#so many cool moments are covered in shadows

[fangswbenefits]

Comfortable

Summary: Astarion walks in on you in a rather compromising situation. Naturally, he offers to help, but then you ask him to promise you something that he was not expecting…

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Astarion's POV. Fluff. Aftercare. Oral sex. Pillow humping. Innuendo. Mentions of masturbation.

Word count: 3.3k

It's a wavering sequence of whimpers that catches Astarion's attention just as he arrives at camp after a late night hunt.

The blood on non thinking creatures seldom presents itself as a decent meal, but he finds it unfair to depend exclusively on you.

The boars in the outskirts of Baldur's Gate are delectable enough to blind his hunger for a few hours – maybe a full day, if need be.

The camp seems peaceful and quiet with everyone still catching some rest after in their respective tents, and as the pale moon glows up high in the dark blue sky, he notices the dawn isn't breaking for at least a few more hours.

Maybe he can indulge in a trance to ease his mind and body after feeding, even though it's not a dire necessity.

But it seems that the night has other plans reserved for him.

His steps are light and sure, following the crescendo of sounds that seems to come from near his tent.

He would recognise that voice anywhere.

You.

As he draws near, trying to make out the origin of said whimpers, he vaguely wonders if you're having a dream.

That is the most reasonable explanation.

But then he hears what resembles a muffled groan.

A nightmare?

Instinctively, an eyebrow quirks as he approaches your tent.

And then he freezes.

Even through the obvious failed attempt at reining yourself in, he knows exactly what he heard.

His name. Muffled and barely intelligible, but his name, nonetheless.

An amused smile tugs at his lips as it dawns on him that you are indeed pleasuring yourself. Risky and unexpected, but beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Cheeky…

He could simply entertain this, and leave it to you to reach your peak on your own.

Unfortunately for him, he has just fed.

And unfortunately for you, he has every intention of interrupting your solo endeavour.

His usual cool body now flooded with the warmth and vigour that make it extremely easy not to succumb to your sweet and melodic whimpers.

As such, he tugs at the strings that hold both flaps together, successfully drawing a surprised gasp from you.

“You scared me!” 

He finds you propped up on one elbow before rushing to sit and pulling a blanket to cover yourself, a mortified look splattered across your face.

The sight in front of him is enough for the recently drunk blood to rush downwards at record speed. 

Predictable, but such is the nature of his body when it comes to you.

Flustered and quickened breaths. His senses are so sharp from the recent blood intake, that he can hear your heartbeat drumming fast in your chest.

By now, he knows you well enough.

So well, that he's sure he has just interrupted your climax.

The confirmation comes in the form of a low growl of frustration.

He almost feels sorry for you, but what crosses his mind is the offer of a moment of pleasure so great only he can provide.

“You were close.”

It isn't a question and he doesn't expect an answer.

But you're so visibly irritated that you scowl deeply. “Yes! Yes, I was. Thank you so much for interrupting.”

“My pleasure,” he retorts, knowing fully well he's about to set off a bomb if he doesn't choose his words carefully.

You have a temper he adores to test. He's used to dancing to your tune and knows exactly which strings to pull to get you riled up in ways that often lead to very enjoyable outcomes.

His cock welcomes your huff of annoyance with a faint twitch.

“Why didn’t you just… wait…” you almost cry out in sheer frustration.

He lets out a taunting laugh. “What, and miss out on all of the fun, darling?”

A dramatic pout settles your lips and it takes all of his self-control not to wipe it off your face with a kiss in an instant.

“How many did you take this time?”

It is a glaring taunt.

And your mouth drops open.

Maybe he should have eased his way in, considering the current predicament.

But the way your body is all flustered and heated from your own touch is enough to flare desire inside him. And whenever desire begins to swell inside him, the fine line between reason and pleasure begins to blur. 

Mostly because he knows he was the one on your mind when you had your fingers deep inside you.

Your eyes widen slowly, and you clutch the blanket closer to your lower half, still hiding the proof of your arousal from his prying eyes.

You don't reply at first, your pride keeping you silent.

But Astarion doesn't mind. In fact, he enjoys your resistance at first. Makes it all the more enjoyable when you finally give in.

“How many, darling?”

You frown, averting your eyes.

So stubborn…

His cock adores it.

“How many?” his tone is firmer this time and you slowly meet his eyes again.

“... two.”

He clicks his tongue, crouching before you. “Oh, darling…” 

Two fingers are not nearly enough to provide the fullness and stretch that only his cock can. But he appreciates your effort nonetheless.

It's quite adorable and enough to have his cock hardening even more.

Your fingers still glisten in the faint candlelight and he feels the sudden urge to have them in his mouth. He never tires of tasting you in more ways than one.

“You do not need to hide from me,” he says tenderly, but still not moving an inch. He wants you to feel comfortable enough under his gaze. “You've bared yourself to me many times, love.”

Still, you don't let go of the fabric, a slash of defiance crossing your face. “You took too long.”

Ah. “Did you miss me?”

You bite your lip, face softening as you nod twice.

And you were so desperate for him that you just couldn't wait?

Gods.

His cock stirs even more against his trousers at the silent realisation.

“And I am here now,” he says, dropping to his knees, as a wicked smile turns his lips. “So, allow me.”

He reaches out with his hand to tug at the fabric, silently looking for your permission.

A shaky sigh parts your lips and he spots a shiver as he pulls the blanket that keeps you from him.

His eyes drop to the sweet spot between your legs and he almost regrets having interrupted you.

Almost.

Your clit is so swollen it deliciously peeks from between your folds, parting them gently. It throbs faintly as he catches your clenching a few times, wetness dripping out.

After a moment, he manages to tear his gaze away, ignoring the twitches of protest from his cock.

He finds your half-hooded eyes. “May I?”

You hesitate at first, nearly pressing your thighs together, but he stops you with both hands on your knees, a reassuring grip that has you slowly but surely loosen up under his touch.

“You don't have to…”

No, he doesn't.

But he wants to.

In fact, he thinks he needs to.

He rubs circles along your flushed skin, wanting your full attention on him before he speaks, “I appreciate the concern, darling, but I'm impossibly hard and you look incredibly delectable.”

It's more than enough to have you yearning for more, as a surprise gasp parts your lips.

You finally nod, spreading your legs and leaning back as you settle on your elbows.

He offers a sly grin, lowering and positioning himself right where he craves to be.

But not before he eases some of the growing tension on his lower half. The blood coursing through his body is more of an inconvenience for now, and he's sure, under different circumstances, he'd have better control over this.

Or maybe not.

Maybe you're just that good for him.

You jerk slightly when his mouth draws near your slick folds.

“Wait.”

And he does, his concentration slightly shaken as he promptly scans your face for any cause for alarm.

“Just… don't leave afterwards.”

Don't leave–

Astarion's lips are so close to your clit, he has to pull back slightly so he can have a proper look at you, his hardened cock still straining against his undergarments.

“What do you mean?” he asks, perplexed. 

There is hesitance in your eyes. “You tend to leave after… like you don't want to be here with me.”

That sounds like a whiplash to him, because it is not true at all.

Your words take him by surprise  and he immediately worries he may have said or done something that could be interpreted as mixed signals.

“Darling, I–”

But you immediately shake your head. “If you can stay after… I'd appreciate it. Only you want to, of course,” you quickly add. “It doesn't feel right otherwise…”

It isn't a request. Nor a plea.

It's just what feels right.

He's done this many times to the point of instinct. It comes natural to him to please others. The aftermath, though, is something that he's also used to forgoing. The mess, the sweat, the fluids… the unnecessary and forced talk…

But you are different, aren't you?

You are not… the others.

And after all you've been through, he feels his mind nearly snap in half as he realises just how much he's still holding back with you.

Even something as simple as just staying still felt… tainted.

Slowly, he nods. 

And slowly, your lips turn into a tender smile that he's grown to adore beyond comprehension.

“I'll stay.”

You heave a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

Astarion counters the impromptu detour with unmatched expertise, lowering his head and admiring just how eager your body is for him.

Before he drags his tongue along your folds, he slithers his hand down to reach for the front of his trousers, hurriedly undoing them.

It's his turn to sigh in relief as his cock is set free.

But now he misses the friction and the carpeted floor of your tent feels too rough.

His eyes roam around in search of something – anything – more comfortable.

And then he's caught off guard by your offer.

“Maybe this will help.”

A pillow.

He chuckles deviously, appreciating your creativity in moments such as these. Promptly, he takes it in his hand and positions it under him, his cock welcoming the soft surface.

“I adore that mind of yours,” he says cheekily.

You are about to voice a reply, but no word comes out when his tongue hits your entrance. 

Immediately, your hips buck and his smile never wavers.

He knows what you crave, but he will take his time even if you're already close to the edge.

After all, he's addicted to his devotion to you even if he never utters it out loud. He prefers his actions speak for themselves. Words are treacherous and deceiving. Actions speak louder.

And so he indulges in you. He indulges you, because that is what keeps him from reaching the frayed ends of his mind. 

You're what grounds him these days.

And he will ground you with him.

As such, he drags the tip along your folds, collecting your wetness and he only stops once it finds your clit.

A soft moan escapes your lips and he hopes you have it in you to keep it down so as to not wake the others. 

He locks eyes with you one last time. “Are you ready, darling?”

Your hips roll twice, but he knows you're not ready. You never are for the pleasure he offers to you so passionately. 

Another roll and he knows you're growing impatient, so he gives your clit a quick swipe of his tongue before he latches.

He doesn't begin suckling hard right away, as he needs to ensure he can steady you for what's to come. Both arms loop around your thighs and he allows his eyes to flutter shut, losing himself in you.

It amazes him how your body responds to him, and your hips try to find a desperate rhythm as if you're riding his cock.

The pillow under him provides enough friction for him to roll his own hips, eager to match your tempo.

He could feel the wetness drenching the fabric, but he can't bring himself to care.

Your hand finds his curls and he growls against your clit as you tug gently, but evidently craving more.

And more he gives you.

He's sucking more fiercely this time, taking his time to savour the swell in between his teeth. From this angle, he can feel your wetness coating his chin. He can't directly feel it, but he just knows you're clenching desperately around nothing.

Maybe he should take it slower.

Maybe he should pry you open with two of his fingers, even though you're wet enough to take a third one.

But the unexpected friction caused by the pillow is begging to edge him beyond belief.

Is it from the blood he drank? Is he just so ridiculously aroused? Why is your clit so swollen this time? Is it from his incessant suckles? 

His mind turns into haze and he decides he's not looking for any logical answers.

He simply allows his hips to move on their own accord, matching the face with each suckle.

“Astarion… Gods…” 

You're fortunate his mouth is kept busy, or he'd hurl a snarky reply. Gods have no place here. The delicacies of carnal bliss are reserved for those who tread the earth.

He's the only one who'd ever worship you, and you'd worship him right back, because that's how it's meant to be.

Precum drips from his tip at an alarming rate. He's too hard. He's too aroused. His body is seeking to be inside yours.

But he decided against it.

No.

He wants to see you unravel for him and in front of him.

His eyes open once again and he takes in the sight of your body undulating. Skin all flushed and eyes read to drop close as you near the precipice.

As always, his latch is impeccable. He never lets go and takes pride in leaving you dripping for him.

A few droplets run down his chin and dangle from it, bestowing upon him the most enticing silent praise he could ask for.

He knows you're close when your fingers close around his curls, desperately rocking your hips against him.

A low growl of approval rumbles in his chest and he's starting to struggle to keep his pace.

He has to find a way to still his hips before you reach your climax in fear you'll drag him along with you far too soon.

And so he does.

This time, he wants to see it.

He wants to see you as you come for him.

He's mostly perplexed that you found a way to muffle your moans, your shirt rolled up and captured in between your teeth, granting him the privileged view of your heaving breasts and hardened nipples.

Momentarily, his hips threaten to buck driven by pure instinct.

But he manages to hold back.

And when he's sure you're too far gone, head tilting back and legs shaking ever so slightly, does he unlatch from your clit.

He pulls back enough to witness the first sets of contractions course through your body. 

Wetness drips from his chin, and he can't tear his gaze from the mesmerising way your entrance clenches rhythmically before him.

He's felt those contractions many times. He is well aware of just how vicious and relentless they can be around his cock, never failing to draw every last drop of his cum deep inside you.

Your muffled cries and the way your hips still momentarily, are all he needs to get lost in his own pleasure again.

He props himself high enough to place his hips at the right angle, rolling them urgently against the soft fabric of the pillow.

He's so close… so deliciously close.

Your taste lingers on his tongue and the vision of you still writhing under him holds his gaze almost painfully.

Your fingers ease on his curls and he feels the familiar tightening of his balls warning him that he's about to reach the point of no return. 

It comes and overtakes his body so violently his mind blanks for a brief moment, as his mouth drops open.

He wants to groan and growl and hiss, but no sound comes out.

The friction is so overwhelming, he can't help but to lose balance, his lips finding your swollen clit once again.

And just like before, he latches instinctively and you try to jerk away from him, definitely being hit with a sting of oversensitivity. 

He comes undone, suckling on you harder than ever before.

Ropes of cum spill from him rhythmically, his own contractions taking over. He can feel the fabric underneath him drench with each thrust, and he vaguely wonders how much of it he still has left in him.

Your clit is now the only thing grounding him as he rides out his climax and, in the far corner of his hazy mind, he's thankful that you eased into him once again, granting him the solace he is seeking so desperately.

There's only so much he can withstand as his senses are flooded with overwhelming pleasure, and he finds himself unlatching and almost slumping against your lower abdomen.

He's spent.

Utterly spent.

He thinks he hears a tender giggle, but maybe it's simply his mind playing tricks on him.

With effort, he hoists himself along your body, collapsing, the side of his face resting against your stomach.

He wants to say something, but he's rendered silent by the aftershock of his climax.

And that's when he feels your fingers again, raking along his scalp and through unruly curls. 

“Are you leaving?”

He says nothing.

