storiesbyshadow - Tumblr blog

storiesbyshadow · 2 days ago

Text

Pent Up

Fandom: Jurassic World: Rebirth

Pairing: Dr. Henry Loomis x Reader

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Tags: Slight Angst, Fluff, Smut, Caught Masturbating, Fingering, Cuddling, Kissing, Praise, Thigh Riding, Clit Play, Oral (Female Receiving), Multiple Orgasms, Choking, Sleepy Henry, He worships you.

Word Count: Around 1000

Written For: @sweetspicybingo

Squares/Prompts Filled: B5 - In A Tent for Sweet and Spicy Kink Bingo | Letter T - Thigh Riding for my Dr. Henry Loomis NSFW Alphabet Challenge

Dividers By: @/saradika-graphics

A/N: No one asked for this...I'm ovulating and this is purely self-indulgent. Enjoy my loves ❤️

The camp is quiet, the night air thick and warm around you. You’d been sure everyone was asleep, Zora’s tent zipped shut, Duncan’s snoring faint in the distance, and Henry’s lantern doused over an hour ago.

But your body won’t rest. Every time you close your eyes, you remember the way Henry’s hand had brushed yours earlier at the dig site, the way he’d stood behind you when pointing out a fossil, his breath warm against your neck. You try to push it from your mind, but it only seems to grow heavier, more insistent.

The blanket rustles softly as your fingers slip beneath it, grazing over your skin until they find the heat between your thighs. You whimper softly, pumping two fingers in and out of your soaked cunt, breathing shallow and quick as your body begins to respond.

You’re so lost in the rhythm you don’t hear the first soft creak of the tent pole. You don’t notice him until you feel it, that unmistakable weight of someone watching.

“Oh, princess…”

The words are a low ripple through the dark, rough, and careful all at once. You freeze, every muscle going still, your heart pounding against your ribs. When your eyes snap open, he’s standing in the small opening, one hand braced on the pole, his gaze fixed on you under the blanket.

Your breath catches. “Henry-”

He steps inside quietly, letting the flap fall closed behind him. The shadows cling to him, but his eyes… they’re molten in the faint glow of the moon through the canvas.

“I thought you were asleep,” you murmur, voice thin.

“I was,” he says, crouching beside you, “until I heard your sweet, needy gasps.” His voice is so soft, but there's an underlying possession in his words. “You didn’t call for me.”

You flush hot. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

One corner of his mouth lifts faintly, though his eyes stay dark. “If you need me like that, you wake me.”

His hand slides under the blanket, warm and steady, finding your wrist. “Move your hand,” he whispers. The tone is gentle, but it leaves no room for anything other than obedience.

You do, and in the next moment, his fingers replace yours, strong, sure, but achingly slow. He keeps his eyes on you, watching every flicker of your expression, every catch of your breath. “There’s my good girl,” he murmurs, his other hand rising to cup your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheekbone before sliding down to rest on the column of your throat.

He moves his fingers with unhurried precision, drawing lazy circles with his thumb that build a steady ache, his movements tuned to every little sound you make. Each time your hips twitch, his voice dips lower. “That’s it…let me feel you. You don’t have to hold anything back.”

Your nails curl into the blanket, the tension winding tighter. He leans in close, his breath warm on your ear as he gently tightens the hand wrapped around your throat. “I love watching you like this. So beautiful, so sweet for me…mine.”

When you finally come undone, it’s sharp and overwhelming, the wave pulling you under with a broken gasp of his name. He keeps moving through it, coaxing every last shiver from you until you sag back into the cot, spent and trembling.

His fingers slip away slowly, and he leans down, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Next time,” he says softly, “you don’t start without me.”

You wake to the sound of the jungle, the low hum of insects, the occasional rustle in the brush, the distant call of something you can’t name. The tent is dark but for the faintest wash of moonlight through the canvas.

Henry is warm beside you, his arm heavy around your waist, his chest pressed to your back. His breathing is slow and steady..

You should be asleep, too.

But there’s a restless heat between your thighs, the kind that makes your skin prickle and your breath catch. You’d gone to bed still feeling the echo of him from earlier, the memory of his fingers, the way his voice wrapped around you like a low, velvet tether, and it’s only grown worse in the hours since.

You try to ignore it, but it's impossible with him this close to you. You shift slightly, adjust the blanket, and squeeze your legs together. But it doesn’t help.

So, slowly, carefully, you slide your leg over his, draping yourself across the firm muscle of his thigh. He doesn’t stir. His arm stays snug around you, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

You rock forward just a little. The friction makes your breath stutter.

It’s so easy to imagine it’s intentional, that he’s holding you like this because he wants you here, wants you needy and pressed to him. You bite your lip and roll your hips again, the slow drag of your clit against the solid heat of his thigh sending sparks up your spine.

Your nightshirt rides higher with each movement. The soft cotton of your panties catches just right, making the pressure sharper. You’re breathing faster now, trying to keep quiet, swallowing down every sound that threatens to escape.

You’re certain he’s still asleep.

Until his arm tightens, just slightly, and his voice cuts through the dark, low and rough with sleep.

“Sweetheart…”

Your whole body goes still.

“I-I didn’t mean to wake you,” you whisper, heat flooding your face.

He exhales slowly, a deep, heavy sound. “I know you didn’t.” His voice is quiet, but the drowsy edge is fading fast. “But now you have my attention.”

