#I just wanted to draw my beloved covered in blood

[artofalyksandr]

Redraw-tober week 3: fan art

Original: September 4, 2021

[toonagi]

customary artfight warmup drawings post

not as many this time but they've definitely gotten more elaborate. and also more dumb

i also did a couple for my beloved edgy middle school feral murdercat so tw for blood + gore under read more

she's so girlboss

[artyandink]

hyperthermia

Summary: Based on a request by @yinorathedragontamer. You needed a break from hunting, so you didn’t go on the latest one, but found you needed something to occupy your time. Just your luck that the Winchesters happened to return home when you were washing Baby, and you caught the eye of a certain someone.

A/N - Banners in use by @cafekitsune, first entry for Jensen-A-Thon!

TW: Set in S9 (so hot, scruffy Dean guys), and blatant checking out/fantasising

Want to request something? Drop a message in my ask box!

Want to join my Dean Winchester (or any other Jensen character) taglist? Go to my main master list and find the Forms link!

Dean and Sam ambled back into the bunker, duffel bags carried by their taut arms like they’d done a million times before, so what should be a bag of bricks was a feather. Dean swept his hand over his mouth while Sam’s went through his hair, both ready to crash from the wear and tear of the hunt.

“I swear, m’ready to goddamn pass out.” Dean chuckled, nails scratching over the scruff that had grown on his cheek. He’d been hit a few times - not enough to cause bruises and whatnot - hard enough to cause fatigue once the adrenaline of the fight was used and faded.

Sam could only grunt in agreement, trying to rub the effects of a long drive from Oregon out of his eyes, paired it’s the disgruntlement of having to listen to rock tracks in the car. “You and me both. But hey, we should at least visit-”

“Roger that.” Dean cut Sam off before he could finish, in search of you. You were always a sight for sore eyes after a hunt, no matter what you were dressed in or if you were covered in blood; he enjoyed the vision that you were. More than he cared to admit.

He checked your bedroom, but he only found an unusually neat bed and a clean room, which was a rare occurrence for you and had him thinking that you were kidnapped, which prompted him to take out his gun.

You never did up your bed.

He crept through the hall, hoping to the good God that his boots didn’t squeak, but then familiar humming of ‘Stairway to Heaven’ caught the attention of his ears, originating from the garage. Followed by his arrival there, where he spotted you. And it wasn’t only just the sight of you that had him standing up straight.

You, in nothing but a soaked through plaid shirt tucked into some tight denim shorts, the sleeves of the plaid rolled up to your elbows and drawing his attention to your pretty hands. Hair damp and falling just right and had him biting his lip and fighting off the urge to ruin your friendship entirely. Droplets of water running down your neck, that damn sexy curve of your slightly bent legs and trailing beneath the v-shaped neckline that the collar of your shirt made that he was starting to think was made on purpose to make him go insane.

The image was too damn sinful. And he was suddenly not so tired and ‘ready to goddamn pass out’, more like licking his lips and biting the bottom one as he folded his arms over his chest. Eyes trained on you. Yeah, not so tuckered out anymore and ready to catch the full nine.

His bed can go to hell, he wanted you pinned against the bonnet of his Baby, legs spread wide so he could fit in between and show you how much he appreciated the job well-goddamn-done. Did he mention you were washing Baby? Probably not, he was too distracted with the way your hips were swaying as you stepped to cover another part of his beloved Impala with soap suds that then trickled down your own body and made your attire that much more see through and you that much more delicious.

Holy Jesus of Nazareth, you were giving his self control a run for its money. And his self control was likely to lose the money and go bankrupt if he wasn’t distracted pronto.

Wait- but why was he objectifying you? You were doing him a solid by cleaning the other girl of his dreams, why the hell would he think about your legs like that? And your body clearly outlined by the wet, clingy material of your shirt that he was starting to feel jealous of because he wanted to be that close to you.

No. Bad Dean.

He licked his lips again, his hips shifting slightly as he fought a clearing of his throat in case it’d alert you of his presence. His mossy eyes trained so precisely on you, it’d probably let you know he was there anyway, heat radiating from his gaze.

He didn’t want to think about the curve of that pretty neck. Or the way it’d feel under his lips.

Neither did he want to think about those delicate hands - that he knew were tough as hell - holding the sponge that was lathering up his Baby. Or the way they’d feel working his - nope, too far.

Definitely not the way the shirt looked like it now had to be peeled off your skin to reveal the treasure underneath, because god-holy-damn he had managed to catch a glimpse of black lace underneath that plaid. He’d happily unwrap you like a frickin’ present and it wasn’t even Christmas for about six months.

“Damn, pretty girl.” He muttered, running a hand through his hair that was begging to let his feet walk over, grab your hip and pull you into him so he could lick up your neck to collect all the water droplets running down them. What he wouldn’t give to just pop the button on those shorts, get to his knees and work you until his tongue ached.

Right there. Right-frickin’-there. Against his Baby-

“Pretty girl? That’s what we’re calling her now?” Sam muttered into his ear with a snort, not loud enough for you to hear as you bent over Baby’s bonnet in just the right way to have Dean’s eyes sliding down to that gorgeous ass framed in those shorts that should damn well be illegal.

Dean was snapped partially out of his thoughts, left embarrassed and disgruntled and somewhat still ogling that God-blessed ass before he followed Sam through the halls, the latter of which was sporting a smug smirk. “H-Hey, I was just-”

Sam raised his hands in surrender with a small laugh, looking back to Dean knowingly. “Hey, if you wanna check out her ass, do it at your own risk.”

“I wasn’t checking out her…” Dean got an image of it again and smirked slightly, jerking his head to the side, “yeah, maybe I was, so what? Can you blame me? That thing’s-”

Sam held up a finger, shivering in borderline discomfort as his mind filled the blank. “I’m gonna TMI you before you say it.”

“I’m just sayin’, I’m a man. I have needs, where a female who’s a badass hunter and also happens to be gorgeous and also happens to live with us is concerned. And it’s worse when she’s handlin’ my Baby.” He gave Sam a sheepish grin, but the younger Winchester only shook his head in mock disapproval, grabbing the duffel with his pyjamas.

“I’m going to bed.”

“You do that.” Dean grabbed his own duffel, heading to his room which, to his luck, passed the garage and you working on the car. You managed to lock eyes with him, and you gave him a cheery wave. He returned it, and as you turned, his eyes slid down to the curve of your ass again, eyebrows pumping once as a smirk stretched his pouty lips.

“I’ll see you in my dreams, sweetheart.” He muttered before he disappeared off to his bedroom to live his fantasy.

Meanwhile, you dried your face and neck off with a chuckle, going back to your room to change into some get into some drier and more comfortable clothing with a smug smirk on your face.

You’d noticed Dean through Baby’s newly cleaned mirror that you could probably sing ‘Reflection’ from Mulan in. His eyes taking you in and licking his lips like you were the latest snack he wanted to devour. His hands itching to touch you, his mind going blank when you pushed out your ass on purpose in order to catch his attention.

That was just phase one of your multi-step plan to strip Dean Winchester of his self control where you were concerned.

“Mission accomplished.” You muttered under your breath with a giggle.

I’d really appreciate feedback, loves! Have a great day!

TAGLIST: @k-slla @hobby27

[chadleys]

›› pairing: astarion x reader

›› wordcount: 1.9k

›› genre: established relationship, smut, fluff.

›› rating: 18+, mdni

›› synopsis: got a request for pregnant tav and astarion taking place after the events of the game. this is that.

›› warnings: pregnant!reader, impreg, biting, mentions of blood drinking.

the grounds of the manse are still, quiet, as you examine yourself in the full-length mirror by the window. cloud cover has been rolling in all day; a storm is brewing. you wish it would just arrive already — you’ve always loved the rain. and any excuse to spend the afternoon in bed with your beloved while rainfall pounds at the windows is a good one to you.

you turn this way and that, examining the subtle swell of your belly. that’s not the only change you’ve noticed, of course; your hips and thighs are a shade larger, your breasts more plump, arms slightly too thick to fit into most of your tunics anymore.

at the moment a sheer, lacy negligee drapes from your shoulders, the bottom hem barely brushing the backs of your thighs.

just as you start to grimace and turn from the mirror, a knock at the door distracts you.

❝ is my love decent? ❞ astarion’s dulcet tones make your legs quake and a tenuous bout of gooseflesh prick your arms.

❝ as though you’d care either way, ❞ you purr. a moment ago, you were desperate to get away from the reflection in the mirror. now, you stand your ground, waiting for him to enter.

which he does, beautiful body sliding between door and frame as his crimson gaze finds you. he sighs, wistfully, and his bare feet make quiet shuffling noises along the hard wood floor as he approaches. ❝ what can i say other than that you’re right? you are utterly indecent and i have to be honest. i prefer you this way … ❞ those last words spoken right into your ear send a shiver down your spine, your lashes fluttering before flying open again.

this. this is why you so suddenly changed your mind about abandoning your post in front of the mirror. it’s been enchanted. ever since your return to baldur’s gate, both your and astarion’s fortunes have vastly improved. not only monetarily, though it’s certainly been fun to watch your coffers steadily rise and eventually overflow. but also your general quality of life; not only do you have a special midwife who’s been helping to check on the babe from time to time, making the periodic blood meals it requires more palatable for you, but every mirror in the house has been magicked to be able to show a vampire’s reflection.

❝ admiring yourself? ❞ astarion’s voice is unbearably low and intoxicating in your ear. you nearly fall into his arms, as one wraps itself around your waist, hand cupping your belly. ❝ … i know i am. ❞

your hands come to brace themselves on astarion’s forearms, running back and forth, though you’re comforting yourself more than you are him. ❝ just the opposite, ❞ you all but spit. ❝ i don’t look like myself anymore. these changes, they … they disgust me. ❞

suddenly, you’re being whirled, losing your footing. but astarion is there, hands on your biceps, drawing you close and pressing his mouth fiercely to yours.

you melt, fingers clutching at the collar of his tunic, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

just when you think he’s sucked all the air from your lungs, he presses you back and allows you to breathe again.