Your fingertips work their magic along his skin and he's sure you can lull him into a trance if you so wished. 

You're too powerful and he's too in love with you to care.

“Astarion.”

Your voice is low and sweet and he hums in return, arm wrapped around your waist.

“Can we stay like this for a while?”

Who's he to deny you of it? Or himself?

He's sweaty and his cock drenched in cum and precum and you're a mess yourself. Hardly the epitome of romance.

Or maybe he's wrong because when you bring a soft piece of cloth to his temple and drag it along his face, he suddenly gets it.

He finally understands why you want him to stay.

Why it makes sense.

His eyes flutter shut as he basks in your tenderness and adoration. 

You hum a soft tune under your breath, cleaning him up.

Face and neck first.

“Can you shift higher?” you ask.

He realises your intentions and lifts his head to stare at you.

“You don't have to.”

All you do is offer him a smile. Your smile. “I want to. Allow me, lover.”

No one has ever taken care of him. No one has ever bothered to. Not until you. 

He silently does what you asked, too stunned to come up with a clever tease.

His eyes flutter shut in what comes close to embarrassment. For some reason, he feels more exposed than ever when you wrap the cloth around his cock.

“Tell me if it gets too much,” you say, your voice but a whisper.

He immediately shakes his head. “Not with you.”

A hiss parts his lips as you tenderly take care of him.

Astarion rests his head just above your breast and 

“Do you wish to talk?” he asks.

Your lips find their way through his damp curls, placing a kiss atop his head.

“Do you want to?”

He chuckles, feeling his cock soften in your hand – definitely a first. “I fear I'm too drained to do so.”

“Silence it is,” you say and he feels your warm breath against his skin.

Not just any silence.

Comfortable silence.

The rare type old romance books mention in passing and that many seek to no avail.

But he's found it because he's found you.

Masterlist

#astarion bg3 #astarion #astarion smut #astarion x female tav #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x female reader #astarion x f!tav #astarion x you #astarion x oc #astarion x f!reader

[lady-ashfade]

Blood And Pressure

Part two

Yandere!Pjo x Fem!Grisha!reader. (Platonic Yandere gods) (romantic!various characters)

-♡ Chapter: Previous // Next

-♡ characters: Percy Jackson, Luke Castellan, Clarisse La Rue, Grover Underwood, Annabeth Chase.

-♡ this is a shadow & bone slight crossover. Reader is a heartrender and that's all really (maybe more in the future!)

-♡ Please note that all characters are aged appropriately, so all characters are older versions of the book characters. So 17-19 characters for these, you can choose any of them really.Just that they are older teens.

-♡ I will be imagining Charlie Bushnell as Luke.

-♡warning : short, yandere behaviors, obsession, stalking. slightly sick love, possessive, manipulative, gaslighting. platonic yandere too, blood powers, powerful powers but not godly, and future warnings when more chapters come out.

This was the best moment of your life. The camp was beautiful. You got to see real people training together, not just the ones that come into the infirmary. And Percy was just as amazed as you. It was cool to see someone your own age being new to camp, and that you could use him to get yourself out of that damn house.

Percy made you smile with his small jokes and comments about the place. Which caused Chiron to look between you two without you knowing. You never looked so happy.

“There is a place for you,” chiron points to one of the cabins. A flag hanging from the roof was Hermes and you smile, they welcomed everyone. Many kids ended up in the infirmary after their pranks and you loved to hear the stories.

Percy was to go into the cabin and start his new life while you had to watch and then go back. Of course you were happy for him to have a place. But it would go back to being alone.

“What about y/n?” Percy turned to you with a brow raised. “Don’t you have a cabin?” Before you could answer, the centaur answered for you.

“She is not a Demigod,” he moved his hooves closer and puts a hand on your shoulder. You sigh and nod, “she stays with us. Now say your goodbyes.”

Pushing everything you felt back you mange to give the boy a big smile, “good luck Percy.” And his name in your mouth lift him smitten along with your smile.

He couldn’t wrap his head around why you were here to just stay in the big house. This was a camp for half-bloods and you weren’t one…he wasn’t sure what you were. So why keep you locked up?

“I think y/n should see the inside.” He turn his gaze to the larger man. You could see the mischief on his face.

“I mean, you said you’d give them a tour and haven’t showed them what the insides look like? I think you should keep to your word.”

You cover your mouth with a giggle and he finds himself taking another glance at you with growing pride. However Chiron wasn’t as happy about this because he wanted to get you home and away from everyone…just like the oracle said to.

“I agree, now if you’ll excuse us.” You turn your head and grab ahold of Percy’s hand and start to walk to the cabin door. You had a mission to see everything that you could!

Percy turned brighter by each second and followed you with a clouded head. He stares at the way your hand felt on his. Maybe he could find a way to keep you with him at all time. His chest filled with butterflies and he couldn’t help but to squeeze your hand back as you pull him along.

The cabin was full of campers and bunks crowded around everywhere. You didn’t know what you were expecting but this wasn’t it. I mean the cabin should have been much bigger with the amount of kids that came in, even Hermes had many kids. Just for a second you felt out of place until your eyes set upon another…ones you have looked into before.

Eyes that looked at you many times, the only boy you had a conversation with before. With a scar running across his cheek.

“Well, aren’t we lucky.” The boy stepped closer to you both. His lips curled into a smirk as everyone else the cabin turn to look at you both. The mystery girl and the new boy who took down a minotaur. A odd pair to be seen together.

Percy tightened his hold on your hand at the way he was looking into your eyes and inching closer. Who was this guy? If only he could throw his arm around you to show he already had his claim.

“Luke Castellan.” The slightly taller boy introduced himself. His eyes looked away from you and he was met with percy harsh gaze. The only one now to stop the contest they seemed to have was Chiron who walked behind you.

Camp seemed to get more interesting by the second.

Taglist: @maria699669 @gorgeourrific-nerd @targaryenluvs @theaaeht @dabalyuteeeftia @alliriseabove

#Luke castellan x reader #yandere luke castellan #yandere Luke castellan x reader #yandere percy jackson #Percy Jackson x reader #yandere Percy Jackson x reader #yandere annabeth chase #annabeth chase x reader #book percy jackson #older percy jackson #shadow and bone reader #heartrender reader #grover underwood x reader #yandere Grover underwood x reader #yandere grover underwood #yandere annabeth chase x reader

[yourplayersaidwhat]

[Context: We've been splitting the treasure more or less evenly between the five of us for the whole adventure and before and a shit ton of gold just got dropped into the party's laps.]

DM: [evilly] What will you spend it on? You can buy practically anything you want--

Fathomless Warlock : [wicked grin] I already know what I'm doing with my share!

DM: Oh?

Fathomless Warlock: I'm opening a shelter, soup kitchen, and free healer clinic to help the common people of the city. :)

Celestial Warlock: And this will be great as a warchest for my political campaign!

DM: ...Oh its not like you needed that money to complete the game or anything.

Fathomless Warlock: (ooc): What? This is what my character would do? This is clearly a serious societal problem for Waterdeep and it's really not safe for all these folks to be sleeping in the dungeons we're crawling through. I'm friends with a lawyer and a cleric and with help from our allies I sure we could swing this. And I just took my fifth of it, like we previously agreed? But look if it's plot important to have a lot of cash on hand, I can pay some of it back to the party pool from my own funds from what I inherited as a noble and just from the treasure we've accumulated on this adventure. You know I'm also still working for the paper and we've got the tavern and that should cover personal expenses...

DM: No no no it's not important.

[Beat]

DM: How much?

Celestial Warlock: And I'm not spending my fifth all at once. It's just sitting there until I use it. At first it's probably gonna be smaller expenditures like flyers and pins. And it's not like we have to pay for TV ads, just need to use my Book of Shadows to learn Skywrite...

DM: Oh, okay... So what will you all spend it on?

[Collective shrug]

Fathomless Warlock: I think you all should get yourselves a fine set of clothes so you don't have to rent a tux again. I already have one because like, you know...

Wizard: I'll be getting spell scrolls and inks to study my magics.

Fathomless Warlock: Cool!

Monk: I bought brass knuckles!

Paladin: Alright, then I'm buying plate mail.

Monk: They cost 10 silver. :)

Paladin: ...I'm still buying plate mail.

Celestial Warlock: That's cool! (Won't have to spend as many slots healing her.)

Paladin: Is that really all you're buying...?

Monk: [thinks for a moment] Steel toe boots? (Can I wear boots as a dragonborn?) ...A second silvered wakazashi in case I lose the first one?

DM: That's it?

Monk: I'm a monk. I don't really need material things. Though I figured I might buy some bamboo and knick knacks and things for our Tavern. If we need more money for the tavern (or the campaign) for the tavern I won a lot of prize money doing those mixed martial arts competitions that I don't really use or need.

DM: No no no that's okay...

[Beat]

DM: How much?

#shit my players say #rpg #submission #shareable #upsetting the dm

[lunargrapejuice]

behind closed curtains

diluc ragnvindr x afab!reader | 2.1k + words

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, no pronouns used, masturbation, a tiny bit of voyeurism if you squint, oral (receiving), diluc cumming untouched

it wasn’t unusual for the dark knight hero to pass through this particular part of mondstadt multiple times throughout the night. it was hardly somewhere that monsters could easily get but still he watched over this small apartment building nestled behind a flower shop and a large birch tree. 

ruby eyes flash to a window on the second floor, the drawn curtains keeping his beloved from view but it was enough to know that you were safe and comfortable, even if he wished he could be there with you now.

but it was late, the moon having long hung in the sky and cooled the breeze that carried throughout the city, the dreams of those in the land of anemo archon quieting the street. you should be asleep, at least he hoped you would be but he also could not help how the desire to constantly be within your shining radiances, basking in your love and showering you with his own, made his heart strings go taut.

surely it would be fine if he checks on you? a gentle kiss to your forehead before pulling the covers back over your shoulder, stealing too many glances at your lovely sleeping visage, fighting the urge to slip into the covers with you, all before he returns to the dark shadows. he had before and you had given him permission to do so, at times waking up slowly to see silver light spilling through the curtains and wondering if the familiar warmth of him that lingered on your skin and the way his voice that easily coaxed you back to sleep was only a dream. 

the only thing you could dream of more was a dream where he stayed and you got to wake up in his arms; see the man proclaimed to be ‘hardened’ look so soft and so unbelievably handsome, if not seeming a few years younger, as long lashes rested atop his cheeks and locks of red spread around him like a halo of fire in the yellow morning light. 

did you know how badly he wished for the same, how terribly hard it was to tear himself from your side? 

his boots were quiet, stealthy so as to not wake the neighbors that lived below you or draw unnecessary attention to himself, as he easily made his way up to the ledge of your window and with skilled fingers slid the glass open without making a sound.

he hadn’t even swung one leg inside your bedroom before he heard a breathless moan of his name from your lips, labored yet blissful and dripping with need. it’s a melody that ignites his chest, spreads warmth across his cheeks and the tips of his ears, and has his cock beginning to strain against his pants.

wanting to always respect your privacy, he hesitates to push back the curtains hiding what is surely a sinful sight of you touching yourself to the thought of him. but every moment that passes with his heart picking up speed, not at all helping how hard he’s becoming, he can’t ignore the sounds you make, the soft lewd quelches of your fingers playing with your wet pussy or the whimpers you make that he desperately wanted to hear louder and at the mercy of his touches.

the tap of his boots on your floor and the movement of curtains doesn’t draw your attention and for a moment, all the while diluc swore his entire being was going to catching on fire, he admires your naked body illuminated by moonlight laying atop your sheets, your fingers pumping in and out of your tight hole, your eyes closed and mouth parted from your heavy breaths that bring hungry eyes to your breasts. 

it's only when he can’t take it any longer, can’t possibly bear to keep himself from between your legs or resist the need to have the taste of you on his tongue after seeing the slick that coats your fingers and glistens against your folds, that he unclips the cape that normally kept him blended with the dark of night and takes a step towards you.

“fucking archons..” he curses under his breath, your doe eyed look that flickers with happiness at the realization he really was here making him even harder.

“d-diluc! wha - i c-can- i mean -”

he lets out a breathless chuckle at how quickly you close your legs, your embarrassment evident but you had no reason to be embarrassed. never with him and especially not when he was so prideful knowing you were imagining it was his own fingers buried inside of you, thick and reaching deep, something you could not recreate by yourself but archons you looked like such a sweet thing trying.

“apologies my love, i didn’t mean to frighten you.”

his strides are long, his impressive length showing through his pants but as soon as he's close enough he reaches for you smooth leather gloves and the warm hands within them are adding fuel to your already burning skin, pulling your legs apart with tenderness but enough force that you couldn’t fight it, not that you even wanted to try. no, you were more than willing to give diluc all of you.

all you can focus on are the ruby orbs of the man you love, eyes that threaten to engulf you in their flames and never let you go. but you were encased within them long before now and tonight you would sink even deeper into their depths. 

“have i made you lonely?” he asks, genuine concern laced in his tone. 

it was easy for him to use his strength to protect you, move you from prying eyes and danger, carry your sleeping figure from the couch in his study to his bed or move your body as he wished when tangled in silk sheets and beaded with sweat. not that you resisted him but even when his grip was tight he’s so gentle with the way he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed, like you might break if he moves too fast. 

he lowers onto his knees before you, the tips of his bangs tickling your inner thigh as he nuzzles his nose against your plush skin, feeling his cock twitch at the way your body reacts to just this little touch.

“n-no! never ‘luc.. n..never with you” your voice shakes in time with your legs and his heart stalls the sweet nickname. he hadn’t quite gotten used to it yet but he wasn’t sure he ever would, not when it was you calling him. “i just..” you bite your bottom lip before turning your gaze from his but still continuing, quiet and shy but oh so adorable. “just wanted you so badly..”

you can feel him smile against your skin, his kisses growing sloppier against your skin but never close to your aching sex. “were your fingers enough to sate your want angel?”

his bold words shock you, even if they did make your stomach flutter with butterflies and your pussy clench around nothing.

they weren’t enough.. you could never reach as deep as he could, could never drive yourself to the kind of bliss that had tears clinging to your lashes like only diluc ever could or had.

