kreuger - December 1984 The Guardians - Christmas Eve 1984 Loch Ness Monster - January 1985 Manananggal - April 1985 Oneiroi - Unknown in the UD Inner Monster - Unknown in the UD Nachzehrer

Related Blurbs: Limbo - Genesis

Gratia. Charitas. Solamen.

Prequel Playlist

Chapters: Prologue - Annunciation 1 - Illumination 2 - Descendió a los Infiernos 3 - Crucible 4 - Malum Malus 5 - Via Domus 6 - Revelation 7 - Exodus 8 - Miserere Mei 9 - Deus in Absentia 10 - Atonement 11 - Ab Aeterno

Series Playlist

Reader's Guide to AASB - A collection of references and Easter eggs that are made in the story.

Series Art All series art is commissioned by me from various fandom artists. Some art depicts the Knight and these depictions do look like me and will be noted as such. If you want to keep the illusion of a faceless Knight, please do not look at the artwork noted with (*).

*Eddie and the Knight on their First Date - by @boltedfruit *

Hell Eddie - V2 feat. Knight's Intervention - by @lilithapril (TW: Blood/Gore)

Purgatory Eddie - by @dance-on-the-bones (TW: Blood)

Kas!Eddie - by @nightonblogmountain

*AASB Sketch Sheet - by @toomanyacorns* (TW: Blood)

Via Domus - Eddie and the Demobats - by @hearsegrrl

*AASB Sketch Sheet 2 - by @toomanyacorns * (TW: Blood)

The Gospel According to Mary Victoria - AASB as told from Mary Victoria’s perspective and a deep dive into her journey.

Book 1 - Book 2 - Book 3

This fic will not be for the faint of heart. Please check the above warnings and ask yourself if you are in the correct headspace to proceed. I am happy to answer any questions via PM or Ask.

Tag List: There will be no tag list for As Above, So Below.

#Series masterlist #Kas!Eddie #Eddie Munson fic #vampire eddie munson #vampire!eddie #Eddie Munson stranger things

[mysacredmuse]

reader: female anatomy, gender neutral descriptors and nicknames (ex: my pretty thing, slut, etc)

cw/tw: nsfw - mdni!, porn without plot, switch dynamic, dom! aventurine at first, dom! reader afterwards, missionary & mating press, teasing, slight degrading, edging (reader to aventurine), slight choking & wrist pinning, nipple play (reader to aventurine), praise for both (reader uses good boy for aventurine), creampie

word count: 2.3k

I hope you enjoy! :)

dividers by @/saradika-graphics :)

notes: So, this stems from me heavily seeing Aventurine as a switch, but the kind that would behave like he is a hard dom who owns/uses you, however as soon as you do something - anything that would put him in a more submissive role, he would be quite easy to break and become a little mess <3

I also wish to write a piece where Aventurine is pussydrunk while reader is cockdrunk at the same time, simply because I think that's something that would happen a lot with Aventurine!

Aventurine • Eyes on me •

Aventurine spreads your legs a bit more, gently tapping his cock on your pussy. You let out a soft moan as he aligns his cock with your entrance, swiftly sliding it inside. You both let out a gasp in union, your hands falling onto his bicepses as he begins sloppily thrusting inside of you.

He leans closer to you, placing a wet kiss on your lips before moving to your neck, leaving open-mouth kisses all over it.

You wrap your legs around his hips, slightly pulling him in more each time his pelvic area kisses your clit. He slowly moves down, placing soft kisses over your chest as he speeds up the movement of his hips. You let out a gasp as his cock slides over all of your sensitive spots.

Your fingernails dig into his arm muscles, eyes closing as the pleasure slowly consumes you. He slowly pulls away, looking down at you with a lustful gaze as he speeds up the pace of his even more, his balls heavily slapping the underside of your pussy. A soft warmth spreads beneath your cheeks as his cock fills you up nicely with each thrust, pleasurable pressure settling inside your chest and tummy. He puts his hand on your knee, pushing it away from his hip, spreading your leg further to make you more sensitive.