He shifts behind you, his leg sliding forward just enough to slot firmly between yours, pressing up against you in a way that makes your stomach flip. His hand drifts down your hip, slow and possessive.

“Grinding against me while I’m asleep?” His voice has softened, but his words send a fresh rush of heat through you. “You trying to drive me crazy, baby?”

You hide your face in the pillow. “I just…needed-”

His hand cups your jaw, turning your face toward his. In the pale light, you can see the curve of his mouth, the weight of his gaze, awake now, sharp and full of intent.

“If you need me,” he murmurs, “you wake me. Always.”

He kisses you then, slow, deep, his tongue brushing yours, while his hand trails back down your side. His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down until they’re bunched at your knees.

“Open for me,” he whispers, and you do, letting your leg drape fully over his so his thigh is pressed flush to your bare skin.

The first roll of your hips against him is devastating, your clit catching on the muscle, the pressure perfect and unyielding. He watches you, his hand splayed low on your stomach, guiding the movement.

“That’s it…that’s my girl,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. “Let me feel you.”

Each grind becomes more desperate, your slick coating his skin, the friction sharp and intoxicating. You can’t keep the soft moans from slipping out now, not with him murmuring praise in that low, molten voice.

“God, you’re beautiful like this,” he says. “Using me…soaking me…those pretty noises...”

Your legs tighten around him as the heat builds, your rhythm faltering under the pull of release. His hand presses more firmly against your stomach, keeping you moving even as your body trembles.

“Don’t stop,” he urges softly. “Give it to me.”

When you cum, it’s with a broken gasp, your hips stuttering against him, thighs shaking. He holds you through it, his arm locking you close, murmuring low praise until you collapse against his chest, spent and trembling.

He kisses your hair, his voice a warm promise in the dark. “Next time, baby…don’t be shy about waking me. I’ll never be upset to take care of you.”

The first light of dawn slips through the thin canvas walls of the tent, bathing everything in a soft golden glow. Outside, the jungle stirs, birds calling softly, leaves rustling in a gentle breeze.

Inside, the air is cool, but your skin is warm where Henry’s body presses close behind you. His arm is still wrapped possessively around your waist.

Your eyes flutter open, the remnants of sleep fogging your vision, but the slow, teasing touch of his fingers trailing over your ribs beneath your nightshirt pulls you fully awake. Every brush of his skin against yours sends a shiver rippling through you, awakening a hungry ache deep inside.

Before you can even catch your breath, Henry’s lips find the delicate curve of your neck, pressing slow, wet kisses that ignite fire where they land. Your breath catches in a sharp gasp, your body arching involuntarily toward him.

You try to move, desperate to savor the fragile boundary between dreams and waking a moment longer, but Henry’s hand settles firmly on your hip, keeping you grounded and close.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice thick and rough with sleep and desire.

His fingers slip beneath the hem of your nightshirt, warm skin sliding over the smooth planes of your ribs, down along your side. You shiver at the contrast between the cool morning air and the heat of his touch, your pulse racing as his hand slides lower.

With slow, deliberate care, he tugs the waistband of your underwear down your thighs, exposing your bare skin to the cool air and his burning gaze.

His mouth follows his fingers’ path, tracing kisses down your shoulder, across your collarbone, lingering on the hollow just above your breast. His breath is hot and ragged against your skin, sending goosebumps racing across your body.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispers, voice low and commanding, yet tender beneath the promise.

His fingers find you, patient, exploring with skill and softness. The slow, deliberate strokes coax a delicious tremble from your hips, which instinctively tilt to meet his hand, desperate for more.

A soft moan escapes your lips as he slides two fingers deep, curling them just right, stroking that spot inside you with exquisite precision. His thumb brushes over your clit, teasing and pressing just enough to make your breath hitch.

His mouth descends, warm and wet, leaving a trail of fire as he kisses and sucks along the curve of your hipbone. Your fingers clutch his hair, pulling him closer, your hips rolling in time with his fingers, craving the intimate connection.

He moves with worshipful patience, tongue flicking and swirling over your bundle of nerves, while his fingers move faster.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, eyes dark, heavy with need and tenderness.

You meet his gaze, needy and trembling, and he smiles, a slow, knowing curve that melts your heart.

The heat inside you swells, building faster with each exquisite touch. You’re a trembling, desperate mess beneath him, his fingers and mouth working in perfect harmony to push you higher and higher.

When you finally shatter, a broken cry spilling from your lips, Henry holds you steady, lips trailing kisses over your flushed skin. You tremble in his arms, the aftershocks washing over you like waves, and he whispers against your ear, “I’ll take care of you whenever you need it, baby.”

Henry Tag List: @a-quick-request @swimmingnightcolor @sunalsolove @thorins-queen-of-erebor @demiromance @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen

15 notes · View notes

storiesbyshadow · 2 days ago

Text

WIP Wednesday

Thank you so much for the tag, @alrendriablaze ❤️ Your snippet was so good!! I'm gonna check out your stuff!

My little snippet is from the next chapter of Taming the Viscount of Nightshade Manor which also happens to be my Regency fic for Baldur's Gate 3. Read chapters one through seven here!

The grand ballroom seemed to hold its breath.

The echo of your “yes” still trembled in the air when Astarion’s lips found your knuckles once more, lingering with a softness that was almost defiant. He didn’t take his eyes from yours when he slipped the ring onto your finger, as though the only crown that mattered was the one made by your acceptance.

