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katasstrophy · 1 year

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This and shidou and date night need i say more?

—𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄'𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐓'𝐒

cw. SMUT. MDNI! fem! reader. exнιвιтισиιѕм (the tiddies are out). fιngєяιng. pet names (babydoll + baby). one (1) cheeky ass slap. implied nιρρℓe play. implied violence. window fυ¢кιng. it's shidou — he's horrible and fucked in the head! // this man does truly nasty delulu things to my brain chemistry.

oh my GOD you better hope and pray that shidou doesn’t find out how easily he could just have that sexy little dress off your figure in a matter of seconds with a clever twist of his fingers because he will use it to his advantage. shamelessly. in public. he does not care.

he distracts you thoroughly by pawing at the meat of your thighs with his greedy fingers where the silver chains dangle, only to untie the flimsy black straps resting at the back of your neck when you least except it, exposing your bare chest to the cool air outside and everyone else watching in your proximity, but most importantly, exposing you to him. he doesn’t get to leer at your gorgeous pair of tits for long, however, as you scramble to quickly cover some of your modesty with your hands, a horrified gasp falling from your lips as the front of your dress continues to uselessly pool around your waist.

and shidou, like the absolute scummy bastard he is, has the audacity to whine in protest, mind far away from thinking of how to help you cover up and more leaning towards prying your fingers away from your breasts so he can see your pretty, peddled nipples again, maybe lean down and even suck on them a lil’, he’s generous like that.

“ryusei, what the actual fuck? we’re in public, you fucking cockroach!” you snarl, your eyes blazing like the gates of hell. the sight makes shidou’s cock stir in his pants. how he adores it when you get mouthy with him.

“aw, c’mon, babydoll. i haven’t seen your tits since this mornin’, you can’t fault me for wanting another looksie. i even stood before ya so the others wouldn’t see. aren’t i a gentleman?”

his grin is sharp and feral like the slash of a scythe as shidou licks his lips, like the air tastes sugary just from soaking in your embarrassment and heated cheeks. he means every word he says.

you resist the urge to tell him you want to castrate him for sport. knowing him, it’d just make him hornier.

“you’re seriously fucked in the head,” you spit at him instead, squaring your shoulders and spinning around to locate the bathroom and fix yourself up with as much dignity as you can muster in your vulnerable state.

“babydollll,” he giggles after you, all lulls and foreboding. “don’t be like that! ya should’a double knotted.”

to stick it to him, you make sure to quadruple knot the straps of your dress lest he gets any more brilliant ideas of undressing you for everyone to fucking see — a decision shidou makes you regret a couple hours later when he drags you back to his sky-rise penthouse, shoving you up against his floor to ceiling, crystal clear windows, rucking your dress up to sink his thick, unforgiving fingers into your tight heat until your knees buckle from the onslaught of pleasure.

“ryu-seiii,” you hiccup, completely out of it but hungry for more of his punishing touch. “please, uh, i need more, touch me more.”

shidou has the tells of your body mapped out and committed to memory, knows that by now your cute, puffy nipples that you denied him from looking at and feeling up earlier to his twisted heart’s content must be sore and aching for his attention, so he coos at you, void of any sympathy, reminding you this could have all been avoided if you would have just showed your breasts to him earlier like the good little angel you usually were for him.

it’s not like he would’ve let anyone escape without two bulging black eyes if they dared to stare at what was his.

“you know i’d love to play with your tits, babydoll. but i just can’t reach ‘em ‘cause of y’re naughty—” shidou brings his palm down on your exposed asscheeks, your yelp at the sting of his slap drowned out by the lewd squelching of your arousal as he pumps three fingers in and out of you like he hates you. “—little dress of yours. shouldn’t’ve made so many knots, hm? if you untie your handy-work i might reconsider thoouugghh.”

your trembling fingers scramble to the back of your neck again, almost clawing at the neat, sturdy knots you made only hours before out of retaliation, desperate for your sadistic boyfriend to pinch and and abuse your nipples just the way you like it until the flesh is raw and tender.

but when the dress finally slips off you yet again, shidou only pushes you more harshly against the glass, squishing the fat of your breasts into the cold, hard planes, chuckling cruelly as you thrash helplessly in his iron hold while he shimmies out of his pants.

“no, ryu, please, you promised. you promised to play with me mmmf—”

as much as he adores you being mouthy, as shidou shoves his fingers coated with your slick into your mouth until he hears you gag, he thinks it’s time you learned a lesson.

“sshhh, baby. you’ve already been bad today, so be good f’me now, yeah? time to put on a real show.”

then he’s bottoming out in your sloppy cunt in one brutal thrust, fucking you within an inch if your life as you writhe and sob on his suffocating fingers until your mixed juices trickle down your legs and soak into the expensive carpet, putting on a show to any lucky by-walker who happens to peer up at your debauched lovemaking.

because shidou does love you. so much. just like the cockroach you called him — ugly, incessant, and indestructible.

#—ping! new message from (oh-miniso)#yeah i am NOT OKAY over this 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫#blue lock smut #shidou ryusei smut #shidou x reader #bllk smut #blue lock x reader #shidou smut #shidou ryusei x reader #—riv.fic!#—bllk.thirsts!

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 5 days

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What happens when science experiment!reader has a nightmare? (Given her background I imagine she’d get them, right? I mean, whenever she does actually get to sleep, that is…)

Also I love you ari. You’re a gift to this fandom and I hope you’re good xxxxx

Jason woke up in a cold sweat, eyes glowing green and his heart racing. Blood singing in his ears and his muscles seized in sheer terror.

In the hall, distantly, he heard a scream. And other places he heard doors open and slam shut. Heavy steps on plush carpet.

Except the feeling didn't go away. It kept going. Pushing adrenaline through his body. Telling him to fight- when there was nothing to fight. He stifled a yell with difficulty and got out of bed. Opening his door just in time to see Bruce sprint past him "Stay, " he barked.

But- when Alfred was just ahead of him- disappearing up a different staircase that would lead to your room- well. "Like hell," he grumbled. He forced himself not to run. Not to follow years of training to run IN to danger. Into the epicenter of the panic.

And when another scream ripped through the manor, it stopped him dead. He'd heard screams. A lot of them. He'd caused them. But nothing had ever been as soul rending as that was. It made him feel like someone wrapped a frozen hand around his heart and squeezed- hard.

When he could move again, he ran.

Skidding to a halt at your door. It was like a seen from an exorcism movie- almost. You were contorted and your breathing was ragged. Crying. But instead of swearing and hurling blasphemy you were begging. Apologizing. All you wanted to do was go home.

"God damn them," Alfred swore, his hands trembling as he fumbled a kit open.

"She's too far into it now; we can't just wake her up," Bruce grunted, struggling against your sweat slick skin. Trying to get a grip on you and also respect your modesty. He glanced up to see Jason in the doorway, "Help me or get the girls. Don't just stand there."

He hesitated for a moment, and took a deep breath before stepping into the room and walking to the bed. He wanted to go home once too. "You're gonna be okay," he mumbled. "I'm scared too right now." He glanced at Bruce, "What are we doing?"

"Simple injection. It's just the nightmare cocktail. Upper thigh then recovery position," he said.

Jason nodded and helped Bruce shift you over. Realizing that the issue wasn't just that you were sweaty and wriggly but that you were stronger that average and ALSO fragile. So the extra pair of hands made it a lot simpler to hold you in place for Alfred to jab you with a device that looked a hell of a lot like an epi-pen and wait for the horrors to subside.

And gradually, they did. They could watch it happen in your body. Like a wave receding. Where there had once been an all consuming terror there was nothing. A void.

"You'll be alright now, honey," Bruce said stroking your sweat damp hair and exhaling slowly. "You're okay."

"Is she-" Jason started, not sure what he wanted to say, swallowing hard.

"She'll keep her distance for a few days," Alfred said, patting his shoulder, packing up the kit. "But she'll be alright. Lead lining in her walls only does so much."

"Lead?" he asked.

"Trying to dampen it some," Bruce said. "After her first nightmare she hid in the woods for a week afraid I was going to put her back in a cage... Sometimes I think she's still waiting to wake up to a door she can't get out of."

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #ask answered #minors dni #reader insert #science experiment!reverse

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blackswaneuroparedux · 11 months

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If Caravaggio were alive today today, he would have loved the cinema; his paintings take a cinematic approach. We filmmakers became aware of his work in the late 1960s and early 1970s, and he certainly was an influence on us. The best part for us was that in many cases he painted religious subject-matter but the models were obviously people from the streets; he had prostitutes playing saints. There’s something in Caravaggio that shows a real street knowledge of the sinner; his sacred paintings are profane.

Martin Scorsese on Caravaggio

Michelangelo Merisi, known to most of us as “Caravaggio,” was born on September 29, 1571 in Milan, Italy, to parents who were from the small town of Caravaggio. In the span of his 38 years long life he revolutionised painting with innovations like a unique use of chiaroscuro - with dark shadows contrasting with dramatic areas of light - and a deep sense of realism that later inspired the Baroque movement. But most of all, he developed such an iconic style that most of us can probably look at a painting and know if it’s a Caravaggio, or Caravaggio-inspired.

Merisi spent the first few years of his life in Milan, studying painting, and later moved to Rome, where his early talent impressed Cardinal Del Monte, who introduced the young painter to other high-profile Catholic figures who became commissioners of some of Caravaggio’s best work. It seemed there was no end to the artist’s creative genius. Caravaggio, much to his patron’s delight, would pump out one masterpiece after another. It seemed the more out of control his personal life became (cheating, brawling and murder were standard fare), the more his art would become more refined, more potent.

In the long list of masterpieces he left behind, both secular and religious works stand out. But it is perhaps in his religious works that the artistic transition of the master is more evident. Caravaggio is, in fact, known to have changed his style after harsh personal life experiences led him to reassess his outlook on life.

In May of 1606 Caravaggio took part in a deadly brawl in Rome and was charged with murder. He fled to Malta, in search of asylum from the Order of Saint John, a Catholic order dedicated to helping the sick and the poor. The order commissioned some of the most important late life works of the Milanese artist.

It is in these works that we notice the shift in Caravaggio’s art, from a strong focus on aesthetics to an interest in the spirituality of his subjects, which critics believe was motivated by his own introspection.

On the streets surrounding the churches and palaces, brawls and sword fights were regular occurrences. In the course of this desperate life Caravaggio created the most dramatic paintings of his age, using ordinary men and women - often prostitutes and the very poor - to model for his depictions of classic religious scenes.

By representing biblical characters in a naturalistic fashion, typically through signs of aging and poverty, Caravaggio's populist modernisation of religious parables were little short of trailblazing. Although not without his critics within the church, by effectively humanising the divine, Caravaggio made Christianity more relevant to the ordinary viewer.

For some, though, his art was too real. Bare shoulders, plunging necklines, severed heads; this raw humanity didn’t always fly in 17th century Rome. As a result, many of his pieces were rejected as altar pieces and as church hangings. One such piece, the Madonna of Loretto (now hanging in a church in Rome) was widely criticised upon its unveiling. The people of the day were shocked to behold the Mother of God leaning nonchalantly against a wall in her bare feet while holding baby Jesus in her arms.