You let out a chain of soft moans, pussy leaking more around him as your body squirms underneath him, twitching in places. The movement of his hips is precise and steady, sliding in and out of you in a fast manner, not giving you a break to process anything. You squeeze his shoulder, soft whimpers escaping your throat as his gaze remains fixated on yours, lips slightly parted.

You push your head deeper into the pillow, slightly leaning it back as your tummy swirls in tame warmth. Aventurine moves his hand away from your knee, tenderly cupping your jaw as he rolls his hips into yours in a slower manner, gently grinding his pelvic area into your clit while his cock presses into your g-spot.

"Keep looking at me or I'll stop." he says in a tone above a whisper as he keeps your jaw in place. You mindlessly nod, keeping your eyes barely open, but fixated on him.

"That's good, yeah, like that." he continues as he speeds up the pace of his hips again, pounding into your needy cunt without a break.

You let out a few mellow moans, hands still gripping and squeezing his shoulders as he relentlessly stimulates your g-spot. His low eyes make you hazy, the lickerish, yet semi-needy look in them making your tummy convulse in excitement. A sudden moan slips past your lips as Aventurine starts finishing his thrusts with a small grind into your clit.

You tighten your legs around him, hands moving up to claw into his neck as jolts of pleasure rush through your body. He slowly leans down, placing a soft kiss on your lips before he lets go of your jaw, using his hand to hold both of your wrists, moving your hands away from his neck. He puts your hands above your head as his other hand falls on your hip, sliding up your thigh and back down.

You let out a dim whine as he continues relentlessly pounding into you, eyes closing as the pressure builds up inside your body. He suddenly stops, keeping half of his length inside of you before intentionally flexing his cock, pressing it into your g-spot. You let out a gasp, eyes fluttering open, but struggling to remain that way.

"Eyes on me, pretty thing. You want to be good for me, right..? Right?" he whispers in a low tone, squeezing your wrists tightly. You nod, slowly opening your heavy eyes while slightly rolling your hips into him.

"You want to be good for me, right?" he repeats, expecting a verbal answer.

"Yeah.." you speak up weakly, trying to roll your hips further, needy for him to keep going.

"You want to cum for me, right?"

"Mhm." 

"Then keep looking at me while I fuck you." he says in a slightly sharper tone before he picks up the previous pace, sliding his cock in and out of you in a fast manner. You immediately let out a moan of relief, cunt tightening around him. He continues to finish off his thrusts with a soft grind into your clit, making you arch your back as sweet waves rush through your body.

Louder moans occupy your throat as you struggle to keep your eyes open, legs tightly wrapping around Aventurine's waist to pull him closer, to make him go deeper into you. He slowly lets go of your wrists, hand wrapping around your throat, light squeeze pressuring the sides of your neck.

He extends his thumb, gently lifting your chin as his gaze remains fixated on yours. You let out a strained moan as his balls slap the underside of your pussy in a harsher manner, sending twitches through your body. Your back arch more as his cock reaches deeper inside of you, pussy tightening around his length as the heat in your tummy becomes overwhelming, pressure building up lower.

"You can take more, right?" he cooes, squeezing your throat a bit more. You nod, mindlessly needy for release as your chest becomes heavy, your breathing incoherent and hard.

"That's a good little slut, I like that." he whispers as he lets go of your throat, straightening himself as his hands wrap underneath your thighs, swiftly pressing them into your chest.

He angles his hips more, remaining still for barely a moment before he starts thrusting in and out of you at a vigorous pace, squeezing loud moans out of your lungs. His cock reaches deeper inside of you, each slide in your cunt making your eyes tear up as he pressures your g-spot more heavily like this.

He lets out a mixture of a soft laugh and moan as he keeps sliding his cock in and out of you. A small amount of drool collects on your lips as they remain parted, only filthy sounds slipping past them.

"What's wrong? Is it getting too much for you already? I barely started using you, sweet thing." he says in a condescending tone as he slows down just a bit, rolling his hips for a few moments.

A sudden harsh thrust of his makes breath abruptly leave your throat, a choked moan following. Your mind becomes hazy as he presses your knees more into your chest using his own body, while your body grows weak and hot. Your hips twitch into the mattress as a build up in your lower tummy convulses heavily. Aventurine slowly leans away, swiftly placing one of your legs on his shoulders as he keeps up the relentless pace.

