#go read her fics! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lovesickeros · 8 months

Text

☆ even the gods bleed

{☆} characters furina, neuvillette {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, injury, light angst {☆} word count 2.3k

What was justice?

Focalors had asked herself that question many times during the long nights she spends awake pouring over the prophecy of a dead God, words replaying in her mind like a broken record until the sun rose like a blooming flower.

She was the God of Justice, an Archon, yet she herself lacked the answer to such a simple and yet so very complex question.

How does one define what is just and what is not? How does she know that what she believes to be just is right? Is it justice if one being alone may sway the scales of justice on a whim? What justice is there to be found in the cold, watery grave that awaits her nation?

She does not know.

Perhaps she may never know.

What she does know, at least, is that this is not justice.

It is a mockery of it.

She stands before the bloodied, broken body like the judge, her sword held so tightly in her hand her fingers feel stiff, a dull ache adding to the weight of what she's seen. For a long, horrible moment she almost thinks they are dead – something she would have reveled in, only a day prior – before she sees the subtle rise and fall of their chest. Breathing, but barely.

The rain felt heavier upon her shoulders at the realization – she was not sure if it was in relief or horror.

Her nails dig into her palm, mind stuck somewhere between that abject horror and confusion so palpable she swore she could hear the gears in her head turning.

For a long, silent moment as she stares upon the body beneath the heavy rain..she wonders if this is how it all ends instead. If the world itself will simply crumple in on itself and cease – without its heart, it will wither, after all – long before the waters ever swallow her nation whole.

Because, try as she might to rationalize it, for every drop of rain that hits her like pins and needles, soaking her down to the bone..the body of the imposter is completely dry. Even the water pooling along the stones dares not to leave so much as a splotch against their ragged, torn clothes.

She remembers the meeting so very clearly, and she thinks she is a fool to not have noticed sooner – the Creator upon their gilded throne, finger pointed in accusation at the visage far too similar to their own. The imposter. She remembers the lilt of their voice as they called for their death as easily as one would speak of the weather – and to no one other then herself would she admit the spark of fear it had ignited within her. Because beneath the divine charade there was a sick enjoyment in the way they looked upon the imposter – like a bug beneath their shoe.

She understands, now.

She had thought that perhaps finally – finally – she could do right by her people, by her Creator, if she rid Teyvat of this..intrusion.

Now she sees herself as what it all really is – blind lambs following the herder.

Perhaps she would be considered a heretic under the eyes of the law – beneath the weight of justice, heavy as the heart that bears its sins. Perhaps this is a mistake, one she would come to regret.

But for now, she sheathes her blade with unsteady hands, the sound making her ears ring – for what she had almost done, what she had already done – as she stumbles like a newborn lamb towards the broken body of..

..What, exactly? Human? Divine? She is not so sure what to call them. Creator? No. The name is bitter upon her tongue, now, burning like liquid flame down her throat.

Where once she had spoken it in reverence and admiration, it felt hollow and empty, now.

Her vision wavers as she kneels down against the rain soaked stones, the rain upon her back growing heavier as she reaches a shaky hand forth – and for a moment, however brief, she feels the weight of expectation, of a title she fears she may never live up to, wash away with the waters that fall from the heavens.

The bruises and blood smeared across their skin are like strokes of a paintbrush, their body the canvas from which such horrid art is created. It makes her ill.

Doubt wavers her composure briefly – her position is already unsteady. She has never been seen as an equal to many of the other Archons. Her own people do not see her as their Archon, but an actor in a grand play that they shall simply toss aside and replace like a broken doll the moment she bores them.

What does she have left to lose?

She reaches out again, her hand settling onto their shoulder and turning them onto their back. She..isn't sure what to do, actually. She's never been particularly physically capable – she tended to avoid fights, even if she oft provoked them – and she was certainly no healer.

Yet what choice does she have but to march on anyway? She is in the heart of the city, it is far more dangerous here then anywhere else..she had little time to make her move.

Fontaine was, after all, a nation founded on the principle of justice. To know an injustice has been made against the most Divine..the entire nation was in a frenzy.

Her eyes dart around nervously, hands clasped tight on their shoulders and her lips drawn into a taut line – someone would notice her absence. One of the Archons would point out her absence in the coordination of the search.

Her options were just as limited as her time – she couldn't just take them out of the city. Security was tight, and as much as she fancied herself an escape artist – Neuvillette could hardly keep her in one place for too long – she doubted she could do the same with the limp body of the imposter in tow.

..The Palais Mermonia it was, then.