It is ironic that the very art that today we consider “classical” and “iconic” to the Catholic faith was considered questionable and perhaps void of modesty and virtue. Yet, the fact remains that no individual artist has made such a lasting impression on the world of modern art. Truly, many have called Caravaggio the “first modern artist”. It is no surprise, then, that his style has sparked both widespread admiration and imitation throughout the centuries.

Before Pope John Paul II refined a theology of the body beautiful, Caravaggio's paintings suggested a reverence for the inherent beauty of human form.

Troubled though he may have been, his art speaks eloquently of the dignity of the mundane. Though the original medium may be weathered and cracked, the message of beauty still echoes down the centuries. And this same beauty still fuels, escapes and reduces artists to relentless seekers as surely and as forcefully as it did in Caravaggio's life.

#scorsese #martin scorsese #quote #art #artist #caravaggio #art history #aesthetics #modern #sacred #profane #rome #catholic church #christian #beauty #realism #art of the mundane

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shadowbriar · 10 months

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Fred Weasley - Would've, Could've, Should've

Pairing : Fred Weasley x (she/her) Reader Word Count : 3.3k Warning : Implication of alcohol. War. Some foul words. Italics for past events (ew). Fluff. Let me know if I missed anything. Not proofread. Synopsis : The three times Fred Weasley should've professed his feelings and the one time he finally did. Notes : I intended this piece to be an angst ending but I supposed Fred fluff is due. Don't forget to fill the form here if you'd like to be tagged for my future works. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕ Fred Weasley's Masterlist click here.

Fred Weasley finds it hard to find comfort on his old squeaky bed. It has been weeks since Harry, Ron and Hermione fled the wedding. There have been no words, no owls. Supposedly that means that they’re still in hiding. No news means no harm done. There’s no way Voldemort would have kept silent had he and his followers found Harry.

Fred hates it. Not knowing what to do nor what to expect next. The uncertainty is driving him mad. One of these days the war will happen and until then, Fred is left with nothing but the empty void he’s been trapped in for days.

He’s prepared himself well. Practising his spells and curses in the morning and at nights, before and after he busied himself with the joke shop. Her words ring in his head, like an infinite loop of heavenly melodic song. A pleasant earworm that he never wished to evict from his mind. The only thing keeping him afloat was her smile, her scent, her voice.

Her.

Perhaps it is what fueled his pestered mind. The fact that he hasn’t been able to be honest with his feelings to her, to gather the courage and be bold as he’s always tried to be in front of others. Everyone knows about his deep devotion for her. That stupid truth or dare game Hermione introduced them back in Hogwarts had to be the ugliest way of a confession and it couldn’t even be counted as one. It was simply an honest answer.

“Don’t fight it Freddie, it’ll only hurt you.” Hermione says with a teasing smile.

The veritaserum is certainly doing its job. Fred winches as he feels his skin stabbed with a thousand needles, trying his best to fight the honesty banging to be let out.

“Come on, Fred, answer the question!” Harry said, pushing him “Who is it that you fancy? Angelina? Alicia? Go on, spill it!”

Fred bites his lower lip hard, not caring the bitter taste of blood as it starts to rip.

He turns to see her, the girl who anticipates his answer just like the rest of the group. Her eyes were twinkling, smile spreading beautifully. The light from the fireside reflects on her, making her look ethereal. His cheeks were burning, unable to contain the emotions any longer as he finally blurted her name.

She blinks, looking surprised.

The rest of the students were stunned too for a brief moment, before exchanging their expressions into a playful one, smirking and nudging her. She let out a shy smile, not daring to see Fred’s gaze as her cheeks turned a shade of pink.

“I mean, it’s just a silly crush.” Fred says fast, afraid she might feel uncomfortable at his unplanned confession. But the lie hurt him worse and made him spill more truth “No— I lied. I love her. Shit, this thing hurts like unicorn balls.”

Her giggles echo through the common room. Fred finds himself smiling a little at her reaction, thankful that she didn’t find it baffling of him to fancy her. Though he’s sure she’s only showing modesty. She’s always been good at keeping his feelings after all.

Fred sighs as he rests his arm on top of his eyes. He should’ve done something then, after unintentionally uttering his feelings, perhaps he should’ve approached her and handled it better. Come with better words, ask her for a proper date, anything but to shrug the incident away. Just like what he did.

Don’t ask him what it is that makes it so hard to gather the gut and confess. He’s been trying to find the one reason for years now. Perhaps he was just insecure, feeling like he is less deserving of her affection. Or maybe he fears ruining the friendship they’ve nurtured over the years. It’s not everyday you can be close with your love interest, afterall. Most of the time it would only create misunderstanding and awkwardness, but with her, he finds support and comfort instead.

But that one game wasn’t the only time he could’ve made his move. If anything, it was only the beginning of more chances he had missed. That game happened when he was in fifth year. There have been plenty other opportunities for him to seize and be true to his feelings, yet he didn’t.

Fred stares at the seated girl from the corner of the room. He hasn’t been able to take his eyes off of her. The stunning decorations of the Ball was nothing compared to her beauty tonight. How her hair was styled, the simple yet enchanting dress that fits her like a glove, everything about her was lovely to say the least.

His date, Angelina, has been long gone with her friends. She might have noticed Fred’s lack of enthusiasm for the dance and decided to ditch him. He feels rather guilty for not making Angie’s night, but it’s hard to try and please other people when your heart is locked on another.

She was escorted by some Slytherin git who defeated him on his race with time. Fred curses himself for taking too much time on thinking of clever lines instead of actually approaching her and asking her to be his date. He thought that people would know better than to ask her. They’ve been close for years, surely others could understand that they’re unspokenly an item. These other lads could’ve taken literally any other girl than her.

As George would nag him, he snoozes, he loses.

But after lurking at her like the creep he is for quite some time, Fred comes to the understanding that she too has been ditched by his date. A voice in his head wants to give this bloke a taste of his knuckles for leaving her alone like this, but a bigger part in him was thankful that she could now be rescued by him.

“Fancy a dance?” Fred asks, putting his hand out for her to reach.

She raises her brows, smiling in confusion, “Where’s your date?”

“Gone.” He shrugs, not paying much mind to her question “So.. Dance?”

She scrunches her nose. A habit she does whenever she’s embarrassed to do something. Her growing grin and suppressed giggle was pumping Fred’s vein with bliss. He caresses the back of her hand that was covered in white satin glove as they walk to the middle of the floor.

“I have to warn you, I might not have the best foot at dancing.”

Fred smiles at her, winking, “Well then, let me lead.”

Even as she bit her lips, the happy grin was still blooming on her face. They were dancing with whatever move Fred wanted to do, not caring that they are so out of rhyme than the rest of the other couples. He lifts her up, twirls her, before doing the same motions on himself, making her burst into fits of laughter.

Their eyes were locked on each other, completely captivated as they felt the world around them melt away. In that very moment, Fred, who thought that he couldn’t have fallen for her harder than he already is, was proven to be yet again mistaken. He could always and will always fall for her harder than he already did before.

She places her hands on his shoulders. Their height difference made it hard for her to cling on his neck, so resting them on his shoulders should do. Her smile was muted down but still radiates the very same joy. Fred would certainly argue that at this very moment, she is the most beautiful woman in his life.

“Can I kiss you?”

Her eyes widened at the sudden burst of questions.

“I mean on the forehead, of course.” Fred said fast, trying to save the moment before he ruins it completely. His heart was beating fast, afraid she might let go and walk away “Completely platonic. You’re my best friend, after all.”

She pursed her lips. A slight disappointment was visible in her eyes but as quick as it came, the expression disappeared and changed into another lovely one, “Of course, Fred.”

“Bloody hell.” Fred groans to himself as the memory hits him like a tidal wave “Really? A kiss on the forehead? Fucking bell-end you are, Fred Weasley.”

He takes the pillow that was resting on his side to cover his face, screaming on it to let out some fumes. He really needs to get his head sorted. It’s fascinating how she’s still sticking around and having the very same lovely attitude towards him after all the baffling actions and mortifying words he’s uttered.

Even when he told her he was leaving, she was still his number one supporter.

Fred fidgets with his fingers as he waits for her by the oak tree. He’s asked Seamus to give her the word that he’s waiting for her, at the very moment he knew she’d finished her transfiguration class. His palms were flimsy, nervous of her reaction later after he finally spilled the bean. Would she still be there for him, cheering and patting him on the shoulder after this?

“Fred,” she calls, a curious smile plastered on her confused face “You wanted to see me?”

He chews the inner side of his cheek, responding in a nod.

“Okay..” She scrunches her nose, cheeks are highlighted in a strawberry colour as she takes closer steps “What is it?”

“I need to tell you something.”

She nods, eyes full of anticipation, “Go on.”

“I’m leaving.”

The glimmer in her eyes dim down as the words enter her ears. Her excited face was soon exchanged to a disappointed and puzzled one. It was as if she expected him to tell her something else.

“We have enough money now to open the shop and I don’t think we should wait any longer. Not even until graduation.” Fred continues to explain, eyes filled with uncertainty “Me and George are planning to leave by the end of this week.”

“This week?” She asks, surprised “That’s— That’s very sudden.”

Fred nods, “I know, but this is the very time for us to flee Umbridge, don’t you think? If we were to leave now, we could have more products prepared for the next school term, so students can get their pranking supplies from us.”

She remains quiet, not looking like she was even half listening.

“And we heard that there’s a shop for rent in Diagon Alley. We’re thinking of buying it and renovating it. We ought to start early before the market is full, otherwise we wouldn’t get customers.”

“You’re leaving.” She says in a soft whisper, still trying to comprehend his words. She licks her lip, forcing a smile as she places her hands on his shoulders “I am so very proud of you Fred. Of you and George, both. I’m sure the business will thrive. You two are gifted for it.”

Fred nods, breathing uneven as he debates if he should put a line here and end the conversation. They would still see each other later on, so perhaps he could postpone his confession a little longer. But he would certainly be busy with the shop later, should the business actually thrive as she said, and might not have time to utter his feelings. And that’s not considering the competition he might have now that she’s older and has certainly grown into a mesmerising woman.

“Would that be all, Fred?” She asks as if hoping that there is more from him.

Fred clears his throat, “Uh, yes. Yes, that would be all.”

She nods, smiling genuinely as she takes closer steps and reaches for his cheek, planting a small kiss on it, “I’m so proud of you, Fred. Good luck.”

Fred turns his gaze to his bedside table. There, lies the one photograph he holds very dearly. Its edges were slightly ripped from constant touch he’s done. They were smiling there. His arm resting on her shoulder as he ruffled her hair, resulting in an irritated glare as she pushed him off of her.

He missed her. It has been months since he last saw her. He’s been diligent on reading the papers, making sure that her name wasn’t listed as one of the victims through the chaos ensued. She’s always been someone with a brilliant moral compass and determination, and though it is one of the many things he loved most about her, Fred couldn’t help but to feel worried that it might cause her troubles.

“Fred, are you asleep?” George says as he barges in his room, breaking his train of thoughts “We’ve just received a message from Aberforth— Harry’s at Hogwarts. The Order will rendezvous there, we must go.”