He sneaks his other hand between your clit and his pelvic area, rubbing teasing circles over your twitchy bud. You let out sharp gasps and whimpers, hips barely making soft rolls as his stimulation on your clit and g-spot sends jolts through your lower tummy. You grow lightheaded as your back arch a bit more, cunt pulsating around Aventurine's cock as you leak more precum.

Your hands shakily claw into the sheets, trying to release some pent-up pressure inside your body as heavy breaths turn into whines. A first few waves of your orgasm rush through your body, making your legs tremble as Aventurine keeps pounding into you without a break, his fingers fastening on your clit. Your eyes roll back as your grip on the sheets becomes rougher; your leg pressuring your chest more as Aventurine pushes it deeper.

"..Me, me, me. Eyes on me, pretty thing. I want you to look at me while I make you cum."

His voice comes distant, but you barely open your eyes, weakly gazing at his semi-possessive eyes. Sharp moans strain your throat as your orgasm slowly unravels inside of you, forcing your body to press deeper into the mattress.

With semi-limited movement, all of your pleasure is concentrated in your lower tummy, making you dizzy as your release gradually reaches its peak. You gasp and whine, barely keeping your eyes open as Aventurine's gaze remains fixated on your face, evidently enjoying your current state.

Your body barely arches away from the mattress as your orgasm slowly melts away, mind still hazy. Aventurine slowly moves your legs on his hips, leaving your sensitive clit alone, leaning closer to you as he towers above you.

"You don't mind being used a bit more, do you?" he asks with a cocky chuckle.

You mindlessly chuckle back as you lean forward, swiftly brushing the tip of your tongue over his nipple before you begin sucking on it in a semi-rough manner. He immediately lets out a shaky whimper, his hips twitching as his pace slows down, his previous dominance crumbling down under a second.

"Is my good boy going to cum soon?" you whisper in a teasing, yet weak tone, earning a nod from him. 

"Yeah." a pathetic sound leaves his throat.

His eyes turn a bit wide, puppy-like even, gaze needy and pathetic. He slowly thrusts inside of you, hips quivering as your tongue slides over his nipple.

"Slower baby." you order him in a soft tone before you start sucking on his other nipple. He gulps, a soft moan escaping his throat as he starts moving his hips even slower - agonizingly slowly. He lets out shaky breaths as he tries to keep up the painful pace, cock twitching inside of you.

You bring your other hand to his other nipple, thumb drawing teasing circles over it, combining it with your harsher sucking. He lets out a soft moan, slightly speeding up his hips from neediness before he earns a dissatisfied gaze of yours, immediately slowing down. You speed up your thumb on his nipple, earning soft twitches and trembles of his body, hips quivering into you.

"Slooower." you whisper into his nipple as you let your tongue slide over it before you continue sucking on it. His eyes roll back slightly as he slows down the movement of his hips, using your pussy so nicely to edge himself.

"Eyes on me, pretty thing." you whisper between the sucks as your thumb slows down on his other nipple, sending sweet, yet irritable jolts through his body. He nods, keeping his desperate gaze on you, hips still going painfully slow. He lets out sudden shaky whimpers as his body twitches under your touch and tongue.

"Please..-, just a bit faster, I will be good."

"Yeah?" you chuckle as you let go of his nipple with a small pop! sound. 

"Mhm, I promise, I will be a good boy for you." he mumbles as he rolls his hips in twitchy circles, his release too close.

"Just a bit faster." you allow in a soft tone, laying down again to enjoy the pathetic sight in front of you for a little while.

He speeds up his hips just a bit, letting out a mixture of relief and irritation in one moan, pleading eyes fixated on you. You slowly bring your thumbs to his nipples, sliding them up and down at a medium pace, earning a few soft breaks and quivers of Aventurine's upper body.

You feel his cock twitch inside your sensitive cunt, a soft sigh escaping your throat. He slowly leans closer, placing a shaky kiss on your lips as his hips keep up the medium pace. He lets out a painful moan, cock pulsating inside of your warm cunt.

"Please..?"