❝ i don’t ever want to hear you talking about yourself like that again. and i do mean ever. ❞ gentle fingers swipe a lock of hair back from your forehead. ❝ you’re carrying my child; how could you possibly be disgusting? ❞

at a loss for words, you let him wheel you slowly back around to face the mirror. chin hooked over your shoulder, his scorching carmine gaze roves over you. slow hands part the lapels of your negligee, traipsing over all of your newest curves. ❝ look at this beautiful body ... ❞ his voice is low and hot, splashing molten waves over your entire body. ❝ and it's all mine. ❞

in one swift move, he sinks his teeth into your neck, making you moan and squirm against him. he doesn't drink from you anymore, not when you need all the energy you have to keep up with the life growing inside of you. but it's enough for him to continue to mark you, never letting your bites heal fully before he leaves more.

❝ astarion ... ❞ his name is a plea on your lips as you lean back into him, a solid pressure against your back.

❝ i can smell you, ❞ is his response, one hand traveling steadily downward, ❝ getting so wet for me. it happens more often now that you're pregnant, have you noticed? i certainly have. ❞

you want to tell him that it's not like the two of you weren't having sex every single night before. but now you're having sex every morning, too. and afternoon. and evening …

instead, you swallow thickly and swerve onto your other path of thinking. the path that focuses on the heat between your legs, thighs already sticking together as astarion slips a hand between them and cups your sex.

❝ please tell me you were wearing this — ❞ he plucks a piece of flimsy fabric from the negligee between his teeth. ❝ — for easy access? ❞

❝ of course. ❞ it hadn’t even crossed your mind.

astarion releases a shaky breath and steps away from you. you miss him immediately. ❝ get on the bed. ❞ normally he would throw you onto it, bthe two of you are taking every precaution for the baby.

climbing onto the soft bedspread of your giant four-poster bed, you allow astarion to come after you, crawling, hunting you as if you were his prey. the softest, sweetest prey he’d ever encounter.

legs spread, you welcome him between them, where his hardness presses — warm and insistent — against your wetness. but he still has his breeches on.

you hook a finger into the waist and tug, letting the fabric snap back against his alabaster skin. ❝ these, i think, need to come off. ❞

❝ why, i do believe you’re right. ❞ using his roguelike reflexes, the trousers are gone before you know it and his erection is jutting up, thick and hard, against his stomach. the sight is enough to make you salivate.

normally you’d put it in your mouth straight away, but pregnancy has made you overly sensitive to nausea and you really don’t want to chance ruining this lovely afternoon. so you pull him down by his tunic and kiss him again, your tongues slipping, dancing, enjoying themselves.

one of astarion’s hands has found itself down between your legs again, and he parts from you to whisper, ❝ you’re so wet … i think i could just … ❞

he trails off, and the head of his cock finds your entrance. gentle fingers splay your lips apart and he guides himself right into you, gliding easily along your slick walls. this is not the first time you’ve gotten wet so easily for him and certainly won’t be the last.

you pull your legs back, hooking your arms around your knees to hold yourself open for him. you’ve made this exact shape with your body many times before, and not always in a bed as comfortable as this one. but the extra weight you’ve put on makes holding the position a touch more difficult this time, and one of your legs slips from your grasp, knocking astarion hard in the side.

❝ gods, sorry! ❞ you reach for him, to make sure he’s okay, but the vampire catches your hand easily and pins it to the bedclothes, fingers twined with yours.

❝ never apologize to me, my love. you have no need to. you could ravish me, and still i would thank you. ❞

the thought makes your toes curl; being with astarion hasn’t always been easy, especially when you first met. but now … especially now that you’re pregnant, his desire to dote upon you has grown immeasurably. you want nothing more than to bask in the intensity of his gaze forevermore … and to give birth to his child, of course, but that is still months off.

❝ i still c-can’t believe, ❞ you stutter as he begins to thrust, ❝ you actually managed to get me pregnant. ❞

astarion covers your swollen belly with one of his perfect hands, and both of you watch your breasts sway as he fucks you. ❝ my dear, i was so full of your blood that night i’d be surprised if you don’t give birth to twins. ❞

the thought makes your head swim, your legs clench around his waist, drawing him in, wanting him so much deeper.

neither of you had strictly known that was how it worked; that the more blood a vampire had drunk, the more virile they’d become. not until conducting some research and investigation after you’d mysteriously missed your cycle that month.

needless to say, however, both of you were beyond thrilled.

❝ careful, ❞ you jest, with your legs still tight around him, urging him on. ❝ don’t want to poke the baby’s eye out. ❞

astarion chuckles, leaning down to lay a chiding bite to your chest, fully on display now that the opposites sides of your negligee had fallen completely open. ❝ i don’t claim to be an expert, but i don’t think that’s how it works, love. ❞

as if to prove his point, his hips start to piston in and out of you. harder, faster, astarion holds your gaze as he all but begins to plow you.

pregnancy has made you sensitive in ways you couldn’t believe were possible. the ridges of his fat cock dragging against your tight walls make the room go fuzzy, the bed canopy above you shifting and twinkling like a sky full of stars.

your hands are in his hair, tugging, drawing a hiss from him as he tosses his head back against your ministrations.

he growls, tight and low, that he wants to see you cum, wants to see you lose yourself for him. and you can’t help but obey.

your entire body seizes, toes curling in the sheets, and astarion fucks you through it with harsh, demanding thrusts. you’re so wet that his cock makes sticky sweet noises every time he enters you.

it takes him no time at all, after that, to finish for you. this time you pull your legs back as far as possible and tell him to cum as deep inside of you as he can, wishing to every god you believe in that he could get you pregnant again now, fuck another baby into you.

the one already inside of you is demanding enough, but you can’t help but marinate on astarion’s earlier words: what if you’re having twins? the thought fills you with inexplicable joy, heart pounding big and broad in your chest.

astarion sighs and slips to the side of you, sliding down to place his cheek against your belly. ❝ see? i don’t think he minds at all … ❞

❝ oh? and how do you know it’s a he? ❞ you can barely catch your breath to ask, fingers brushing hair back from astarion’s sweaty forehead.

❝ i don’t. but if you have a boy, you can be guaranteed i’ll be getting you pregnant again as fast as i can, so that he’ll have a sister to keep him in line. ❞

[mellowwillowy]

𝐆𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐠𝐞

Yan! God x GN Yan! Reader

Warnings: Gruesome talk, blood, NSFW, Sadist x Sadist, mention of conceiving (miracle talk, no hope though).

"You are the most beautiful songbird in this world, dear."

Just like the songbird you were, you could only chirp and sing like them in this golden cage. The man's golden eyes stared into yours in adoration, his finger poked your cheek playfully every now and then.

How could he not adore his songbird when it took at least millenniums for him to catch you? It was a nice play chase game but he was also a man of needs. He needed to have you in his embrace, in his gilded cage.

"What will you do this time? I won't let you kill yourself to escape anymore."

And he was a man of his word. He would not go back on his words no matter what it took. Even if it meant he had to travel between fragments for millenniums just to find you.

"Oh... my songbird... how beautiful you are with these cuffs on your ankles..."

As though he was petting a bird, his hands ran up and down on your leg, squeezing your thigh every now and then.

"Dressed in white, you really do resemble an angel..."

He held the fabric of your clothes, humming as a glass of wine appeared in his hand. It reminded him of how those lambs' wool was splattered in red as it met its own demise.

"But you see... I enjoy tainting angels... I'm not just some benevolent God like you were..." He spilled the wine onto your clothes, enjoying watching how the red wine seeped through the pristine white fabric.

"My songbird... my favorite lamb..."

He brought his face closer to yours, his lip pressed against yours.

"All good for me, right?"

And that was his warning before he bit on your lower lip, nibbling it as though it was candy. His target shifted into kissing you, his right hand on your waist while his left hand held you still. You thrashed under his hold, legs flailing like a fish.

"Be good."

He bit your tongue, that was his first warning. Unlike his other self, he was not one to have his patience tested. And you loved that. The kiss lasted for as long as you could go on without breathing, tongue exploring each other's. You knew you were growing needy, as much as you enjoyed playing as the target and victim of his adoration, you also fancied him in one of the rooms in your 'heart'.

Growing bored, he pulled off from the kiss and started littering your neck with kisses instead. Your hand went to cover your mouth, your tongue feeling the lip he kissed earlier. You really loved him. So much that you want to cut his tongue and have it as your dinner.

He started to grow greedy, leaving his marks here and there, hickeys and bite marks painted all over your neck and shoulders for people to see. It served as a warning for people who dared to approach after all.

For you were the God's most beloved companion and lover.

Not wanting to lose, you nibbled his ears while your hands clawed his back as though treating him as a scratchbox.

"You must have really wanted to paint my back red again huh?"

He let you do so as he took off his whole attire, only leaving him with his pants, his toned chest bare open for you to feel.

"Go on, I ought to spoil my lover every now and then no?"

You didn't waste your time, digging your nails into his flesh as deep as you could to draw even more blood. You loved seeing him bleeding, you had always enjoyed making people you fancy bleed in one way or another, feeling their blood tinged your arousal.

He did not hiss even for the slightest, used to any kind of pain. His hand traveled down to cup your clothed sex before tearing the fabric that clothed it apart, teasing it with his fingers before he worked his way into it. His other hand stimulated you, both working to make you dig your nails even deeper, it made his back painted in bloody trails.

Gods had no worry with earthly wounds and scars but you two enjoyed keeping each other's marks, relishing in the pain as it was created, unwilling to erase it from your own skin as the two of you let time heal themselves.