A ripple of whispers swept through the gathered nobility.

Your mother was the first to break the spell. Her gloved hand lifted to her lips, eyes shining with such fierce joy that her composure faltered. She had known, mothers always did, but seeing it here, under the Queen’s gaze, turned knowing into reality. Her chest rose with a quiet breath, one hand pressed over her heart as though she could steady it.

Your eldest brother stiffened, jaw set in the way it always was when something brushed too close to family honor. His gaze raked over Astarion with the sharp weight of an older sibling who would protect you even from the man you loved, but he said nothing, not yet. Your younger brother, however, grinned unabashedly, the expression equal parts mischief and triumph, as though he’d just won a bet he’d been quietly keeping.

Then came the Queen’s voice, cool, measured, but threaded with something sharper.

“So…it would seem Nightshade Manor's Viscount has finally chosen a Viscountess.”

Murmurs continued to flutter throughout the court, but the Queen’s eyes never left you. “You speak your heart freely before all of my court. Are you certain this is the path you wish to walk?”

You did not falter. “I am, Your Majesty.”

A slow smile curved the Queen’s lips, regal and knowing. “Then let it be recorded, before this company and before the Crown, that you are henceforth promised to Lord Astarion Ancunin.” Her gaze flicked to him. “See that you are worthy of the lady’s faith.”

Astarion’s smirk was a dangerous, beautiful thing. “I assure you, Your Majesty…there is no force in this world or the next that could keep me from being so.”

He turned to you then, offering his arm. The murmurs swelled into a roar of speculation and envy as he led you from the center of the court, a predator proud of his prize, and a woman unafraid of the jaws she had chosen to walk into.

To be continued...

No pressure tags: @kashii9652 @labyrinth-runner @roguishcat @linllewellyn @forpunishers @sunalsolove @thorins-queen-of-erebor @swimmingnightcolor @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @demiromance

Belated WIP Wednesday

Thank you so much @tavyliasin for the tag 😊💜

This WIP is from the second chapter I'm working on for A Season to Remember. (Regency AU Rolan x Tav/OC)

Snippet is under the Read More cut.

No pressure tags, only if you wish to share: @wasteful-sam @sweetlittlelamb @graysparrowao3 @dutifullylazybread @storiesbyshadow

She is completely unaware that in the distance across the lake leaning against a tree Rolan is watching her. He hasn't been able to stop thinking about her…about Gwendolyn since they met a few days ago. Her name sounds beautiful as she is beautiful. Though, that isn't what caught his attention about her, only an addition to it. It was more complex than simple beauty. This is ridiculous for me to waste so much time on her. She is so annoying...annoying.....and unusually different. She appears to be completely soft. Though, her tongue is sharp as thorns, harsh....and witty. He desperately wants to talk with her more, yet he is unsure what to say. He isn't even sure he wants her attention. He only knows he feels mysteriously drawn towards her and wants to be near her, at least for a moment again. Why am I feeling this way? It's ridiculous. Surely after a few moments of speaking I'm going to regret my decision.

She stands facing the gardens with an array of beautiful flowers in front of her. Her back is to the lake as she admires them. She feels a presence as if someone was suddenly standing behind her.

Rolan shifts behind her and she doesn't move. She might be ignoring me. He coughs and says, “Good day, Ms Gwendolyn.”

She turns around to see him standing a short couple of paces in front of her. She blinks a few times as she was not expecting to see him again.

He tries to smile but it comes out strained.

She curtseys and lowers her head, “Good day, my Lord.”

He coughs again and says firmly, “Rolan…my name is Rolan.”

She says, “You might be able to afford to be as personal as using my name. However, I'm not afforded such luxuries.” She pauses for a moment and glances down at the flowers. Her hand automatically goes to the pendant on her necklace and she rubs it between her finger and thumb. She finally says softly, “Some of us have to be more careful.”

She is being irrational. He says, “I'm sure if you say my name with Mr. in front of it, no one would discredit you or think you are anything except respectable.”

Her eyes move to meet his eyes and asks, “I'm not sure why you are not being more formal? Being a wizard, I would think it was in your blood.”

He asks as he gestures his hand towards her, “Is it not your name? Did you not give me your name? Did you not wish me to use your name? It would be a shame such a word be lost in formality.”

Her cheeks grow red and she unexpectedly smiles softly. She says, “I did give my name.” As words escape her, she decides to change the topic of discussion and says as she tilts her head, “I'm surprised you are here considering your distaste for all this society.”

He sighs. “As I have stated, my station requires me to be here. To at least attempt to look as if I'm seeking a courtship.”

She says, “Yes, at balls but surely not here.” She thinks for a moment and continues, “I see. You are using me as a distraction, a ploy. Considering most find me a bit hostile, I see why you are seeking me out. Attempt to look as if you are interested in me and can reasonably say I was too obstinate for you. I see your game.”

His glowing eyes widen as he realizes she thinks he is using her. He asks harshly, “You truly think of me as one to use another, to use you?”

She glances back at the flowers and says nonchalantly as she rubs her necklace with her fingers again, “I would not blame you, My Lord.”

He sputters, “I wouldn't…that…absurd.” Then his eyes fix on the pendant around her neck as she releases it again.

He leans closer trying to determine the flower that is set in the pendent but realizes he is directly staring at her bosom. His face grows hot and his golden eyes directly shoot up to meet her hazel eyes watching him. He swallows hard trying not to think about her lush curves. His eyes widen and he blurts out, “Flowers.” He stops short as he has no thoughts coming to save him.