“‘luc.. please..” you beg, reaching out for him, to lose your fingers in his thick hair and guide him to your need but he captures them within his own much larger hands and places kisses the tips of each of your fingers instead, much too chastely for how naughty the sight of him on his knees before your bare body was.

“were they?” he asks again, the heat of his breath captured on your hands.

“.. no,” you whimper your answer much to your chagrin but happy to hear your confession, with his own carnal need to gift you that pleasure, he finally lets you touch him in return.

with your fingers tangled in tendrils of red he litters both of your legs with kisses after loving kisses, slow licks and nibbles but never in the place you needed him most. warm saliva cools against your skin the more he showers you with his affection until his lips have tasted nearly every inch of shaking thighs.

even as he moves to dangle your legs over his shoulders he’s still littering them with his love, coming closer and closer to your sticky cunt, teasing and fleeting near your dripping folds until you’re begging and then suddenly, without warning, his burning tongue is running from your eager hole up to your clit and back down again. 

your back bows off of the bed and he groans loudly, shamelessly, as he drinks you in, already feeling utterly intoxicated by you; your taste, the way you squirm in his hold at his relentless movements that are somehow too much and not enough, your fingers finding their way deeper into his hair and he’d be sure it wouldn’t be much longer now before you were pulling on the soft strands while you cried his name.

powerful fingers sink into the fat of your thighs to keep them spread with each passing moment that he devours your pretty pussy like he may never get to taste you again. his tongue is hot and consumes your every thought, every nerve in your body as he licks and laps at your folds.

one of his hands leaves your thigh to spread your pussy lips, the leather not as soft as his skin but familiar all the same. he flicks his tongue against your exposed and twitching clit, the way you wither and moan at his ministrations driving him to want to give you more, more, more.

“ah~ d-diluc!” you cry out when he wraps his lips around your clit, feeling how badly and quickly it builds the burning knot behind your stomach that just might burst on him if he kept working you like this. 

but he was always one to get lost in the pleasure of your cunt, going down on you like this satisfying him just as much as it did you.

his deep groans join your lovely noises, the taste of you finer and more intoxicating than any wine he could ever create in the cellars of the dawn winery but only he would get to know the pleasure of this, only he would get to be the one to feel your velvety walls clench around his tongue when he buries it deep inside of you, tongue fucking you and feeling his cock throb against the seem of his pants.

you pull him into you, lifting your hips to allow his tongue to reach deeper inside of you or perhaps it was simply because you can’t help it when he’s making you feel this good, he doesn’t know which but your reactions spur him on and he doesn’t relent his tongue for a moment.

the only word you seem to know is his name. you chant it like a mantra and each one rings through his ears and ripples down his body. always call his name.. always be his.. always let him bring you to celestia and back.. 

a mix of your juices and his saliva drips down your folds and to your ass, so wet he can easily slip two, thick, gloved fingers into your cunt, feeling your walls clench around them the moment he’s knuckles deep and curling them right into the spot that always has you seeing stars as he suckles on your clit.

“‘luc.. ah! i.. i’m gonna.. c- cum ~ ing!”

he groans and curses into your pussy at the first taste of your release, pumping his fingers at the perfect pace for you to ride out your high as long as you can. your fingers tug on his locks hard and it takes the last bit of his own sanity, his rock hard dick pulsing as he releases right into his pants, untouched and god there was so much as he kept leaking more the longer you came undone around him but archons he feels like he could go over and over again if it meant you’d squeeze his length as hard as you are his digits, if he’d get to keep the sweet taste of you melting on his taste buds.

and tonight, as he sheds his clothes, relieving scarred pale skin and tone muscles that you could never seem to get enough of, he comes to stand with your legs on either side of his thin waist and finally kisses you, the lingering taste of your release coating your lips, you think he may do just that.

genshin impact masterlist | main masterlist

#diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #diluc ragnvindr smut #genshin impact smut #diluc smut #genshin smut #🌙moonlight.stories

[fieldofdaisiies]

Whisper of the Forgotten | pt. 6

pairing: azriel x reader | type: angst | words: 2k words | warnings: mentions of torture, descriptions of torture | masterlist

Your heart is pounding rapidly, hammering against your ribcage. Cold sweat breaks out at the back of your neck and you step out of your hiding place when you hear the knock once again. A cold shiver curls around your spine, but a kernel of hope blooms within your chest.

This must be your mate – he has come to save you.

“Azriel, is this you?” you ask, but receive no answer from the darkness. Later you learn that this was a fateful question, because it gave away your location – your hiding spot. 

After the question is asked, everything happens too fast, one moment you question your lover’s arrival, the next moment the door is slammed open, and broad hands grab you, many male voices sounding around you. "Who are you expecting, Bloody Baroness?" A voice sneers, dripping with venom. "You thought you could hide from us?”

Your vision is covered by a black sheet and you are dragged somewhere. Somewhere where it is a lot colder than in your hiding place, a cool wind wiping against your shivering body, the thin nightgown not shielding you from it.

And then–

An icy chill cascades down your spine when your nightgown is ripped open and a cry dies down in your throat when the first lash lands upon your back. Many follow, icy, sharp pain erupting on your back, until you feel nothing anymore. No pain, no cold, you only feel numb. Dead. 

As you lay there, battered and broken, the echo of your own voice reverberates in your mind, "Azriel, is this you?" The question hangs in the air like a curse, haunting you. It had given you away. 

Your world quickly becomes a blur of pain and terror, and hopelessness makes you feel sick. Azriel won’t come. He won’t rescue you. 

He won’t–

But hope sparks to life because he truly arrives, you hear his boots, his voice and feel his presence, the bond calling to him. Relief blossoms rapidly, only to be extinguished a moment later when things only get worse...

Azriel is crying by the time your fingertips slide out of his neck, dripping with blood, but the wounds seal quickly. His chest is heaving with deep, ragged sobs.

“Y/N,” his voice is full of pain, of regret when he speaks your name. His scarred digits brush over your face, catching the burning tears that escape your eyes.

“I didn’t mean for any of that to happen,” he breathes, voice hoarse. His other hand comes up, resting against the side of your neck. “I only put you in the Prison to protect you.” 

Confusion coats your insides and you shudder. Tipping your head back you look into his eyes, Azriel’s head slightly bowed.

“To protect me? From what? I doubt anything could have been worse than this hell.”

His hands tremble, shadows reaching out, caressing your skin in soothing motions.

“He wanted you dead.” Azriel’s gaze drops. “Rhysand’s father. It was the only way to protect you. He said the Prison or your head - I chose your life, Y/N.”

You tremble so hard at the revelation you need to hold onto Azriel to not fall, your whole body shaking.

All these years, all these centuries, you believed Azriel to have betrayed you. But he only wanted to save your life. Every emotion you could feel in this moment washes over you, drowning you under gigantic waves of shock and relief. 

You start to sob and thrash your hands against the shadowsinger‘s hard chest. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why couldn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me back then?”

Azriel’s scarred hands curl around your wrists and he pulls you to his chest, ignoring the claws. “I couldn’t. You would have fought him. There would have been no other way to save you.”

Your whole body is shaking, so hard you convulse and threaten to slump onto the ground but Azriel catches you.

He holds your arms tightly, and his head drops. “I couldn’t risk it. I could have never risked it. There would have always been people who sought after your life.” Azriel exhales a long breath that fans your face. “First Rhys‘ father, Tamlin‘s father. Later Hybern. Then Amaranth and Hybern.”

“All those years, Azriel,” you breathe through your tears. “You never came. You never checked on me. You could have come to me. See how I was doing. You could have explained yourself.”

“I was a coward. I thought you wouldn’t forgive me. And seeing you and not being able to free you…I couldn’t do that. Not to myself, not to you.” His tears now also wet your skin and you exhale a shuddering breath. “I couldn’t bring myself to go there only to tell you that there is no way to free you.”

“But to see if I am doing alright. You could have asked Rhys–”

“I tried everything, Y/N!” he almost shouts. “I tried to find a damn way to free you, but the books said nothing. I even looked in Helion’s –the High Lord of the Day Court– library, but nothing.”

You close your eyes, swallowing a sob. “I wanted to free you…but I couldn’t find a way to do it.”

He swallows thickly and the shadows curl tightly around him. “Nesta‘s harp - part of the Dead Trove. It was only possible through it. Freeing you was only possible through it. This was the solution I have been looking for for centuries. When Nesta found it and we knew what we could do with it, I knew what I would use it for. I just had to wait for the right moment.” 

You lean your weight against him, the pain and anger having formed over centuries not yet dissipating. 

“You didn’t forget about me when I was there?”

“Not for one moment.” Azriel brushes his scarred thumb over your damp cheek. “I‘ve thought about you every day of my life, but I could free you. It wasn’t possible and it slowly destroyed me.”

It destroyed him…Memories of the moldy cell, the screams, and then the deafening silence fill your mind. You see yourself, looking down on you, the open wounds, the scars, the blood and everything inside you coils. You let him close, despite never wanting to allow it again. You were vulnerable, he caught you in this moment and took advantage of it. 

Azriel wants to lean in to kiss your cheek, but you straighten your posture and shove at his chest. “I can’t do this. I can’t…I just can’t.”

With rather quick steps you move away from him, eyes clouded with tears, mind hazy with anger and disappointment. 

“Leave!”

“Y/N,” Aziel pleads, “please, forgive me.”

“Leave!” A sob crashes into your ragged breathing and you wrap your arms around your naked body. “Leave! Leave me alone. Leave me alone like you left me back then.”

You may understand now why there was no other option but putting you into the Prison but that doesn’t mean you forgive him for never visiting you. For hurting you so much and never offering an explanation, or an apology. Never checking in on you if you were doing alright. 

Slowly, and even without the amulet, your power manifests, flames of silver and cobalt, forming at your hands slowly sliding towards him, the flames of black and cobalt fire increasing, growing. It is fear that often feeds your powers, negative emotions, panic, and horror and it makes you stronger. 

“Alright,” he whispers. “I will leave you. I am going on a mission to the continent, you won’t see me for a while.”

“Get out!” you shout again, ignoring what he is saying. Azriel truly follows your orders, his chin dropping to his chest, wings dragging over the ground, shoulders dropping. But he leaves, leaves you alone and another scream parts your dry lips. “Asshole!”

───── ⋆⋅ ☽☾ ⋅⋆ ─────

“We never properly met back then, did we?”

You quickly wipe the back of your hand over your tear streaked cheek. Then you turn to the High Lord and shake your head. 

“But you knew me.”

“I did, but I didn’t know that there was something between Azriel and you.”

You huff, and give your head a little shake. Apparently, you weren’t even worth mentioning.

“Azriel told me…everything.” Rhysand pulls out a chair and sits down before you can stop him. “Now, he told me everything. Neither Cassian nor I knew about you back then, but I know one person that did.”

“Your sister.” You snivel. 

Rhysand nods slowly. “She died after the war.” He turns to you and meets your eyes, his own filled with nothing but pain and nostalgia. “She was very fond of you, you were one of her closest friends.”

You smile at the memories that fill your mind, and a single tear slips down your cheek. 

“When you were gone…our father told us that you had to leave. To the continent. It is what he also forced Azriel to say. He made him lie.”

You give the High Lord no answer, because what is there to say. Oh poor Azriel…how he must have suffered... Internally your eyes roll.

“He would have tried to save you if he had a chance.”

You shake your head at that and close the book, shoving it away. “No, he wouldn’t.”

“Yes, Y/N, he would. I can see his regret, I can also feel it. And the moment we found out what the Harp is capable of, Azriel seemed happier, like a sudden sense of hope had filled him. He didn’t reveal the reason for it, but we could all feel that there was something.”

You want to believe that. You so desperately want to believe that, him. It heals a small part of your heart, but it still doesn’t make the pain over him not once visiting you any better. 

“He could have saved me when he found the Harp and not wait until you needed my help.”

You hold the High Lord’s gaze. “A lot was going on at that time and we needed the Harp. I think Azriel wanted to wait for the right moment.”

“The right moment when you needed my help,” you snap and snatch another book, opening it with so much force the binding hits the table with a loud thump. “Are you only here to tell me how amazing your best friend is and that I should forgive him. Because if that is the case, I want you to leave.”

“I am not here to tell you that.” Rhysand inhales deeply. “I am just telling you what I know. If you forgive him, if you ever decide that forgiveness is the right way, is up to you. It is your choice and your choice only, but I want you to know that even if we hadn’t needed your help, he would have tried to save you.” He turns and walks towards the door. “He was going to save you. I trust my best friend, and I have seen it in his mind – he revealed it all to me, showed me everything.”

“My father…he threatened the other female in Azriel’s life. The only other female he would have given his life for. This was the only way to protect you both.”

Your throat starts to burn. “His mother.”

Rhysand’s chin dips and then he is gone, the door silently closing behind him and you are left alone with your thoughts, and the High Lord’s revelations. 

Forgiveness…it never seemed like an option, but does it now?

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @callmeblaire @lilah-asteria

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar x reader #acotar #azriel

[callme-holly]

Yoo, like the fic you did of tim in readers house, and shes trying to get him out.

could you possibly do maybe a blurb or fic of having two-bit in readers rrom and them getting caught with their clothes still off? But they didnt do anything, they were just changing and readers brothers (curtis's) think they did smth🤨🤔😏😏

In reality they were just cuddling (as a couple not besties) and two-bit gets chases out the house, and reader is super embarrased.