Her room had a secret entrance that few knew about, and even fewer would dare to traverse. She just..had to hide them there for a bit and hope Neuvillette wouldn't notice anything different.

Probably.

Still, there was the problem of actually..transporting the body. As grim as it sounded. Her only solace was the fact she didn't have to worry about them catching a cold, at least, and their breaths were still audible, if only barely. So she had to resort to some..unexpected methods.

Seeing the limp form of, well, the imposter – she'd really have to ask for something else to call them when they woke up – stuck in a bubble of hydro wasn't exactly on her bucket list.

Then again, neither was treason.

Well, first time for everything, right?

It wasn't breaking the law if no one else knew about it.

..Neuvillette didn't have to know about it, really. It was fine.

She could, of course, technically try to talk some sense into Neuvillette – he'd listen to her, right? She thought she was pretty close with him..but he was also the one person more obsessed with justice then she was. Such a stickler for the law..so maybe she's breaking a few, it's fine.

But he was also pretty devout, as much as he tried to keep his worship private – with Focalors around, nothing was really secret. Maybe she could get him to settle down long enough to prove it.

..How was she going to prove it?

An exaggerated groan escaped her lips as she led the bubbled imposter – she really wished she didn't have to resort to that, it would be a lot a more awkward to explain then dragging the body around – through the winding streets of Fontaine. She's just glad she's already memorized the entire city like the back of her hand..and a little dramatics went a long way. People listened when the Hydro Archon spoke, and she was suddenly very, very glad for that fact, even if they treated her more like a mascot then a God.

And partially because she, maybe, just a little..stole a few documents detailing the layout and a little personal exploration of her own – but what Neuvillette didn't know couldn't hurt him!

After what felt like hours, though was really no more then half an hour at best, she'd managed to drag herself – soaked to the bone with rain – and the conveniently bubbled imposter up through the secret entrance and into her room.

The perceived safety, as flimsy as it was, was..comforting. Until she heard the rustle of fabric, the clearing of a throat and the pop of a bubble as she, in her surprise, popped it – and then the thud of the imposter hitting the floor.

She felt a bit of regret about that part, at least, wincing.

"Lady Furina." His voice was as sharp and cool as she remembered it always being – like fresh spring water, she'd heard it described. Soothing. It did not feeling very soothing right about now.

She turned sharply on her heel, a forced smile tugging at her lips on reflex, every muscle in her body tensed – she probably looked like a wet cat right about now, soaked with rain, but that was the last thing on her mind.

"Do you mind explaining what, exactly, you did?" Not what you're doing, she notes – what she did. He was mad. Oh, she was really in for a scolding now. She twiddled her thumbs, laughing weakly, though it quickly dies out at the awkward, tense silence.

"Well, you see – it's rather complicated! I can– I can explain." Her attempts to diffuse are met with a raised brow and the sharp tap of his cane. Every single thought is plagued with the urge to run, but the unsteady breathes of the 'imposter' keep her rooted in place. "Well?"

She was sweating bullets, her nails digging into her palm as she scrambled for any excuse that could warrant her not getting hauled off and scolded thoroughly at best – she was coming up empty. How was she supposed to prove that the 'imposter' was very much not what the 'Creator' said they were? Their unconscious body was doing no one any favors, certainly.

"The Creator is lying," She blurts out, immediately regretting her impulsiveness when she feels the sudden weight of his stare – the piercing hues of his eyes that remind her just who is the strongest between them. It is not her, she knows. It never has been. "You can see for yourself! Don't you trust me, Neuvillette–?"

Her voice is cut off by the sharp click of his cane as he strides across the room in only a few steps, his height making her feel like a child about to scolded. She hated it, but she grit her teeth through the exchange. She reminded herself that this was for the sake of the 'imposter' and any affront to her ego was..tolerable.

To her credit, too, she didn't immediately lash out when she saw him poke at their body with his cane, turning them onto their back – she wanted too, though. She considered it, but the thought was quickly shot down when his stare turned back upon her, and she felt frozen in place again, her tongue a heavy weight in her mouth.

Yet she couldn't shake the sudden tenseness to his shoulders, his brows furrowed and a distant look to his eyes. It was..haunting, in a way.

She knows it well, she realizes. The realization and acceptance, the crumbling of every solid foundation you've ever known – leaving you to flounder in the waves, alone and afraid.

The gentleness in which he picks up the limp body surprises her though, his cane set aside. The rain howls like a horrid storm outside, but she cannot focus on anything but the furrow of their brows, the soft noise that escapes their lips.