As though he wanted more, he brought his mouth to work as well, making your hands move to tug his hair instead. You did not even bother to minimize your moans and whines, thighs squeezing him, not allowing him to pull away even if he was suffocating in a sense.

You knew he would never suffocate after all. No matter how hard and long you choked him, he would never pass out and his erection would only grow larger as he waited for his turn to do so. You two were sick.

It didn't take long for you to reach your high, yet just before you could come, he pulled away from your grasp forcefully, a smirk plastered on his face as he wiped his mouth. A bastard at heart.

"Why don't you return the favor?" He brought your face to his clothed cock by your hair. Used to this, you pulled down his pants and started kissing his cock before pulling down his underwear as well.

Well, it was safe to say his cock bounced out and accidentally hit your face. He only chuckled at the sight of you groaning before pinching your cheek, "How adorable." No matter how sick the two of you were, you two were also souls with a bond. A bond where the two of you would never hesitate to slaughter anyone that got in the way. It was no secret that you had always been brimming with envy seeing him fooling around with his followers.

He didn't mind seeing you going on a rampage with his little followers, in fact, he enjoyed watching it from the sideline. Watching how much they had to suffer as it depended on how much they had spent their time with him. The worst was yet the best for him. You would then sing like a songbird as you clean your mess up, praising yourself for serving another meal for Leviathan to feast. (an: Leviathan - the demon of Envy) In fact, he found you playing around adorable despite the mess he had to clean up as well.

You wrapped his length with your mouth, drooling at the thought of it entering and ramming you in and out. It would feel so good that you were already excited, your excitement leaking out as proof of it.

"So good for me, no?"

You nodded as you shut your eyelids, head bobbing in and out as your hand worked its way as well. You knew the parts he was sensitive to and you wanted to feel him tugging your hair even harder. Your tongue licked one of his cock's veins, urging him to twitch inside you excitedly.

"You really... are, khk-!"

You smiled to yourself mentally, adoring the subtle groans he made and dying to listen to more of it. You really loved seeing his flustered face, and you'd die to see it again, his face red until it reached his shoulder, moans slipping out of his lip and his erratic pace to chase his high, You loved it all. Although you could actually feel your jaw growing sore from his size, you did not pull away. Well, it's not like you could pull away.

The only warning he gave you before he shot his load into your mouth was a little statement of him saying he was cumming. And he came a lot.

Do Gods from his world just have this monstrous size of strength, size, and loads? No wonder they all just have these unlimited amounts of offspring and children.

He pulled out once he finished inside your mouth, his sperm trickled out from the corner of your mouth and hit the floor. His fingers squeezed your round chick, prompting you to open your mouth. You opened it and showed him just how your inside was painted in white with his semen.

He bit his lip, his face and shoulder red from his previous makeout with you. You could just really cum just by looking at his worn-out face, clenching your thighs while thinking about what you should do to make him redder.

"Swallow."

And you did so. His order rang inside your head while you swallowed all the probabilities and chances of a miracle to happen inside your body, for you to conceive. But you threw it all away and drank it down like your favorite drink, wiping the corner of your lip with your thumb before pressing the thumb onto your tongue.

You pointed down to your sex again, the grin on your face gave him all the ideas you wanted. To fuck himself into you as deep as possible and paint your insides white with the idea of a sweet 'miracle' despite the two of you knowing such a thing would never happen. Such a miracle never existed. But what were you two but indulging in each other's wish and lust?

"I truly love you the most, Caelus!" You kissed him with your arms wrapped around his neck. Caelus reciprocated your gestures, his lip nibbling your earlobe as he positioned his cock into your entrance.

"Beats me, I love you too, my love."

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒌, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒚.

[scribbledghost]

Safe and Sound

Pairing: inhuman!polyvessels x reader

Rating: T

Word count: 1,290

Summary: You spend a quiet winter day curled up in bed with the four vessels.

Notes: We're getting a ton of snow where I am right now and I just really wanted something soft and cozy so I wrote it. Tons of fluff (gets slightly suggestive in the middle but doesn't go anywhere), many kisses, and probably lethal amounts of cheese. I regret nothing.

The world outside the manor is quiet, a thick blanket of snow covering everything in sight. The sun has long since risen, but life has yet to return to the landscape.

Meanwhile, inside the sprawling place you call home, warmth and a gentle silence permeate the atmosphere.

There are many fireplaces scattered around the structure, and the fact they always seem to be well-kept despite little effort on anyone's part makes you think it may be the house itself keeping the blazes stoked and roaring. Of course, it may also be through some as-yet-undiscussed power of one of your housemates, but you have yet to ask properly.

The four demi-humans you live with have different needs than you do, but they have taken great care to ensure yours are always met. You aren't even sure if they can feel heat or cold, and yet your home is always the perfect temperature for you. Today is no different.

Of course, having all five of you curled up together in one massive bed certainly helps keep you warm.

It's not at all unusual for multiple people to end up in one bed. All of you have a habit of stumbling out of your rooms and towards another when the night becomes too dark and quiet. In fact, it's more common for at least two or three people to be in one bed than it is for all of you to sleep separately.

The perks of having four partners all connected by varying degrees of telepathic communication, you suppose.

"Are you comfortable, my heart?"

Vessel's dulcet tone cuts through the quiet, barely intelligible over III's snoring and the crackling of the fireplace across the room.

You turn your head slightly to nudge your nose against his, pressing a kiss to his lips.

"Yes I am. Are you?"

Vessel only hums softly in response, his six eyes softening as he meets your gaze.

The rest of the vessels are still asleep around you. II is at your side opposite of Vessel, one arm slung over your middle while his face is buried in your neck, his even breaths fanning across your skin. IV is curled into Vessel's back, quiet grumbles emanating from him as he shifts. III, meanwhile, is sprawled across all of you, his head on your chest and his limbs stretched.

"All of my boys here in the same place, warm and safe," you muse. "I always feel better when we're all together."

Vessel hums softly again, one of his hands coming to rest atop III's to absentmindedly play with his hair.

"I understand," he says. "There is a certain sense of security knowing your loved ones are all present."

Suddenly, a particularly loud snort from III breaks the tranquility, and he jolts awake.

"You okay?" you ask. III shifts, turning his head to give you a lopsided, tired grin.

"Hiya, love," he says, voice thick with sleep. Your head tilts up, III's nose nudging it upward so he can nibble at the skin just below your chin. His extended canine teeth sting just slightly, but none of his movements are firm enough to draw blood.

You know this move. And you know where it leads.

"Mm, easy, love. Too tired for that," you say gently.

However, being firm is difficult when Vessel is also alternating between kissing your temple and nipping at your earlobe.

"Don't have to do anything, beloved," Vessel all but croons. "Just lie back and let the four of us do the work."

"I think II and IV might have a problem with that, seeing as they're still asleep," you murmur.

"They'll live," III says, his tongue now laving against your throat.

"I'm serious, quit it!" you whisper loudly with a laugh. "I'm comfortable!"

The pair cease their assault, a soft chuckle emanating from them both. Quick kisses are places on your cheek and lips, with III nuzzling his head against your chest once again. You're sure it's only a matter of time before he's asleep once more.

"You three are too loud."

This time, it's II's low voice rumbling against you. You know the faux-grumpiness is purely in jest, but you indulge him anyway.

"I'm sorry, my dear," you say, tilting your head to rest your cheek against him.

"Someone kiss me and I may consider forgiveness," he teases.

Your lips land on his first, but they're quickly followed by III's.

"Surely we've earned mercy now, hm?" you tease. "Two kisses for II?"

"Don't push it."

You and III both laugh softly as II squeezes you tighter, readjusting himself as he buries his face in your neck.

You turn to see Vessel looking at the three of you, pure softness and affection in his eyes. The sight of IV's arm slung across Vessel's waist draws your attention.

"I'm surprised he hasn't woken up yet," you muse.

Vessel gives you a look that you can't read before he reaches for IV's hand, gently bringing the latter man's knuckles to his lips.

However, it appears IV was not as asleep as you had thought. Before Vessel can react, IV uses the hand at Vessel's lips to grab him by the jaw and turn his head. One more quick shift, and IV has him in an almost bruising kiss.

It leads nowhere, and is more an admonishment for waking IV than anything else, but you still watch as IV leaves Vessel with a slightly dazed look when he pulls away.

Despite being rough with Vessel, IV is nothing but gentle with you, reaching for your hand to bring it to his lips.

"Sleep well, dove?" he asks, his voice deep with disuse.

"Sure did, thanks for askin'," III replies, his voice muffled against your shirt.

"Wasn't talkin' to you," IV deadpans, reaching over to tug at one of III's ears.

"Should've - ow! - should've been more specific then," III teases.

After a bit more lighthearted bickering between the vessels, the atmosphere returns to a soft silence. However, all attention shifts to you when you shiver slightly.

"Are you cold, my heart?" Vessel asks.

"Just a little," you admit. You're not quite sure how the chill has managed to find you beneath the furs that adorn the massive bed and the warmth of the vessels around you (or, in III's case, sprawled atop you), but it has.

III makes a move to get up and stoke the fire, but Vessel stops him with a gentle hand.

It's not terribly often that you witness Vessel communing with the manor itself - the action tends to drain him - but it's always a marvel when you do.

A soft blue glow encompasses his eyes as his arm reaches towards the fireplace. A low hum sounds in your mind, like distantly muffled words. You wonder if the others hear something more distinct.

You can tell Vessel is straining, a slight tremble visible in his hand. Thankfully, the connection isn't terribly drawn-out, and with a whooshing sound, the fireplace roars brighter.

Vessel's eyes return to normal, and his arm and body sag back onto the mattress.

"Didn't have to do that," III mutters. "I would've gotten up."

"I know," Vessel reassures him, giving him a soft smile.