I think this would be a really funny fix, LMAOO

Then at the end reader is SUPER embarrased, and they both get teased by thr gang in the afternoon. (bc this is in the mroning, like the tim sitch)

if you dont wanna do this ask, its alr!! Love ur work btw!!♥♥♥

𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐒𝐨 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 [𝐭𝐰𝐨-𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐰𝐬 𝐱 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - in which two-bit mathews isn't the most subtle boyfriend

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - it's been a little while but i'm back ya'll. kinda considering going on a long break bc i was unsure if anybody actually read my shit but im in too deep now!! asks are still open for requests!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 1.4k words

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - mild swearing

A cool breeze swept in through your open window, and the sun was already high in the sky, casting long shadows that stretched from corner to corner of the bedroom. The curtains are open just enough for a ray of light to slip through, warming the sleep-rumpled sheets pooled around you. 

Beside you, with his arm draped lazily around your waist, lies Two-Bit Mathews, his rust-coloured hair sticking up at a variety of odd angles, his lips parted ever so slightly as he sleeps soundly. He looks unusually peaceful, and you take a second to admire him, gently tracing the freckles dusted across his bare shoulders with the pads of your fingers. There’s a small scar just above his brow, barely visible beneath the messy strands covering it, but you know it’s there all the same. It’s just one of the many things that you find yourself loving. 

Carefully, you brush his hair back into place and press your lips to his forehead, hoping to wake him before your brothers get out of bed and inevitably come knocking at your door. A soft groan rumbles through his chest, and you can see his eyes flutter open for a fleeting moment, bleary blue irises meeting yours as he tries to process where exactly he is. Then those eyes fall shut again, and you sigh heavily, leaning over to shake his shoulder lightly.

“Two, c’mon.” You whisper softly, earning another moan of protest as he pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to the crook of your neck. 

“Five more minutes,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick with sleep and his breath tickling your sensitive skin. It's rare to see him so disoriented, so out of it, and you can’t help but feel amused at his behaviour. 

However, your amusement quickly evaporates when you hear the telltale ring of Darry’s alarm, the sound shrill and piercing as it cuts through the silence. You cringe at the sound. Two-Bit grunts in displeasure, burying his face deeper into your shoulder. 

“It's not fair,” he whines, peering up at you. “How can they be awake already? It's Sunday morning. I want to sleep in.” Despite his words, his hold on you loosens slightly, and he pushes himself up onto his elbow, blinking hard until he focuses on your face, his eyes brightening significantly when he meets your gaze. 

The covers pool loosely around your waist as he shifts, and he immediately notices your bare torso, a broad grin spreading across his features.

“Woah, hey, cover up!” A loud laugh escapes him, and you're quick to slap a hand over his mouth, glaring down at him. 

“Shh, you idiot. Darry will hear you.” Two holds his hands up placatingly, his smile still in place as you pull your hand away, rolling your eyes in feigned annoyance at his antics. He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours in a silent apology, one you accept easily, your fingers tangling in his hair as he pulls you closer. It’s sweet and simple, lasting no longer than a couple of seconds before you break apart, a soft smile playing at your lips. 

Two-bit stretches out beside you, propping his head up on his hand as he watches you intently, an unreadable expression in his eyes. You roll off of the mattress, ignoring the quiet whine of protest you get in response, padding across the room in search of your discarded clothes, which lay in a crumpled pile by the door. 

One glance at the clock tells you you've only got a couple minutes to get your very stubborn and very lazy boyfriend dressed and out of your window before Sodapop or Ponyboy come barging in.

With a heavy sigh, you pick up a pair of dark blue jeans, tossing them haphazardly towards Two, who catches them with a broad grin. 

“Put those on.” You mumble, turning back to search for your own clothes, only succeeding in finding your shirt before the door flies open, slamming against the wall and making both of you jump.

“Y/N, Darry wants—” Ponyboy stops short when his gaze lands on Two-Bit, whose jeans are halfway up his thighs, an almost comical look of confusion crossing his features before it's replaced with something akin to horror. “Oh my God,” he breathes out. “You guys...” He trails off, glancing over to you before slapping a hand over his eyes when he realises how very little you're wearing. 

“Get out!” You shriek, your cheeks turning a brilliant shade of red, and Pony doesn’t need to be told twice, turning on his heel and fleeing from the room, no doubt to go tell Darry about his new, and rather horrifying, discovery. 

You turn to look at Two-Bit, who, despite the situation, is still grinning like a madman as he pulls on his shirt, seemingly unfazed by everything that has happened in the last few seconds. That grin quickly fades, however, when a loud crash sounds from the kitchen, accompanied by Darry’s all-too-familiar bellow of your name. 

“Shit…” You curse, tugging on the remainder of your clothes, trying to usher your boyfriend to the window despite his protests. His arms wrap tightly around your midsection, preventing you from even attempting to escape, and though you try to kick and squirm out of his grasp, he simply refuses to release his grip on you, his chin resting on your shoulder. “Keith Mathews, I swear if you don't let me go right now—”

Your threats are interrupted as the door flies open for the second time that morning, and there stands Darry, his hands on his hips, his eyes blazing with a look that could only be described as murderous. You freeze, staring at him helplessly, and Two-Bit offers him a sheepish smile, slowly releasing you and backing away towards the open window. Before he reaches it, however, Darry steps forward, grabbing him by the back of his shirt roughly and dragging him back. 

“Darry!” You exclaim, sounding slightly exasperated as you watch your brother pull Two-Bit out of your room and down the hallway, cursing under his breath as he goes. You trail after them, pausing beside a rather surprised Sodapop and a very guilty-looking Ponyboy as Darry shoves Two out of the front door, crossing his arms and glaring down at him.

“If I find you sneaking in here to see her again, I'll skin you, you hear?” He growls, pointing a threatening finger at the younger greaser, who has the decency to look appropriately terrified, flashing you a pleading look. 

With a sigh, you step forward, placing a gentle hand on your brother’s forearm and forcing out a tight-lipped smile. “Darry, c’mon.” You try, “He wasn’t doing anything wrong.” 

It seems, however, that your pleas fall on deaf ears, and Darry turns sharply to glare at you, his expression stony. You quickly fall silent, listening as your older brother continues to scold Two-Bit, whose eyes are wide with a slight fear. Darry could be really frightening when he wanted to be; you’d learn that the hard way. 

“I mean it,” Darry barks, his attention seemingly back on the redhead still standing on the porch. “From now on, you use the front door, and that bedroom door stays open whenever you’re around. I don’t want any ‘funny business’ going on under this roof. Especially not while I’m sleeping next door.” 

You know exactly what he means by 'funny business', and the implication causes your cheeks to flush crimson. Two-Bit, who looks just as embarrassed as you are, nods hurriedly, and you don't think you've ever seen the greaser look so guilty in all the time that you've known him. 

Darry must notice too, because he relaxes slightly, his tone softer than it had been before, as he speaks once again. “Don't hurt her; you got it?” 

“Got it.” Two nods: “I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Darry huffs, clearly not entirely satisfied with the whole situation, but deciding to drop it nonetheless as he glances between the two of you. He runs a hand through his dark hair, which is still slightly mussed from sleep, and lets out a long sigh. “Ya’ll are going to kill me someday.” He mutters, shaking his head, before turning from the door and heading back in the direction of the kitchen.

Once he’s gone, you shoot Two-Bit an apologetic look, but he merely smiles and winks reassuringly at you before turning on his heel to jog down the porch steps. You close the door with a loud sigh and hear Sodapop chuckle behind you, his arms crossed and a smug smile spread across his features.

“So…” He drawls, looking impossibly pleased with himself. “Two-Bit Mathews, huh?” 

“Shut up.” 

𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬!!

#the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders imagine #the outsiders headcanons #two bit mathews #two bit x reader #two bit matthews x reader #ponyboy curtis #ponyboy curtis x reader #sodapop curtis #sodapop curtis x reader #darry curtis #darry curtis x reader #dallas winston #johnny cade #steve randle #ponyboy curtis imagine

[metalhoops]

O how he loves you, darling boy. Oh how, like always, he invents the monsters underneath the bed to get you to sleep next to him, chest to chest or chest to back, the covers drawn around you in an act of faith against the night. - Richard Siken

“There’s something outside my window.” 

Eddie stood in the doorway, shoulders slump and slack from lack of sleep. Steve knew this routine. They’d fallen into it unexpectedly. After Eddie got out of the hospital, he’d come to stay with Steve until they could clear his name. 

They’d hunkered down in his childhood home, the wooden walls of which Steve knew inspired wild imaginings. The shadows cast from the trees on the pool mixed with the silver moonlight and danced like the hair of a dead girl on the surface of the water. They were Steve’s demons. Eddie had brought his own to the Harrington’s house of horrors. 

Steve knew paranoia. They were old partners. Paranoia crept into your bed in the dead of night, apologised for waking you, and kept you guessing with its cold feet and fitful tossing. 

“Let me take a look,” Steve uttered, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed. They dangled inches from the floor but in the blackness, they might as well be hanging over the edge of a precipice. 

He strode barefoot into the hallway, feeling the chill of death in the early April air. In the daylight, the hallway was metres. In the dead of night, it was miles. Eddie trailed after him, acting as a wave in the wake of a boat. In the night, anything could look like the black water of Lover’s Lake. Eddie’s breath on the nape of his neck was all Steve needed to remind himself he wasn’t drowning. 

He surveyed Eddie’s room, switching on the lights, opening the windows, and pacing in strange circles as though mapping sigils in the floor. He checked the closet and behind the door, before he crawled under the bed and felt Eddie slide in beside him. The two were crushed together in the small space, staring at mattress slates. 

There was an intimacy in the confined darkness and a strange, childlike comfort in hiding away from some unknown yet likely imaginary force. Steve felt the rise and fall of Eddie’s shoulders, signalling the slowing of his breath. There was nothing in the darkness, not yet, not anymore. 

“Can you stay here tonight?” Eddie asked. 

It wasn’t the first time he or Steve had posed the question but usually, there was more beating around the bush. They’d both grown tired of formalities. Steve had known the second Eddie showed up at his door that they’d end the night in the same bed. He liked it, more than he cared to admit, more than he should. Like many things in his life, Steve tried not to overthink it. 

“Yeah, long as we’re sleeping on the bed, not under it.” 

“I don’t know, man. You seen the view? That dust bunny? A must-see. That dead spider—.”

“The what?” Steve cursed, shifting closer to Eddie. He felt something crawl over his exposed ankles and kicked out against the blackness. 

“Cool it, karate kid, that was a joke,” Eddie cackled as Steve continued to mutter profanities under his breath as he crawled from under the bed. 

Eddie followed Steve’s awkward little army crawl, tugging at the boy’s ankle and dragging him backwards so he could take the lead. 

“Breaker, breaker this is Eddie the Banished calling for Top Gun King, do you read me,” Eddie breathed into the palm of his hand. Reenacting some unseen scenario Steve couldn’t quite follow. 

For a moment the boy wondered what his life would’ve been like, in another world where he and Eddie had grown up together, instead of himself and Tommy. He wondered if there would’ve been more years of strange yet striking whimsey, that Tommy and by default Steve, had grown out of at a startlingly young age. 

Eddie feigned a strange and static crackle as he clambered into bed and crawled beneath the covers. Steve followed, sliding in beside Eddie. The boy nudged his side as though waiting for something. 

“Rodger?” Steve attempted lamely. 

He wished he knew how Eddie mustered up the sudden lightness. He wanted to be a part of the world the boy escaped to in the dead of night when all Steve was left with were monsters and memories. 

“I’m sorry. I’m not good at this,” He apologised seeing Eddie’s wild eyes trained on him. 

Whenever they were together, Steve couldn’t help but feel like Eddie was asking something of him without saying it. Steve wanted nothing more than to give it to him. If only he could work out what it was. 

“It’s not hard once you’ve done it a few times. You’ve just gotta learn the magic of ‘yes, and.’ Let your hair down a little bit, boy wonder.” 

“I hate to break it to you, but my hair is as down as it gets... Since, you know...” Steve gestured vaguely at himself. 

Eddie’s eyes lingered on the hollow of his collarbones and the hint of chest hair, snaking like vines beneath his low-cut shirt. Steve noticed. He was good at noticing things. In the same way he knew Vicki liked women, he knew Eddie liked men. He was startlingly good at noticing that kind of thing. 

“Don’t wear Farrah Fawcett hairspray to bed? Colour me surprised,” Eddie spoke reaching out as though to touch Steve’s hair, before letting his hand fall in the space between them, thinking better of it.

That was the thing between them. They could sleep together but they couldn’t touch each other in the way they wanted. That would be admitting to something Steve wasn’t ready to commit to. It was his own personal secret, not from Eddie but from himself. Eddie was just a bystander bearing witness to the civil war of Steve’s heart and his better judgment. 

“Say your goodbyes to Henderson because next time I see him he’s dead,” Steve whispered. 

Eddie shifted, settling down for sleep as they’d done other nights. They never talked for long. If they talked it would be an admission that the two of them sleeping together was as much for pleasure as it was for necessity. Steve lay beside Eddie feeling as though his body were a room he was outside of. 

He tried to push the surge of emotions down, as he had all other nights. He felt as though he were holding his head underwater.

The past and the present tangled like fingers through unkempt hair. Unrelated guilts intertwined inextricably. Steve felt like he was drowning, laying beside the body of a boy he wanted to cling to like a life vest, while his eyes lay locked on the black shadow beyond the half-shut curtains. The swimming pool, where a girl had been dragged deep into the blackness. Steve was back at Lover’s Lake. He was in love and he was drowning. 

“Steve, are you okay?” Eddie was on his side, looking at Steve’s profile. 

His heart had circumnavigated his chest and worked its way up into his mouth, making it hard to breathe, hijacking his ears with the erratic beat. 

He tried to use Eddie’s voice to centre himself, to detangle the threads of history from histrionics, so all that would remain was himself and a boy in a bed with hair like history repeating. Steve had hands that wanted to undo time.

He remembered years before when Nancy had been the one that’d made his heartbeat throb like an infected wound. He knew logically, the emotions were the same. He’d sunk into Nancy’s body as one wades into deep water. He wondered what it’d be like to do the same to Eddie. Moreover, what it’d be like to be the water. To be a geyser by the ocean both filling and full. 

He couldn’t breathe. 