"I trust that you know that this must stay between us," His voice is soft, like the gentle lap of waves against the shore, as he sets their body down against the bed, his hand lingering against their cheek with something almost like reverence – and if her eyes do not deceive her, affection. "Lady Furina."

She does not hesitate to agree.

"Well– well of course!" She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning at the feeling of her wet clothes clinging to her skin, a heavy weight that feels like it's dragging her down. "Just what do you take me for?"

He doesn't deign to respond.

It only makes her fume more.

Not that he seems to notice, unbuttoning his heavy outerwear and tossing it on the bed, rolling up his sleeves and focusing on the injured– er..yeah, she really needed a new name for them. Calling them imposter felt wrong.

"So long as you understand, then we will have no problems." She huffs again, pouting and puffing up her cheeks, sitting down on the other end of the bed with only an occasional glance towards him as he worked at peeling away the ragged clothes and examining the injuries marring their skin.

She suddenly felt out of place.

..What was she supposed to be doing?

As if noticing her sudden quietness, Neuvillette sighed, his back turned to her though his attention very much falling upon her. She really hated the feeling like she was being dissected whenever he looked at her. It was unnerving. She doesn't know how anyone else handles it..

"If you are so eager to do something, Lady Furina, then please have something brought up for when our..guest awakens. They will need to recover their strength."

Finally! Something she can do. She perks up, her heels clicking on the floorboards as she darts out like a bullet, unable to stay still for so much as a moment.

Neuvillette, for his part..

Feels an odd sense of serenity as he stares upon the troubled features of the..guest. A peace that lessens the burdens upon his shoulders, the weight of a nation upon his back.

He cannot hear the rain, anymore.

..It must have stopped.

#sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #fic tag #imposter au #focalors #furina #neuvillete #a family can be a dragon an archon and his 300 other children who reverse adopted him #u date him its a package deal sorry #u now have like 300 children g-dspeed #also tagged spoilers on neuvi's part bc its kinda a spoiler??? sort of #also this can be read as platonic or romantic on neuvi's part #can u tell i like focalors btw :)#also gonna be swapping between focalors/furina bc SOMEONE sent me a theory and it sent me spiraling im gonna be ill #u know who u r and ur days r numbered #can be read as romantic between reader & neuvi but only bc i know focalors rubs it in his face she found the actual creator first #anyway can u tell focalors is my fav pt2 i wont shut up abt her its terminal atp #focalors..................#anyway *doesnt post fr months. randomly drops a 2k word fic. leaves and doesnt elaborate*#starts out v serious ends v silly #wrote this in one sitting im gonna go pass out now gn

2K notes · View notes

jackshiccup · 4 months

Text

affectionate chin tilts my beloved.. (perhaps in the same universe as my college/long distance au)

#jackshiccup art #my art #hijack #frostcup #jack frost #hiccup #rotg #httyd #art consistency … idk her #snotlout’s not homophobic he’s just pissed theyre still dancing around each other <33 #hes on his last straw i think …#i say theyre not even dating yet but jack is clearly wearing hiccup’s college hoodie he he he #idk why modern au has such a hold on me rn… i have sock’s fic to thank i think #everyone go read can’t smile like you mean it by sockhead_42 on ao3 this is a threat #ALSO SHOUTOUT TO YENICH i love her modern snotlout hairstyle i just had to emulate it 🥹#and still obsessed w hannah brushes weeee #noooo its 3.30am.. ok toodles 😴😴#my first art of the year and its hijack GO FIGURE #tumblr i will grill u for killing the quality ☹️

430 notes · View notes

yashley · 1 year

Photo

fearne: *is an Animal* imogen: *Gives Scritches*

#critical role #imogen x fearne #imogearne #ygifs #honestly god himself had 2 stop me from adding John mulaney's I Think Imogen Temult Is a Furry but yk what I don't need 2 see it 2 see it #imogen calling horse fearne a good girl like I've read enough 1 fic to have that ruined for me but I will absolutely definitely take it #not shown here but snake fearne in episode 3 just flicking her tongue at imogen to say hi ok yeah I mean sure #also rat fearne and imogen hijinks of imogen tryna shove her tiny rat ass through the BOTTOM of the door like sure I mean yeah #fearne turns into an animal and imogen goes I mean yeah thats mine #also means NOTHING to me that Imogen suggests quokka and fearne goes so I'm going with quokka as if that's not druid flirting OK I hate it h