—-

The ringing in his ears was becoming louder. His eyes were watering from the debris, chest tight from the dust and smoke of explosions. Fred was in loss of direction, though there isn’t anyone who’d know the castle better than him, he couldn’t make sense of where to go, only trusting his burning legs to carry him elsewhere. Somewhere the Death Eaters couldn’t find him.

Somewhere between the Astronomy Tower and here, he’d separated with George. He could only hope that his twin is in a better situation than him, found shelter or help to punch the Death Eaters away.

“Expulso!”

Fred’s speed finally decreases as an explosion happens behind him, blasting the Death Eaters that were chasing him away. He stares at the now ruined hallway, panting as he tries to rest his legs and catch a breath.

“Are you alright?” A girl says with worry, placing her hands to his cheeks and analysing his condition “Are you hurt anywhere?”

Fred pants, unable to utter any word. His vision was still blurred. He wasn’t sure he was still alive. Maybe the blast hit him, or he was buried under the ruins of the crumbling hallway, either way would be a better explanation to the sight he’s seeing right now. He could feel her hands scanning his body, trying to see if he was injured anywhere as the lack of words clearly didn’t provide any ease for her.

“Good God, say something, Fred!” She yells, frustrated before turning her heels and pulling his arm to the hallway “Come on, we’ve got to go.”

Now the two of them are running, climbing down the many stairs of The Grand Staircase. They were cornered. More Death Eaters were waiting for them downstairs, still unaware of their upcoming presence. Before they could take their turn and descend further, Fred pulled her away to the smaller corridor and opened a secret passage.

The channel was cramped. Stone walls lit by torches that magically set ablaze as they came in. The tunnel didn’t give her any sense of comfort, noting the eerie air it has and how quiet it is compared to the turmoil happening outside. It was as if they were sucked into a different dimension now.

“We have to get back,” She says with audible pants “We have to help the others.”

“Just give me a second to breathe, Love.” Fred says with a pathetic chuckle, trying to gather his energy back “There were Death Eaters waiting for us down there, we have to go the other way.”

She nods in understanding, finally leaning to the stone walls and letting her guards down for a minute.

Fred stares at her, still slightly crunching down with his hands on his knees. He knew that he shouldn’t be thinking about her this way, given the grave situation they are currently in, but he couldn’t help but to think of just how blessed he is to be graced with her presence. Her cheeks were flushed, skin laced with sweat that made it seem as if she was glowing. Her hair was unkempt from all the running. She gave a whole new meaning to the word beautiful in his book.

“Quit staring.” She mutters, a little smile tugging on her lips “We don’t have time for an awkward reunion right now.”

He chuckles, shaking his head, “I don’t know whether to be happy or mad.”

“Why would you be mad? I saved your arse just now.”

“I know,” He nods in acknowledgement “I just didn’t exactly have this in mind, Death Eaters and deathly jinx, when I finally meet you again.”

She smiles, finding the situation to be rather ironic also.

She wipes the sweat on her forehead with her sleeves. Her breathing has become steadier, taking out her wand again as if she’s ready to face whatever fight to come. That look of determination is back on her face. Fred could never recall any other time when she looked more courageous than this, but before she went to find the exit to this tunnel, he took her wrist and made her pause on her feet.

“Wait,” He says. Fred’s eyes were filled with uncertainty now. A silent battle is happening in his mind, whether or not he should come clean to her now. The setting was unideal, certainly far from the romantic scenarios he’s planned in his head for years, but there was no guarantee that either of them could come out of this alive and he knew he’d kill himself if he died without telling her how he feels “I need to tell you something.”

Her brows furrow a little, looking at his body to scan for injuries he might not have mentioned before, “Are you hurt?”

“No, no I’m not hurt.” Fred answers fast “It’s about something else. About what I’m feeling– What I have been feeling.. For you.”

“Fred,” She calls softly, taking his hands to hers and squeezing it gently with a smile “I appreciate the sentiment, truly, but you can be really daft sometimes. We have no time for this now.”

He frowns, slightly taken aback at her blunt words.

“I’ve waited years for you to muster up the courage, I deserve a proper confession, don’t you think? Not one done in some dark rotten tunnel like this.” She says with a chuckle. She places a small kiss to his cheek, still smiling warmly at him “Tell me whatever it is you want to tell me once this is all done, alright? I expect some sappy speech and flowers at disposal.”

“I’ll redo this once we’re out but I just have to get the words out now. I need to.” He states firmly “Voldy could wait for another minute, I’m sure the fight would still be there when we get out of this hole.”

Hesitation was still evident in her eyes but she nodded in defeat, staring right back at him with full attention, “Alright.”

“I love you,” Fred starts head on “I’ve loved you for as long as I’ve known you, perhaps longer cause I know I’ve been staring at you from afar since the first time I laid eyes on you. My heart is yours, always. And I just— I— Oh, fuck this.”

The lack of words were so frustrating that he caved in to adrenaline and kissed her instead, hoping that the gesture could convey the message better than his rambling. He kissed her desperately, as if he feared he could never do it again. His hands cupped her cheeks, slightly crouching down so she doesn’t have to be on her tippy toes for too long. He kissed her with all the pent up emotions he bottled all these years. Letting it all burst into fireworks that set every inch of his skin ablaze.

They were panting once again as they pulled away. Chest heaving from all the intense emotions. His nose was brushing into hers, forehead touching as they savoured every ticking second. None of them wanted to leave.

“I love you.” He whispered once more “I am utterly, unequivocally, desperately in love with you.”

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you to say that.” She replies with a smile “That better not be the last time I hear it.”

Fred chuckles, planting a kiss to her forehead, “Trust me, you’ll tire hearing it once we get out of this.”

“Promise?”

“I swear it.”

She smiles wide, satisfied that all these times spent waiting for him to confess finally comes to an end.

“I’ll find better words to say later.” Fred says tenderly.

“Don’t forget the flowers.”

He chuckles, nodding, “And flowers.”

#fred weasley #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley scenario #fred weasley scenarios #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley oneshot #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x oc

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daddyhausen · 8 months

Note

mark davis and

{ 89 } — is this your first time? { 39 } — don’t be afraid, it’s just me { 70 } — for your safety, i’ll be gentle (jokingly cocky)

• you and i, my dear — mark davis •

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

{ masterlists } | { aew masterlist } | { mark davis masterlist }

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

{ summary } — being your first time, davis makes sure to do everything in his power to make you feel safe and loved

{ warnings } — 18 + { minors do not interact } virgin!reader, virginity loss, innocence kink, size difference, size kink, praise, stomach bulges, soft sex, body worship, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, penetrative sex, male + female orgasms, cumshots, squirting

{ word count } — 1.3k

{ pairing } — fem!reader x mark davis

{ genre } — smut

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

{ taglist } — @cosmoholic13 @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @adamjf @slut4kennyomega @wardlow @alexisquinnlee-bc @sammiejane22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @omegasluvbot @melissahausen @writtingrose @drummergrl1310 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @bonehead-playz @cherrytheeredheadmamaclaymore @crowleysqueenofhell @romanreigns-supreme @janetreader @thenerdybaker523 @sunshinevirus @nicoleveno14 @rubyred1980 @elsteenerico @igncrxntripley @ripleyswhore @embermdk

{ beta readers } — @allelitesmut + @legit9thlunaticwarrior

{ comment if you want to be added to the taglist }

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

{ 89 } — is this your first time?

{ 39 } — don't be afraid, it's just me

{ 70 } — for your safety, i'll be gentle

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

you sat before him

body void of clothing

the only thing shielding your modesty was a pillow hastily thrown atop your form

you did not meet his gaze

fearful of what he would think

would he enjoy the sight of your body all naked and bare?

or would he find disgust in your flesh

his large fingers gently trapped the edge of the pillow

prying it away slowly, hesitantly

he was scared as well, scared of how you would react to being so exposed before him

you had not divulged to him that you had never been with anyone

although your reaction alone was a dead giveaway

how you shied into yourself

pulling and pressing yourself into the fluffy exterior of the pillow just to shield yourself

embarrassed with tinted warmth rising to your cheeks

he knew your predicament, yet he still decided to ask anyway

“is it your first time?” he questioned

his words filled with a soft almost delicate cadence that you were not too used to hearing

his tone was normally so coarse and loud

you gave a subtle, shy nod

still choosing to wrap your arms around the pillow, providing mental comfort to yourself

“are you scared?”

another nod followed, your voice had gone and made no attempt to make itself heard anytime soon

“oh honey…” he cooed, lightly pulling you into the warmth of his bare chest.

allowing you to succumb into the comfort of his embrace.

“you’re safe with me, sweet girl. i’ll never hurt you”

he hummed sweetly against your hairline, peppering delicate kisses to the skin

“i know…” you responded meekly, still letting yourself melt into him

“look, we don’t have to do anything if you’re not up for it, okay? your safety is my top priority”

his accent rang thick in your ears, that sharp australian twang seemed so comforting at a time like this

peering up to finally meet his gaze, the amount of love that he held behind those russet eyes

“…thank you…”

you were taken aback by his words, exhaling softly with a sight

“but i still want to…y’know…have sex…with you…”

you stammered over your words, trying to sound more confident than your voice entailed

he could not help but smile down at you

“for your safety, i’ll be gentle” he joked, his tone cocky yet playful, pressing another sweet kiss to your forehead

“now…let me see you, sweetheart”

he made no effort to move the pillow from your frame

letting you do it on your own volition when you were ready enough.

he noticed the shaky exhale in your breath, how your fingers trembled around the edge of the pillowcase

“sweetheart” he began softly

you peered up at him through a hazy gaze, eyelashes fluttering softly in response.

“i’m not going to judge you. i love you.”

he hand cupped your cheek daintily, your own hand resting atop the back of his, caressing his knuckles with the tips of your fingers

you let the pillow fall

his gaze never left your eyes, they didn’t need to

he was in awe of your beauty, mouth hung slightly agape with wonder

“you’re so fucking beautiful, my sweet girl”

he leaned in peppering sweet kisses to your hairline

beginning to trail them down your cheeks

then to your lips

he let the kiss linger for a moment

hesitance evident on his breath as his lips barely ghosted yours

you felt the heat in your body rise

felt the adrenaline and arousal surge through you

you took initiative

wrapping your arms around his neck, dragging yourself onto his lap, beginning to straddle him

he was taken aback by the sudden action, the sudden rise in confidence on your part

he smiled into the kiss, growing hard as your hips began to lightly swirl against his

as much as he adored the sight, he’d much rather be the one on top, at least for tonight.

his hands fell to your waist and without breaking the kiss he gently flipped you over

your body now pinned under his

he pulled away momentarily, spreading your legs with his knee as he positioned himself between them.

his cock hard in his palm as he lightly teased your clit with his tip

“you ready?” he questioned, a slight pant in his voice, practically breathless from the kiss

you replied with a small hum and a nod, feeling the heat flush to your cheeks once more.

“use your words sweet girl. i’m not doing anything unless i hear you say it”

his eyes stared so lovingly into yours, so soft and gentle

“y-yes..” you barely managed to squeak out

he smiled softly, planting another gentle kiss to your hairline

“there’s my girl”

his fingers smoothed stray wisps of hair from your eyes, taking the time to admire your beautiful features

“i'm gonna start okay?”