You don't need a telepathic mental connection to tell that Vessel is ready for rest once again. Reaching for him, you manage to rearrange him so his head is tucked against your shoulder.

"Rest," you command softly. He doesn't argue, and neither do the others. II curls back into your side, III is already softly snoring against your chest, and IV's breaths even out as he holds your hand.

You drift back to dreams nestled amongst the vessels, the harsh world outside the manor unable to disturb the peace found within.

[zablife]

A Night Like Tonight

Summary: Tommy is spiraling out of control after Polly's death and dragging his gf with him.

Author's Note: Requested by the lovely @runnning-outof-time with the song "On a Night Like Tonight" as inspo. I apologize this came out much darker and angstier than you prob intended.

Warnings: nightmares, mention of drinking, drug use, codependent relationship, blood, suicidal ideation, suicide

The heavy gray clouds sank further in the sky over the fields like a vice tightening their ghostly grip. His boots mired in thick black mud, Tommy found himself trapped just beyond reach of Polly’s outstretched hands. Close enough to stare into her kohl rimmed eyes, he was closer than ever to crossing over to where she stood. Without sign of tremors, his hand raised the pistol to his temple, eyes closing to greet the waiting darkness. The screams reached his ears before the gunshots, a guttural echo which pulsed through his veins like a second heart beat.

Jerking awake to a blacked out room, Tommy found himself twisted in bed covers. His eyes adjusted slowly, but his brain raced to reconcile his whereabouts as he ran a hand through his sweat dampened hair. On a shaky breath, he attempted to pull himself up, trembling fingertips reaching for the cigarette case on his bedside table.

His uncoordinated efforts resulted in a smashed lamp causing him to flinch involuntarily. "Fuck!" he exclaimed sharply, the disturbance irritating his overtired brain. Taking a deep breath, he replaced the curses on his lips with a cigarette, fumbling with his lighter until it flickered to life.

A warm, orange glow illuminated her profile beside him, the concern etched on her face unmistakable. Sinking back into his pillow, he rubbed a thumb across his forehead, the smoke from his cigarette wafting between them like a curtain. "Why were you shouting?" he muttered. She didn’t have to see his eyes to know the turmoil and confusion they held.

"It was you, Tommy,” she noted in a hushed whisper. "You cried out," she explained, drawing her hand to her lips before she mentioned he was calling for his beloved aunt.

The slow, sizzling burn of the cigarette paper was the only sound in the room as she waited and observed. With each exhalation of smoke, Tommy's chest seemed to still a bit more. The vein at his neck too ceased to thrum wildly, the way she'd seen it so often in recent weeks as he wrestled with the visions that brought unimaginable guilt.

“There was nothing you could have done,” she offered in a soft voice, draping her slender hand across his chest protectively.

The silence persisted in the inky blackness and she realized he hadn’t heard a word of her reassurance, his eyes fixed upon the ceiling. Tossing the duvet aside, she swung a leg over his bare torso and leaned in to carefully pluck the cigarette from his lips. She extinguished it on the bedside table before returning to drape herself across his body. Hair falling over him like a blanket, she enveloped him in her warmth, allowing the scent of her perfume to comfort him. Running a hand down his cheek, she confessed “You’re scaring me these days, my love.”

She ducked her head into the safety of his neck, wanting to feel his arm caress her back and tell her everything was going to be fine. It wasn't a surprise when no such promises were made. He hadn't been himself for some time. "Come back," she mumbled against his rough stubble, placing a kiss in hopes he would feel her love reviving him. But his jaw remained clenched, her supple lips meeting bone that felt like cold steel beneath her touch.

——————————

Three weeks later...

It was late in the day when the phone trilled harshly in the parlor, disrupting her reading. When she answered Ada was on the line and she heaved a sigh of relief. "Ada, thank God. Do you have the name of the doctor I asked about for Tommy?"

"How dare you ask after what he's done?" Ada seethed, taking her by surprise.

"What's happened? Is it Arthur again or-"

"How can you be so blind? He's kept you captive in that house too long," she professed. She'd begun to weep, bitter tears seeping through the wires and causing static on the line.

"Ada, I don't know what this is all about, but I'm sure if you knew how bad it's got, you'd help. He's losing days at a time now."

"Make all the excuses you like, but I'll never forgive him," Ada vowed, the chill in her voice unmistakable.

"Please, what is this about?"

A shaky sigh echoed down her ear as Ada revealed, "An innocent boy was killed today," she paused for breath before she composed herself enough to continue, "along with with my fiancé."

The phone fell from her ear as she let out a strangled gasp, barely hearing the rest, "because Tommy couldn't keep to his own business. He had to interfere in something big enough to kill us all."

Retrieving the phone she implored, "Then you see how he needs you. He'll listen to you."

Ada hadn't visited Arrow House in months, but it was clear nothing had changed, in fact her brother sounded worse. "No," she stated firmly. "My brother can rot in Hell."

"Ada, please..." she protested, but the line had gone dead and a loud crash had her running to the office moments later.

An incoherent Tommy was surrounded by broken glass, his hands bleeding from the shards lodged in his palms. "Oh, Tommy," she cried, weaving a path to him amongst the pieces to avoid injuring herself.

She cradled his head to her chest as he lost consciousness, sweeping the fringe from his feverish forehead. She wept as she curled in around him, whispering softly, "What am I going to do now?"

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

The next morning she cleared the breakfast dishes without waiting for Frances and brought the full plates back to the kitchen.

"Is something wrong with the food?" the new chef asked apologetically.

She only shrugged by way of explanation.

"I can make something else," he offered, rushing to gather the delicate china from her arms.

"Don't bother. It's only black coffee and cigarettes for Mr. Shelby in the morning," she explained wearily.

"And for you?" he persisted. "If you don't care for eggs, I'll prepare-"

"M not hungry," she cut him off, before turning to Frances and asking for her to phone the doctor for another vial of morphine.

Frances took a step closer to the young woman, lowering her voice to a hushed whisper as she asked. "Are you sure Mr. Shelby requires this, ma'am? Isaiah brought a bottle yesterday."

"It's not for Mr. Shelby," she replied curtly.

Brow etched with concern, Frances began, "I don't think he would want-"

"You of all people should know that he doesn't notice or care," she shot back, emotion rising in her throat the more she attempted to choke it down. "Let me have a little peace, won't you?" she persisted, searching Frances' face with watery eyes. As silence hung between them she finally swiped at her cheeks angrily as she ordered, "Call the fucking doctor or I'll have you dismissed."

Frances stood mouth agape as she stormed off. Hearing a huff behind her back, she turned to see the kitchen maid, throwing the plates into the sink. "He's killing that girl," the maid spat.

Frances flinched at the sound of china shattering against the porcelain, but she couldn't deny the outrage they all felt. She was right about Tommy's influence over the young woman. A healthy, spirited girl of twenty had arrived two years ago. Now she was barely recognizable.

"We're not paid to pass judgment," Frances reminded the staff as she straightened her uniform.

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

Tommy gulped the last of his whisky harshly and opened the drawer to his right, rummaging through the contents until he found the small packet he'd stashed in the back. With a deep sigh, he opened it and stared at the contents. He wasn't sure why he'd saved it all this time, other than the promise it held. As he rolled it in his palm he thought of the speech he'd given Barney about a way free of pain and misery. Shoulders slouched forward, he closed his eyes to the odd sense of calm that washed over him now.

The large, glowing moon outside filtered through the thin curtains of Tommy's office, illuminating his slumped body. He'd hardly noticed the presence of another person, especially so late in the evening until she placed her small hand on his shoulder.

"You're awake," Tommy noted with surprise.

"I couldn't sleep without you," she replied, settling herself into his lap in an attempt to have a better view of what he held tightly in his palm.

Raking her fingernails against his scalp she asked, "What've you got?" A casual tone to her query in hopes he would confide in her.

However, the opposite happened when Tommy's paranoia took root. Pushing her from his knee with a harsh shove, he muttered, "This has nothing to do with you, alright?"

Tears welled along her lash line as she muttered, "Fuck off, Tommy. I never ask questions, do I?"

Tommy's body stiffened at her acerbic tone, a wounded look crossing his face as he attempted to explain. "I'm trying to keep you safe."

"Safe?" she scoffed. "What does that mean anymore?," she shrugged futilely.

Tommy held her shoulders firmly in his grasp, the intensity of his blue eyes ceasing her impatient movements. "It means I love you and I don't want you involved."

"You mean you don't want to let me in," she cried, beating on his chest with desperation.

At a loss for words, Tommy dropped his chin to his chest and she took the opportunity to grasp his hand. His nimble fingers momentarily betrayed him and the capsules fell into her palm.

"What are these?" she gasped.

Tommy's face flushed with the discovery, afraid to admit the truth. A harsh gulp followed as he ran a hand down his face, feeling the throb of his pulse within the recesses of his eye sockets. Finally the weak reply tumbled from his lips, "They're cyanide capsules." He grasped her wrist as he thought of words to reassure her.

She turned her head away from him as hot tears streamed down her cheeks. "My love isn't working anymore is it?" she whispered, voice breaking in desperation as she rejected his empty reassurance.

Frozen from the drugs, alcohol and indecision Tommy allowed her to capture his face in her hands. Searching his glazed eyes for something to grab hold to, she found herself floundering. The overwhelming need for him and her love crashing against her sternum in the form of a tenacious heart raging against rejection.

Finally he spoke breaking the unbearable silence, saying, "I never meant to hurt you. I'd understand on a night like tonight if you want to go..."

Her hand clenched involuntarily by her side, the capsules pressing into her skin. Gazing up at him she protested, “Tell me anything you like, except for goodbye. That's the only thing I couldn't bear." The dampness of her tears coated his cheek as she pressed a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth, lingering for a brief moment to savor the salty sweetness clinging to his lips.