“I think I’m dying,” Steve whispered, finding his voice fractured by the thrum of his heart. Eddie’s face shifted to a look of understanding. 

Eddie’s hand was on his cheek, turning Steve to face him. 

“Look at me. You’re not dying,’ Eddie’s voice was stern and self-assured. 

Steve wanted to believe him. He couldn’t. Eddie’s fingers drew circles in his flesh. 

“Can I show you something?” Eddie asked. 

Steve’s throat was clogged shut, still holding his haemorrhaging heart. He nodded. 

“You’ve got something behind your ear,” Eddie muttered, pulling his hand back from Steve’s face to reveal his guitar pick, held on a necklace string. A magic trick.

It shook something loose, deep inside him. He doubled over, buried his face in Eddie’s shoulder and laughed. He took gasping inhales of Eddie’s skin, breathing in cigarette ash and musky cologne.

“That was so lame,” Steve gasped when he found his voice. 

“You loved it,” Eddie argued. 

“I loved it and it was lame,” he confirmed shaking his head. 

A hush fell over the boys. Not the quiet of sleep, but the stillness of contemplation. 

“You want to tell me what that was all about?” Eddie spoke, leaving it for Steve to pick up or push away. 

What was he supposed to say? ‘I want to kiss you and it scares me shitless.’ 

“I thought I saw something,” he replied lamely. 

Eddie’s brows furrowed. They both knew nothing was out there but when you’d been through what they had, some days logic wasn’t enough. It was a lie almost big enough to cover the scope of the truth. 

Eddie shifted, tucking his knee between Steve’s legs, pulling them together so the two were chest to chest, breath mingling.

“We’re fine,” Eddie said with conviction as though speaking the words could somehow make them true. 

They were back to the same old routine.  

The two boys lay crushed close together, leaving space in the sheets for all the things unspoken between them, all the vampiric night horrors that’d burn up come daylight. 

What would remain of the feelings come morning, Steve didn’t know but with his eyelids heavy and Eddie’s hand feather-light on his hip he stopped struggling against the tide of weary want and worry. He closed his eyes, leaned into Eddie’s body and let the feelings crash over his head, a wilful sort of drowning. 

#steddie #steddie ficlet #st #st4 #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #bi steve harrington #metalhoops writes #steddie fic #I finally got enough time to do this #I know I promised #A Richard Siken based ficlet #a forever ago #I finally had spare time #I got real pretentious and poetic #so thanks for reading #I know Americans don't use metres #but metres to miles sounds better #than yards to miles #I'll muddy the canon for some good alliteration #Fluff and angst #steddie au #for once I decided #to let Steve have his damn bisexual crisis #because I always let him speed run it #I imagine him meeting up with Robin #and pulling a Nick in heartstopper #with the whole #'I'm having a proper full on gay crisis'

[vagabond-umlaut]

parterre

Lord Nanami is a knight, yes. A very esteemed one at that. But does anyone know he is an impressive gardener too? Well, he is— for he is the one, who caused these many flowers of these many hues to bloom in the landscape of your heart— so much so that you've not the slightest idea on how to manage them all well.

▸ knight!Nanami x lady-in-waiting!Reader; Historical AU; Tons of Tooth-Rotting Fluff; Crushes; Pining [is it mutual, however?]; Jealousy; Misunderstandings; Teasing; Did I already say this is so sweetly fluffy, you might end up with cavities? Oh. Okay. Cool :); Reader is so terribly down bad for Nanami, it's become a matter of mild concern; She is called a harmless little nickname by the princess here; THIS FIC WAS WRITTEN AS A LITTLE CELEBRATORY GIFT TO NANAMI NATION, AFTER THE FEAST THAT JJK 2.12 WAS FOR Y'ALL ;))

▸ Behold, the thesis I mentioned to you last night, Julie my sweetest pie. 🤭🤭🤭 Hope you'll enjoy reading this! 🫶🫶 @nanamikentoseyebags

▸ I don't own the characters or image used. Divider is by @cafekitsune. Please don't plagiarize, translate or repost this. Enjoy reading! ❤️

Nanami Kento is no simple man. He is one crafted wondrously by the heavens. A veritable evidence, if there ever were any, of the existence of some greater being— powerful enough to make a man such as the knight. Merciful enough to make him live in the same time frame and place as you do.

A wistful sigh falls past your lips as you begrudgingly tear your focus away from the training grounds and direct it to the scalding coffee at hand, though it takes but two mere two seconds before you find your eyes darting to the open window yet again– skimming over the many heads out there– wanting to find only one blond head– heart beating far too many beats when you hear the name of its owner being yelled out once again—

The utterance of your title in court drags you away from your frantic search, to the mildly smiling face of the princess: Sleepy, yes– But a lot more awake than she was five minutes ago. You rush to offer her your greetings, only to stop when she lifts a finger and tilts her head to the side, brows furrowed a pinch.

"That was Kento's name being hollered, wasn't it, Petals?"

You aren't certain which infuriates you more— that the princess used your childhood nickname well into your adulthood– or that she called Knight Nanami by his first name, a privilege he is known to grant to a very select few—

Compelling your face to shift into a smile, you nod. "I'm afraid it was, Your Highness."

"And was it yet another lady cheering for his victory in a match, huh?" she queries, kicking the covers off her feet and landing onto the floor with a loud thud. Wincing lightly, you quickly shake your head 'no'.

"It wasn't, Your Highness. The voice sounded much like Lord Haibara."

A quiet hum comes in response to your observation– soon shadowed over by the off-key singing of rather... indelicate songs, you're certain no one of an upbringing as royal and guarded as your princess should know— before the lyrics pause– all of a sudden– the moment she sits down at the table and looks out the window.

At the ongoing duel between Nanami and Geto, swords clanging and their bare chests shining in the early morn sun.

The very sight making every drop of blood in your vessels to rush to your cheeks, flooding them with colour– whilst your gaze roves with no trace of shame over the well-built physique of the solemn blond– lingering in particular on the toned muscle of his arms and forearms, flexing and extending as his fingers grasp the hilt of the weapon and the muscles in his legs strain against the tight fabric of his slacks, as the knight moves in a spell-binding dance of danger and tact against his opponent.

A huff of a chuckle escapes you when the former lands a solid hit on the latter; no one can match him in his prowess at wielding a sword; making a tendril of pride unfurl in the centre of your chest, only for it to shrivel in the heat of envy the princess' chortle ignites in that very same place.

You make no efforts to stop the words tumbling out your mouth next. Nor the tense frown which nestles into your tinted lips, throwing your face into lines and ridges.

"Is Lord Nanami courting you, Your Highness?"

"What!?!?" Not even an instant elapses before the exclamation leaves your listener. You continue, pretending to be unperturbed by the way innumerable shades of shock and incredulity colour her countenance.

"I mean, you call him by his first name, and he too does the same for you. Besides, the both of you have often been spotted to be strolling in the gardens together, easily chatting and smiling... not to mention the ball held last winter solstice when you two entered the ball, side-by-side— it is not only me who me who wonders so, milady," you add when you notice her back straigthening and she returning the cup to the saucer, "The court is rife with suppositions, on the nature of your relationship with Lord Nanami."

A beat passes in tense silence in response to your expressed musings— before the hush is disrupted by a very grave-sounding query, from the lady across. "What do you look for in a future life partner, Petals?"

"Me?" you ask, index finger pointed at yourself.

The princess gives a nod. "Yes, you, Your Grace."

Your nose wrinkles at such ill-considered usage of such high-ranking titles— nevertheless, you find yourself brushing those concerns away to mull over much more important matters...

A good while passes before you form a reply. Focus zeroing on a tiny coffee stain on your dress, you begin.

"Someone who is calm and collected, stoic and serious. He should be strong too, not just in brawn but in brain and matters of heart as well. He must be strict and disciplined, but must have a gentle, caring side to him too. Won't hurt if he's a traditional romantic, giving me flowers and sweet compliments instead of the terrible comments men say to the ladies these days. And..."

You trail off, losing yourself in your mind, before resuming, in a muted murmur this time, "It might be really nice if he lets me be of those few who can call him by his name– and he becomes comfortable enough, to call me by my name. And accompany me on walks in the garden in the afternoons. And perhaps, even, ask me to the balls where we may wear matching outfits, and present ourselves as a couple before all."

A hand comes to rest over your folded ones. You look up to find a bit too wide smile resting on the princess' lips. She offers your hands an easing squeeze.

Little does she know it does little to ease your turbulent emotions— a feeling which worsens with the observations she voices to you next.

"I was terrified your beautiful mind was tainted by the disease of idle inquisitiveness, as happens to most in this world with age, you know," she hums, standing up and making you sit in her chair, "I'm very glad to conclude, that's not quite the case. However– I cannot say your so lovely mind is disease-free either, my sweet Petals."

Your brows gather together in confusion as you peer at her, eyes in a narrow stare. She continues– smile growing a touch of tenderness.

"Your mind has been afflicted with the awful ailment of lovesickness. And–" she says, putting greater emphasis on her syllables, when you attempt to protest her statement, "it is usually incurable, unless very great feats of bravery are performed by the patient themselves, or in the off-chance, the fates decide to be helpful and the person behind the mess makes the first move— but I must say, Your Grace, you are very lucky to have me as your consulting physician— for I know what will provide you interim relief until either of them happens— want to know what it is?"

You take a moment to consider before returning a slow, unsure nod.

The princess beams. "It's the knowledge of the fact, there's someone who matches every criteria you mentioned, to a T— and that– he has his eyes reserved for none, except one beautiful lady-in-waiting, who stares at the training ground from the windows of the princess' room every single morning— looking as fresh and vibrant as the nickname, the princess insists on calling her."

Your friend pauses for a beat— not that you really notice it over the thrum of your blood in your ears and your heart in your chest— she inquires, "You understood the prescription, didn't you, Petals?"

A high-pitched squeal– so unseemly, so embarrassed, so jubilant– is the only response you manage, retreating into the cushion, hiding the warmth of your face and the stretch of your smile behind your palms.

▸ masterlist

[spacebarbarianweird]

request for draconic sorcerer! tav x astarion headcanons!!! draconic sorcerers are so fun bc you can mess around with the idea of draconic instincts while also getting cool magic B)

Damn, I even didn't know such things existed! Now I want to play as Draconic Soreceress, too!

Draconic bloodline sorcerers are those practitioners of the arcane arts who have some biological connection with dragons, either through their own relations or those of their forebears.

Wiki

Astarion x Draconic Sorcerer!Tav

Masterlist

Headcanons

There is fire in your veins and scales along your body.

With a draconic bloodline, there is a skill to speak the Dragon language and to cast fireballs.

Dragon blood calls out to you and you suffer from nightmares.

Of course, you know you can't be turned into a dragon - but your body can be changed beyond recognition if the magic takes upon you.

The tadpole is a blessing - the scales are gone and you don't feel the fire.

Of course, you also can't use your magic. Everybody assumes you are a ranger, whose favored enemy is a dragon.

Astarion doesn't believe you - he tastes dragon fire in your blood and demands you tell the truth.

But he isn't afraid. He loves this "spice" in you.

Besides, once he feeds on you, he can cast much deadlier fireballs than he usually does.

He has his reasons to ascend - you have your reasons to keep the tadpole.

The dragon's ancestry scares you, You know it waits and who knows what will happen once the tadpole is gone.

In your nightmares, you transform into a beast. In your nightmares, you yell in pain and terror.

And only Astarion's cold hands can soothe you.

Astarion assures you there is a way to control your powers and, for a brief moment, you believe him.

Astarion refuses to ascend and you refuse to engage with Mindflayers.

The tadpoles are gone.

Astarion cries in pain and disappears into the shadows.

But you...

Your worst nightmare comes to life.

The scales return on your cheeks and hands, red and soft.

The draconic wings burst out of your back, the nails transform into claws.

The pain is so unbearable you want to die.

Before anyone manages to help you, you rush to the dungeons.

Maybe Gale or Wyll would know what to do, but you can't think straight because of pain.

You hide in the Underdark, trying to get as far as possible from sentient beings.

You are going to be a monster, who lives in some dark cave, slowly losing her humanity and sanity.

"I suppose it's not the best days in our lives", you suddenly hear a familiar voice weeks later. "But next time, do me a favor and slow down."

You hide.

You can't let Astarion see you like that.

Let him remember you as you were. Besides, you haven't seen your reflection, you don't know how bad this is."

He doesn't insist. But he also doesn't leave. He makes a campfire and waits.

The loneliness finally is too much and you step from the shadows.

Astarion is very bad at hiding his emotions.

There is shock.

Fear.

Remorse.

But before you escape, he grabs your hand with his newfound vampiric strength.

Scales. Claws. Sharp teeth.

"Well, no tail. Pity - it has always amused me how many things tieflings and dragonborns can do with them."

But most importantly - wings!

A pair of amazing, draconic wings growing off your back.

"Can you fly?" he asks, studying them like an artist.

"I-I don't know-"

"Well, we should find out then. Dragons aren't supposed to live in dungeons. Maybe they are, but not you."

You cry in his hands as he lulls you to sleep.

Once you return to the surface, Astarion finds a mirror for you, and while you stare at your body with disgust, he caresses your skin with his cold fingers, calling you a demi-goddess.

He sews your dresses to highlight your red scales.

He asks you to pierce his skin with your claws when you have sex because it's a pleasant pain like no other.

He adores your wings.

When you hug, they cover you both with a cape.

It's difficult for you to sleep on your back, so you develop a habit of lying on the Astarion's chest, covering you both with the wings.

Even years later, you still have body image issues - the draconic magic went nuts on you, and other sorcerers are just shocked to see what has become of you.

But Astarion has none of this. You are one of a kind. The most gorgeous woman he has ever met.