2K notes · View notes

hesbianyaoi · 4 months

Text

i like when people give atsushi cat-like traits like purring or having sharper-than-average canines and i think we should take it a step further and just keep adding onto it. atsushi should chuff. he scratches on walls and his desk until there's obvious nail marks digging into the wood. he rubs against the others to mark them as his territory. there has to be a meeting held because he won't stop shedding and there's white hair everywhere so a good portion of the agency's budget goes into getting everyone lint rollers. he freaks people out at night because of his tapetum lucidum. and he does all of this subconsciously so if you tell him he does any of these things he'd be absolutely mortified

#bsd atsushi #its just really funny to think about #i love the idea of byakko and him becoming more in-tune with one another #therefore he adopts certain behaviors from her even if theyre catlike #read a fic where he ate a live mouse in front of everyone because byakko took over #it changed me forever. his weirdgirl potential is quite beautiful #i love his little gimmick of going 'im not a cat im a tiger'#i know youre better than this atsushi. you know what tigers are #not like anyone cares either way. poor thang

345 notes · View notes

doomsdaybby · 3 months

Text

crown of thorns - werewolf!steve harrington x fem!reader (2.7k)

co-wrote by calicojack11 (who is very very unfortunately not on tumblr) & doomsdaybby

content/trigger warnings: blood & wound description, hurt/comfort, size kink, daddy kink, breeding kink, dubious consent, steve is a teensy bit mean but it’s okay!

Steve is never in the mood the day after a moon, but he knew what you were doing while he was gone. He could smell you all night. He can smell you now, too. By the time he’s done with you, you’ll know not to tease him next month.

You’re awake long before the turn of the front door down the hall causes your eyes to snap open. Hazy morning light sifts in through your bedroom window.

Your apartment always seems to stand still the morning after the full moon, like you’re suspended in time as long as you remain between these old walls.

Maybe it’s just the apprehension.

There’s no telling what will walk through that door come sunrise. Sometimes it’s a naked, blood covered body, on other occasions Steve has returned as causally as if he’d just run out for coffee. More often than not, it’s something in between.

Today it’s something in between. You sit up in bed with your legs hanging over the edge, the hem of Steve’s shirt pooling loosely around your waist. There’s no time for you to get the door for him, he’s already flinging it open before you can even stand up.

“You’re hurt.” You observe with a hitch in your throat. It’s been four years since he was bitten. The two of you were just friends back then, just teenagers trying to save the world. It never gets any easier.

“Barely.” Steve responds, and the shadows on his face melt into the bags under his eyes to make him look that much more ominous.

“You’re bleeding.”

“They’re just thorns, baby.” He limps into the room, shirtless and speckled with blood. His gray sweatpants sit low on his hips to show off the dimples at the small of his back as he surpasses you on his way toward your master bathroom.

You swat your hand out to catch his, and he stops at the corner of the mattress while gazing down at his feet. Thick, nail-like thorns protrude from his ribs. He does this shit every month, this pity party of shame.

Always too proud to ask for help or love or softness, but you give it to him anyways. And of course he adores it, the way you touch him so tenderly, but God forbid he ever admit to that fact.

Steve glances at you out of the corner of his eye with a defeated frown.

“Come on.” He reluctantly gives in, and you take his hand to lead him toward your bathroom.

Once there, you run the bath. He likes it hot on the morning after the moon, as hot as the tap will run. Anything to soothe his tired, overworked muscles.

When the water runs cold, you’ll pull the drain and start it all over again, stroking his chest and scratching his head from outside of the tub while he drifts in and out of unrestful, broken slumber.

Steam begins to fill the small room as Steve stretches his arms above his head. His hands latch onto the top of the doorframe, giving you unbridled access to his injuries. You lower yourself to your knees and begin the reaping.

Steve tenses with the plucking of the first thorn, and a small stream of blood begins to flow freely from his torso. You press your thumb over the hole to stop the bleeding but he jerks away from your touch.

“Don’t — Just get it over with.” He grits between clenched, “It’s worse when you go slow. Just do it.”

His words rip at your heartstrings. You know it’ll hurt him, and it’ll hurt you too, but what sort of help would you be if you were to only give it on your own terms?

Two thorns sit near each other at the lower section of his abdomen. You don’t warn him before yanking them out simultaneously.

Steve grunts, and more blood flows. You continue to pluck the miniature railroad ties from his flesh and his composure never breaks.

The most he gives you is a few pained grunts, a couple of low moans and whimpers, his thick fingers clench the jut of the doorframe and he never offers any indication that it feels like he’s being ripped apart.

By the time you’re done, he looks like something macabre, all stretched out and dripping with blood. Crimson stains the right side of his joggers and sweat clings to the hair on his chest as his lungs heave.