She notices his freckles deepen and his cheeks are a darker red. She notes how adorable his freckles look on him and smiles. She asks, “What about flowers?”

He tries to start again, “Flowers…they are…”

She grins and asks, “Oh dear, have you lost your words again?”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

I'm trying to write a peaceful promenade. They are not cooperating.😮‍💨

17 notes · View notes

storiesbyshadow · 2 days ago

Text

Completely in love with whatever these expressions are.....those big red eyes.....

#astarion #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate #pale elf

286 notes · View notes

storiesbyshadow · 2 days ago

Text

Jonathan Bailey for VMAN Magazine, 2024.🔥❤️‍🔥🖤😍🥵🫠😮‍💨🤤💀

#jonathan bailey #jonny bailey

26 notes · View notes

storiesbyshadow · 2 days ago

Text

🥹🥹 Thank you so much, @luna-in-disguise ❤️ Your kind words mean the world to me.

Learning Every Part Of You

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Pairing: Astarion x Neurodivergent!Reader

Rating: Mature

Tags: Angst, Eventual Fluff, Reader is autistic, Hyperfocus, Astarion doesn't understand at first, but he wants to learn, Kissing, Gifts, Reader gets emotional

Word Count: Around 1000

Dividers By: @/saradika-graphics

Astarion GIF Credit: @/cartethyia-fisalia

Requested By: @kashii9652 from this ask.

A/N: Though I am AuDHD myself, this is the first time I have written the reader as such. I hope I did it justice. Thank you all for reading. ❤️

The fire crackled low in the camp that night, painting long shadows across the grass. You were sitting cross-legged by your bedroll, utterly absorbed in the book balanced in your lap. The worn leather cover creaked faintly when you turned a page, your eyes darting hungrily across the lines as if the words might disappear if you didn’t drink them fast enough.

Astarion had been speaking, about something witty, no doubt; he always had some clever remark tucked between his lips, but his voice trailed off when he realized you hadn’t looked up in quite a while.

At first, it was a flicker of irritation. He wasn’t used to being ignored. People usually hung on every word he said, desperate for his attention, desperate to please him. And here you were…reading. He’d been talking about the theatrics of a pompous noble in Baldur’s Gate, and you hadn’t even chuckled at his perfect delivery.

“You know, darling,” he said finally, the edge of impatience creeping into his voice, “most people find my stories quite riveting.”

You blinked, looking up, momentarily startled, like coming out of a dream and realizing the world was still moving. “Hm? Oh. Sorry, I...what did you say?”

He arched an elegant brow. “What did I say?” he repeated, voice dry. “Only the most brilliantly scathing commentary on House Vanthampur’s endless capacity for-”

He cut himself off, sighing in dramatic exasperation. “Never mind. Clearly, your book is a far greater conversationalist than I.”

And with that, he stood, turning away.

The rest of the night, you tried to read again, but the words wouldn’t stick. His retreat felt like a shadow hanging just over your shoulder, a subtle shift in the air that made your stomach knot.

The days passed with small ripples in your connection. He wasn’t cold, exactly, but there was something in the way he looked at you sometimes, like he was trying to figure out a puzzle he wasn’t sure he liked.

It was the fourth evening when he finally approached you again. You’d been stitching a piece of embroidery, so lost in the careful rhythm of thread through fabric that the fire burned down low before you noticed the quiet. Astarion was leaning against a tree, watching you.

The look in his eyes made your breath catch, not anger, but something searching.

“I’ve…been thinking,” he began, his tone softer than expected. “About you. About us.”

Your chest tightened. “If this is about me not paying attention-”

“It is,” he admitted, “but not in the way you think.”

You set your needle down, fingers twisting nervously in your lap. “I’m sorry, Astarion. Sometimes I just…focus so hard on something, and it’s like the rest of the world gets fuzzy. I’m not ignoring you. I’m just…in it. And I know it must be frustrating, and maybe it makes you feel like I don’t care-”

“Stop,” he said gently, crossing the space between you. He crouched until his face was level with yours. “You don’t need to apologize for being who you are.”

You blinked at him, unsure. “You’re not…upset?”

“At first? Yes. I didn’t understand. I thought it was disinterest. But I’ve realized something-” He hesitated, then smiled faintly, a rare unguarded softness in it.

“You give your attention like you give your affection, deeply, wholly, to the point of shutting the rest of the world out. Sometimes that world is me. Sometimes it’s a book or a piece of art. That doesn’t make it mean less when it is me.”

Tears stung your eyes. “I thought maybe I was…too much. Or not enough.”

“Oh, darling,” he murmured, brushing a knuckle along your cheek. “You are exactly enough. And I love watching you when you’re lost in something. The way your eyes light up…it’s beautiful.”

You let out a shaky laugh, relief flooding through you. “So you’re not going to get annoyed when I ignore you for a book?”

“Well,” he teased, lips curving into that familiar smirk, “I might pout a little. But I’ll get over it. Perhaps I’ll even make you read to me.”

And then his mouth was on yours, warm, lingering, full of that careful softness he only showed in private. His hands framed your face as if to anchor you there, in the present, with him.

When he finally pulled back, he pressed his forehead to yours. “Never doubt us again, my love.”

The next few days felt lighter, like some invisible weight had been lifted from your chest. Astarion still teased you about your “distracting little hobbies,” but there was no bite in it anymore. If anything, there was a spark of…curiosity?