He also encourages you to learn how to fly - you can't do it for a long time but still can, and every time you are back, he looks at you with adoration.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion romance #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion headcanon #baldurs gate 3 #astarion headcanons #astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #tav x astarion #spacebarbarian headcanon #astarion x reader #dnd #baldurs gate astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion baldurs gate #astarion brainrot #astarion imagine #astarion x female reader #dnd sorcerer #draconic bloodline #draconic sorcerer

[phonydiaries]

a Dance in The Dark - P x Reader

It’s late when you reach the puppet’s quarters. Long shadows loom along the walls of the hotel and a draft rustles past you, pajama-clad and disheveled from a night of restlessness. You hadn’t bothered to switch your clothes, knowing your dear puppet wouldn’t pay it any mind. You had half expected to find P dormant at this hour, but instead he’s laid out on the floor with his legs kicked over the side of his bed. A book -which he seems thoroughly engrossed in- is held up above his head, its pages illuminated by the yellow-green light of Monad’s lamp, which casts a soft halo about the edges of his face. You rap your knuckles against the doorframe and his eyes jump to you, startled out of their careful concentration.

“Can’t sleep.” You sigh, gesturing down the hall with a tilt of your head. “Walk with me?”

With a twitch of a smile, Pinocchio tosses his book to the side and rolls haphazardly out of his place on the floor, clumsy with excitement. 

Knowing the hotel well enough, the two of you make your rounds of its many chambers in the dark, ever so often bumping elbows to each other’s ribs. Your barefoot steps cast dull echoes through the halls as you dip in and out of doorways, poke behind desks and rummage carelessly through shelves. In the deep blue foreignness of nighttime, you feel exploratory; curious like children let loose in an enormous garden just brimming with unrealized discoveries. 

Passing through the entrance hall, you seize the coveted opportunity to act a fool behind the front desk. “Hello, you’ve reached Hotel Krat.” You say, picking up the receiver of the hotel’s long-dead rotary phone. You’re sat on top of the desk now, your legs swinging over the side. Pinocchio glances up at you, his hands preoccupied diligently petting the hotel’s beloved orange tabby. You feign listening to the nonexistent voice on the other end of the phone. “Oh I’m sorry, Mr. Spring is busy at the moment. I’m afraid he’s in a very important meeting.” 

After thoroughly nosing about, you find yourselves settling in the piano room, you and Pino curiously flipping through pages and pages of sheet music. P’s interest is especially piqued by one booklet and he takes a seat at the piano, attempting to make sense of its pages. An admirable attempt is made as he plinks slowly and diligently away at the piece, tugging at your sleeve when he gets stuck. You barely know more than he does, and as you sit together at the bench your fingers tangle and trip over each other. The resulting notes are dissonant and clangy and you both fall into ripples of laughter at your duet's messy melody. 

The night wears on calmly, P fingering through a box of cobwebbed records, most of which are scratched beyond recognition. He retrieves one with some care and blows a layer of dust from the cover, his nose scrunching as it flutters across his face. 

You’re lying on the floor, limbs outstretched like a lazy snow angel as P futzes with the gramophone. There’s a few moments of anticipatory static before the record crackles to life; a somber piano score reverberates through the dim and intimate space. You close your eyes  as a woman’s wispy voice floats through the room, cool and calm. Something about the melody, the echo, the timbre of her voice makes your ribs fall heavy around your heart like a slowly but surely shrinking birdcage. 

Close your eyes,

Come to me,

Feel alright,

Just dance with me all through the night

“I can’t stand it.” You start, “It’s beautiful… but it makes me so sad.” 

You wonder if P is affected differently, maybe even more than you are by the emotional quality of the music. He certainly seems to have a fascination with it. “What about you?” You ask, your head turning to glance at the puppet. 

P’s eyes flicker towards the ceiling and his mouth twitches to the side in thoughtful consideration. He lifts a finger at you -hold on- while he rises from his place at the piano stool and arranges himself with precision beside the grand. He stands up tall, shoulders back, one arm held out just-so at hip level, the other outstretched as if resting on the shoulder of a ghost. You beam at the fine mimic work in front of you. 

“Really?” you ask, your brows knitting with intrigue. “Makes you want to dance, huh?” 

He nods enthusiastically and motions for you to join him. Your mouth hangs open for a moment. 

“Oh- no really I don’t know the first thing about it.” You stammer. Before your days at the hotel as Pinocchio’s companion, you had never known such affluent people and knew very little of high society or of their practices. Any formal knowledge of dance was utterly foreign to you. 

P assumes a swordsman’s stance and shrugs at you, nonchalant, as if combat training and dance were the most naturally drawn parallels in the world. 

“Sparring with you isn’t the same.” You say flatly, but P’s already made up his mind, and before you know it his hand is closing around yours and he’s tugging you up off the floor. You laugh nervously as you rise to your feet. “No, I’m serious! I don’t-” You begin to protest, but you catch a glimpse of his face, wide pleading eyes and creased brows. He smiles with all the calculated charm of a fox, handsome and cunning. You exhale deeply, steeling yourself before meeting his gaze. 

“Oh fine.” You relent, much to his chagrin. “Just watch your feet, I mean it.” 

P’s smile is annoyingly triumphant as he holds his hands palm-up out to you, seeking your guidance. Always so much concern for your comfort, you feel your cheeks warm just barely and hope the low light of the piano room masks it.

“Right. Um. Let’s see, you’ll put your hands…here.”  You say, taking his hands in yours and leading them to the crook between your waist and hips. He steals curious glances at you as you do. 

“And then I guess I’ll just…” You trail off, as your hands fold neatly together at the nape of his neck. You stand still for a moment, just looking at each other in the dark, the features of your faces obscured and foreign. This isn’t the way these things are normally done, you think, in pajamas, in the dark, but you can’t imagine it gets any better. If not for the undercurrent of music, you may have forgotten your purpose here entirely. P takes the first step, and you follow his lead with a dull anxiousness. Strangely enough, your movements feel still and mechanical compared to his. You try to loosen up, rolling your shoulders back, allowing yourself to be disarmed. P’s presence has a funny way of setting you at ease. 

The two of you move slowly in circles through the room, swaying gently like awkward young lovers. You draw into him as the music carries. Your cheek settles against his shoulder and his arms wrap around the small of your back and you breathe easy. It’s a lovely feeling, the way your bodies fit together like this, like they were made to. As you continue to step and sway, you close your eyes and listen to the gentle whirs and clicks of your companion’s heart…although… 

You maneuver slightly and press your ear to his chest. With some surprise you notice a skipping in its usual rhythm, bolder than you’ve ever heard it. You pull your head away and look up at P’s face in awe, a glinting smirk crossing your lips. 

“Pino, are you nervous?” You ask, cocking your head to the side. His face contorts and he opens his mouth as if to speak, but nothing comes of it. He actually looks flustered and you almost don’t believe it. “It’s just me.” You say simply. At this, Pinocchio’s face softens, his brows turning up as if he’d taken offense.

“Just you?” He asks, and the timbre of his voice surprises you. You spend so much time together, and yet hardly do you hear him speak. Your smile fades slowly, replaced with an expression of curiosity. You nod hesitantly and hum in reply. P shakes his head at you, deliberate and slow. 

“Not just.” He murmurs, his gaze holding yours intently. “Never just you.” You realize you’re holding your breath. A ghost of a whisper slips past your lips. 

“Oh.”

Your fingers itch for something you can’t quite name and you find yourself pulling the puppet closer. His head dips to meet you and you feel a stray lock of his hair brush your cheek. His breath is warm.

The song ends. 

The needle of the gramophone lifts and the air is stretched thin with a cutting silence. You’re left in the dark together again, frozen in place. It feels terribly long, like you’re both waiting for something.  

“The music’s stopped.” You say, shattering the stillness of the moment, and as P moves to retrieve the record you immediately wish you hadn't. Your hand extends to stop him, fingers closing around his wrist. “But- we don’t have to, you know.” 

In the dark, you think you see him smile. He holds you like glass, delicate, and picks up again, moving leisurely to the music playing only in his head. He hums the tune softly and you follow suit, the two of you meeting in a duet of somber sounds. You wonder if your chests swell the same, if your breaths and heartbeats synchronize, following each other blindly the way you do now. The motion feels like crashing waves, steady and rhythmic, comfortingly repetitive. You fall into the flow of it all over again, leaning against P, sturdy and secure. You wouldn’t mind doing this all night.

Feels alright, indeed. 

#shalalalala KISS THE FUCKING. BOY. #P talks more than usual meaning a total of 7 words #piano and gramophone are not in the same room but I realized that too late so you're gonna have to be okay with that #lies of p #lop #lies of p fanfic #my writing #lies of p x reader #pinocchio x reader

[muzaktomyears]

George Harrison remained an enigma to many people, even those who were close to him. For a man who lectured passionately about karma and the meaning of existence, he seemed self-protective and closed off. Witty when called upon, there were also moments when he could be quite boorish. Perhaps it was because he was only twenty years old when the Beatles became a global sensation. That might not seem particularly young in today’s world of social media fame, but at the time, it was uncharted territory for the kind of adulation he was experiencing.

It was also difficult living in the shadow of Paul and John. In the beginning, they were openly dismissive of him. Paul said he always thought of George as a little brother. At first, John pretended not to know his name and sardonically referred to him as “that kid’’. Ironically, one of George’s compositions, Something, became the most covered song in the Beatles catalogue.

This interview was conducted at George Harrison’s palatial home, Friar Park, in Henley-on-Thames, on November 5, 1980. George was gracious but cool. He made a pot of tea in the drafty, vast kitchen of his 120-room estate, and spent two hours lecturing about Transcendental Meditation and the details of a limited edition of his autobiography, I Me Mine, which is certainly how he must have felt getting out on his own.

In 2000, George was diagnosed with oropharyngeal cancer. George died on November 29, 2001, in the company of his wife, Olivia; his son, Dhani; musician Ravi Shankar; and Hare Krishna devotees who chanted verses from the Bhagavad Gita. He was 58 years old and left nearly $100 million in his will. George told Olivia that he didn’t want to be remembered for being a Beatle, he wanted to be remembered for being a good gardener.

‘It was a transcendental experience that was beyond the mind’

On taking LSD

LSD was just such a violent, big experience. Before it I was totally ignorant, and afterward I knew I was totally ignorant and I was now on my way to having some sort of knowledge. I related it to the childhood experience of Catholicism and going to church on a Sunday and seeing all that phoney baloney. The moment I’d taken LSD, it just made me laugh because I understood it inside, just in a flash. I understood what the whole concept of God or religion was just by seeing it. I could see it in the grass in the trees.

It was an absolute truth; like a light going ching. I took three very powerful trips — big, very important — and then it left me a bit unsure because I had to try and figure something out. By that time I had gotten into Indian music and spent time in India, [and] there was so much about it that felt like home to me. Not the surface that you see — all this poverty and the flies and the shit everywhere — [it] went beyond all that. Smells in the atmosphere and the people’s attitude and the music, the food, the religion, everything about it … home.

‘I’d hear his voice wailing at five in the morning’

On the death of Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones

I liked Brian a lot, and later on, I realised it was probably because we were both Pisces. We both had similar natures. He was also similar in that he had a Keith and a Mick, whereas I had a John and a Paul. We both had that problem of two mighty egos to deal with in order just to try and survive. I was very susceptible to dope, and Brian [Jones] was even more susceptible. He’d come [to my house], and I’d just hear his voice wailing at like five in the morning: “George, Geeooorrgggeeee.” So I’d wake up, see what was going on, and I’d look out the window, and he’d be all white and just shattered walking around the garden — just looking for somewhere to be.

I would always meet him at that time of day and just try to calm him down. And I saw him a lot before he died in that sort of circumstance. The last time I saw him, I think, was when I’d been in hospital to have my tonsils out and he came to see me in hospital and the next week he was gone. He was like all of them who kicked the bucket — it was sad because there were too many pressures, really. Not just the pressure of being famous and having the press hounding you day and night and young fans hounding you day and night. Plus the drugs hounding you day and night.

‘F*** it — I could do better than that’

On his childhood inspiration, Cliff Richard

I remember being a kid of about twelve, dreaming of big motorboats and tropical islands and things which had nothing to do with Liverpool, which was dark and cold. I remember going to see Cliff Richard and thinking, f*** it — I could do better than that.

‘I think being Elvis was lonelier than being one of the Fab Four’

On fame — and Elvis Presley

We kept realising we were getting bigger and bigger until we all realised we couldn’t go anywhere —you couldn’t pick up a paper or turn on a radio or TV without seeing yourself. I mean, it became too much. We became trapped, and that’s why it had to end, is what I think … We were like monkeys in a cage. I think it was helped a bit by the fact that it was four of us, who shared the experience. I mean, there was more than four of us, there was Peter Brown and Brian Epstein, but there was only four of us who were actually the Fab Four — whereas Elvis had an entourage and maybe 15 guys, friends of his, but there was only one man having that experience of what it was like to be Elvis Presley. I think that was far lonelier than being one of the Fab Four because at least we could keep each other laughing or crying or whatever we did to each other. It was definitely an asset being in a group.

(source)

#george harrison #the beatles #brian jones

[peachdues]

Wreckage

(Sanemi x F!Reader)

A/N: written back at the start of the month.

CW: angst • all hurt, no comfort • reader death • violence/death/blood

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

It had lasted through the night, that bloody war.

The sky above them was gray and wet; rain had long since dampened the earth, mixing with the carnage strewn about the remnants of the crimson-soaked battlefield. Though daybreak had finally arrived just a few minutes prior, the muted sunlight still working to chase away the smoldering remains of the demons slain, Sanemi felt as though he’d been wading through the slaughter for hours. His legs ached and his lungs screamed at him to stop, to sit and wait for the Kakushi to arrive and render first aid, but he could not; he had to find her.

A horde of demons had sought to feast upon an entire village, one with known ties to the Corps. In a desperate attempt to avoid mass casualties, the Master had sent three Pillars rushing to the scene, though many lower-ranked skaters had already been lost.

It seemed the Hashira almost had the upper hand, until he’d arrived.