He looks down at you on your knees like he hates you, like you’re the one who caused his suffering, while you’re looking up at him with a palm full of thorns ready to be fashioned into a crown. Like he’s a god. Like he’s your god, and you are here to worship.

He releases the door frame and pushes his sweatpants over his hips, down his thighs until they’re in a pile at his feet. Steve’s cock stands at attention before you, right in front of your face.

Slick with precum, veins throbbing and head just as burgundy as the blood painting his skin. Drool fills your mouth immediately. You try to look away but it’s hard.

Maybe he can smell that you’re fertile, maybe that’s what has him going. In the days leading up to this moon, Steve had been ravenous.

His hands grabbing you every chance they got, tossing you around this apartment like you were just a chew toy for him to clench between his teeth and shake.

He’s had you every which way, wherever he wanted, whenever that primal need hit him. And you were still thinking about it; his name slipping off of your tongue like a prayer, the metronome of your headboard hitting the wall, how you’d woken up to him already inside of you…

Steve is already stepping past you by the time you shake your head clear of those memories. He settles into the bath water and lets out a groan of relief, one not unlike the sounds he’d been making yesterday afternoon.

Steam dampens his hair and causes it to stick to his face, but you think he looks nice like this — a little vulnerable. He always likes when you sit by the edge of the tub and cup water in your hands to pour over his chest, so you do just that.

You move to the side of the porcelain basin and ease your hands into the water, getting comfortable with the temperature before ladeling a handful of it over his skin.

Steve settles back against the wall, finally accepting your touch. He closes his eyes and allows you to alternate between scoops of steaming water and rakes of your fingernails across his chest.

Eventually you abandon the hand back, instead navigating your palm from shoulder to shoulder, tracing your nails down his sternum and over his stomach, from hip to hip, repeating the process in reverse and then all over again.

You know what the man likes. He’s taught you well, refusing to accept your care on any other terms.

You think he’s dozed off — hell, you’ve nearly done so yourself — when you feel the roll of his hips. Steve shifts against your touch, coaxing your hand further down his abdomen to brush the dark curls that float there.

“Mm… feels good.” He whimpers.

Steve is never in the mood the morning after a moon. He’s always too sore, too cranky. You don’t want to push your luck, so your hand roams back up the trail of hair that leads to his bellybutton, hardly making it halfway before you feel his loose grip circling your wrist.

Your eyes snap up, and Steve’s bloodshot gaze is fixed on you. He looks very much like a wounded animal, ready to bite at the threat of danger but still begging for relief.

Slowly, without muttering a word, Steve leads your hand beneath the surface of the water.

He closes your fist around the base of his cock and then allows himself to relax again, but you feel the strain of muscles between his hips, how tight they’re strung. You want to give him that release.

Beneath the tinted pink bath water, you begin to move your hand. Slowly, ever so slowly, up and down his length. Squeezing just as tightly as you know he likes. And he rewards you with a gentle sigh, a sign that you’re doing good.

“That’s it, baby.” He breathes.

Heat rushes between your legs. This isn’t about you though, so you suppress that need. You squeeze your thighs together and focus on the feeling of his slick skin beneath your fingertips, how velvety soft and warm he is to the touch.

Your thumb drags over his swollen head as you finish your first stroke, and Steve rewards you greatly.

“Fuck…” His voice is deep and raspy, fingers clenching at the edge of the tub as he holds onto his composure. “Fuck, yes. Good girl. Faster.”

Your heart dips in your chest and you stutter for a moment before obeying his order. Then you pick up the pace, your hand moving more quickly down the thick, wet length of him and back up again.

With every dip and curve of his shaft, you can’t help but to imagine how it feels inside of you. He could choose any hole. Wherever he wants you, he could have it.

“Was thinkin’ about this all night, you know.” He muses, his breathy voice that of a siren pulling you beneath the waves. “Could smell your wet fucking cunt from the edge of town. Every time you slipped your hand into your panties I felt like I was going fuckin’ feral. Lucky I didn’t do something we’d both regret.”

That heat between your thighs spreads up your abdomen, radiating throughout your core. Steve can smell everything during werewolf week; when you’re horny, when you’re ovulating, when you’re bleeding. You should’ve known better than to tease him like that.

You twist your hand around his girth, jerking him off just as you typically do when he’s halfway down your throat.

You prefer him in your throat. There’s something cathartic about it — about your eyes welling up with tears as you struggle to take it all, gazing up at him through bleary vision and watching as he pumps himself into your mouth.

“Get in.”