You speed up the movement of your thumbs, remaining silent for a bit as you force more quivers and trembles out of his body alongside desperate, guttural whimpers.

His gaze remains steady, pathetic eyes silently pleading. You keep on teasing him a bit more, circling over his nipples as you lean closer, kissing the sensitive tattoo on his neck. He lets out a broken moan as you lean in closer to his ear, giving a kitten lick to his earlobe.

"Faster." you finally confirm through a whisper and he gasps, immediately speeding up his pace. You bite down on his shoulder, cunt still a bit sensitive as his cock keeps sliding over your sweet spots. You remain your movement on his nipples regardless, receiving more twitches of his cock.

"Thankyouthankyouthankyou.." he mumbles between the thrusts, hips semi-sloppy and quivery as his releases reaches its edge.

"Please, look at me while I cum. Pleaseplease.." 

You slowly let go of his shoulder, keeping your face close to his as your eyes remain on his. A sharper moans escape his parted lips, breaking in-between as his hips harshly thrust into you, twitching more and more. His eyelids lower, eyes desperately needy. You let out a soft moan of your own as his cock releases the first small string of cum inside of you.

You speed up the movement on his nipples even more, earning a pathetic whine of his and he suddenly speeds up his hips even more, releasing a thick whip of cum inside of you. You gasp slightly as your eyes remain on each other, pussy twitching as he keeps fucking his cum into you, riding out his orgasm. You slow down your movement on his nipples as his back arch slightly, hips tenderly rolling into yours, soft sounds of pleasure and affirmation vibrating in his throat.

You slowly slide your hands down, leaving his nipples alone as you urge him to move to the side by pushing his hips. He picks up, swiftly turning the both of you as he lays down, letting you be on top of him, his cock still inside of you. You gently grind your hips into his as a pathetic gaze meets yours, his hands squeezing your thighs from the slight overstimulation and sensitivity.

"You don't mind being used a bit more, right?" you ask with a sly smile on your face as you slowly get on top of him, leaving a playful and wet kiss on his cheek.

#aventurine x reader smut #aventurine x reader #aventurine smut #aventurine x yn #aventurine x you #hsr smut #hsr x reader smut #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr imagines #female reader #muse's writings

[eddiesdaydream]

you make loving fun | eddie munson

eddie munson x gn reader

apparently time does not heal all wounds. at least eddie can rely on his little family to be his saving grace.

1.1k words

slight angst to fluff, established relationship, slightly older!eddie, dad!eddie, parent!reader

inspired by you make loving fun by fleetwood mac

tw - brief mentions of familial abuse, death of a parent, blood, mental illness (depression, ptsd)

a/n - this is my first time posting any of my writing online so im super nervous but i love eddie sm and have so many ideas for him so i hope at least somebody enjoys this lmao :) the events of season 4 are canon in this except eddie lived aaand there's no use of y/n or pronouns used (besides you/your, etc lol) and no physical descriptors either ! <3

When Eddie wakes, it’s with a start, his sleep-warmed body jolting in his bed. His chest heaves with adrenaline and his mind is swimming, fuzzy with sleep and the remnants of his dream, another replay of the memories he thought he’d suppressed long ago. It’s like a reel on a constant loop, playing behind his eyelids whenever he blinks, so haunting he has to sit up, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, as if that should erase his past and all the trauma he’s accumulated over the course of his life. He has the urge to cry, guttural, heaving sobs so heavy they wrack his chest but he can’t- he won’t. Man up, Eddie, a voice that sounds suspiciously like his father gripes in the back of his mind. I didn’t raise you to be a pussy. 

Eddie remembers those same words circling his brain whenever his father would drink himself violent and he’d be forced to wedge himself, trembling, into the back of his closet, when he watched his mother’s casket get lowered into the ground before he’d even hit double digits, when he was bleeding out on the cold, hard ground in an alternate dimension, gazing up into the watercolour eyes of a boy he’d sworn to protect and wondering what use those words were to him if he was six foot under himself. Man up, Eddie. I didn’t raise you to be a pussy.