You noticed it first when you were sitting by the campfire with your embroidery again, the flick of the needle soothing in its rhythm. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him approach, a wine goblet in hand.

“Tell me about it,” he said, gesturing to your work as he lowered himself beside you.

You blinked. “About…my stitching?”

“Yes, darling, the thing you’re clearly married to.” His smirk softened into something almost shy. “Humor me. What’s so captivating about stabbing fabric with a tiny spear?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s not stabbing, it’s…building. Every stitch is a piece of the picture, and if you place them just right, the whole thing comes alive.”

“Mm.” He leaned in, eyes scanning the neat little rows of thread. “And this? This is supposed to be a…bird?”

You snorted. “It’s a flower, Astarion.”

“Ah, yes. A flower. Of course. My mistake.” But there was no mockery in his voice, just that same searching interest. “Show me how.”

“What?”

“Show me,” he repeated, plucking the needle from your hand before you could protest. “If I’m going to lose you to this little obsession of yours, I might as well see what all the fuss is about.”

The sight of Astarion, eternally graceful, every movement deliberate, awkwardly trying to push a needle through fabric without tangling the thread was…something you’d never thought you’d witness.

His brow furrowed in concentration, and when the thread snagged, he muttered a string of very creative curses under his breath.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “You’re…not terrible.”

“Darling, I am absolutely terrible,” he said, but he was smiling, one of those rare, soft smiles that didn’t belong to anyone else but you. “But I can see why you like it. It’s…quiet. Focused. Almost meditative.”

That night, he stayed beside you until the flower was finished.

The pattern continued. When you were buried in your book, he didn’t try to pull you away, he’d sit close enough that your knees touched, sometimes asking you to read aloud.

When you were painting, he’d hover, offering the occasional dramatic suggestion “What if the sun were blood-red? So much more romantic.” just to hear you laugh.

One evening, when you were halfway through a complicated beaded bracelet, you realized he’d been silently handing you the beads in the correct order without you even asking.

“You don’t have to help,” you murmured.

“I know.” He kissed your temple without looking away from the beads. “But I like watching you work. And…I like being part of your world, even when it’s not about me.”

Your throat tightened, and you set the half-finished bracelet aside just to wrap your arms around him. He stilled for a moment, then melted into the embrace, pressing his lips to your hair.

“I hope you know,” he murmured, “I would watch you hyperfocus for the rest of eternity if it means I get to be the one you come back to when you finally look up.”

The moon hung low and silver above your camp, stars scattered like diamonds in the ink-black sky. You were curled up on the soft blanket inside his tent, sketchbook open on your knees, pencil tracing delicate lines that blurred the edges of the world around you.

Astarion watched from the tent entrance, leaning casually against the frame, his sharp eyes softened by the flickering lantern light. He saw how your brow furrowed slightly in concentration, how your lips parted just so as you lost yourself in the curves and shades of your drawing.

He knew you weren’t ignoring him, never that, but sometimes, in these moments, you drifted so far inside yourself that the world outside, even him, felt distant.

Quiet as a shadow, he moved forward and settled beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed. His fingers found yours gently, warm and certain.

You didn’t startle. You didn’t pull away.

Instead, you let your pencil rest on the page and turned your head slightly, offering a tired, small smile.

“Hey,” he whispered, voice like silk and velvet. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and the quiet vulnerability there made his heart twist in a way he barely understood. “I’m sorry if I’m…distant sometimes.”

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand. “No apologies needed. But I thought maybe I could keep you company? Help you come back from your world, just a little.”

You nodded, leaning into him. The soft brush of his lips against your temple was a promise.

He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close without pressure, just the steady warmth of presence. Your head rested against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a grounding rhythm.

“Tell me what you’re drawing,” he murmured.

“Just…a garden,” you said quietly. “It’s peaceful there.”

“Then let me be your garden,” he whispered back, fingers weaving through your hair. “A place where you can always feel safe to come home.”

Slowly, gently, he kissed the crown of your head, and you sighed, a soft, contented sound, the kind that spoke of trust and belonging.

In that quiet, tender moment, neither words nor tasks mattered. Just you, him, and the gentle weaving of two souls learning how to love in all the quiet, beautiful ways.

Days later, the morning sun cast gold across the campsite as you packed away your art supplies, humming softly to yourself. Your hands moved with that familiar, careful rhythm, threading beads and sorting pencils, already halfway lost in the quiet joy of creation.

Astarion appeared, slipping quietly from the shadows with that signature sly grin tugging at his lips. But this time, there was something different in his eyes, something soft, expectant.

He held out a small, delicate box wrapped in dark velvet, tied with a ribbon the color of midnight.

“For you,” he said simply, voice low and earnest. “I’ve been…watching, learning, trying to understand this part of you better.”

Your fingers trembled slightly as you untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in black silk, was a finely crafted silver pendant shaped like a tiny, intricate paintbrush, its handle wrapped in delicate filigree, the bristles catching the light as if dipped in starlight.

You looked up, heart swelling. “Astarion…”

He knelt beside you, taking your hand gently. “You give so much of yourself in the things you love. I wanted you to have something to wear, a reminder that your passions, your focus, are part of the magic that makes you who you are.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you smiled through them, pulling him into a careful, warm hug.

“I love it. I love you.”