You don’t hear him, you’re too preoccupied with the view of his cock throbbing between your fingers.

Steve’s hand shoots forward, circling the back of your neck and jerking you toward him. Before you realize what’s happening, his lips are smashed against yours. Teeth and all. Tongue slipping into your mouth. It takes you a beat to respond, and then you melt into his touch.

“Get in, angel.” He repeats, words honeyed and saccharine against your lips. As if you need convincing. “Make me feel good. Fucking please. Only you know how.”

You hardly break your kiss to pull the shirt over your head, losing your panties along the way as you climb over the wall of the bathtub and sink into the water that’s far too hot for your flesh. It burns. You’ll be pink when you get out, but the pain is diluted by the overwhelming pleasure of Steve slipping his hands beneath your ass and moving you exactly where he needs you to be.

His cock bumps against your core, sliding between your slick folds to nestle against your swollen clit. TV static begins to fill your brain and you’re moving on impulse, instinct. Lovemaking is an art that the two of you have perfected together.

“I want it.” You whine with your head laid against his chest, bloodied water drifting up and down your chin with every subtle movement like the push and pull of the tides.

“What do you want? Tell me.” He asks, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh.

Steve grips the base of his cock with his other hand and teases your entrance, sliding the head through your arousal and pushing himself inside of your weeping pussy just enough for you to feel his stretch.

You drag your teeth along his collarbone, hips burning as you hold yourself above him. You know better than to take before being given permission.

“Want your cock, daddy.” You press a chaste kiss to his throat, searching for the artery there that’s pumping with hot, nectarine blood.

A baritone growl rumbles from his chest, it vibrates you so nicely. He pulls his palms from beneath you, encircling them instead loosely around your waist and tilting his forehead down to meet yours.

“Take it, baby. It’s yours.” He whispers, pressing his lips too briefly against yours.

He opens his mouth to say something else, but you’re already sinking down on his cock. Opening yourself up around him. Stretching to your absolute limits just to accommodate his satisfaction.

Steve’s veins drag along your inner walls with every disappearing inch, his nails digging into the small of your back as his mouth parts slightly and eyes glaze over with want.

“Mine?” You repeat, nearing the base of his cock.

You can feel him in your stomach, head stroking that perfect spot at the back of your pussy with every gentle rock of your hips. You’re just waiting for him to say it.

Steve nods. “All yours. Fuck, it’s all yours, angel.”

You need no further instruction, especially when the heat of your clit brushes against the collection of sodden hair at the base of his cock. It’s that tiny fraction of extra attention you crave to dull the ache.

Steve grunts low when he bottoms out, surrounding you with a gentle wave of steaming water as he flexes his hips up, up and up again. Trying to somehow fit even more of himself inside you, bullying his way in, carving out a hole in your abdomen.

You anchor yourself to his chest, pushing as he pulls, the splashing of the now overflowing bath water surrounding you both being a companion to the collective shaky huffs and bitten curse.

Steve sighs, something so sweet, that gentle part of him you miss a little too much during this stage of the cycle. He flexes his arms then and pulls you in real close, chest to chest, your skin tacky against one another.

You place a kiss along the column of his throat, and you can taste the dirt and sweat and blood that’d been brought to the surface the night before. It’s dirty. It’s raw and a little bit feral, but you stick your tongue out anyways just to taste it because it’s part of him.

“Gonna cum inside you…” He bites out your name a little mean, and it’s almost a warning.

You feel your sleek inner walls contract around him at the thought and on instinct try to lift yourself away, but Steve has you in a stronghold.

“No.” He thrusts up again, water spilling onto the floor. “Let me, baby — ah — let me fill you up. I just need to smell your pretty, fertile cunt full of my seed. Lay still.”

Against your better judgment, you do as he says. You lay still against his chest, taking his thrusts, moaning his name into the atmosphere and riding out the ethereal swirl of stars and colors bursting in your vision as your eyes roll back in your head.

The rope in your abdomen is being pulled tighter and tighter with every stroke of his cock, with the slam of his throbbing head against your cervix. You can feel it threatening to snap.

And then it snaps.

Steve grabs your hips and pushes your core as far down as he can, stuffing his cock into your womb, releasing the first of many ropes of cum deep into your cervix.

He lets out a guttural moan that drowns out your shallow breaths, fingers digging into your flesh as his load overflows and spills out around his girth.

You float in that state of Nirvana for some time, longer than you can keep track of. By the time the fog clears from your head, the water is lukewarm and dirty.

Steve is stroking your pink skin with the tips of his fingers and you can feel his steady breaths blowing through your hair like a gentle spring breeze.