“o-okay..” you breathed out, an anxious sigh left your lips, feeling his tip gently glide against your soaked folds

“hey…” he paused.

“i’m gonna need you to tell me if it hurts okay. i’ll stop if it does”

you stared up at him though hazy eyes, dumbfounded by his comment for a second

“you could never hurt me”

“well…i know but…things like this…” he paused again.

“because it’s your first time i just want to make sure you’re alright”

he hadn’t even done anything but in that moment you’d never felt so loved. so safe beneath him.

you leaned up to sweetly plant a kiss to his lips

feeling yourself blush at the contact

opting to shy away into your hands hastily

regaining your breath for a moment before letting yourself relax

“okay..i’m ready”

he positioned himself over you, his cock barely jutting at your entrance.

“i’ll go slow okay”

you nodded in response. body tensing up awaiting contact

“relax sweetheart. i got you”

he gave a final kiss to the tip of your nose before sliding himself in

you gasped at the feeling. so new so foreign.

instantly adoring the way he stretched you out with ease

arms wrapping around his body, pulling him close

burying your head into the crook of his neck

“don’t be afraid, it’s just me, sweet girl”

he slowly began to move

the thrust of his hips was soft and gentle

he knew he wasn’t going to hurt you but in the back of his mind he was very much afraid that he would

what with the stark size difference between the two of you

he could practically see his size outlined in the pit of your stomach

the sensation took a while to get used to

having to force yourself not to tense up each time he entered you

“you alright?” he’d ask every few thrusts

to which you’d give a soft nod in response

“more” you muttered into his skin

your breath caught in your chest, mixed in with your moans

he complied, increasing his pace the slightest

not to hurt you, just enough to give you that little bit of extra pleasure you so craved

“so fucking good for me, sweetheart” he muttered into your shoulder

wrapping his arms around you, securing you tightly to his chest

“you’re doing so well”

your whines and mutters heightened as he hit every sweet spot inside of you

feeling his cock swell against your tight walls

“fuck-“ you whimpered, slightly panicked. feeling yourself clench and squeeze around his cock

a thick pulse ringing between your thighs

“shhh. it’s okay sweetheart don’t fight it”

his words muffled into your skin.

you let go. sweetness gushing around his cock as your orgasm rushed through you

you’ve never felt such pleasure in your life

it was euphoric

“such a good girl” he growled softly.

he pulled out of you, pumping his cock over your stomach until he spilled over

“oh fuck-“ he grunted, hot ropes of his seed spilled onto your stomach

“shit…look at you” he panted. “you look so beautiful covered in my cum sweetheart”

you blushed at his comment, never feeling more confident that you were able to elicit a reaction like that from him

he leaned down to pepper gentle kisses to your lips

“i’m so fucking proud of you” he muttered between kisses

“i fucking love you”

you hummed a soft response against his lips, reciprocating the sentiment

“let’s get you cleaned up, my sweet girl”

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

#{ my fics : 🤍 }#mark davis x reader #mark davis smut #mark davis imagine #mark davis fanfic #aussie open #united empire #aew #wrestling imagine #wrestling smut #aew imagine #aew wrestling #aew fanfiction #aew smut

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herzgeist-writes · 6 months

Note

Hii Emi! It's me again and if you're up to i have another request! Obv a Law x yn where yn joined the heart pirates only two months ago and she is pretty shy and always worried to not be helpful to the crew. Law takes pity out of her of how cute she looks but what hits his heart is how kind and gentle this girl is and that makes Law slightly worried because he knows something is different and he cannot let himself fall in love because he needs to avenge Corazon

Pairing: Law x Cute fem!reader | Word count: 1.9k | Warnings: None

Synopsis: Welcome aboard the Polar Tang, (Y/n)! The Heart pirates took you in with open arms without regret to this day. You are one of the kindest and most gentle people the crew ever faced, growing fond of your sweet and humble behaviour. Over time, Law takes notice of your modesty and fights against his own emotions you awaken in him, before they become too much to handle. Is a dark and sinister man such as him actually able to develop romantic feelings? He highly doubts it. Yet so he thought.

A/N: Kurage! Of course I'm up for it! It's Law we're talking about ఌ Avast, another fluffy OneShot, thank you for the request dear! (Sorry it took a bit longer, I was on holiday) Hope you like it!

Dividers by cafekitsune ~

„Hey (Y/n), could you grab me the tool kit from the boilers below? I must‘ve forgotten it down there.“ - „Sure thing Uni!“, as one of the newest crew members of the Heart pirates, you‘re highly determined to be of support wherever you‘re able.

Since two months aboard the Polar Tang, you learned rather quickly how kind and contributory Trafalgar‘s bunch is. Safe to say, you‘ve grown fond of them and vice versa.

They appreciate your zeal, though you do not possess the ability or skill to know the ropes around the submarine, so the mechanics assign you to simple tasks.

Besides sweating in the sub‘s belly, doing mechanical works, kitchen and laundry duty are also a great way to warm up to the general feel of being part of a crew.

After a quite dramatic rescue, where Law saved you from slave drivers, you can‘t rid the sentiment of the Surgeon of Death behaving hostile towards you.

Of course he is known for his aloof and petulant manner, but you start to recognise certain differencies in his conversations between you compared to other members.

If you ever talk to eachother that is, for it being a rare occasion. It honestly is a shame. There is still so much you want to say, so much you want to ask, yet he avoids you as soon as you enter the frame, walking a B-line to his office.

Don't get him wrong though, Law sees you, oh and how he does. The way you talk, how you behave and hold yourself. Not just captivated by your sweet and adorable appearance, it is your whole demeanor, your big heart he had the chance to behold the past two months.

This is bad, beyond grave. There is no way he actually likes yo-

Absolutely not. Everytime he passes by you, these thoughts intrude his very being, it is then where he's ought to better ignore or run from those feelings, before anything unpredictable happens. Or did it happen already?

To you, the question still remains, have you done something wrong? Aren’t you working hard enough? Whatever it is, you struggle to find the reason behind his mysterious attitude. Be that as it may, you make it your goal to reach your Captain with hard work, rather than straight up walking up to him and find a conversation.

And today is one of those days where you can prove it, to earn your superior’s attention. The Polar Tang docked at an abandoned isle floating somewhere among the waters of the Grand Line. To Law’s calculations, there is an estimated poneglyph hiding on this island. Thus the Heart pirates prepare for a day out in the field, exploring the jungles and noting everything suspicious or fascinating regarding the void century’s history.

At the coast, everybody gathers before proceeding into the thicket. The Captain calls out: “Keep your baby snail transponders ready at all times. If you detect anything remarkable, give me a call immediately.” All confirm his command with a booming ‘Aye’ and thrust their fists into the air, to commence the expedition in brimming motivation. Split up in parties, the groups divide and go seperate ways for a more efficient search.

You follow one team and hold out for mystery. The snail in your hands oogles you, it’s eyes slightly uncanny and bizarre. Yet, the resemblece to Law is immaculate. The already mentioned eyes faintly squinted in an exhausted manner, with dark circles underneath, the white fluffy hat and of course the goatee. It’s almost too accurate. Concentrating on the path before you, you take a good look around.

But to your foolhardy day dreaming, you now walk alone. Where are the others? In panic your gaze scans the area, worried you might not even find your way back to the Polar Tang. How long were you in dream land, (Y/n)? Anyway, you are on a quest, therefore you are tremendously firm about your decision to make your Captain proud.

May sound easier than done, for you tread through the dark and sinister parts of the jungle, feeling cold and uneasy as you hear an alarming rustling very near you. So you pick up the pace, close to running through the lush green thicket, almost toppling over your own feet. Anxiety fuels you with energy, motivating you to rush further into the forest’s heart.

The sun’s rays fade the deeper you go and finally you come to a stop, even unable to see your own hand before you. “Shit, where am I?”, you utter lowly to yourself, scared you might have ran a tad bit too far. A sharp and stinging spark in the distance blinds you. Curiosity gets the better of you, now following the only source of light.

Slowly approaching the inexplicable in front of you, the blinding fortunately ceased and you recognise a golden orb with strange embellishment, if you wouldn't know any better it looks close to a map, deeply engraved into the material.

Like a moth to the flame, you hold out your hand to grasp the devious object. However, before you can sling your fingers around it, the ball disappears and gets replaced with: "A rock? What the-" - "Don't just randomly grab a possible relic, (Y/n)-ya . ."

Surprised, you let off a small squeak and immediately turn around to find yourself cowering away from none other than your Captain, who's brows furrow at you in annoyance.

With the orb in hand, he steps even closer to you, condescendence lifting his gaze as he rumbles: "And by the by, you're supposed to be with the others."

"I lost track of them, so I went on my own.", explaining yourself with an ever growing pout, your shoulders droop in ebarrassment. Quick to throw another question, a frown pushes the corners of Law's lips down: "Why did you run further into the jungle so absentmindedly? You should have called me."

In protest, you point out that your mindless flight response wasn't for naught, implying to show Law your capability by finding this golden ball, but he doesn't give in regarding that matter. All he deftly oversees and only tells you off.

Whose fault was it though? Hiding in the bushes, observing helpless and frightened little you, not able to stay quiet? Trafalgar Law sure doesn't fit the role as a ninja, at least not today.

"Listen (Y/n)-ya, a woman like you can't just wander around in unknown territory, practically diving into danger.", he lectures you with a sour tone in his raspy voice.

Shit, is what goes through Law's mind, as he realises what slipped out of him. Aware how to misunderstand his haughty opinion, he attempts to keep it together. It is incredibely difficult for him to stay focused around you. Why? Oh how he wishes he could just rush back to his office.

Something bugs you, why did he describe you as 'a woman like you'? Thoughts spin in your head and you twiddle your thumbs and twirl a strand of your hair in insecurity. Thus you muster up the courage to ask for the Captain to clarify what he means by that bold statement.

How much it takes out of him to keep his poise. Could you stop playing with this poor man's emotions? They're barely existant in the first place and you decide to pull his heart strings like that?

Indifferent as possible, Law blinks, time seemingly slowing down around you, for he takes a felt like eternity to answer. And finally he clears it up, shifting nervously in place: "Isn't it obvious? You are . . fragile, delicate even and new to piracy. Don't take life as a pirate too lightly, that is all I'm trying to say."

In strain, you contain yourself not to snap at your superior, so you out your concern: "Are you saying I'm not capable?" - "That's not what I said. I simply indicated, that you are too much of an amateur and could get seriously hurt, if you lack the vigilance. Other pirates might take advantage of your kindness and . ."

The Captain stops mid sentence, choking on a word that almost escaped his oddly dry lips. You tilt your head in curiosity: "And?"

A sweat drop builds on his temple. It just wouldn't cross his mind, why you are being so troublesome? Shaking his head infuriatingly, he mumbles: "N-Nothing. Let's just go."

Abruptly grabbing your hand, he pulls you along, leading you out of the dark parts of the jungle. Muttering his dissatisfaction and curses in disbelief, he stops, the both of you returned to the stone path.