Pulling back to gaze at him, a sad smile crossed her lips as she asked, "What do you reckon it's like high up there in heaven?" She brushed the hair from his forehead as she mused, "We might never know, but it was good way down here, wasn't it? At least for awhile...." Eyes glossy and searching for a morsel of hope, she waited for a response Tommy never offered.

Then in one swift movement she shoved the pills into her mouth, crushing the shell of the capsules with her teeth. Tommy's face registered a moment of horrified shock before he pulled her into him, pressing her to his body in a passionate kiss that took the poison from her to share it between them.

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

In the morning when Frances came to open the drapes, she found their bodies intwined in a lover's embrace. "Peace at last," she noted sorrowfully before withdrawing from the room.

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

Tag List:

@peakyswritings

@evita-shelby

@shelbydelrey

@alanadetigy  

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@callsign-fangirl

@notyour-valentine

@theshelbyclan

@red-riding-wood

@polishcrazyone

@elenavampire21

@little-diable

@lyarr24

@jomarch-wannabe

@the-fangirl-diaries

@kmc1989

@everythingelseisextra

@helen06dreamer

@chaosinkest1996 

@pietroxreader

@galactict3a

@call-sign-shark

@brummiereader

@cillmequick

@runnning-outof-time

@dandelionprints

@look-at-the-soul

@garrison-girl-08

@peakyscillian

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@babayaga67

@kmhappybunny240

[walnutcookie]

fandom can be awful sometimes so heres a few reminders for my beloved mutuals:

- do whatever you want forever. if its not harming anyone or yourself you are amazing and you should continue doing it if it makes you happy

- ship wars/discourse suck ass. if its not a proship its fine, if someone has a different ship than you or interprets a ship differently you dont have to fight with them.

- your ocs are the best thing on this planet and you should share them

- your oc x canon is so wonderful and lovely and you should share it

- the ocs you created to be family members of other characters are awesome and you should share them

- your headcanons and interpretations of characters are awesome and you should share them

- hit that character with the beam. you know you want to. make them trans, make them gay, make them poc, make them disabled, make them fat, whatever makes you happy

- if someone is mean to you blow them up (hit the block button)

- be nice to others. support their art, their stories, their ocs and headcanons and ships, even if you arent very interested in them. stay curious!! ask about peoples ideas, because most of the time they want to share just as much as you do

- if other people have different interpretations or ideas, you dont have to agree or disagree with them. its okay to appreciate others opinions without telling them that theyre wrong

- if anyones ships/ideas/etc make you too uncomfortable, block them.

- if someone is too annoying to see in the tags, block them.

- if anyone is mean to you, block them. especially hate anons

- write whatever you want always. draw whatever you want always. draw those girls kissing draw that enby covered in blood write about that man going to see the dentist

- draw them as furries, as dragons, as humans, as objects, whatever your heart desires

- your selfship partner loves you always

- people arent always right about characters. sometimes theyre way far from canon, and its not really your place to correct them. if it makes you too uncomfortable block them.

- some people choose to not follow canon. do what you want forever, you are always right about your blorbo. you are not limited to canon or what the fandom depicts the character as

- dont be the one to send anon hate

- its okay to be a hater and a lover. you can hatepost on your blog just as much as you lovepost. just dont main tag it (thats mean) and dont add it onto other peoples posts who like what youre hating on (thats also mean)

- if someone is hating on something you like, its best not to engage with it.

feel free to add anything i missed :] i love u mutuals you should tell me everything about your ocs and ships and headcanons forever. pls

[tragedybunny]

Love Fool

༺Summary༻

Serafina is having trouble sleeping and Astarion does his best to help her relax.

༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Serafina (Female Tav/OC)

༺Warnings༻ Completely terrible nicknames for body parts, sexual innuendo

༺Word Count༻ 652

༺A/N༻ This is just a short, silly fic for the bg3aprilfoolishness challenge. Read on AO3

“Can’t sleep,” Serafina fussed, laying next to him, drawing a sigh from Gale. Screw Gale though, the love of his life was infinitely more important. 

“And what should we do about that, my love,” he purred. With Cazador out of the way, he felt free to do whatever was necessary. 

“Feed off me, it always makes sleepy,” she wheedled. 

He wasn’t sure that was a particularly good idea. Sera hadn’t been sleeping much, or eating much, as things were building to the final confrontation with the Netherbrain. But, if she said that’s what she wanted. “I’m yours to command, my sweet.” 

Pulling her close, he lapped his tongue over the healed bite marks in her neck, and dug his fangs in. She tasted divine, as always, and he felt a familiar stirring in his groin. Why was her blood an aphrodisiac? Gods knew he’d drained enough of their enemies without his cock getting hard. 

Beside him, Sera giggled and Gale audibly groaned. “I’m going to get some fresh air,” he muttered, stalking off with his pillow and blanket. 

“Oops,” she whispered. He pulled his fangs from her neck and licked it cleaned, 

“Perhaps if he found a bedmate of his own, maybe Halsin, since he seemed so desperately eager to have company.” 

“Stop,” she smacked his shoulder before giggling again. His hips had pressed into her thigh, and she could obviously feel what her blood was doing to him. “Did I get you all wound up?” She teased. “You make it too easy.” 

Sassy little thing, he moved his hands to pin her shoulders down. “And you aren’t as easy.”  He covered her lips with his, and felt her shiver. Good thing Gale was already gone. 

But when he pulled away, she was giggling again. “That’s what I need to sleep, a little bit of the love rod, quality time with my favorite meat.” She was laughing loud enough the rest of their companions were stirring. 

Maybe he had drank too much from her, but she seemed happy enough. He nipped her ear playfully, smiling himself. “I think you may finally be losing it, my dear Serafina.” She shook with repressed laughter, her arms wrapped around his neck to keep him close. If she was enjoying herself, he might as well play along. “Good, because I am in desperate need to be inside that tight little love box of yours.”

They were both cackling by this point, as Astarion shifted himself between her legs, thrusting his hardness against her. “I swear to Mother Gith…” Lae’zel threatened from across the room. 

Sera moaned and bit her lip, trying to keep from provoking the room any further. “Tell me more.”

He bent over and kissed a line from her throat to the swell of her breasts, trying not to smile. “Allow me to start by worshiping your most perfect milkers.” His lips continue their path. “And then I’d love nothing more than to fertilize your lady garden, to bake in your love oven.”

“Oh please, gift me with your man seed, fill me with your daddy sauce.”

Astarion lost it, he collapsed on his side next to her, both of them howling with laughter, all eroticism lost. “If the two of you do not stop it I will forcibly separate you!” Jahiera shouted to the agreement of everyone else. 

Sera covered her own mouth, eyes watery, before calming enough to speak. “I’m sorry, I ruined it.” 

Astarion looked at her, his beloved Serafina, his Sunlight, the most relaxed he’d seen her in days. “On the contrary, that was perfect. And we still could, if you want.” 

“Truthfully, I think I’d rather…” She cuddled up close to him, tucking her head under his chin. 

“I think you’ve got the right idea, my love.” He wrapped his arms around her. Within seconds, he felt her breath steady and her heart slow as she fell peacefully asleep. 

[pandoradoesotherstuff]

A Tight Predicament

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

A/N: Of course my first full Baldur's Gate 3 fic is smut! 😂😂 I didn't want to disappoint anyone. 😏��

Also, let's just pretend for a minute that Astarion hasn't been sexually traumatised and Gale is less self conscious.

So, this is Gale x Astarion x reader/Tav. I've tried to keep it as gender neutral as possible but reader is described (vaguely) as having female parts down below. (Sorry)

Enjoy!❤️

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

You didn't like separating everyone up. It just made more sense to you to stick together, safety in numbers after all but after clearing out a particularly twisty turny ruin you deemed it safe enough for everyone to do their own thing. Shadowheart backtracked to find a statue of Shar she was sure she had spotted earlier, Gale was one room over checking out some dusty tomes that had been left by the previous occupant and Astarion was behind you working on a particularly tricky lock, murmuring to himself about the want of a skeleton key. Meanwhile, you were sitting on the stone floor trying to wipe the goblin blood off of a new short sword you had found.

It was this particular view that had led you to your current predicament. Out of the corner of your eye, you could have sworn you saw a flash of purple. Curious, and cautious, as to what could have caused such a thing, you get back on your feet and slowly draw back the moth eaten tapestry to reveal a smallish hole in the brickwork. It was the purple robes of Gale you had seen.

"Hey Astarion!" You call softly over your shoulder, signalling for the vampire spawn to join you.

"Mm?" Comes his inquisitive reply, moving to now stand next to you.

"Bet I could reach through and make Gale scream?" The smirk on Astarion's face makes you reconsider your words, quickly interjecting before he could reply. "Not like that!" God's above...I just mean like, you know, a little spook. In general. No other screaming involved." You're looking at anywhere else in the room except at the annoyingly handsome vampire, already feeling your cheeks start to flush red.

"Of course my dear, I'd never dream of suggesting anything else", faux innocence colouring his voice. "But do carry on, I'd love to see that obnoxious wizard cry out for his beloved Mystra". You bristle at the name of Gale's ex-lover but stay silent, instead bending over and bracing yourself on the stone wall.

It was rough on your hands as you carefully pulled yourself through just a little, thankful it was at the perfect height so your feet didn't leave floor.

"Even if you don't succeed in frightening Gale, this view alone is worth it".

You ignore Astarion's flirty comment, shimmying a little further in only to see Gale wasn't quite in your reach just yet. You'd have to move in just a little bit more...

"Merlin's beard!!"

You'd been so busy trying to shuffle further that you hadn't noticed Gale turning around, finally spotting you.

"Hello", you grin sheepishly.

"What in the name of Ao are you doing?!" He asks, pinching the bridge of his nose and snapping the tome shut with the other.