He kisses your temple every few seconds, aware that you sometimes need just as much care on these days as he does.

“It’s gonna stick.” He says.

He’s still inside of you, and you don’t have any plans of making him pull out.

“I know.”

- - - - - -

🫶🏻

#no but pls go read my wife’s stuff over on ao3 she is literally perfection personified #her writing is so gorgeous #steve harrington #werewolf steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #my fics #fic collab #steve harrington blurb #x reader

393 notes · View notes

black-and-yellow · 1 year

Text

Punk rocker in training.

#mic drops Eri off at school and such in his car because he thinks that it'll make the other kids respect her #little does he know #6 year olds dont care about his vintage ride #does eri go to a normal school no probably not #im not caught up on eri lore #Eri either gets taken places by a man who stinks of cats #a guy dressed head to toe in leather and spikes #or the symbol of peace himself #wish i was her #bnha #mha eri #hizashi yamada #present mic #yamadad #if you havent read my loudspeaker fic yet youre missing out #accidentally made it better than my actual proper book

1K notes · View notes

shima-draws · 2 months

Text

Ideal ending to WCI is Luffy seeing Sanji cry and then awakening his devil fruit and unlocking Gear Fifth out of sheer RAGE and saying the classic line of “Who made you cry, Sanji?! I’ll DESTROY THEM!!!” and then proceeding to go on a rampage and fucking absolutely EVERYBODY up including the Vinsmokes, Pudding, AND the Big Mom Pirates. Toss in the trope of came back wrong and Sanji can immediately tell something is not right about this Luffy, whose smile is too wide, whose eyes are too distant, who continues to beat upon his enemies long after they’re down, who seems to take a sick sort of pleasure in hurting others, who grins and giggles and tells Sanji he’ll obliterate anything that makes him cry. Eventually he starts to scare Sanji so bad that even Luffy notices his reaction, and immediately turns on himself because if HE’S the one making Sanji cry then he’ll just have to destroy himself too. And that’s when Sanji finally leaps into action and does whatever he can to reach Luffy—including kissing him. Luckily that was exactly what Luffy needed to snap out of it, and when he comes to the Whole Cake Chateau is in broken pieces, the Big Mom Pirates are battered beyond fighting and the Vinsmokes are nowhere to be seen. And softly, tiredly, he asks if they won, if he can bring Sanji home, and Sanji cries again and says yes, take me home to the Sunny, I want to go home with you.

Meanwhile the rest of the Strawhats are like

#One Piece #Luffy #Monkey D Luffy #Sanlu #Lusan #Sanji #Black Leg Sanji #Really what I’m saying is that I want Luffy to go Gear Fifth during WCI. And there’s Sanlu involved.#LMAO #Also I remember reading a Gear 5 Luffy fic where he ties people together in knots. Like that’s FUCKED up #And he would ABSOLUTELY do that in this situation. For funsies. To be silly 🤪#Sanji watches in horror as Luffy uses somebody as a jumprope. To Luffy this is a Normal thing to do #Sanji torn between ‘Holy shit I’m so in love with him rn’ and ‘What the actual FUCK is that thing wearing Luffy’s face’#We’ll get eldritch god vibes up in here.#Luffy uses Conqueror’s Haki so powerful it even brings Big Mom down to her knees #Pudding starts crying out of fear and Luffy’s like :)))) Good. Suffer #He can be scary AND silly. As a treat #They had back to the Sunny eventually and Sanji’s like. Well. That happened #*head #(He also has to mentally process the fact that the regular Luffy—HIS Luffy—only came back to him after he kissed him)#(But again he doesn’t have time to unpack all that right now)#Shima speaks #Sorry it’s self indulgent hours over here. I’m getting sick again and I need some way to cope. Lol #(And I mean actually sick I’ve had the worst sore throat known to man since yesterday)

160 notes · View notes

omo321 · 4 months

Text

Kaito felt himself tensing as she finally turned the tap off and walked over. She placed the pitcher roughly on the table within his reach and stepped away to lean over the armrest. Although he didn't look up at her, he felt her heavy glare on him. "Thanks," he mumbled as he reached for the pitcher and was careful not to spill any water on the couch or the floor as he started slowly soaking his makeshift dressing. "Now explain," she demanded with a strained tone.

Did a fanart for one of my favorite fics "Secrets within" by Hebiaczek (chapter 19).