Though his slender hands seem rough and calloused, you are surprised by the gentle and warm touch of his skin. Even after all those tough battles he fought, all the operations he performed, his digits carefully intertwine with yours, almost scared to crush you.

So he turns around to face you and commands you harshly: "Go back to the sub, just follow back this way and you'll be there in no time." - "Aye, Captain."

Law detects a tinge of shame and disappointment in your expression. How come his heart cannot stop beating out of his chest, as he speaks: "Before you go . . you . . did a good job, finding this artifact, it's a rather important object at that. So, well done."

Did your hearing falter? Your Captain just praised you! Out of joy you flash him a smile, showing him gratitude with a subtle nod and a small hum.

The brim of Law's hat casts a shadow over his face, making it impossible for you to see his blush that is being withheld from you.

After a good minute, you two come to realise, that you are still holding hands. "Umm, Captain? Could you-", you point out with a shy chuckle and Law basically yanks his arm away in a rash move, almost a tad bit too obvious, even to you.

In irk, he shoos you: "Just go already! I have other things I must attend to!" With his jaw tensing by the sight of you playfully rolling your eyes and going about your way, he clicks his tongue and continues the path ahead of him.

One last look over his shoulder, glancing at your delicate frame in the distance, once more the beat of his heart waivers. Truly, there is a certain appeal to you he wishes to familiarise further, nevertheless, he must not.

After all, Law has a goal, his mind is set, determined to avenge Corazon. It takes his all to commit to this plan, hence there is no space . . for love? Confliction restricts the Surgeon of Death's tunnel vision, professionalism slowly but surely fading by your 'intrusion'.

He must admit, he's fighting the urge to give in to your sweetness, surrender to his own emotions towards you. You peak his interest, though to his momentary disapproval.

But what if he is able to fulfill his wish? When the world finally reaches it's well deserved state of peace and freedom. Will he earn your attention, your affection?

What if . .

#one piece #one piece law #trafalgar one piece #law x female reader #law x fem!reader #law x y/n #x reader #fanfiction #fanfic fluff #one piece request #one piece requests #Sweet Surrender

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electronicwitchcollection · 7 months

Text

~*Kensei Smut*~

Honestly. Kensei fought me at every opportunity, he picked and prodded at everything I wrote, yet wouldn’t help nor let me move on to another fic. I’ll not be writing for him again until he learns to cooperate 😂. As a result for not speaking up, I’ve given him another use for that mouth. Neither me nor Kensei are happy with this, but I’m going to post it anyway. That’ll show him.

*my masterlist is pinned at the top of my page if you’d like to read anymore of my work 💜*

You could feel your partners explosive spiritual pressure from where you stood alone in your shared kitchen. Quite an impressive feat, since you lived a good eight blocks away from the office in the ninth division. Kensei was a fantastic partner, sweet and attentive, there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for you. His quiet strength was always there to hold you up when you needed him, silent pilar of strength in your relationship.

However, he wasn't void of any flaws. He was incredibly temperamental, quick to anger and with very little patience. Kensei wasn't easy going, by any stretch of the imagination. He lived by a strong sense of discipline and morals and reacting hostility toward those not falling in line.

It had taken you months to see past the curt and gruff exterior the Captain exuded to discover the attentive and intensely tender man that lay beneath. Not something that many were privy too. He was loyal and fiercely protective, especially over you. He showed you how much you ment to him every single day, in his own gruff way.

You could feel the annoyance pulsating in the angry flare up from where you were. Kensei had been trying to curb his explosiveness in work, after one too many complaints had been overheard. It wasn't that he wanted to upset anyone, least of all the female shinigami in his division. He was just a man who struggled to contain his emotions and express them calmly.

You sighed softly, he had been trying so hard. Knowing he would return home soon, and would turn to you for comfort, you hurried to your bathroom for a hot shower.

———————————————————

Stepping out of the steamy bathroom, Kensei's favourite deep purple silk gown wrapped around your curves, you hear the door to your home snap shut a little harder than necessary. Bare foot you walked to the entrance of your home, watching as the man who held your heart kicked off his sandals roughly, letting them hit the wall before landing haphazardly on the floor. Waiting for him to remove his captains coat and zanpakuto, you got the chance to study his handsome face.

His strong jaw was tense, harshly defining his jawline. Lips were pulled thin, likely chomping down hard on his back teeth. Nostrils flared with every rough breath, eye brows furrowed deeply. Clearly the walk home hadn't dampened the annoyance that caused the angry reaction you had felt earlier.

His light brown eyes caught your own as he left the entrance hall to walk into your home, making his way straight to you.

Without breaking his stride, large hands engulfed your waist, throwing you over his shoulder effortlessly. You yelped at the sudden change of verticality, gripping onto the back of his kosode frantically. Not once had he ever let you fall, but the natural reaction was strong. He wrapped an arm around the back of your thighs, pinning you securely as he made his way through to your bedroom.

You flounced with every determined step, the heat radiating from his frame seeped through the flimsy material covering your modesty. Equilibrium was thrown through a loop when he deposited you heavily onto the bed, bouncing lightly on the plush matress at the force.

Protruding muscles proudly shown off in his sleeveless uniform bunched together delightfully as he crawled up the bed. You held your arms open for him, allowing him to cover your body with his own. Caged between the solid wall of muscle and bed, you stared at the ceiling as he nuzzled into your neck and sighed deeply

"bad day?" You ask him softly, bring up your hands to slowly run your fingers through his hair. He grunted near your ear in affirmation, so not to accidentally snap at you. His hair was deceivingly soft, the Mohawk he sported these days grew naturally, and wasn't styled by hair products as one would assume. By the slight coconut smell protruding through the air, you could tell that he had stolen your shampoo.. again.

"you wanna talk about it?" The offer hung in the air for a moment before you felt his head shake no. This was a usual response you had come to accept, pushing the matter would only amplify the festering annoyance. You pull at his hair gently, encouraging him to straighten up to face you. Unable to part from you completely, he rested his forehead against your own, tips of your noses brushed together sweetly. Untangling your fingers from his hair, you smoothed it down the side of his face, softly cupping his tense jaw in your palm.

"how can I help?"

The answer came in the form of a bruising kiss. Your eyes fluttered closed at the feel of his lips melding against your own, stealing away your breath. Willingly, you open your mouth at the insistent tongue running across your lips, surrendering yourself to Kensei completely. Angrily the moist appendage invaded your mouth, claiming the space as his own.

Harsh breaths forcefully pushed out through his nose, fanning over your face and warming the skin on your cheeks to a subtle pink hue . Your tongue danced across the one leading yours in a rhythmic pattern, fitting in perfectly to the to and fro that made you dizzy. The kiss was controlled and disciplined, traits Kensei valued and demanded of his subordinates, though you couldn't ignore the passion and raw admiration you could feel being pushed through.

This is what Kensei had come to discover he needed when he couldn't express his distain towards the childish insubordination he endured on a daily basis with his lieutenant, who embodied everything he meticulously beat away with his rigorous training. He needed you to be compliant, adhering to his commands freely and without questioning his authority.

Something you were all too willing to give him. Kensei truly treasured you, made you feel unconditionally loved each and every day. You could give him this in return. Sacrificing your free will was a small price to pay, for what you got in return. Kensei was as skilled as a lover as he was a leader. Passionately bringing you into the throws of pleasure, knowing your body better than you yourself did.

With a final press of his lips, Kensei pushed himself to his elbows, looking down into your flushed face. You read the question behind his hardened eyes as easily as if he had spoken the words out loud. He wouldn't use your body unless you gave him permission to do so. The affirmative nod was all that was needed, he dropped a fleeting kiss to your lips before sitting back between your legs, pushing them wider to accommodate his wide stature.

Battle worn hands trailed over the silky sheen of your robe, soft strands catching on the hardened callouses formed from decades of wielding a zanpakuto. Thick fingers made easy work of untying the sash holding the robe closed, denying him view from your body. You watched as Kensei pushed the garment open, the material fanning around you on the bed.

His eyes burned where they landed, intently washing over each and every curve, memorising every blemish and scar that added complexity to your otherwise perfect skin. Ample breasts perked at his heat gaze, rosy nipples hardened under the weight of that intense stare. His hands roamed over your body, gliding over your skin appreciatively. The sharp breath you pulled when his fingers grazed over your nipples was deafening in the otherwise silent room.

Kensei dipped his head, kissing your soft stomach fondly. You were strong in your own right, though that didn't reflect in your body as it did his. Kensei's body was thick with muscles, defines pecs and rippling abs. Where's yours was soft, plush with a little weight that just wouldn't shift. Kensei adored the roundness of your curves and didn't hesitate to worship all the little details you had stared too long at in the mirror, self consciously picking apart.

He kissed his way along the lower part of your stomach, nuzzling into the flesh you hated most. Your hand darted out from habit, ready to halt his explorations when his caught your wrist, keeping it at bay. Lips pressed against your skin, Kensei looked at you darkly, eyes held in an unspoken warning.

Gently depositing your hand on the bed next to you, squeezing your wrist in a silent reminder, Kensei continued his path to your hip, sucking gently where your hipbone protruded ever so slightly. Heat rushed to the area, blood pulling to the surface in a purpling bruise that was soothingly kissed. Following down the crease of your thigh, Kensei laid himself down on his stomach.

He brushed a hand under your thigh, smoothing it up your leg to your knee and raising it from the bed. Foot planted, holding your leg up as he wanted, Kensei moved to do the same on the other side. Your sex was on full display for him, legs opened wide to allow him unobstructed access. You covered your eyes, arm thrown over them mortified at the deep inhale he gave, nose pressed into your mound.

You groaned at the first slow lick he gave at your centre, his wide flat tongue dragging against the sensitive skin of your lips. Meticulously he tasted you, long, hard swipes of his tongue opened you up slowly. Your hips rolled wantonly, urging him to quicken his pace. His hand splayed across your stomach, keeping you in place as he continued to lick through your folds.

Reaching your centre, Kensei slowly thrusted his tongue into your velvety heat, nuzzling his face into your wetness. Strong laps caressed your inner walls, sending a jolt of arousal through you. Heat spread through your lower stomach, tightening deliciously with shocks of pleasure. Kensei determinedly devoured you, wet lapping noises loudly filtering through the room.

His tongue penetrated you deeply, tasting the increasing wetness you produced. The steady rhythm inching you closer to release, fanning the embers of warmth into a burning inferno. You moaned loudly, arching your back. Your hand darted to his hair, interweaving your fingers through the grey strands pushing him deeper into your core as your hips grind up to meet that devilishly skilled tongue.

Kensei growled into your cunt, stopping his actions. Your head snapped up with a whine of protest, to meet his hardened stare over your mound, eyes flashing in warning. Detangling your hand from his hair, Kensei returned it to the bed beside you, message being loudly received.

No touching

His smouldering eyes burned into you a moment longer, accentuating the point, before delving back in to stroke you velvety heat. He meticulously began tasting as much as you as he could reach, gliding along the secret pleasure points hidden within you. Letting your head fall back into the plump pillow, hands fisting in the sheets to avoid temptations, you unabashedly moan out your approval.