Those memories hang heavy over him like an unwavering fog, some days too thick for him to even get out of bed. Those are his worst days, when he’s too grief-stricken to move, mourning the loss of the child he never got to be, the safe refuge of his uncle’s old trailer to which he can no longer return, and a Hawkins that, while so often a cruel, unforgiving mistress, provided a home for him, now cracked through the heart and uninhabitable for the likes of one Edward Munson. 

But then there’s you. You - a beacon of warm, golden light in the shadow realm of his tumultuous mind, the sunshine to his storm cloud. You cut through the fog and Eddie’s okay again, like everything really was just a bad dream.

And you don’t even have to try.

The timid lull of your singing voice drifting through the crack in your bedroom door is enough to even Eddie’s trochaic heart and chase away the fog. He’s okay. He’s safe.

“I never did believe in miracles,” you croon, your tentative voice overpowered by Christine McVie’s pipes crackling through the dusty speakers of the janky radio you keep in the kitchen. But there nonetheless. “But I’ve a feeling it’s time to try.” 

Any and all thoughts of his father, his mother, and the horrors that lurk beneath the surface of the town he once called his home are pushed to the back of Eddie’s subconscious and he lets himself relax. He stretches out onto your side of the bed, cold, so he knows you got up some time ago. Pools of watery morning sunlight lave over his bare torso, gently caressing his rippling scars in the same fashion that you do before you both succumb to the heavy blanket of slumber, massaging his healing ointment in for him with a care and attentiveness that he’d never really been privy to until he met you.

Your loud, boisterous laughter ricocheting off of the apartment walls is enough to pull Eddie out of bed and have him make a beeline for you. It’s as if he’s the Earth and you’re his sun, keeping him in your orbit. 

And if you’re his sun, your son is his moon, having changed the tides of Eddie’s life forever.

When Eddie enters the kitchen, he’s met with a sight that, while not unfamiliar, still feels foreign to him, as if he can’t quite believe that this is his life now. To some degree, he can’t. When he was younger, and more cynical, Eddie rejected the typical white picket fence pipedream so often sold to the nation’s youth. He didn’t want that for himself or anyone involved, for fear of becoming a mirror image of his father.

But alas, here he is. Living in an apartment of his own with the love of his life and his child. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

His mother’s ring that once sat heavy on his own ring finger now envelopes yours. And he is not his father. He is not his father.

He watches from the doorway as you dance around the small kitchen with your toddler perched on your hip, your very own babbling back-up singer. There goes his trochaic heart again, though not out of fear this time, but rather, as a result of watching the two greatest loves of his life happy and at peace. He is not his father.

“Dadadadada!” His son babbles enthusiastically, clapping as he catches sight of his father. You glance over then, a bright, sunny smile gracing your beautiful face. Your warmth greets Eddie like one might an old friend, with familiarity, yet he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the way you make him feel. Happy. Fulfilled. Whole. 

“Hey, buddy,” he coos at his baby, who leans towards him, tiny arms outstretched. You saunter over to Eddie so he can greet the baby as he does every lazy morning, holding him close to his chest and pressing a kiss into his dark curls. You’re still humming Fleetwood Mac under your breath as you join the cuddle, arms snaking around Eddie’s back and face disappearing into the warm crook of his neck. The flutter of your eyelashes against his skin is grounding.

“Morning, my love,” you mumble. “We were just making some breakfast.”

Eddie hums, squeezing you with his free arm, his two loves tight in his embrace where they belong. “Sounds good, baby.”

You pull away then, just a hair so you can look him in the face, still puffy from sleep, but beautiful nonetheless. There’s a hint of something in his big brown eyes, something like relief that has you furrowing your brows in a quizzical manner, “everything okay, honey?”

Eddie nods immediately, and the grin that follows is blinding, really. Everything’s okay. He’s okay. When he’s with you and the baby, his little family, how could he not be? 

“Perfect, baby,” 

You nod, pressing a chaste kiss to each of your boys’ cheeks, before turning back to the stove to resume breakfast. The radio is playing something else now, some bubblegum pop song Eddie doesn’t recognise, but you’re still on Fleetwood Mac, using your spatula as a makeshift microphone to serenade your husband and son. 