#it's an au with dragon shifters but you can't really tell here (I can't draw dragons anyway rip)#tbf theres so much going on in that fic besides dragons #love the characterizations and dynamics #having read more of their fics - the author is just really good in general #I tried drawing several other scenes from it before but failed #turns out emotional scenes are difficult to frame in one picture and I'm a noob at comics #so I went for a more quiet one #Aoko gets fluffier every time I draw her #(good.)#aoko nakamori #kaito kuroba #magic kaito #dcmk #omom #fic fanart

250 notes · View notes

corinnetheanime · 5 months

Text

AND IT IS FINALLY HERE!!!! Happy Ecto-Implosion week, everyone!! The artwork and amazing fic collab that has been in the making for the past couple months is finally here for y’all to enjoy!!

Warning for implied character death/s, experimentation, mild violence, and overall mature themes.

It’s been an amazing honor to work with @thelightningstreak for the @ecto-implosion event!!! Her stories (looking at you, CHAINED) are some of my absolute favorites in the entire phandom since I first joined in 2013, and she’s been an amazing partner to work with! I was blown away by the very first draft alone! Seriously, give her some love, and check out her works!! Thank you, Lightning, for collaborating with me on this! It's been a joy to share this with you!! :D

Artwork title: Fiat Justitia, Ruat Caelum

250 notes · View notes

lazuliquetzal · 4 months

Note

I keep on telling people you're the only one who knows how to plot. Can you teach all of us how to plot, please? I love you.

I AM SUMMONED? PLOT BRAIN SUMMONED?

I love plotting. It's my favorite part of the writing process. Plot is "things that happen" and the best part of writing is imagining things that happen. I'm going to assume that whoever may be reading this knows how to imagine The Happenings, so I'm gonna be talking more about structure, but in like, a kinda abstract sense.

A good plot is a little bit more than a string of events. Plot is like music: there's variation in rhythm and sound and melody, but ultimately there's cohesion, because it's all one song. You can have a bunch of wild things happening, but no matter how strange, there should be something that links them all together, because you're telling one story.

Plot structures are patterns in stories. I'm pretty sure most of them were developed as analysis tools (as in, story already exists > look! it follows this pattern) rather than as writing tools, but people use them as writing tools because it's a neat little way to organize the chaos that is "shit happens." Stories follow patterns for the same reasons music follows patterns: we enjoy the certainty of hitting certain beats. But we also like being surprised. A good pop song doesn't sound like a random collection of sounds, but it also doesn't sound like the middle slider of other songs.

There is this shared concept in both music and writing: the idea of tension and release. Basically, you're playing with reader expectation: there's an imbalance in the experience (tension), and we want to see that imbalance resolved (release). All the common plot structures deal with this basic pattern:

You set an expectation

There are complications to the expectation

You meet the expectation

And this rhythm is happening on multiple levels in writing. Scenes follow this structure (we're gonna get past that door, we're gonna find the murder weapon, we're gonna collaborate and come up with a plan) and all those scenes feed into the overarching expectation (we're gonna solve this murder!). I usually think of chapters as their own mini-story, part of the larger whole. And I think of scenes as their own mini-story, part of the larger chapter. I have engineer brain. I see the gears spinning in the clock. That's why all my chapters have at least One Important Thing happening, because that's that particular chapter's Step #3.

And One Last Important Thing:

In music, a delayed resolution is almost always more interesting than the standard resolution. In writing, that means you wanna drag out Step #2 for as long as you can. That's where the bulk of the story is happening, that's how you build tension, that's how you get people to turn the page.

So when you write a fake dating fic, those bitches better not get together until the very end. I came here for fake dating, not for real dating, damn it. If you resolve that expectation early on, you better replace it with a different expectation that's just as engaging.

But also don't drag it out for too long. Sorry. The hard part of writing is learning the difference between too short and too long. Writing is unfortunately a nuanced skill which is why my advice is like "do this but not too much teehee." But tension and resolution is just rhythm, you can build a sense for it if you engage with enough stories.

#asks #yellowocaballero #writing #writing advice #THANKS FOR ASKING ME THIS MEG I LOVE PLOT I WILL TALK ABOUT HER ALL DAY AND I LOVE YOU TOO #i haven't read a fake dating fic in a long time i just brought it up because it was the first Trope Thing that came to mind #i didn't go into different plot structures because i was trying to boil them all down into the very basic building block of question-answer #but if anyone's curious i usually favor a circular plot structure #the ending reflects the beginning. the song loops: the same beats but with new perspective. cycles.#and by that i mean 'story starts with dink being mean to time' and 'story ends with dink being mean to time (but now it's affectionate)#lazuli talks

174 notes · View notes