Kensei devoured you like he trained. Disciplined, methodically precise and wouldn't quit until he achieved the results he desired. He was attuned to your body, every gasp memorised, any minute clench or shiver used to figure out exactly where to touch to bring you to the peak of pleasure. You had been all to willing to allow him the time to experiment and perfect the way he pleased you, selfishly relishing in the results of his determination.

"Kensei" his name tumbled from your lips like a prayer, knowing he preferred when you used his full name. The gentle roll of your hips didn't go unnoticed as his arms wrapped around you, holding your hips in a vice like grip to halt your movements. With increased enthusiasm he delved into your depths, thrusting deeply until you came apart. Fingers squeezed into the soft curves of your hips as you bucked with a shout. Pleasure ripped through you, waves of heat washed over you.

Kensei's busy tongue didn't stop the assault as you clamped down around him. Your release coated his tongue in hot bursts of liquid, wetting his face. Your legs quaked at the shattering orgasm, held firm in his strong arms. Moans freely fell, feeling overwhelmed from the lack of reprieve he gave you. Drinking down your release, Kensei twirled his tongue against your folds, cleaning up the mess he made.

Kissing his way up the length of your cunt, he settled to your throbbing neglected clit. Mouthing the oversensitive bud, Kensei kissed it firmly. He deepened the kiss, twirling his tongue around it teasingly, tracing the shape with the tip. Too soon after your last orgasm, the stimuli was too much. His breath felt like fire, burning the sensitive flesh. Thick tongue brushed against it cruelly, setting alight the hundreds of nerves hidden there.

Your arms reached high, clawing at the pillow you writhed on desperately. The sensation pushed away any coherent thought you had to the back, blinding you with raw pleasure. Teeth grazed your bud, adding varying taxtures among the smoothness of his tongue. His thumbs brushed soothing circles into your hips, silently praising you for your obedience.

Kensei wrapped his lips around the object of his fixation, suckling gently the way he knew drove you wild. The erotic moans he pulled from you quickened in pace, steadily climbing to an obscene volume. Your cunt clenched around nothing, aching for the feeling of being filled. His suckling turned into long hard pulls, encouraging blood to rush to the sensitive area. Body slick with perspiration, chest heaving with deep breaths you're forced into a second orgasm, as blindingly euphoric as the first

Muscles tensed painfully in your legs as your blindly rode the wave of pleasure. Calling out his name desperately at the never ending suction he deliver to your swollen nub. "Kensei" you gasped, clawing at the pillow beneath you desperately, "Kensei, please, it's too much"

Kensei shook his head buried in your dripping heat negativity, he wasn't finished and you were going to take it. His hands slipped from your hips to cup your ass, pushing it into the air and into his hungry mouth. Slurping away your release had you seeing stars, dancing white lights filtered through the darkness of your tightly shut eyes.

Your body was spent, bones felt liquefied in your limbs. The pull of sleep loomed ominously over you, ready to claim you once released from pleasures consuming rapture. His crocked nose brushed against your clit as his tongue delved into your core, pulsating erratically around the invading tongue.

"Kensei, please" tears sprung to your eyes, leaking down the side of your face to wet the cotton beneath. Your body trembled, nerves alight with over sensitivity at his relentless assault. " I can't, I can't it's too much" your whine went unanswered, only spurring him on in his mission to taste every inch of you. Supporting your ass with once hand, Kensei brought the other to your cunt, easily sliding two thick digits into you.

The blissful feeling of being stretched silenced your begging, savouring the stretch of being filled. Kensei didn't hesitate to plunge them into you quickly, curling to reach the spongy part with practiced accuracy at every thrust. His fingers squelched through your already sopping cunt, juices flowing over his fingers, wetting his hand and the sheets below.

Kensei could feel your legs quake around him, thighs pressed into his shoulders trapping him between your legs. He twirled his tongue against your clit, sucking it between his lips in a harsh pull. Listening intently to your loud moans, Kensei felt all his pent up frustration Ooze out of him as you writhed beneath him, shouting out his name beautifully.

You came with a yell, bucking your hips erratically dislodging the hold Kensei had on your abused pussy. His fingers slowed in you, easing you through the wave of pleasure blinding you. Your legs slumped against the mattress when he removed his fingers, leaving a parting kiss on your mound, Kensei wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before crawling up to meet you

He laid heavily next to you, pulling your twitching body into his strong chest, his arms wrapped around you, rubbing soothing circles into your breath as you came back down to earth. Your mind was sluggish, eyes struggling to stay open as you nestled into his chest, his strong heart beat soothingly pulsating near your ear. A gentle kiss to your forehead had you tilting up your chin, asking for a kiss.

Kensei obliged, languidly caressing your tongue with his own, Tinted with the taste of your pleasure. You cupped his jaw, smoothing over the skin softly. He looked relaxed, eye brows no longer in a deep furrow, tightness of his jaw released. His eyes bore into your own with so much adoration and care that it stole your breath away.

"what about you?" You ask, brushing your knee against his hidden cock. Kensei shook his head silently, pulling you to drape over his chest as he sunk into the bed, finally relaxed. Kensei closed his eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep, holding onto you closely.

You were all he needed.

#bleach #bleach fanfiction #bleach smut #bleach x reader #kensei maguruma is a salty bitch #kensei x reader #kensei muguruma #kensei smut #bleach fandom #bleach anime #Kensei smut

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666candies · 2 months

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I am the Void 🌑✨

"Exile: Redux" by Clayshaper (2023) based on "Modesty" by William-Adolphe Bouguereau (1902).

#void #postcard #occultart #witchcraft #folkmagic #occultprint #20thcentury #voidillustrations #folkhorror #macabreart

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cooki3face · 7 months

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It’s common today to disrespect women, to take from them, to bad mouth them. It’s common for wounded masculine energies to mistreat women based on how attractive they are to him or how much he believes a woman is worth based on his standard of fulfillment. It’s common for wounded masculine energies to try to shift themselves into the position of the divine feminine to receive from a place of selfishness and void. It’s common for the wounded feminine to pick apart and try and destroy her feminine counterpart because she was raised by wounded feminine energies and weak masculine energies to believe that her worth should be stolen from other women or that she must set herself apart to be considered special or highly desirable. All of these things are all incredibly out of alignment with what things are meant to be like, we are so far from what things are supposed to be.

Years of patriarchal manipulation, traditions being lost, values and priorities being disorganized (like the desire for power and money) causes these types of problems and issues within one’s world.

It is within the feminines nature to beckon the attention of others, to bring forth the constant motion of tongues and activate the throat chakra, because her light is so big, because her spirit is so divine, because her ability to transmute and collect energy is so strong, when you have such a divine and powerful light you attract all different types of energies (negative,positive, etc.) it is imperative that the feminine learns to better transmute the energy she’s given, that’s sent to her, through the attention she commands and the energy that she draws from others through her beauty, her power, or her spirit.

*before you read this part, this message can be easily misinterpreted or misunderstood. I am not saying that modesty or nudity is wrong, nor am I saying that I support hook up culture or the sexualization of women to contribute to patriarchal ideals and society. I am simply saying that heavy handed ideas that restrict, manipulate, and limit the expression of women outside of one’s natural desire to express herself the way she pleases creates a large imbalance. Just like how we see women today who pick on other women for wearing makeup and expressing themselves creatively through makeup may become triggered and upset because they are conditioned to believe that they are worth more for not being like other girls or not knowing how to express their creativity in that way*

That’s why we see ideas like purity culture that derives or stems from a good amount of monotheistic religions and certain cultures and belief systems become such a heavy oppressor of women. Choosing to set women apart from their sensuality, from their beauty, and from being connected with their bodies and how they express themselves (through beauty ritual or aesthetics) the issue is that we condition the woman to be afraid of being seen or go into hiding when such a large amount of the energy women consume is from the attention they call from others. A fear of being seen takes away from one stepping into their divinity and true power (for anybody). A fear of being seen may also derive from wounded masculine energies in the world feeling entitled to the power and beauty of women and the issue is not the way women express themselves and their divinity the issue is the energy of the individual that it lost, corrupted or wounded.

Divine feminine is in her power when she takes the energy that’s sent to her whether it be negative or positive and learns how to flip it, transmute it, and direct it towards her highest good. A beacon of light attracts many that are wandering around in the dark looking for safety. You need to learn to take all the attention you beckon, all the words that are spoken in your direction, and make your light brighter so that you can create more, create a world of your own.

#self love #self care #self improvement #self discovery #dream girl #self expression #healingjourney #self healing #manifestation #divine feminine #divine feminine energy #wounded masculine energy #wounded feminine energy

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aikrus · 5 months

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Don’t Let Me Fall (Too Far From Grace)

+ * ⊹ 　 °. * ✧ + * 　 ⊹ 　 °. * ✧ + * ⊹ ° . * ✧

+ * ⊹ °. * ✧ + * 　 ⊹ 　 °. * ✧ + * ⊹ ° . * ✧

cw: Major religious trauma for Y/n, enjoy. Swears, violence, cults, misogyny, self-mutilation, public abuse, parental abuse, attempted murder, self-defense, poison

A/n: a short glimpse into the makings of dadzawa; with an angsty Y/n religious quirk struggle

summary: There’s a part of Shouta that hates his job. While he can handle the annoying brats, unstable quirks, rude comments, life-threatening danger, and annoying hours, there’s just some things not even Shouta could tolerate. There’s a girl in his class. She’s nice but a little too quiet for it to sit right. He’s a teacher, been one for years and was a hero for much longer-- He knows the signs when he sees them.

+ * ⊹ °. * ✧ + * 　 ⊹ 　 °. * ✧ + * ⊹ ° . * ✧

“Brother Haruka,”

“Father Y/l/n; it’s always a pleasure.” Clasped forearms greeted one another, eye to eye they examined the other. Smiles filled each room and yet the tension was so thick, thick, thick; she looked to her mother but found a void in her place.

It crept into Y/n’s throat like sludge, chocking on the breath that filled her lungs as she swallowed for the fiftieth time that service. The eyes that followed, the eyes that glared, the eyes that widened, all at her, at her, at her. She kept her head down.

The family of five- a strong pastor father, the beautiful but sickly motherly wife, the silent eldest son, and the perfect youngest daughter. And Y/n, lost somewhere in the mess of facades they seemed to exchange so rapidly.

Or maybe lost was the wrong word, seeing as everyone could find her, the daughter of the pastor, the picture-perfect symbol of what they stood for, quirkless, pure, devine; up until four months ago.

Four months ago, when her world changed.

1-A kept a keen eye on Y/n, her silent passing and downcast eyes demanded attention from the rowdy bunch, but it was her appearance that caught them off guard the most.

Denki had asked about them once, resulting in a panic attack and mute classmate which lasted a week before she would speak in a quiet, fragile tone. It got worse before it got better.

She could feel them-- the eyes, eyes, eyes. Following her, ridiculing her, judging her. It broke Shouta’s heart.

“She’s just a girl, our little girl,”

“It’s a heathen!”

“She’s done nothing wrong,”

“It’s got horns god bless me!”