Muzan Kibutsuji’s right-hand monster had deigned to grace the battlefield with his presence, ominous and lethal. Even other demons had cowered the moment he’d unsheathed his hell-sword, some choosing to flee rather than be caught in the crossfire.

Sanemi had been cutting through demons one after another, when he’d caught sight of the Lunar Hashira launching a defensive attack on the Upper Moon, in a desperate attempt to shield a group of younger slayers from the beast’s attack. He’d desperately moved to help her, but before he could reach her, Sanemi had been forced to defend against an aerial strike, and in so doing, he’d lost sight of the Pillar.

Later on, Sanemi managed to briefly engage Upper Moon One, though at the cost of a deep wound to his thigh. The battle only ended once the sun began to bleed through the sky, forcing even Kibutsuji’s highest-ranking demon to retreat into the shadows to avoid daylight’s punishing reach.

And so, the demons had left the surviving slayers to wade through their wreckage.

Sanemi was half-dragging himself through the limbs and entrails of his comrades, his right leg rapidly growing numb from the oozing gash he’d sustained from Upper One, but he paid it little mind. He persisted in his trek, even as he sunk to his knees amidst the mud and blood, because he had to find her — even if it meant hauling himself across the field with his bare hands.

By some miracle, even his color-blinded eyes could recognize the back of her familiar-patterned haori, only a few feet to his left, half-lying a top another fallen swordsman.

Sanemi felt relief, coarse, and sweet, pulse through him as he dragged his bleeding and broken body faster towards her, her name on his lips. He realized, as he drew nearer, that she wasn’t moving, and he called for someone — anyone — nearby to come help the fallen Pillar, to get her quickly to Kocho or the Butterfly Mansion for treatment.

He could see the thick, dark stain that spread across her tattered haori, but that did not dampen the flutter of burgeoning optimism he felt. Because, while he was covered in blood as well, they’d made it — and he could chew her ass out for getting so injured once he helped her get all patched up.

A scarred hand stretched out to grip her shoulder and he turned the motionless Pillar towards him. Sanemi loosed a breath of relief at the sight of her open eyes, because that meant she was conscious.

“C’mere, baby,” he grunted, sitting up and hauling her partially into his lap, helping her to sit against him. “Where’d he get you? Your shoulder?”

Sanemi looked to where he cradled Y/N against him, hands on either side of the woman’s waist, and could see the blood beginning to stain his skin. “Damn, sweetheart, he got you good.” He pressed a kiss against her rain-cooled forehead, to comfort her. “We’ll get you help soon, baby. I’ve got you.”

Y/N said nothing, her head merely thudding against his chest, and he worried that her injuries had sent her into shock; after all, the Wind Pillar could not remember the last time a demon had even been able to draw her blood, let alone wound her. A tightness bloomed in his chest, and Sanemi cast his eyes around, frantically scanning the battleground for any sign of the familiar butterfly-patterned haori of the other Hashira who’d been dispatched with them.

Sanemi’s gaze finally landed on the young doctor, only a few yards from where they lay as she limped away from helping another slayer.

“Kocho! Here!” Sanemi yelled, voice hoarse after hours of yelling and fighting.

The Insect Pillar looked around, trying to see over the piles of corpses and parts as she scanned the carnage for her fellow Hashira. Violet eyes met his, and Sanemi felt the suffocating tightness in his chest ease as she advanced towards them.

“I can’t tell where she’s bleeding from,” the Wind Pillar explained as Kocho drew closer to the pair. “And I think she’s in shock.”

Kocho made it to Y/N’s feet but drew short with a sharp exhale, her eyes widening as she looked over the Pillar gathered in Sanemi’s arms.

“Kocho ,” Sanemi urged, the edge in his voice appearing finally to inspire movement in her as she came around and crouched down by Y/N’s side.

“Shinazugawa,” Kocho whispered, and Sanemi looked at his fellow comrade in confusion.

“Please, Kocho, she needs help,” he repeated, trying to lift her towards the doctor. “So help her.”

Wordlessly, the Insect Pillar’s pale, bloodied hand trembled as she reached out towards Y/N. She hesitated slightly in mid-air, before she brushed her fingers gently over the Pillar’s eyes, closing them.

Sanemi gaped at the pale, shaking woman. “What’re you-?”

But the wounded Insect Pillar only continued to stare at him, her eyes filled with an inscrutable sorrow that vexed him, as she shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

Sanemi’s own head began to shake on its own accord, parroting that of Kocho’s. “No, no, just — see,” he muttered, shifting Y/N in his lap again so that she lay across his thighs, her face turned towards him.

“Y/N,” the Wind Pillar said gruffly, “Y/N, you’ve gotta — you’ve gotta tell Kocho where it hurts.” Sanemi jostled the unmoving woman in his arms slightly, insistent. “Wake up, Y/N.”

The Lunar Pillar remained utterly still in his arms, and Sanemi felt his heart quicken.

He brought the hand he’d had supporting her lower back up against her face, lightly slapping her cheek in a desperate attempt to make the woman he loved open her eyes again.

“Y/N,” Sanemi growled, his vision becoming blurred not by the cold rain, but by tears as his heart began to accept what his brain could not. “Open your eyes, dammit.”

“Sanemi,” Kocho’s voice was soft, dangerously soft, as she brought a gentle hand to rest against his shoulder. “She’s gone, Sanemi.”

Sanemi did not look up — could not, as he pressed his forehead against the Lunar Pillar’s temple. His fingers trembled as they brushed back the blood and rain-soaked strands of Y/N’s hair from her face and caressed the cooled expanse of her cheek.

“Please,” he whispered, brushing his lips against hers, over and over. “Please, Y/N. Let Kocho fix you.”

Still, the Lunar Hashira did not move. He felt as though he were suddenly submerged under water, a dull ringing echoing in his ears, as Sanemi stared down at Y/N in horror. His breath came fast and hard through his mouth, and his vision was nearly obscured by the tears that fell hot and fast from his eyes, splattering onto Lunar Pillar’s frozen, ashen face.

Shinobu hung her head as Sanemi Shinazugawa slumped over the corpse of his deceased lover, cradling her head in his hands, forehead still pressed against hers, as he began to wail, broken and lost amidst that bloodied battlefield.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

😇

Also I made my own icon for the first time so that’s cool!

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #sanemi shinazugawa #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny sanemi #sanemi x reader #kny #demon slayer sanemi #sanemi x you #sanemi x y/n #sanemi shinaguzawa #shinazugawa sanemi #kimetsu no yaiba sanemi #my first time making an icon too!

[rookthorne]

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐀 𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

It was a routine job — if you discounted the suspicious lack of information and the endless NDAs you had to sign, and you were looking forward to having a high end client. Though, what walked through the door would test every last skill you had.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ❧ Bucky Barnes x Makeup Artist!F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ❧ 1k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ❧ Canon divergence, fluff, angst, Shy!Bucky

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 ❧ I didn't mean to make this as angsty as I did, but it happened. ❧ Thank you @sgt-seabass for the idea!

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ❧ Varúð by Sigur Rós

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ❧ @buckybarnesevents Into an Alternate Juneiverse 𝗖𝟰 — Makeup Artist AU —   Masterlist

𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

From the sheer amount of countless NDA’s you had to sign in order to stand in one of the backstage rooms for one of the largest press rooms you’ve ever seen in your life, you knew the client that was going to walk through the door any moment now, was… Well, they were a big name. 

But, what you weren’t expecting, was for the door to open and to reveal Captain Fucking America standing there in full dress – minus the cowl, looking stony and fiercely protective. Even less expected, was for the Winter Soldier to follow in tow, head bowed slightly and shoulders hunched as his eyes darted around under dark lashes – assessing the room for threats, or, more accurately, escape routes. 

This day just got very interesting. 

“Uh, hi,” you said uselessly. 

Steve looked at you, critically and appraisingly, before he relaxed slightly. “You’re–?”

“Yeah, Pepper said something about helping out today,” you cut in. The expression on Steve’s face pulled taut, as though he was considering something. “And I know to keep my mouth zipped, don’t worry,” you said, speaking more to the shadow standing behind Steve than Steve himself. “I’m cool about it, and I want to help.”

Steve nodded and stepped aside, revealing a spooked Winter Soldier – eyes widening and hands fidgeting. “Buck, this is–”

You held your hand up, and offered your name, a soft smile on your lips. “Do you want to stand or sit for this?”

He glanced between you and Steve, and nodded at the floor. “Stand,” Steve offered, glancing at the makeup chair with disdain. 

“Alright, that’s perfect–come stand over here for me.” You gestured to the middle of the floor. “I’ll get my stool and light set up, and we can start.” Working quickly, though telegraphing every movement, you moved the stepping stool and ring light into the centre of the room. “Oh, what do you want me to call you?”

“Bucky.” The voice was so quiet it was a miracle you had even picked it out amongst the background noises of journalists gathering just down the hall. “Just Bucky.”

“Okay, Bucky,” you said, reaching for your brush belt and pulling free your favourite set. “C’mon, let’s get started. Get you all prettied up for the camera–not that you need the help, you handsome devil.”

Steve snorted lightly, and Bucky’s lips pulled up in a flicker of a smile before he stepped over, standing right where you directed him. 

“I’m gonna start by concealing, and then we’ll move on,” you soothed, pulling free a palette and staring into his face to assess what was needed where – it was true, he was handsome, you wouldn’t deny it. But the flicker of worry in his eyes as he stared at the brushes gave you pause. “Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing, honey–I’ll tell you every step, okay?”

Bucky nodded once, and you saw Steve lean back against the wall from the corner of your eye. 

Muscle memory took over as you dabbed the makeup sponge, and got to work. You filled the silences with stories and funny tales of the workplace – many of which made a twitch of a smile appear on Bucky’s face, or a quiet laugh from Steve.

It wasn’t until you reached the point of covering Bucky’s temple did you become apprehensive. What information you had been allowed provided the bare minimum, but the leak – read: flood – of information by the Black Widow told you all of what you didn’t want to know. This would be hard for him, and you were determined to make it tolerable, at least. 

You pointed at his head, careful to keep your finger a considerable distance. “I’m going to start working there, honey, okay? I want you to breathe deep for me, and I know you won’t hurt me–Steve here’ll make sure of that, alright?”

“Absolutely,” Steve piped up, uncrossing his arms. “You’re good, Buck–I’m right here.”

“See?” You smiled, and Bucky watched you, his gaze flickering slightly in and out of focus – like he was fighting to not disassociate. “You’re fine. Just keep breathing, and look at me,” you continued, pointing at your eyes. “Do you see any intention to hurt you?”

Bucky shook his head slightly. “Exactly,” you whispered. “Just keep looking at me, and lemme work on prettying up this charming face.”

Muscles seized under your touch, but you proceeded slowly, careful to keep your touch light as you dabbed the sponge, and then brushed powder on his skin. You hummed lightly, keeping the tune happy, and you were pleased to find Bucky staring into your face just as you had said, his expression blank, but present. 

“You have pretty eyes, doll,” Bucky mumbled. 

The words made your heart flutter, and you winked at him. “Thank you, darling–yours are even prettier.” Bucky blushed a soft pink, and unbidden, your thumb brushed softly over a raised scar on his cheekbone. “And a good man–I know you’ve got this, honey.”

Silence passed as you worked, only broken by the rustling of fabric when you pulled out and replaced a brush or tool, and before long, Bucky stood in front of you with a small, shy smile on his lips. 

“There we go,” you praised, stepping down off the stool. “You’ll have the ladies falling at your feet now, thanks to my masterful work.”

The words seemed to hit something in his stoicity, and Bucky laughed – laughed, although quiet. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, honey,” you replied. Brushing your hands together, you stepped back, but Bucky followed you and reached for your hand. “What–?”

Bucky’s lips brushed your knuckles in a tender kiss. “Thank you,” he said again, staring imploringly at you, like he was saying something else.

Realisation dawned on you and ripped the happy feeling from your brain, only to replace it with nausea in the pit of your stomach – he was thanking you for treating him with respect. “It’s okay, I promise. You’re welcome.”

You watched Bucky walk away, head a little higher than what it was when he walked in, and you couldn’t help but realise that maybe – just maybe, a bit of your heart followed him out that door.

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑  ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #alternate juneiverse 2023 #rookthorne's works #BC

[cm-lily]

I read a fanfic once, I forgot which one. But in that fic, they have this idea where Gem and Grian's base has this... Foggy vibe to it. Like compare it to the cherry mountain that's all pink and petals and then you have these two bases which are straight up The Horrors™

I Just love that idea

So much I've been thinking, what if the whole Magic Mountain is surrounded by fog? A magic fog and mist that just always surround the area and got thicker as the sun set further. The area always seems cloudy. As if there is an eternal cloud forever covering the mountains. It's either raining, or storm, or cloudy. The only time it's clear is when Grian finally got his mending book, the pink snail arrive, and it switch to storm when Scar got the mending book. (He got struck by lightning a few time if he reaches that area)

Joel's base not only has lantern illuminating it, but souls as well. They didn't stay idle, but never went too far. Some of them even transform, Into tanuki or fox or wolves and even Koi fish and Axolotl. That fly in the air instead of water, obviously.

Sometimes there's things passing by on Impulse's build. Something tall and slender, with long limbs and sharp claws. They're not Enderman, Enderman don't crawl. Impulse said they're cool if you pretend they didn't exist and just let them... Lurks around.

Something is wrong with Mumbo's base. I want to call it decaying, but it's not. It's more like redstone veins appear around the blackened grass, the air smells like gunpowder and something acid. Or maybe copper.

Many hermits had reported seeing the sight of a statue angel that just appear on top of Skizz's unfinished Pyramid. It appear when they're looking at it, but then they look around and it's gone. The statue has never been in the same position everytime someone look at it.

Most people don't like going to Scar's base at night, not only because of how creepy it look like surrounded by those fog. Like the rest of them, something strange always happens. Like animals looking bigger and more beast-like the moment night arrive, ever seen a cow just grows multiple horns and it sounds like those horn are breaking out of it's skull? Or that one time, one time his horse stand up on two feet? Probably not. Scar said they're harmless. Except for the snail—he said. The snail isn't his. That's why they damaged his build and become a nuisance.