"Isn't it obvious?" Astarion's muffled voice comes through the wall you were currently lodged in. Nervous energy flutters in your stomach as you feel the vampire's hands hold on to your hips lightly. You try to move yourself backwards only to find that you are now completely stuck. You try again, grunting slightly as the jagged solid brick digs into your hips.

"Wait," Astarion begins. Voice barely concealing a laugh as his fingers now begin to creep up under your armoured tunic. "Are you trapped?" He asks incredulously. You cover your face with your hands, a deep blush now settling on your cheeks.

"Yes, okay? Let's not make a big deal out of it". You mumble, trying your best to ignore your occasional lover's adept fingers toying with your belt buckle.

"Are you quite alright?" Gale asks, seemingly genuinely concerned as he leans in slightly for a closer look at the brickwork that had trapped you. Probably already figuring out a magical way to free you.

"I'm fine, despite my...situation. My ego is definitely more bruised than anything." You sigh resignedly.

"Not to worry, between Astarion and myself, I'm sure we'll have you out in a jiffy". Gske smiles reassuringly while crouching down to now be eye level with you.

"Well Gale, let's not be so hasty". Astarion's large hands now squeeze your ass as he talks, you bite your lip trying not to react. "This is a very interesting position our dear fearless leader has found themselves in. It almost seems a waste to not...explore this opportunity to its fullest." Astarion pushes his knee in between your thighs. Gods, this was akin to torture!

"Astarion!" You hiss in warning. Although in warning of what you don't know, it wasn't like you could do much.

"Are you alright? Is he hurting you?" Gale is looking at you so sincerely with those warm brown eyes of his. If this was any other situation, you would have melted. Astarion's laughter snaps you out of your trance, the sound of your belt hitting the floor making you close your eyes in embarrassment.

"You know Gale, it's no secret that you pine after them. We've all seen your lingering stares over the bonfire, bounding after them like an excited little pup. So so eager to please. It's all rather adorable, you know. And to think, Tav here would give you everything if you just asked." Astarion punctuates his words by grinding his knee against your heated core. Gale's eyes noticeably darken as you whimper loudly, hips trying to move against him but finding it impossible. The rogue then continues talking as if nothing was amiss. "They're annoyingly fond of you too. Personally, I don't see it but I am known for my impeccable taste, so make of it what you will I suppose".

There was a beat of silence as the wizard before you tries to take in all that had just happened, his dexterous fingers nervously playing with a little piece of the weave.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to Gale." You say quietly, trying your best to ignore Astarion still pressed tightly behind you. The wizard smiles softly at you, large calloused hand coming up to gently cup your cheek.

"Even in the most compromising position you still try to look after foolish wizards like me."

"Someone's gotta."

His lips touch yours hesitantly, warm and soft, pausing as he waits for you to react. You smile into the kiss as you slowly work your lips together. The tadpole begins to niggle in your brain, you can feel Astarion trying to enter your mind. Gale sighs into your mouth before pulling back slightly to speak. "So impatient," he quietly scolds so only you can hear it. "Let him in then, least we never hear the end of it."

You'll never get used to the gnawing wriggling sensation of connecting to another tadpole, not that you want too. The frown on Gale's face tells you that he too, is seeing the same thing.

It's Astarion's view of you, your belt lying on the floor, armoured tunic bunched above your waist, his knee still firmly pressed against your core. You can feel the heat of arousal radiating from yourself, hear the way your pulse races under your skin. Astarion removes his knee, and you can't help the disappointed mewl that slips out. You both watch as he yanks your leather leggings down, your underclothes barely covering you, slick already dampening the thin fabric. Astarion's voice echos in your mind, as though whispering directly in your ear. "Yes yes, lovely heartfelt confessions all round but-" his fingers teasingly trail over your underclothes causing you to whimper again, the material now clinging to you with wetness. "-I think we all know what we're really thinking about".

The tadpole disengages and you gasp as though resurfacing from being underwater. You open your eyes to see Gale gazing at you with a dark lustful stare.

"I don't usually rush into these types of things. I like to pursue someone romantically first. And yet, now that we're here at this very precipice, at a very crucial part in our relationship. I-"

"-Hells below, Gale!! Would you hurry up and kiss them again already?! How much more of a bloody invitation do you need??"

The wizard rolls his eyes before you quickly reach out and grab his robes, pulling him in for a more passionate kiss. You can't help but whine into his mouth as Astarion behind you slowly pulls down your underclothes, velvet swollen head nudging against your dripping core.

"Please...p-please..." You mutter against Gale's lips before your moan gets swallowed by him as your vampire lover finally pushes inside you, deliciously slowly stretching you around him. His chilled fingers stroke your spine soothingly as his girth strokes your walls expertly at a teasing pace.

"My perfect treasure", he murmurs affectionately. Your fingers thread into Gale's hair, tugging on the silly strands as he kisses you with a passion you didn't quite know he was capable of.

"What...hmph...what do you...what do you need? A-anything".

One idea springs to mind.

"Stand up." You pull back, panting a little, teeth biting at your bottom lip as Astarion picks up the pace a little, his hands now gripping your hips tightly.

"Now what?" The wizard's voice was husky with lust, his lips kiss swollen.

You hungrily reach for the snaps that hold back what you so eagerly wanted, making short work of them. There's a pause as you lock eyes, an understanding flits between you.

"Are you sure?" He asks softly. You can only nod, not trusting your voice to do anything but whine and whimper from the rogue's short shallow thrusts behind you.

"As you wish." Gale hesitates, a look of self-consciousness crossing his face for a second before finally freeing himself from the tight confines of his trousers. Your breath catches in your throat, his girth was impressive to say the least.

"Gods Gale!" Comes Astarion's voice from through the wall. "I don't know what the bloody hells you did to them, but keep doing it!"

You feel a blush on your cheeks deepen, from lust or from Astarion's comment you don't know. Gale gently cups your chin, looking more than a little pleased with himself, as he guides his thick hard cock closer towards you. Your mouth waters as you kitten lick his swollen head, precum salty and surprisingly delicious on your tongue. Gale watches you with a dark intensity as you grab his hips and slowly pulled him deeper into your throat a little at a time. He wasn't as long as Astarion but definitely girthier, you focus on swallowing around him, trying hard not to choke. His dexterous fingers tangle in your hair, petting you encouragingly as he begins to move his hips slowly at first. You've never felt so full or satisfied in your life. Two exceedingly handsome men filling you up over and over again. You can only imagine how lewd you must look like that, so different from your usual composed and in control leader role.

Whether it was you, Astarion or Gale you don't know but once again you feel the tadpole connect. It almost felt like it shivered with pleasure

You can feel yourself getting filled up over and over again, taste the salty precum on your tongue, feel the heat and slick of your fluttering walls surround Astarion, feel your own throat swallow around Gale, choking on his thickness.

Both men are caught up in the multihood of sensations flooding their senses, using your body to chase their own pleasure as your thighs shake and your fingers grasp onto the purple robes of Gale tightly. Your moans and whines are muffled around the taller man as you feel the rogue's clever fingers rub at your clit perfectly, urging you closer to the end.

"Cum f-for me, for us! Cum for u-us our b-beloved!"

Pleasure ahoots through your entire body, nerves on fire as stars burst before your eyes and you almost feel light headed. Astarion's quick sharp thrusts stutter behind you into a frenzied arrhythmic pace, groaning low in his throat as he empties himself into you, fingers gripping bruises onto your skin. Gale's hands tangle in your hair, nails scraping your scalp, your name slipping out from between his lips like the sweetest prayer. You bring a shakey hand up to his heavy balls, lightly squeezing and fondling them, urging him to paint your throat white. With a strangled noise from Gale, you feel them draw up tight as the taste of his seed fills your mouth and dribbles out the corner of your lips.

You don't get a second to bask in the glow of your filthy but fun act before Shadowheart's haughty voice yells from a distance.

"I know you said we should 'stick together' but I didn't realise you meant that close! Now if you're all finished, we have a tadpole that needs removing!"

You've never wanted the ground to swallow you up more in your life.

[anarchy-and-piglins]

hi yes hello i heard human!techno and nonhuman!everyone else and came running... whether it's osmp, space au, vampire au (always love rereading tasting your blood means i love you chapters if I forget something) i love this trope it's always so good.

Anyway! Human techno headcanons! I like to think that since a lot of the others living in the commune have claws, they sometimes accidentally nick techno with their claws occasionally (ie, they're really excited and grab his arm a little too tightly *cough tommy) and so he's got all these tiny little scars. And eventually someone notices and asks him about it, but techno doesn't want them to feel bad so he kinda stumbles/lies through the answer because he knows they genuinely mean no harm. Small angst but yk.

Now, say, the commune gets attacked. Some flee, others stay to fight. What's the best way to get the hybrids to stop fighting and draw the others out of hiding? Capture the soft fleshy human and use him as leverage, of course! Cue a small stab or sprain to techno in front of the commune folks to remind them how weak humans can be and how precarious the situation is. Cue the rescue team finding techno tired, hurt, and very reliant on their help to escape. Cue techno thinking of himself as a liability to the safety of the commune and, after his rescue, attempting to leave to keep them safe. (it doesn't work ofc, phil notices almost instantly that one of his fledglings friends is missing and tracks his down and reassures him of his value.)

I'm kinda surprised I haven't written any of these yet considering how much I rotate the trope in my brain but. high school. Oh well.

It's the best trope, the tastiest trope, MY MOST BELOVED TROPE!

The claw thing is so fun. Reminds me of people who have cats and are just covered in scratches all the time hehe. But it's great for a little bit of angst too. Any type of whump having to do with hurting a friend on accident is up my alley. And I can imagine that it's so easy to forget how vulnerable Techno is. Sure, some of the other hybrids have very specific weaknesses too but they seem easier to remember somehow - everybody knows Niki needs to be in water and everybody is automatically careful with Sneeg since he's so tiny. But for some reason with Techno it slips their minds (perhaps also because Techno tries very hard to seem like he doesn't have any weaknesses) that he's rather squishy and has no special powers or hybrid biology to protect himself.