“Dear, she’s still our Y/n, our little angel,”

Her knees were pulled to her chest, listening silently at the top of the stairs to the hushed and not so hidden argument of her parents. Y/n’s father damning her, and her mom, desperately trying to cling to her life.

“That thing’s no angel-- it’s the devil.”

“What are you doing out here, kid?” Aizawa cringed inside watching the girls entire body stiffen.

“I’m sorry sir, I'll go back inside.” Her wide eyes became fixed on the floor, shoulders slouched but still full of twisted anxiety.

“You’re not in trouble, Y/l/n.”

“I’m not?” Her face stayed down, but she was finally looking directly at him, so Shouta counted this as a win.

“No,” he walked to the railing she had previously been leaning against, “There’s no rules against being on the rooftop. I just thought you might get cold.” He gestured to her head when he said that, causing her to flinch softly.

“I see.”

She still scurried away, leaving the concerned teacher by himself on the rooftop.

The horns that began to grew from the front corners of Y/n’s skull had been easily hideable when she noticed the growths. She teased her hair, wore headbands, dawned a head-scarf for modesty, but then her sister accidentally pulled it off her head during dinner, exposing them to the entire family.

That was the first night Emi had crawled into Y/n’s bed and cried since she was six and saw her big sister be punished for the first time. Punished.

The Shinja were many things, devote, united, pure, and forgiving. They believed in one thing above all else, God’s eternal and limitless magnanimity. For a sin their must be penitence, must be a beg for forgiveness.

For Y/n, this meant one thing.

It started small, Y/n found a scarf waiting for her on the railing when she made her way to the roof that night. It was nice, it was warm; something Y/n struggled with being.

Then Aizawa would stop by when it turned past midnight, sending the quiet girl back inside to stop her from catching a cold. And now, they coexist.

“Was--” she paused before shaking her head, looking back out to the grounds behind UA.

“What is it, kid?” He paused for an answer before breaking, “You can ask questions you know.”

“Was Iida right?”

Silence.

“That’s really up to you. At the end of the day, you decide what kind of hero you want to be. Your hero uniform is a big part of that identity, so if you think that’s a necessary part of that then you should keep it.”

Y/n played with the delicate silver cross dangling from the chain across her neck before looking up to the sky, just like Aizawa saw her do earlier during class.

“Kay.”

The conversation from the classroom had been a tense one to say the least. Iida, in his self-correct but oblivious way, asked the quiet girl, “Don’t you think it may be offensive to wear a cross as part of your hero costume? Won’t people feel imposed upon? Besides, very few people are catholic after the development of the quirk gene. Would it not, perhaps, be a better choice to remove that aspect from your uniform?”

Y/n had, at the time, only responded briefly, “Why would people be offended by a necklace?” Everyone looked up to the mounds above her head. No one said a thing.

A few days later he finally broke, “It was surprising I suppose. Not like I care, but people aren’t really religious anymore.”

She tried not to think about it, and she continued to try not to think about it long after she had left the rooftop. People aren't really religious anymore. Y/n tried to think through what makes a religion a religion, where things started to turn after quirks were made. Some religions embraced them as a new moral test of god, others claimed it disproved God entirely. Some drew strange connections claiming the bible predicted it all along.

Y/n is sitting in her room when it happens. She's absent-mindedly rolling her silver cross necklace between her fingers while ignoring her homework when she things- it would be so much easier if I wasn't religious anymore.

It felt dirty, like a dangerous secret. What does it mean to be religious on a personal level? She isn't allowed on the campound, let alone in the church. She doesn't read the scripture any more, nor does she pray genuinely. After a few cafeteria visits with Kaminari keeping her company she's even began to speak the lord's name in vain. Yet Y/n is so sure, in her heart and center of everything, that there is spirit within her.

She thinks about the religion she learned about the first time someone called her hometown a cult. She googled what the word meant and learned about a different group, a group that drank poison and passed away as a whole. Y/n can't think of another species that would do that and thinks they must have spirit.

The eyes from the pews followed her as she walked, head bowed as she pushed forward, past every person she ever knew, towards her father. Her father who forgave her, who actually forgave her. Forgave her monstrous appearance, was willing to look past the disgusting curse she had. She loves her father. So she kneeled willingly before the cross and bowed her head fifty times before turning on her knees towards her father.

A hush fell over the chapel.

She accepted the holy blade from her father.

She lifted it above her head.

The scream echoed through the room, bounding back towards her from the walls it landed on. The blade moved back and forth, until her world became deathly still.

Her father placed his hand upon her head, gently ending the assault. “You’re doing well, my child.” Each following day was ended with her in the privacy of her family's bunker, penance following shortly after.

She was repenting for her sins, but there was a silent acknowledgment among everyone. For Y/n, who never stopped sinning, there must be constant repentance. Nothing short of unyielding devotion. The days blurred together, so did her memory.

Y/n looked up at the board, eyes coated with gloss and filled to the brim with pain, pain, misery. ‘Quirkless Study.’ A lesson on discrimination, of differences, of acceptance. Forty seven minutes of something she’d kill to get out of-- something she’d die to get out of.

The class wasn’t today, thank God, but it was soon. Soon, being tomorrow. Tomorrow, class, quirkless, pure thing, stuck, school, mistake, thing, thing, thing. Words echoed through her head, too fast for Y/n too pick them apart, too fast to be remembered, just fast enough to hurt.

Y/n stayed on the roof from after school to midnight, far too long in the cold, too long without eating, too long for no body to have noticed.

“Fucking hell, kid. Why are you out here?”

Aizawa-Sensai dropped in and wrapped his scarf around Y/n’s shaking body, noting both the absent look in her eyes and the festering fear lying just beneath the surface.

"Y/l/n? Are you with me?"

What a silly question. Of course she was with him, they're on the same rooftop– he's got a hand lying gently on her shoulder.

"Because you seem a little far away."

And didn't that make so much sense. Because they were right next to each other, much like how her dad was right in front of her, yet both of them were miles away from where Y/n was.

"I'm sorry, sensei."

He froze, "it's Allright, Y/n, it's going to be okay."

The need to gasp for air clued her in that she'd started to cry. The warm tears burned her frigid skin.

"Hey, hey," Aizawas voice rumbled deep in his chest, "careful there." He tapped her knuckles which had turned white with the force she had been digging her nails into her arms.

"I don't want to go to school tommorow."

She winced but he didn't answer her. Saying the words out loud felt different than the mantra from her head. It all seems a little silly now. Y/n wanted to be a hero after all, and here she was; scared to go to class.

The man leveled his eyes with her and sighed, raising a hand between her two curled horns and patting the top of her head.

"It's not silly, Y/n."

She wrinkled her nose at him, unsure of his meaning and was floored when he began to laugh. "You mutter, but that's okay. You don't have to be a hero yet; not today and not tomorrow. For now you are still a child, and you deserve to feel the safety that should come with that."

It felt odd, to feel so cold you want to shiver and yet melt from the inside out. Maybe, maybe that was true. Maybe she will be a hero in a few years, maybe less. But tonight she wasn't, tonight she could feel as little as that sentence made her. Small and safe, so fucking fragile but perfectly protected.

It made her want to cry.

-----------------------------------------------------------

and there we have it. I know it's a little random but I feel like sometimes we carry the weight of lifetimes with us and forget how young we are in the grand scheme of things. It's okay. We'll figure this out together.

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mahoushojo-chan · 6 months

Text

Astarion x Reader/Tav || nightmares and wet dreams

when i'm too far gone (can you show me love?)

warnings: 18+, mdni, sexual content, PTSD

synopsis: “Star? Are you okay?” Her voice comes second. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” She tells him, knowingly. She doesn’t need to ask him for his stories and she doesn’t need to seek out reasons or excuses. With his word, she would be gone, and he would no longer be in her embrace. He doesn’t want that.

an excerpt of "'cause my love (is mine, all mine)"

word count: 1318

pairing: astarion/reader!tav

other tags: bard!tav, sexual content, smut, erotic dreams, poetic sex cause it's dream, nightmares, f!reader, friends to lovers, oblivious pining, mutual pining, song inspo: gimme love by joji

ao3: here

concept: wet dreams

Every night, when Astarion is alone, it is the same dream:

It’s Cazador.

(It’s always Cazador.

Always,

always,

always—).

And he is not free from him. Cazador is omnipresent in his dreams, a shadow of his worst nightmare. But then again, Astarion’s worst memory is nothing at all. It’s darkness and hunger and only his thoughts keeping him company. It’s the sound of silence, and he cannot even listen to his own heartbeat (the sound of defeat from a single voice, exhausted and hoarse from screaming). It’s red nails and fingers that do not matter (broken and bleeding from its attempts to pry the damn thing open, but he does not feel the pain anymore). It’s the smell of his own rotting corpse, taunting him.

(He never should have escaped Astarion Ancunin’s coffin. Cazador had been waiting for him to ‘save him’ from the hell he had orchestrated for Astarion. His hand was extended towards him to help him up.)

The coffin is hollow once Astarion has left it. What comes out of it is a hollower man. The light inside him was swallowed by that void, and he remembers that the starlight that people see are often from stars that no longer exist. He is empty, and months later, he is still empty. He doesn’t remember how to use his legs at first, and he falls. There is still no light once he steps out, and he loses his footing, prepared to fall into another abyss.

He sees the world in monochrome, dimly able to make out his Master’s pale skin against the darkness. He is draped in black sheets to preserve his modesty. He is still capable of such a thing—Astarion is laid bare below him.

He never should have escaped Astarion Ancunin’s coffin. Cazador had been waiting for him to ‘save him’ from the hell he had orchestrated for Astarion. His hand is extended towards him to help him up.

Astarion is ready to take it, because at the very least, it is something. He wasn’t ready before. Before, he would have pulled as far away as possible until the master forced his hand. He would have retched at the thought of contact. (That was the problem, wasn’t it? That was the punishment. His unwillingness to please his Master). Now, the Master’s cold hand could be a refreshing embrace.

It means nothing. Cazador would only grant him pain.

Astarion looks at his bloodied fingers. He wants to feel again. He wants to taste something. He wants to devour himself whole. If he is good (not good—obedient), if he debases himself onto the shadows that prostrate themselves at his Master’s feet, then perhaps the Master would grant him that.

He is prepared for Cazador to lay hands on him. Instead, he feels a warmth lay hands on his fingertips.

They are gentle, as though scared to provoke him to run away, but most of all, they are warm. Each time feels like the first touch he has ever felt. He opens his eyes to see stars reflected in hers. She is bathed in moonlight, the same as the first time he had held her, and it brushes her cheeks and the light linen across her body with a cold blue hue. Her nails match his, dyed in a deep red paint. The room is awash in colour and light.

“Star? Are you okay?” Her voice comes second. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” She tells him, knowingly. She doesn’t need to ask him for his stories and she doesn’t need to seek out reasons or excuses. With his word, she would be gone, and he would no longer be in her embrace. He doesn’t want that.

He presses his lips against her sun-kissed skin in an act of self-immolation. The heat from her body threatens to burn him alive, but he wants more.

He opens her up the way he knows how. He showers kisses on the nape of her neck and waits for her to whisper his name while canting her hips. His actions begin to fall into habit, to practice. He cannot help himself. What Astarion’s body knows best is how to please his master—the parts that the coffin gave him left him with little else.