“And I love all of you,” he whispered against your hair. “Every quiet moment, every burst of creativity, every glance that pulls me deeper into your world.”

He reached for the clasp and fastened the pendant around your neck, the cool metal resting just above your heart.

From that day forward, whenever your thoughts began to drift into the realms of art and craft, you felt the gentle weight of his gift, a steady, shining anchor to the one who loved you exactly as you were.

Astarion Tag List: @labyrinth-runner @roguishcat @linllewellyn @fantasyheroine @forpunishers

#shadow reblogs things #shadow writes things #luna-in-disguise #astarion x reader #astarion #astarion ancunin #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3

86 notes · View notes

storiesbyshadow · 2 days ago

Text

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #bg3 astarion

128 notes · View notes

storiesbyshadow · 2 days ago

Text

Jonathan Bailey as Dr. Henry Loomis in Jurassic World Rebirth (2025)

Gifs 1/?

#jurassic world rebirth #jurassic world: rebirth #henry loomis #dr. henry loomis #dr henry loomis #dr loomis #dr. loomis #jonathan bailey #jonny bailey

97 notes · View notes

storiesbyshadow · 3 days ago

Note

Yay!! I'm so excited! And okie, I'll keep tagging you. 🥰

Hi!! Me again...so sorry to bother you. I know BG3 Regency Week is officially over, but I plan to continue my series, and was wondering if you still wanted to be tagged? If not it's totally fine. I wrote for all 7 days :)

Also, I hope this is an annual thing because this challenge was so much fun! ❤️ Thank you for hosting!

Missed this initially! Apologies 💕

But feel free to keep tagging me! I’m a big behind on keeping up with the prompt tag on here, so I really appreciate it.

And I plan to bring it back next year! I’m glad to hear that there’s interest for it

#shadow reblogs things #lady-sapphyre

5 notes · View notes

storiesbyshadow · 3 days ago

Note

Hi!! I requested the "Gentle and Devoted" and "Counting Sheep" stories, and I love them ❤️❤️ I don't think I'll ever get over Henry [Loomis]... Thank you!

Hi, sweetheart! You're so welcome! 😘

Thank you so much for those requests! I will also never get over Henry. I'm actually working on part 3 of the breeding kink mini series I wrote with him.

If you have any other requests, please send them in! I love getting them!

I adore you, bby ❤️

#shadow answers #amazing anons #anon ask #anonymous #anon #dr. henry loomis #henry loomis #dr henry loomis #dr loomis #jurassic world rebirth #jurassic world: rebirth #jonathan bailey #jonny bailey

6 notes · View notes

storiesbyshadow · 3 days ago

Note

PART 3 TO THE HENRY BREEDING FIC PLS??!!?!

Oh, bby...You already know I'm all for more feral Henry. He'd be so obsessed, he wouldn't be able to keep his hands to himself. You wouldn't be able to take this man anywhere. 😏

Part 3 of this series is in the works. I'll have it posted soon. I promise ❤️

In the meantime...have a sexy Jonny GIF 😘

#shadow answers #amazing anons #anon ask #anonymous #anon #henry loomis x reader #dr henry loomis x reader #dr. henry loomis #henry loomis #dr henry loomis #dr. loomis #dr loomis x you #dr loomis x reader #dr loomis #jurassic world rebirth #jurassic world: rebirth #jonathan bailey #jonny bailey

8 notes · View notes

storiesbyshadow · 3 days ago

Text

Thank you! I'm so glad you liked it, love ❤️

Learning Every Part Of You

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Pairing: Astarion x Neurodivergent!Reader

Rating: Mature

Tags: Angst, Eventual Fluff, Reader is autistic, Hyperfocus, Astarion doesn't understand at first, but he wants to learn, Kissing, Gifts, Reader gets emotional

Word Count: Around 1000

Dividers By: @/saradika-graphics

Astarion GIF Credit: @/cartethyia-fisalia

Requested By: @kashii9652 from this ask.

A/N: Though I am AuDHD myself, this is the first time I have written the reader as such. I hope I did it justice. Thank you all for reading. ❤️

“You know, darling,” he said finally, the edge of impatience creeping into his voice, “most people find my stories quite riveting.”

You blinked, looking up, momentarily startled, like coming out of a dream and realizing the world was still moving. “Hm? Oh. Sorry, I...what did you say?”

He arched an elegant brow. “What did I say?” he repeated, voice dry. “Only the most brilliantly scathing commentary on House Vanthampur’s endless capacity for-”

He cut himself off, sighing in dramatic exasperation. “Never mind. Clearly, your book is a far greater conversationalist than I.”

And with that, he stood, turning away.

The rest of the night, you tried to read again, but the words wouldn’t stick. His retreat felt like a shadow hanging just over your shoulder, a subtle shift in the air that made your stomach knot.

The look in his eyes made your breath catch, not anger, but something searching.

“I’ve…been thinking,” he began, his tone softer than expected. “About you. About us.”

Your chest tightened. “If this is about me not paying attention-”

“It is,” he admitted, “but not in the way you think.”

“Stop,” he said gently, crossing the space between you. He crouched until his face was level with yours. “You don’t need to apologize for being who you are.”

You blinked at him, unsure. “You’re not…upset?”

“At first? Yes. I didn’t understand. I thought it was disinterest. But I’ve realized something-” He hesitated, then smiled faintly, a rare unguarded softness in it.

Tears stung your eyes. “I thought maybe I was…too much. Or not enough.”