“You, you make loving fun…”

#eds <3 #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x gn reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things #angst #fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader angst #eddie munson x reader fluff #evie writes

[shadowxamyweek]

Asking you about Shadow's Chaos Energy, boots and rings!!!

First off, I love you. Secondly, yesIcandothatabsolutelthankyouforasking.

This is *entirely* headcanon. There is no evidence for this. Prepare for an absolute ramble.

(I want to state here- I am not a medical professional. This is purely for fun. I'm blending basic medical science and electrical sciences with science fiction. This is fiction. I'm not claiming it's real, and I'm not even claiming to perfectly understand the science. This is for fun. It's fucking hedgehogs XD)

( tw // body horror, just in case.)

Chaos Energy- I think Chaos Energy works like energy in this world, specifically electric just because of how it's depicted, and follows similar theories. Where it deviates is, like, it's a fantasy world, right? And there is obvious mentions and uses of magic and other stuff. I think the Chaos Energy in Sonic's world is BOTH standard scientific energy AND magic, following both sets of rules simultaneously.

Specifically, both energy (electric or not) and, by (most) common conjectures and fantasy systems, magic, have a give and take. We have seen what happens when something/someone gets overwhelmed with chaos energy, and we have also seen what happens to the chaos emeralds themselves when they are overcharged/undercharged.

I mention this because I want to establish that Sonic's dumb fucking luck, Shadow's chaos energy, Amy's multi-faceted magic, and Silver's time travel- they all fall under the purview of Chaos Energy in its various forms with its various uses.

We have also seen machines run on Chaos Energy. Hell, we've seen Chaos Energy replicated in Chaos Drives. However, with it being largely described as 'unstable' or 'unpredictable,' it's a bit of a gamble to use.

So WHY do I care so much about this with Shadow?

THESE THINGS!

(before I continue, shout out to @autisticshadowthehedgehog, and also, go check out their awesome headcanon/theory which is WHERE I found this image, finally. I had been looking for images of these since Xenohog showed me and couldn't find them again.)

Just gonna quote @autisticshadowthehedgehog here since they put it most succinctly:

"A prototype of Shadow that is present in the cutscene of Black Doom and Gerald Robotnik finalizing Shadow’s creation in Shadow the Hedgehog (2005), it’s obscured from sight but it’s there along with other tubes with other prototype Shadows."

What this translates to me to mean is that Project Shadow, even AFTER Black Doom's genetic donation, still struggled.

There have been a multitude of studies surrounding how electricity and electrical pulses can impact cellular growth. There's a bit of a back-and-forth about how effective it is and *when* it's effective. There is a dedicated field of medicine specifically for this called Bioelectric medicine. Absolutely wild stuff.

If you like reading up on this sort of thing, here are some fun studies you can read about. X / X / X

Anyway, this is where I get funky with it.

I like to think that Gerald, after trying and failing to get Project Shadow to grow correctly and live, and in running out of time with GUN, BUILT an electrical infrastructure around which Shadow's body grew. Gerald BUILT Shadow's ability to control Chaos Energy into their body LITERALLY.

By doing so, he was able to directly control the electric impulses for cellular growth (to speed up/stabalize/fine tune the growth), and also give better and more-stable 'wiring,' for lack of a better descriptor, for the Chaos Energy to be utalized through.

However, because of the unstable nature of Chaos Energy, Gerald needed to employ... well, Sonic X calls them 'limiters' and Archie calls them 'inhibitors'. I don't remember if there is a term for them used in-game and I'm VERY much a 'game lore is the only lore I care about' sort of bastard so I'm going to be a bit nebulous here due to the lack of a concrete term. I'll do the best I can though. First, however let me break down some terminology.

Electricity limiter - thing that limits current flow Surge arrester- protects against voltage surges Surge limiter- limits the magnitude of voltage surges.

WOW! WHO WOULD NEED THAT, CONSIDERING THEY'RE BUILT TO HARNESS A VERY UNSTABLE/UNPREDICTABLE POWER SOURCE?????