She arches her back to meet him, but then she holds his face in her hands and says absolutely nothing. He pulls away from her and looks at her. If he looks at her eyes closely enough, he can nearly make out his own reflection.

You can be so much more, he reminds himself. He can become so much more, by choice. He chooses to make peace with his broken-down heart and forget about everything else. He chooses his own desire.

There cannot exist a void in him that he cannot fix himself. He chooses to try again.

He traces a hand over her neck and it is not entirely smooth. It has the uneven texture of dry skin from travelling in the sunlight for so long. There’s a bob of her throat as she anticipates his touch. She is a little ticklish around her throat, and she gives a breathy laugh and breath full of laughter and he wants that—he wants it more than he has wanted anything, so he tries to capture the laugh with a kiss. When he leans in, he’s rewarded with a ricochet of light across the silver bedpost.

“Do you love me?” She asks when he finally parts, and it is the only selfish request she has ever made of him.

He knows the script well enough. Here, he is supposed to say ‘of course’, and dip below her waist to help her forget the lie. That is how he was taught to exist, to serve, to deceive beautifully. That is what he would say when he wanted to inflict himself upon others.

He does not know if he ever learned the answer to the question she asks. There is nothing he can give her that he has not given someone else. His skin is pale enough to reflect the rays that try to heal it. The only unique thing he can give her is truth, so he tells her, “Forever.”

But then she whispers, “You are mine,” in her belladonna tune—a melody that he recognizes differently from long ago. For this moment, he promised himself not to be trapped by his Master’s words.

She says it in the same way that the stars belong to her, the same way they belong to everyone else. The same way they belong to Astarion. The same way she belongs to him, and he makes his claim against her neck when he bites at the same time his hips press into her. He wants to make her fall apart. She is light and heat and the only sun he needs to care about.

He has to lace his red-painted fingers in hers to keep properly hear her pleasure. Out of all the lovers he has taken, this is what he wants. It wasn’t as if Astarion hadn’t had countless nights sweating, shouting, wishing for it all to stop. It wasn't as if he spent a lifetime searching for something to fill the hunger in him, to fill the parts he was lacking, searching for her hair spilled like ink against the sheets, a flushed face and breath coming in starts and an imperfect snort of joy coming with his grin.

As she opens her mouth, the sounds pour into his ears, flow into his bloodstream, and wheel him into a sensory euphoria. This is his love, only this, all of this.

He will not let her choose freedom of him. If he can choose his curse, he chooses her. He will leave his past to disappear. He follows her into oblivion, her name a mantra in his mind.

Tav, Tav, Tav—

Astarion wakes up drenched in sweat, blood at his lips, the front of his pants ruined.

He lies on the bed and he can still smell Tav’s scent, lingering on his mind. He isn't sure if it's actually there or just the vividness of the dream as it replays in his mind, the addicting distraction of the vulnerability of her expression, the feel of her tightening around him, her voice crying his name again and again in his own personal symphony.

For a moment, he can ignore all insecurity and doubt, and revel in the fantasy that he had been granted.

Then reality hits him, and he curses.

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multi-lefaiye · 9 days

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HERE WE GO. SOME PAINFULLY SELF INDULGENT WRITING IN EDEN'S BG3 AU. in which gale sees eden's chest and experiences palpitations.

cw: suggestive, referenced mature content but nothing explicit, also a pre-op trans guy's chest being described by someone who finds his breasts very attractive if that might make any transmascs out there dysphoric.

not tagging the taglist bc i'm Embarrassed 💖 will however tentatively tag @paradoxspir1t @void-botanist @skitzo-kero @anexor and @seventhgod with no pressure from any of y'all to engage, and if you'd like me not to tag you in stuff like this in the future just lmk!

"I- Eden, what in the *hells* is on your chest?" Astarion squawks nearby, startling Gale out of his musings. All of his earlier concerns about decency and modesty go out the window as a flash of panic flares in his mind. Is something wrong with Eden? Is he hurt?

He turns around, eyes wide, just as the rest of the party does the same. All at once, all eyes are on the half-naked tiefling, who seems uncharacteristically mortified to be receiving this much attention. Gale pays no mind to Eden's clear embarrassment, instead tracing his eyes over the purple-skinned man's body to make sure he wasn't injured, or sick, or dying, or-

Gale's racing thoughts come screeching to a halt as he realizes two things in quick succession. The first: Eden's torso is, mercifully, free of any fresh injuries or lingering, festering wounds. He has a curious mark on his side that Gale can't quite identify at a glance, but it doesn't seem to be actively killing him, so Gale leaves it be for now.

The second: Eden has breasts.

If Gale were thinking logically in this moment, he would scoff at his own surprise. Of course Eden has breasts. Most humanoids do, even though not all of them are obvious. Sure, until now, he'd known Eden to be relatively flat-chested, but that doesn't mean anything when he's only ever seen his new friend in full armor. It's ridiculous to have such a strong reaction to seeing one of his companions partially nude, and Gale internally chastises himself. He should be above this.

But, he finds that he can't quite help himself. His eyes are drawn to the supple swell of Eden's chest, each breast round and heavy, with dusky purple nipples hardened from the chill of the river water. They look terribly soft, and in that moment all Gale wants is to take them into his hands and hold them. They must be warm, he imagines. Warm and soft and overflowing in his hands, a pleasant weight. His mouth waters at the thought, and he swallows.

Eden moves his arms to cover his breasts, squishing them against his body in the way Gale wants to himself. It's then, of course, that Gale remembers Eden's clear humiliation, and whatever spell those tantalizing tits had placed upon him abruptly vanishes. What kind of friend is he, ogling Eden instead of helping to diffuse the situation? Gale bites back the wave of self loathing that threatens to crash over him, and instead he averts his gaze as he opens his mouth to speak.

Eden beats him to it, because of course that beautiful, witty, shockingly and infuriatingly busty tiefling does. It seems he's recovered from the shock.

"They're tits, Astarion," he says drily. "Breasts. Boobs. Whatever you wish to call them. I assume you must at least be familiar with the term, yes?"

All at once, the electric tension in the air dissipates as various members of the party crack up and Astarion sputters in embarrassment. Gale lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, doing his utmost best to put his sudden rush of desire out of his mind. It's for the best, he's sure--his heart is beating a war drum in his chest, and he doesn't want to imagine what havoc might be unleashed if the orb were to destabilize now.

Of all things to almost make Gale lose control, it's a single glimpse of his gorgeous new companion's nude torso. Ridiculous.

#multi makes text posts #suggestive cw #multi's writing

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varldsormr · 3 months

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※》 Aevitas verse; holiday starter 🍒🌿@igneuscrvx cont. ( x )

The melancholic pluck of mandolin strings vibrates across the surface of the water, tangling in a dance unseen with the star-mirrored waves and white nets of gentle foam before they're pulled into the depths below; submerged, the tiefling's idle strum reach further yet than the the world above and winds alone could carry it, drowned and stirring something vaster, deeper still. Offering a promise as much as a melody, singing wordless whispers to a rumble in the dark. A void which listens.

The serpent doesn't know when it started or how - only knows that it calls him, in a way he can't entierly understand and never quite tried to. Slender fingers of a familiar hand playing effortlessly on distant chords as though somehow they were fringes of his soul, intertwined with something ancient in him, bound and pulling at its edges whilst a beaconing ember kindles at the core. He feels the muted warmth of it flicker as he follows, guiding him through an endless ocean. Feels the waters' unwillingness to relinquish as he urged towards the source, the waves around him swirling with protest as the burn in him strains and rises to a crescendo -- And then it stops, having breached the precipice to silence where he stands upright amongst the waves of night, a bare and towering figure broken free from the tides, allowing for the frigid air of late winter to callously wash over him while he casts his gaze ashore. To the moonlit outline on the rocks, awaiting his emergence with a curve of clever lips and a snuffed-out tune.

Somehow, this is an easier way to coordinate than through text.

Jormun is not surprised to see Thorne rising to observe him as he unhurriedly makes his way through the shallows and over the sands - damp silt cool beneath the soles of his feet - a tanned hand coming up to passively comb through dark soaked locks of loosely tangled hair while he walks for the first time in months. Limbs stiff, but not unsteady. In step, excess water trickles from both the tips and aquine slits along his ribs down the length of the sea spirit's form, to glisten in coldly beading trails where muscle shifts and dips in motion, catching briefly in whatever light still faintly graces these two old friends in their reunion.

At the greet proffered his way in nigh approach, he rumbles a tonal sound of vague acknowledgement regard his tardiness apparent, withdrawing the straying palm upon finally coming to a stop in front of the other; stood plain and stripped raw in his nature before a grand pose of silken wine suits and sharp angles, sharper eyes, dark hues like the abyss he clawed free of met hard with the sights upon him. Expectant.

"There was... traffic."

He sees the flash of Thorne's teeth before the other bends to rummage through the duffles brought (to preserve at least a fragment of the serpent's modesty before they join the rest, the eve yet far too early for the manner of scene which might otherwise be caused--), only barely missing the way the tiefling's gaze strays off path for how Jormun turns his own to their surroundings, letting attention wander with idle consideration over the Grecian village ahead. Waiting, he listens for the wind and muted bustle of life in the distance, ladden by sleep, the end of a day where theirs was just beginning. Though ultimately it is overtaken by the sound of rustling search quite near - until that quiets once more in what he takes for success in the quest for marginal decency.

He turns back to see Thorne spread the towel in his arms with an innocent smile.

Through narrowed lids, he relents to the embrace for approximately a second.

It's always the same song and dance with them.

Thorne knows troublingly well which buttons to push and where to let before the serpent's grumbling turns to bite, the rougish man ducking away for a spare cloth just ahead of the moment where the bounds of Jormun's patience starts to strain, disappearing swiftly somewhere behind and leaving him to dry himself off. Though he senses his friend's presence slot soon enough against his back, radiating off the hellish fires that feeds him, just barely beyond. As he grasps the towel he is left with, proceeding to smooth it over the thick of his arms for the prospective relief of being merely cold rather than cold and wet, he makes no move to discourage Thorne from tending to his hair on his own whim, the flash of prior annoyance traded rather for appreciation with an ease which should probably concern him. The tension he'd held settling to soothe under strangely gentle care.

At least, until the other speaks up again.

As if on cue, an idle shiver runs the length of his spine and prickles his skin upon the purr of Thorne's voice in his ear, but whence from the shrill winter breeze which picks that moment to blow over them, or the heat of the breath ghosting over the naked skin of his nape, he couldn't say. Neither or particularly conductive to the serpent's current state of undress. It brings him pause, forehead slightly knitting, bidding cease in his ministrations to linger the response.

Then he grunts, and slowly resumes.

"...The others are waiting." The gruffness of his tone comes through, no traitor to what else passes through his mind, though laced with a brush of something indistinct as he tilts his head to glance - quirking a querying brow. "Did you not say I was late?"

#※》t: circus aevitas #※》t: merry & bright 00 #igneuscrvx #long post #// belatedly i shuffle👉👈 (.. )#// I hope this will do <33 #also by no means does this have to stay this long fghgh

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