You let out a shaky laugh, relief flooding through you. “So you’re not going to get annoyed when I ignore you for a book?”

“Well,” he teased, lips curving into that familiar smirk, “I might pout a little. But I’ll get over it. Perhaps I’ll even make you read to me.”

And then his mouth was on yours, warm, lingering, full of that careful softness he only showed in private. His hands framed your face as if to anchor you there, in the present, with him.

When he finally pulled back, he pressed his forehead to yours. “Never doubt us again, my love.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, gesturing to your work as he lowered himself beside you.

You blinked. “About…my stitching?”

“Yes, darling, the thing you’re clearly married to.” His smirk softened into something almost shy. “Humor me. What’s so captivating about stabbing fabric with a tiny spear?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s not stabbing, it’s…building. Every stitch is a piece of the picture, and if you place them just right, the whole thing comes alive.”

“Mm.” He leaned in, eyes scanning the neat little rows of thread. “And this? This is supposed to be a…bird?”

You snorted. “It’s a flower, Astarion.”

“Ah, yes. A flower. Of course. My mistake.” But there was no mockery in his voice, just that same searching interest. “Show me how.”

“What?”

His brow furrowed in concentration, and when the thread snagged, he muttered a string of very creative curses under his breath.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “You’re…not terrible.”

That night, he stayed beside you until the flower was finished.

The pattern continued. When you were buried in your book, he didn’t try to pull you away, he’d sit close enough that your knees touched, sometimes asking you to read aloud.

When you were painting, he’d hover, offering the occasional dramatic suggestion “What if the sun were blood-red? So much more romantic.” just to hear you laugh.

One evening, when you were halfway through a complicated beaded bracelet, you realized he’d been silently handing you the beads in the correct order without you even asking.

“You don’t have to help,” you murmured.

“I know.” He kissed your temple without looking away from the beads. “But I like watching you work. And…I like being part of your world, even when it’s not about me.”

Your throat tightened, and you set the half-finished bracelet aside just to wrap your arms around him. He stilled for a moment, then melted into the embrace, pressing his lips to your hair.

“I hope you know,” he murmured, “I would watch you hyperfocus for the rest of eternity if it means I get to be the one you come back to when you finally look up.”

He knew you weren’t ignoring him, never that, but sometimes, in these moments, you drifted so far inside yourself that the world outside, even him, felt distant.

Quiet as a shadow, he moved forward and settled beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed. His fingers found yours gently, warm and certain.

You didn’t startle. You didn’t pull away.

Instead, you let your pencil rest on the page and turned your head slightly, offering a tired, small smile.

“Hey,” he whispered, voice like silk and velvet. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and the quiet vulnerability there made his heart twist in a way he barely understood. “I’m sorry if I’m…distant sometimes.”

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand. “No apologies needed. But I thought maybe I could keep you company? Help you come back from your world, just a little.”

You nodded, leaning into him. The soft brush of his lips against your temple was a promise.

He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close without pressure, just the steady warmth of presence. Your head rested against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a grounding rhythm.

“Tell me what you’re drawing,” he murmured.

“Just…a garden,” you said quietly. “It’s peaceful there.”

“Then let me be your garden,” he whispered back, fingers weaving through your hair. “A place where you can always feel safe to come home.”

Slowly, gently, he kissed the crown of your head, and you sighed, a soft, contented sound, the kind that spoke of trust and belonging.

In that quiet, tender moment, neither words nor tasks mattered. Just you, him, and the gentle weaving of two souls learning how to love in all the quiet, beautiful ways.

Astarion appeared, slipping quietly from the shadows with that signature sly grin tugging at his lips. But this time, there was something different in his eyes, something soft, expectant.

He held out a small, delicate box wrapped in dark velvet, tied with a ribbon the color of midnight.

“For you,” he said simply, voice low and earnest. “I’ve been…watching, learning, trying to understand this part of you better.”

You looked up, heart swelling. “Astarion…”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you smiled through them, pulling him into a careful, warm hug.

“I love it. I love you.”

“And I love all of you,” he whispered against your hair. “Every quiet moment, every burst of creativity, every glance that pulls me deeper into your world.”

He reached for the clasp and fastened the pendant around your neck, the cool metal resting just above your heart.

Astarion Tag List: @labyrinth-runner @roguishcat @linllewellyn @fantasyheroine @forpunishers

#shadow reblogs things #shadow writes things #kashii9652

86 notes · View notes

storiesbyshadow · 3 days ago

Text

Learning Every Part Of You

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Pairing: Astarion x Neurodivergent!Reader

Rating: Mature

Tags: Angst, Eventual Fluff, Reader is autistic, Hyperfocus, Astarion doesn't understand at first, but he wants to learn, Kissing, Gifts, Reader gets emotional

Word Count: Around 1000

Dividers By: @/saradika-graphics

Astarion GIF Credit: @/cartethyia-fisalia

Requested By: @kashii9652 from this ask.

A/N: Though I am AuDHD myself, this is the first time I have written the reader as such. I hope I did it justice. Thank you all for reading. ❤️

“You know, darling,” he said finally, the edge of impatience creeping into his voice, “most people find my stories quite riveting.”

You blinked, looking up, momentarily startled, like coming out of a dream and realizing the world was still moving. “Hm? Oh. Sorry, I...what did you say?”