So my thought is that ONLY Shadow can use THEIR inhibitors because they're literally BUILT FOR THEIR SYSTEM. Maybe it's a magnetic connection, or literally a little plug in/plug out action, but they are built for THEIR SYSTEM and THEIR SYSTEM ALONE. IT would also explain why they can take the ones on their wrist off OCCASIONALLY, but not the ones on their ANKLES, because they would absolutely combust with no ability to limit the amount of Chaos Energy coursing through their body. Like, I use the phrase 'pop a gasket' jokingly but I'm kinda not kidding when I say that about Shadow. Dude could just electrically (chaotically?) fry themselves.

(side not, with both electricity and magic, there are conductive metals, and gold is a highly conductive metal in both circles. Amy's gold bracelets would be for her to better tune into the Chaos Energy/Magic and Silver's could be to also harnes Chaos Energy to help with their telekinesis. Sonic doesn't wear/use/need any because he is, I say this all the time and I say this lovingly, that bitch with the blue hair and pronouns who just walks in and freeballs everything and WINS.)

EDIT: Totally forgot to talk about the boots can we talk about the boots I've been dying to talk about the boots all day!

So, two more bits I need to go over, which also kinda factor into the inhibitors and how they work. Gonna be citing Wikipedia.

Overcurrent- larger than intended/designed electrical current exists through the conductor.

Overvoltage- raising the voltage (electric pressure) beyond designed limit of the circuit or electrical element.

SIDE NOTE: Electrical elements can include but are not limited to: resisters, capacitors, and inductors.

And what happens if you fuck with an electrical system and overwhelm its capacity? You've seen warnings for it, I'm sure.

It's fire.

Well, really, it's heat. And sparks. And shit that will cause fire. You overwhelm an electric system, you run the risk of fire. You can burn the writing and cause permanent damage to the system, which may result in melting or outright open electrical-induced flame.

The inhibitors work to stop that but you don't want that to be your ONLY failsafe. That would be dumb. And it's not like you can build an electrical breaker into the bastard, so what do you do?

You give it an inconspicuous outlet. One that utilizes the energy in a way that is productive to the system.

LIKE HIS ROCKET BOOTS.

Shut up, gremlin.

Air shoes, were they to exist like they do in Sonic's universe, would have a mechanical component which would most likely be electrically powered for air intake and outtake, forcing air out at a rate fast enough to propel. However, in every depiction of Shadow's shoes, from the very beginning, there's some sort of energy being expulsed. if Shadow so chooses, they can HOVER. They don't have to move they can just HOVER.

Okay, you say, okay, but they use colored light trails to denote speed in the Sonic universe. Fine, sure, I'll entertain the idea that these are just air shoes, but then something needs to be powering them. A physical battery would be too unstable, especially with the fact that these are taking a pounding constantly. Artifical Chaos, though more stable than regular Chaos Energy, still has it's faults, and also, there is an energy supply ALREADY PRESENT. If Shadow is able to harness and utilize chaos energy, then it would make the most sense in my opinion to have the energy being used be just straight Chaos Energy, pulled directly from our favorite mall goth icon.

Shadow alone powers the shoes.

Again, like with the inhibitors, you can come up with fun ways that they could click into the circuitry system that is Shadow. I... like the idea of Shadow being more monsterous then they realize, which is revealed as time goes on, but one of my favorite concepts (one that I've seen actually fairly often) is that Shadow has the three-toed black-arms feet. It would explain the wide/high toebox of their shoes. But I'm gonna add onto that and go hey, hey, what if we made it more fucked up and there was literally a little hole in their heel, with a pin or plug being in the shoe, that Shadow's foot fits directly into and ONLY Shdaow's foot fits directly into like the most fucked up iteration of Cinderella you can imagine. Ey? Ey? How we feeling on that one?

So yeah, with this headcanon, Shadow's a funky-ass little critter, a little critter with a wire harness.

Cheers <3 Thank you, SO MUCH, for letting me ramble about this. It's not even a headcanon I think about THAT OFTEN but even so, I love it and I don't talk nearly enough about it as I want to.

#shadow the hedgehog #headcanon #au #tw // body horror #nowonderi-nc #ask #THANK YOU I LOVE YOU THANK YOU!!!!! #op rambles #sonic #sega #sth