I'd love to read a fic where one or multiple of the other members of the commune accidentally hurt Techno through their hybridness and get to feel really guilty. And obviously Techno would never hold it against them.

AND YES, somebody else using Techno against them is also very fun. I don't think Techno would much enjoy having it pointed out that he's the 'weak link'. He trains so much to overcompensate for all the abilities he's naturally lacking. But his family will knock some sense into him.

I'd eat up either idea really, these are wonderful!

[saellefanwork]

𝐄𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐬

Kamado Tanjiro x DemonSlayer!F!Reader x (Past) Rengoku Kyojuro

Reminder: This Demon Slayer fic is rated Explicit (adults only) for canon-typical violence and, disturbing and explicit sexual content

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Chapter 1: The Shadow of the Fiancé

After the devastating loss of your fiancé, Rengoku Kyojuro, your world shattered irreparably. In your darkest hours, it was your cherished and devoted friend, Tanjiro, who became your anchor, vowing to care for you just as he had promised his late master. His love for you burned bright, carrying the hope that someday you might return his affections.

However, as you embarked on an intimate relationship with Tanjiro, your depression intensified, and the shadow of your past fiancé continued to haunt you every night.

Author Note: This work draws inspiration from "Whoever You Want Me to Be" by myprettydarlings on AO3. I highly recommend giving it a look. However, right from the beginning, this fic will take a different direction. Also, if you haven't noticed, this is rated explicit, so please proceed carefully.

Rest assured, despite all the heavy themes, this story will ultimately have a happy ending.

Warning Tags: Post Mugen Arc, Grief, Sad, Angst, Depression, Mental Breakdown, Toxic relationship, Dubious consent, Oral sex, Vaginal sex, Bottom Kamado, Top Reader, Orgasm denial/delay (someone doesn't finish), did I say sad already?

How long had it been since the death of Rengoku Kyojuro, the Flame Pillar? Too long, considering everything that had transpired since that tragic event. Yet, Tanjiro remembered it as vividly as if it had occurred yesterday – the fateful night when blood and tears had flowed like a river. The abyssal despair he had felt that moment could be summoned with just a thought. A sorrow that had found its equal only in your wails and cries, as if you were the one agonizing... and not your fiancé.

"Watch over her for me, Kamado my boy. She loves you as much as she loves me. And I already know that you adore her as much as I do," his master had whispered from his bloodied lips, not long before taking his final breath. His ruby and gold embers were dimly glowing in the light of the last sunrise he would ever see.

Every time Tanjiro contemplated this last wish, still freshly etched in his memory despite the passage of time, tears welled up in his eyes. Oh, how much he missed his Aniki. How mistaken this kind, brave, and strong man had been when he uttered those final words...

"Kyojuro!" you called out in despair, clutching the burgundy-haired Slayer’s sleepshirt, trying to rouse a reaction from him. You had just experienced a nightmare – the same haunting dream that replayed every night. A dream where your beloved would die, killed by an Upper Moon near a train crash.

You sought reassurance, but the person lying next to you seemed lost in thought, deaf to your pleas.

"Kyojuro!" you insisted, shaking him so forcefully that his hanafuda earrings jingled against the mattress.

Tanjiro snapped back to reality and gazed at you with a sorrowful expression. He finally pulled you into his arms, his hands gripping your back tightly, almost to the point of discomfort. How many nights had this painful charade repeated itself? He needed to summon the courage to confront you about this matter, and he had to remain resolute despite your resistance and distress. This could no longer continue.

"No, love...," he whispered to you gently but firmly. "It's not Kyojuro... it's Tanjiro. Rengoku-san is..."

Your eyes widened in shock, and you shook your head violently, pushing him away and covering your ears with your hands. "No! Don't say anything! Why are you doing this to me, Kyojuro? Reassure me like you usually do, please! I'm scared."

Seeing you in this state always shattered his heart. That's why he had been playing this role night after night. But recently, even during the day, you had started to mix his name with that of your deceased fiancé, despite you being the one who had asked him to go out with you after the funerals. Tanjiro had reached his limit. He felt that if he didn't stop now, a part of him would cease to exist for good.

"My love, please... I can't pretend to be him any longer... I can't take it anymore. I've done everything to replace him, but in the end, no matter what I do, I'm just Kamado Tanjiro."

He knew you could hear him, but you remained huddled within yourself, eyes closed, brows furrowed, and fists clenched above your ears. Despite his legendary patience, Tanjiro felt at his wit's end. He couldn't count how many times this scene had replayed itself. Desperation gnawed at him as he grasped your wrists firmly, attempting to coax you to face him.

"Please, just listen..."

"No!!"

"I don't want to hurt you either. I love you, and I wish to be with you, but I've tried everything, and your condition is only deteriorating. I don't know what else to do, so maybe we should sto–..."

To his awe, you broke free from his grip and forcefully pushed him down onto the futon, holding his hands above his head. Your raw strength took him aback. Despite the fact that you were a Slayer too, you had always appeared delicate, often relying on poison like your master, the Insect Pillar, did. Your eyes, locked with his, seemed haunted by an unspeakable fear.

The fear of him leaving you, just as Kyojuro had.

His heart skipped a beat when you pressed your mouth against his, in a kiss as passionate as it was desperate. This was unlike any kiss you'd shared before. While he knew he should have resisted, he couldn't deny the bittersweet, almost painful pleasure this deep and long-awaited kiss brought him. Instead of pulling away from your grasp, his fingers cautiously interlocked with yours.

You only briefly parted your lips from his, letting him catch his breath like a drowning man emerging for air in a turbulent sea.

"No, Tanjiro... There's one thing you haven't done yet," you whispered to him.

The Slayer's eyes widened, his heart pounding, thinking he might have misheard. You had just called him by his real name for the first time in nearly a week, and it was during the night, no less... although the circumstances were unsettling. Hearing his name on your glistening lips and seeing you look at him as if he were the center of your universe, he knew he was a goner. He loved you too much to leave you now.

Sensing that you could persuade him to stay, you resumed your urgent kisses that clouded his mind, while guiding one of his hands to your waist and the other to your chest. He gasped in surprise at your forwardness, his eyes wide open. He had never dared touching you like this before, and you had never invited him. At least, not while saying his name.

"Make me yours, Kyo – no, Tanjiro... don't hold back," you commanded him, a strange gleam in your eyes, as if you were oscillating between the realms of dreams and reality.

Tanjiro appeared hesitant, his voice murmuring your name with a bewildered expression. You seemed utterly desperate, mixing the name of the man you loved so dearly with his own, which he had longed to hear you whisper with the same affection... It was hard for him to deny you, considering he had desired you for as long as he had known you, though he'd always concealed his feelings.

As he stood there, frozen and indecisive, you took charge, deftly unbuttoning his nightshirt. His breath quickened, yet he offered no resistance. Soon, his muscular chest was bared in the soft moonlight. He was as well built as Kyojuro... although the man before you was shorter, and the scars adorned his frame in different places. Your hands roamed his torso, your current vision overlapping with memories of another body, one you could never touch again. To mask your confusion, you proceeded to undo your top. Still immobilized, Tanjiro's gaze followed your every move as you unbuttoned your shirt, revealing the binding encasing your breasts, which you hadn't removed before sleeping. He seemed to snap back to reality when you started to loosen them, his grip stopping your hands for a moment.

"Baby, I'm not sure if this is a good idea," he protested.

In response, you freed yourself from his hold and let the binding fall, uncovering your bust in one fluid motion. The coolness of the night air and the anticipation had already caused the pink tips of your bosom to harden. Jaws slightly agape, Tanjiro's gaze was immediately drawn to them, although he quickly forced himself to close his eyes to break the spell. He felt your lips on him once more, feverishly exploring his mouth and neck, as you guided both his hands onto your exposed skin. Instinctively, he gripped your breasts, pinching your prominent nipples between his fingers, and you moaned while sucking his tongue, sending shivers along his spine.

"Ha... K..."

You almost uttered "Kyojuro" again but stopped just in time. Tanjiro must have noticed because you sensed him tense under you. To divert his attention, you pressed your groin against the painfully hard bulge in his pajama bottoms. He groaned uncontrollably beneath you, and you felt the fever of desire taking over you even more intensely. He was more expressive than Kyojuro, which was a blessing. It helped to anchor your mind to reality and resist your delirium as best as you could.

Your hands descended to his abdomen, deftly untying the knot of his bottoms then your own. Tanjiro seemed to struggle to keep up with the pace of events. He wanted to slow it down, make sure you were fully aware of what was happening, while you did everything in your power to prevent him from stopping you, with the complicity of his desire-filled body. In a few swift movements, you rid both of you of your clothing. You were now fully naked, Tanjiro panting helplessly below you.

You once again pressed your groin against his, the warm and moist contact of your lower lips sliding sensually along his length, your core eagerly yearning to welcome him. Stars danced in his field of vision, and a dizzying sensation struck him, his blood flow entirely directed toward his rigid member, so stiff it bordered on painful.

While you reveled in his expression, almost tortured by pleasure, you decided you wanted more. You shifted from your seated position on him to settle between his legs, your torso descending along his body, your breasts briefly gliding around his manhood. The sight of his erection emerging from the soft curves of your chest nearly made him lose consciousness, yet nothing compared to what followed. You ran your tongue across his tip, gingerly lapping at the pre-cum oozing from it. He couldn't contain the powerful gasp that escaped him, swiftly replaced by a torrent of uncontrollable moans. The emotions and sensations he experienced were so overwhelming that tears started to well up in his eyes.