He arched an elegant brow. “What did I say?” he repeated, voice dry. “Only the most brilliantly scathing commentary on House Vanthampur’s endless capacity for-”

He cut himself off, sighing in dramatic exasperation. “Never mind. Clearly, your book is a far greater conversationalist than I.”

And with that, he stood, turning away.

The rest of the night, you tried to read again, but the words wouldn’t stick. His retreat felt like a shadow hanging just over your shoulder, a subtle shift in the air that made your stomach knot.

The look in his eyes made your breath catch, not anger, but something searching.

“I’ve…been thinking,” he began, his tone softer than expected. “About you. About us.”

Your chest tightened. “If this is about me not paying attention-”

“It is,” he admitted, “but not in the way you think.”

“Stop,” he said gently, crossing the space between you. He crouched until his face was level with yours. “You don’t need to apologize for being who you are.”

You blinked at him, unsure. “You’re not…upset?”

“At first? Yes. I didn’t understand. I thought it was disinterest. But I’ve realized something-” He hesitated, then smiled faintly, a rare unguarded softness in it.

Tears stung your eyes. “I thought maybe I was…too much. Or not enough.”

You let out a shaky laugh, relief flooding through you. “So you’re not going to get annoyed when I ignore you for a book?”

“Well,” he teased, lips curving into that familiar smirk, “I might pout a little. But I’ll get over it. Perhaps I’ll even make you read to me.”

And then his mouth was on yours, warm, lingering, full of that careful softness he only showed in private. His hands framed your face as if to anchor you there, in the present, with him.

When he finally pulled back, he pressed his forehead to yours. “Never doubt us again, my love.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, gesturing to your work as he lowered himself beside you.

You blinked. “About…my stitching?”

“Yes, darling, the thing you’re clearly married to.” His smirk softened into something almost shy. “Humor me. What’s so captivating about stabbing fabric with a tiny spear?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s not stabbing, it’s…building. Every stitch is a piece of the picture, and if you place them just right, the whole thing comes alive.”

“Mm.” He leaned in, eyes scanning the neat little rows of thread. “And this? This is supposed to be a…bird?”

You snorted. “It’s a flower, Astarion.”

“Ah, yes. A flower. Of course. My mistake.” But there was no mockery in his voice, just that same searching interest. “Show me how.”

“What?”

His brow furrowed in concentration, and when the thread snagged, he muttered a string of very creative curses under his breath.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “You’re…not terrible.”

That night, he stayed beside you until the flower was finished.

The pattern continued. When you were buried in your book, he didn’t try to pull you away, he’d sit close enough that your knees touched, sometimes asking you to read aloud.

When you were painting, he’d hover, offering the occasional dramatic suggestion “What if the sun were blood-red? So much more romantic.” just to hear you laugh.

One evening, when you were halfway through a complicated beaded bracelet, you realized he’d been silently handing you the beads in the correct order without you even asking.

“You don’t have to help,” you murmured.

“I know.” He kissed your temple without looking away from the beads. “But I like watching you work. And…I like being part of your world, even when it’s not about me.”

Your throat tightened, and you set the half-finished bracelet aside just to wrap your arms around him. He stilled for a moment, then melted into the embrace, pressing his lips to your hair.

“I hope you know,” he murmured, “I would watch you hyperfocus for the rest of eternity if it means I get to be the one you come back to when you finally look up.”

He knew you weren’t ignoring him, never that, but sometimes, in these moments, you drifted so far inside yourself that the world outside, even him, felt distant.

Quiet as a shadow, he moved forward and settled beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed. His fingers found yours gently, warm and certain.

You didn’t startle. You didn’t pull away.

Instead, you let your pencil rest on the page and turned your head slightly, offering a tired, small smile.

“Hey,” he whispered, voice like silk and velvet. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and the quiet vulnerability there made his heart twist in a way he barely understood. “I’m sorry if I’m…distant sometimes.”

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand. “No apologies needed. But I thought maybe I could keep you company? Help you come back from your world, just a little.”

You nodded, leaning into him. The soft brush of his lips against your temple was a promise.

He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close without pressure, just the steady warmth of presence. Your head rested against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a grounding rhythm.

“Tell me what you’re drawing,” he murmured.

“Just…a garden,” you said quietly. “It’s peaceful there.”

“Then let me be your garden,” he whispered back, fingers weaving through your hair. “A place where you can always feel safe to come home.”

Slowly, gently, he kissed the crown of your head, and you sighed, a soft, contented sound, the kind that spoke of trust and belonging.

In that quiet, tender moment, neither words nor tasks mattered. Just you, him, and the gentle weaving of two souls learning how to love in all the quiet, beautiful ways.

Astarion appeared, slipping quietly from the shadows with that signature sly grin tugging at his lips. But this time, there was something different in his eyes, something soft, expectant.

He held out a small, delicate box wrapped in dark velvet, tied with a ribbon the color of midnight.

“For you,” he said simply, voice low and earnest. “I’ve been…watching, learning, trying to understand this part of you better.”

You looked up, heart swelling. “Astarion…”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you smiled through them, pulling him into a careful, warm hug.

“I love it. I love you.”

“And I love all of you,” he whispered against your hair. “Every quiet moment, every burst of creativity, every glance that pulls me deeper into your world.”

He reached for the clasp and fastened the pendant around your neck, the cool metal resting just above your heart.

Astarion Tag List: @labyrinth-runner @roguishcat @linllewellyn @fantasyheroine @forpunishers

86 notes · View notes