(There was once a time, a time where clouds whirled around his ore pillar, clouds that are made of limbs and hand and eyes and it just stretched and climb down from the pillar. It never reach the ground, fortunately.)

Grian never stopped fishing. Even if it rains or stormed outside. He's smelly and that's why snails like him and his horse don't. Totally not because Pluto saw him turn into giant mer-man with many eyes and tails and sharp tooth. Definitely not. Don't feel weird when you feel like you're being watched. Or because shadow-like silhouette wander around his wheat farm, or a silhouette of something massive that was illuminated everytime lightning strikes, looking down from the cherry mountain toward his and Gem's base and, occasionally, you felt like you found a body you recognize in the water—

And that's where Gem comes in! Gem is someone who stopped you before you decide to jump in the water and check who's that corpse is. And the one who shooed off the many eyes that lurk in the muddy river side of Grian's base. Grian hates her for that but there's nothing he can do. Gem, like Grian, is someone who can walk in the middle of the storm unharmed. Most of the time, she make sure that none of the hermits fell into the trick of her other neighbors.

just don't let that distract you from the fact one of her build is actually sentient and breathing and is always staring at you. Or the fact there's blood around the rocky shores if you squint into the dark river/soon-to-be-ocean. Or the fact that, just like the angler, the skull always felt like it's watching even if there's no actually eyes in it's socket. Gem is always present when you want to have a tour or just so happened to passed that area, but... If she's not there to guide you, would it even be worth it to be stabbed with a trident and got dragged into the water?

#cm think #hc s10 #the magic mountain #grian #geminitay #joel smallishbeans #mumbo jumbo #goodtimeswithscar #impulsesv #skizzleman #Let's add some Horrors to these silly minecrafter tehe #Yes I've been watching too much TMA/TMP and my yt shorts is filled with Doctor Who clip

[hobiebrownismygod]

Such a Lovely Face Hobie Brown/Spider-Punk x Fem!Reader

~1.5k words

Synopsis: After a bad day, you find yourself sitting on a rooftop to calm down, and end up encountering Hobie Brown. The two of you have a nice conversation.

TW: Mention of police brutality, explosions, slight implication of the reader having depression/being depressed

A/N: I tried something new with the lyrics being a part of the story, so if it doesn't really work I'm sorry 😭. I'm really trying to accustom myself to new writing styles cuz I'm still fairly new to fanfictions, so lmk if it doesn't make sense or could be better!

____________________________________________________________

On a dark desert highway Cool wind in my hair

You were sitting atop one of the many rooftops in Camden, London, quietly humming one of your favorite songs to yourself as you looked out into the distance. The cool breeze was refreshing compared to the stuffy atmosphere of your tiny apartment downstairs, and you decided you'd stay up here on the rooftop for as long as you could, until of course you were caught by the police for breaking the curfew. It had happened before.

My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim I had to stop for the night

You hugged your knees to your chest and rested your chin atop them, breathing in the night air softly, the moonlight shining onto your face as you looked up at the stars. But you could barely see them, the entire sky covered in a thick layer of fog, gases emitted from the thousands of horrific factories littering the streets of London, courtesy of the one and only President Osborne, a hopeless tyrant with nothing better to do than pollute.

There she stood in the doorway I heard the mission bell

"What're you lookin' at lassie?"

You swiveled your head around, heart beating out of your chest as you stumbled back, nearly falling off the rooftop, searching for where that voice had come from. "Hey, don't worry. I'm not a cop" A man appeared from the shadows with a wink, wearing a bright red and blue costume, completed with a leather jacket and skinny jeans on top. The one and only Spider-punk.

"Whatcha doin' up 'ere all my y'self at this time of nigh'?" He asked, plopping down next to you, mask lit up by the light coming from the night sky. "O-oh just hanging out" you stammered, a bit taken aback by his cool, playful nature. You weren't expecting to meet the vigilante at this time, and you definitely weren't expecting him to take a seat next to you.

And I was thinking to myself This could be heaven or this could be hell

"I heard you singing somethin'." He leaned in toward you slightly, head tilted sideways as he looked down at you. "What song was 't?" You fidgeted with your fingers, sitting in a criss-cross position and keeping your gaze on the distance in front of the two of you. "Hotel California" you said quietly, a smile appearing on your face as the lyrics crossed your mind. "Its a nice song". He nodded, looking out at the distance like you were. "Tha' it is."

Then she lit up a candle And she showed me the way

"You didn't answer m'question though" He said, looking back at you. "What're you doing up at this time of night all by y'self?"

"I was just thinking."

"Thinking 'bout what?"

"Everything."

There were voices down the corridor I thought I heard them say

He blinked. "You gonna keep acting like a priss or are ya gonna tell me?" You shot him a scowl. "There's just a lot going on in my life right now, okay? Besides, I'm sure you don't want to hear about it. There's probably plenty people out there that you need to save" you said somberly, biting the inside of your cheek as you looked away again.

"Look 'ere peng," He said, snapping his fingers at you. "I'm London's friendly neighborhood Spider-man. I'm not just here to save people. Whatever you 'ave to say, I'm here to listen too."

Welcome to the Hotel California

"Really? So I can ask you anything?"

"Anything."

A moment of silence followed, a moment you took to think about what your question should be. And then it hit you.

"Why do you do what you do?"

He looked a bit taken aback by this question, the white eyes of his mask widening slightly. "Jumping right into it, are we?" He asked with a soft chuckle, looking down over the rooftop. His fingers fidgeted, picking at a rip in his jeans as he thought up what his answer would be. He hadn't been expecting you to ask a question that would require such a complicated answer.

"You did say I could ask you anything..." Your voice was slightly cocky, enjoying how tongue-tied he seemed trying to give a response. The question may have seemed innocent, but you were genuinely curious.

Your life wasn't terrible. You came from a fairly well-off family, you attended a good college, you lived in a clean neighborhood in a nice apartment. But you were so sad all the time. There was no reason for it, it was just as if you didn't understand the point of anything you did. Like nothing mattered. Like you didn't matter.

How was this man supporting the weight of the world on his shoulders without voicing a single complaint? How could a person be so strong? Why was he so strong?

"I do this-this Spider-man gig-" He gestured as his suit, "-because if I don't, nobody else will."

He looked back over at you and noticed your head slightly tilted as if you were waiting for a longer response. "Thats it. Tha's my reason."

"Oh?"

He stammered for a moment, gears in his head turning as he tried to explain what he was trying to say. "Look, I'm the only Spider-man in this city, right? If I'm gone, what'll happen to the people I'm s'posed to protect?" He pointed out towards the distant lights of the inner city, "The people in the slums, the punks and protestors of London, I'm their voice." He sighed softly, looking up at the stars, the light making the eyes of his mask shine brightly, an almost ethereal glow emanating. "I have to do this. I have to fight for these people. I'm their only hope."

Such a lovely place Such a lovely face

"I see." You said quietly, a slight smile spreading across your face. He wasn't as perfect as he seemed. The poor guy seemed pretty stressed from the look of it. All that pressure..., "I was expecting you to say it was for the freedom. Or the fame." You added in a slightly teasing tone, nudging his shoulder gently to snap him out of his somber trance.

He jumped slightly at the touch before a grin returned to his face. "What fame? Half the city hates me and the other half think I'm a saint." He shook his head. "I'm neither."

"You're not a saint?"

"I'm not a hero."

You were a bit taken aback by this declaration. "What are you talking about? If anyone's a hero it's you." you said, raising an eyebrow at him. He chuckled softly, looking at you, the white of his mask boring into you. "Guess you're part of the second half then."

You rolled your eyes at him. "Mate, you're the sole reason London's not up in flames at this moment. That seems pretty heroic to me."

"I've been the reason for a lot of other things going up in flames, though" he countered teasingly, leaning in towards you slightly, that playful tone returning to his voice.

"Yeah but that's all Osborne's crap. Nobody's complaining about it."

Plenty of room at the Hotel California

"Hah. Damn right."

Another moment of silence followed, the quiet tension almost deafening. "Not as perfect as you seem, hmm pretty boy?"

"You think I'm pretty?" He gave you a sly wink. "You haven't even seen my face. But you're probably right about the perfect part." You smacked his arm playfully, laughing as you did so.

You hadn't expected your spirits to have been lifted so easily, but he just had that effect. A can-do attitude and a cocky tone could do wonders for a bad day. "So? Did your friendly neighborhood Spider-man save yet another boring night?" He asked smugly, tilting his head and putting his hands behind him to support him as he leaned back. "Honestly? Yeah. Thanks." You said, offering him as fist bump. He took it, gently bumping his suited fist against yours and making a pop noise with his mouth as he pulled it away.

Suddenly, you heard an explosion from the distance, probably the result of yet another instance of police brutality, Osborne's pigs being well-known for their trigger-happy fingers and exclusively deadly weaponry. There wasn't a day gone by where something didn't get blown up or a group of people wasn't killed. But that was just life in London. "I suppose that's my cue to leave" Spider-punk said, hopping up and stretching out his arms, cracking his neck to the side. "It was nice meeting you, Ms...?"

"Y/N"

"Y/N." he repeated, letting the name roll off his tongue. "Lovely name for a lovely face."

You shook your head at him. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" You asked, suppressing a laugh. "Yeah, yeah. I'll see you around, darling." And he was off.

Anytime of year You can find it here

"See you." you whispered as you watched him swing away, his guitar slung over his shoulder, just barely holding on. You smiled to yourself before you got up, ready to go back inside. You were feeling much better now.

You knew that next time you were feeling down, you'd be sure to call him over. After all, what's the point of having a friendly neighborhood Spider-man if you can't make use of him?

____________________________________________________________

Taglist: @s6onder @therealloopylupin2099 @spiderrinn @l0starl @daydreaming-en-pointe

#atsv #across the spiderverse #hobie brown #spiderman atsv #beyond the spiderverse #atsv hobie #spiderman #hobie x you #hobie x reader #hobie x y/n #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown headcanons #atsv brainrot #hobart brown #spider punk #across the spider verse #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x female reader #atsv x you #atsv x reader #atsv x y/n #atsv spider punk #spiderpunk x y/n #hobie my beloved #spiderpunk x you #spiderpunk x reader #spiderpunk #spider punk x fem!reader

[yanderecrazysie]

all your yan cheater tamaki fics r so good what.

if you hav time, could i request another?

Maybe another ending or something from the blind fic, it could be reader moving on and finding someone else and tamaki gets jealous and tries to bring back their marriage

something like that would be rlly nice 🫂

Of course, my precious anon! This is a bit short, but I had writer’s block and was just happy to get out of that block!

Title: Blind (Part 2)

Pairings: Tamaki Suoh x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, swearing

Summary: You’ve moved on, but Tamaki can’t.

Part 1: here

blind

/verb/

deprive (someone) of understanding, judgment, or perception:

Who is this?

Tamaki took his place in the first booth in the cafe. You liked this place- kind of a mom and pops hang-out that you always took a corner booth at. You would crack open your laptop on the wooden table, settle into the uncomfortable bench, and type away. You would order a drink. A hot one on cool, windy days, a cold one on hot, humid days. You would smile to yourself as you scrolled through websites he could not see. Put in earbuds and watch YouTube videos or anime.

But not today.

Today, you weren’t playing on your laptop alone. No, today there was no laptop in sight. There was a cold drink in front of you (the weather was warm) and a coffee. 

Probably because you weren’t alone.

The guy you were with isn’t as tall as Tamaki, but he has windswept hair and a smile that looks so genuinely happy and carefree. Your arm laid on the table, stretched out towards the male across from you. His hand drew patterns on the back of your hand affectionately as you two talked.

How did he miss this? When and where did you meet this man? Was he another student at Ouran High School? He didn’t recognize him but, then again, he didn’t really pay attention to anyone that didn’t come into music room 3.

He had felt sort of lost ever since disbanding the host club, but he couldn’t bring himself to flirt with other girls anymore. Even when he was faking his affection, he felt like throwing up all over their poofy yellow dresses. 

You were the only girl he had eyes for anymore.

Not that you cared.

Tamaki watched as you tapped your foot to the soft music playing throughout the cafe. He admired your pretty beaded sandals and then let his eyes stray to the ruffled yellow dress that covered your beautiful figure. No jeans or sneakers in sight.

You had dressed up for this guy.

Tamaki’s heart twisted in knots. It was hard to admire you with that bastard sitting across from you. Your breathtaking smile, your unwavering gaze… none of that was meant for the man huddled away at the table near the entrance, spying on an oblivious girl.

You and the male across from you scooted down the bench, swung your legs from under the table, and stood up. Tamaki held his breath, watching the two of you so closely that he forgot to blink. 

Please just be friends or school project partners… Please just be a relative… Please be platonic…

Tamaki’s heart sank lower with every step you took towards this mystery guy. Let it just be a hug…

But life was not on Tamaki’s side. In the moment that you leaned in to lock lips with the other man, he saw a sort of shadow himself kissing another woman. He wondered if your heart shattered into as many pieces as his did.

He felt numb as he stumbled from his chair to the door. “Tamaki?” No- I don’t want her to see me like this.

Tears stung his eyes as he looked back at you with blurry vision. He could barely make out your face, but he imagined you had a victorious smile on your face. Or maybe you didn’t- you were much nicer than he was, after all.

The worst part was he couldn’t even be mad. He didn’t have a right to be. Your parents had canceled the marriage contract.

The marriage contract… Tamaki’s eyes lit up. Your parents had canceled it out of anger, but they had accepted it because of his father’s offer. His father had lowballed, as he often did.

If he offered more… Well, just what price would make your parents get over their daughter’s opinion and see dollar signs?

You’d be upset, sure, and you’d have to give up your new boyfriend. Don’t worry.

I’ll be more than enough for you.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere one shot #one shot #yandere ouran high school host club #ouran high school host club