As he felt your warm lips enveloping him completely, your wet muscle tracing the veins of his member in a delicate exploration, a part of his mind wondered if you had ever done the same thing for Kyojuro. Did you ever position yourself between his likely longer and sturdier thighs to please him with your mouth after a gruelling mission? Despite his best efforts, a pang of futile jealousy squeezed his heart at the vision. He wanted to make you forget the taste of your former lover, be the last one you served in this way. He desired you to think of no one but him from now on.

His hand, without him realizing it, gripped your hair, pushing the tip of his manhood deeper into your throat. You clawed his legs in surprise, almost choking. Your inner walls clenched in need, growing wetter as your arousal peaked your juices trickling down your thighs. Kyojuro had never constrained you like this, yet you found yourself drawn to it, for the forced motions left no room for lingering thoughts. You allowed Tanjiro to use your mouth as he wanted, surrendering to the rhythm and depth of his thrusts. The tension in your shoulders relaxed as you surrendered completely to the sensation of his hard length pounding your throat, drunk on his pleasure-filled moans.

When you sensed that he was on the brink of climax, you broke free from his grip and shifted to a seated position above him. He let you settle on his lap, his eyes clouded with passionate longing and his cheeks flushed. Your gaze descended to his swollen testicles. You lightly caressed them, savoring Tanjiro's sharp intake of breath at the touch of your cold fingers. You craved for him to release his pent-up desire deep inside you, to feel the ecstasy of his peak as he spilled his essence within you.

With this idea in mind, you straddled him once more, capturing his lips fervently, and he surrendered without resistance. Aligning your two bodies, you slowly allowed yourself to glide along his shaft. As the sensation of your tight walls enveloping his manhood washed over him, Tanjiro moaned beneath your passionate kiss. Giving him no respite, you hungrily absorbed his sighs, sucking his tongue and biting his lips lightly. His strong hands gripped your waist almost painfully, following your descent until you were fully impaled upon him.

Locked in an intense gaze, both of you remained breathless from the novel and overwhelming pressure of your bodies merging. After a few moments of stillness, you tentatively began to move your hips. Tanjiro closed his eyes, releasing a guttural moan, his expression etched with exquisite torment. You felt the throbbing of his desire within you and instinctively clenched your muscles around him, eliciting shivers of pleasure from him. Gradually, you started rocking yourself rhythmically against him.

With each deep thrust, Tanjiro's hands roamed your back, tracing your curves and contours, as if committing every inch of your skin to memory. The room soon resonated with wanton sighs, sensual whines and soft gasps.

As the eagerness of your lovemaking continued to mount, Tanjiro's motions grew more urgent and fervent. He held onto your thighs with a tenacious grip, as though fearful of letting go, as if he dreaded that this moment might dissolve like a fleeting dream. Suddenly, he rose to his knees, altering your position slightly, drawing you closer as he took control of your movements. He lifted and pressed you onto his lap, intensifying the rhythm and depth of your union.

In this new arrangement, the soft tuft on his lower abdomen teased against your clit, and the friction immediately built an orgasm within you. Tanjiro whispered declarations of love into your ear as he fervently kissed your neck. His hair, which he had let grown at your request, cascaded in wild disarray, the tie that had restrained it almost completely undone. You tore the ribbon away entirely, allowing his crimson mane to flow freely over his shoulders, burying your face in their fragrant, woody essence. With each deep lunge, you felt yourself drawing closer to the precipice of ecstasy.

"Ah... Kyojuro!" you finally moaned, your muscles convulsing with pleasure, a shiver coursing you from head to toes. Although your voice was muffled, your partner heard you very well and let out a hurt gasp. He considerably slowed his movements, but you compensated by grinding against him even more, your instincts taking over as you milked your orgasm for all it was worth.

Coming to a stillness against him, you both remained wrapped in each other's embrace, chests heaving with each labored breath. Tanjiro didn't push you away, but his hold felt distant. Your nose was nestled in the hollow of his neck, preventing you from seeing his expression, yet you could perceive that something was amiss. Gradually regaining your senses, you loosened your grip on him, your gaze searching for his.

"Tanjiro…? Are you alright?"

Upon hearing his name, he turned his face toward you, a reflexive reassuring smile playing on his lips – an ingrained habit from his days as the eldest son of his family. However, the warmth that usually filled his gentle eyes was conspicuously absent.

"...Not really. Be careful, I'm going to withdraw," he cautioned softly.

With painstaking care, he helped you off his lap. You felt a peculiar hollowness without him inside you, but that wasn't your primary concern. Tanjiro's demeanor deeply troubled you. It was as though he wasn't even in the room anymore. Silently, the former charcoal burner draped a blanket over your shoulders. Instead of holding you close and savoring the tenderness that typically followed such intimacy, something you'd expect from someone as gentle as him, you watched in bewilderment as he began to put his Demon Slayer uniform back on. He even secured his sword to his belt.

You felt that if you didn't stop him right away, he would leave and vanish from your existence forever.

You seized his hand with all the strength you had.

"Don't go, please. You promised me, remember? You made that promise to him too, didn't you?"

"...I'm sorry," he whispered, gently yet firmly pulling his hand away. "I need some time alone. I told you, I tried to replace Aniki in your life already, to fill the void he left behind, but I can't be him... and tonight... you weren't with me."

Your complexion turned pallid, and you trembled. Witnessing you in such distress wrenched him; he was torn between abandoning you in this fragile state and acknowledging that he couldn't continue like this. He waited for several moments, hoping for a denial, an apology, any words from you, but you remained frozen. Because he was right; you hadn't been fully present with him.

Summoning heroic effort, even if it might have seemed pitiable or insignificant to an outsider's perspective, you compelled yourself to let him go. He was all you had left, but you knew you couldn't imprison him any longer.

Regret etched on his face, Tanjiro tenderly caressed your cheek and withdrew from the room without a word, gently closing the door behind him.

You were curled up in bed like a wounded animal, crying your heart out, when Shinobu came to find you a few minutes later…

I'm probably going to hell for torturing these characters so much lmao.

Don't forget to like / comment / repost, it always makes my day, and let me know if you want to be tagged in the next chapter's updates.

Next chapter: "The shadow of the mentor" (to be released in two days)

[plumquatrz]

Heartslabyul in the Swap au/RSA au, my ideas for these characters are mainly for Ace since I want him to be the one that Overblots in this au

Which led to him having the most lore and ideas, like his backstory with we almost have nothing in canon for besides him having an older brother and a father who isn't a mage. So here are some ideas for his Backstory in the Swap au/RSA au

Backstory

Ace comes from a wealthy family that originates from nobility on his mother's side of the Family. He was raised in Wealth and spoiled, almost always getting what he wanted. He was also a gifted child who learned fast and quickly without Problems. However, Ace getting gifts was a way to distract him from their absences in his daily life with work until he was 6 years old when his cat he got gifted when he was 3 named "Diana" went missing, he tried to do anything to get his parents' attention for help to do something, his older brother "$%6$?" tried helping but nothing they couldn't find her. Then Ace on his own went searching for her in the Garden, mainly the Maze he easily got lost and ended up following an animal he thought was Diana. Sadly it wasn't instead it was a white rabbit that led him to a broken tree where he found a hole under, in that small hole, laid the body of his beloved cat Diana covered in blood. Ace screamed scared and ran back home trying to find his parents, brother or a servant to help him with what he just found nobody believed him, already being over the fact of Diana going missing and accepting it as she left. Ace tried anything to have his parents go to that tree and look he studied to get perfect scores and did extra classes just for them to go and look and they did a year later but instead of finding Diana under it there was nothing, Ace was confused but didn't voice anything when his parents angrily told him he was wasting there time. Ace continued to visit that tree doing anything under it studying, practising magic tricks, drawing or playing during those times he acted as if someone else was with him. Because for him there was Diana was back, she looked different and disappeared at random slowly in weird ways always leaving her smile at the end, her smile? "But cats can't smile" his brother always said. Ace started to hallucinate more and more it was treated as him being childish or him joking about the eyes watching him, pink smoke, or pig mushrooms even when he drew them, even when he talked to himself... no to someone else who wasn't even there. During this, he got tired of making an effort to do stuff (burnt-out gifted kid) even though he gave it his all he never got what he wanted so what was the point of giving it?

This is what I have right now I'm not completely finished and some parts might change.

Ideas/Changes to Ace's Story:

He blacks out after finding Diana's dead body instead of screaming and running for help

During his overblot thiers two Overblot monsters one bing his based on Alice and another based on the Cheshire Cat to represent Diana

Small facts about Swap au/RSA au Ace Trappole:

he has a pair of identical twin cousins who are a few years younger than him

He's still close to his brother

He has a black bow in his hair that he ties up in a small side ponytail, he always switches it up to busy his hand during hallucinations

[darsynia]

They Show Their Truth (one single time) | Oneshot

gif from @marvelheroes

Summary: Steve's managed to keep how he feels about Natasha a secret, but the vision he saw in South Africa shook him.

Caring about Natasha Romanoff this much means that when there's a chance to heal her wounds by revealing his secret, Steve throws himself on the grenade, because of course he does.

Length/Warnings: 5,443 | Porn with plot, unrequited love. Minors DNI

Tags (please forgive me if this isn't your thing, feel free to ignore if so 💚): @ronearoundblindly @munstysmind @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @starryeyes2000 @deepbatched @chibijusstuff @caplanreblogsfics

This was written as a request for my friend @salovie a while back!

They Show Their Truth (one single time)

“I don’t trust a guy without a dark side.”

The worst part is that Stark would probably appreciate what Steve is struggling with. He might even trust Steve more because of it, and isn’t that just exactly the worst conclusion to draw, tonight?

Steve’s on his back on the floor in the Barton family room. He’d feel more comfortable if he could rest on his side with his back against the couch, second best to the wall, but every square foot of wall in this room is filled with shelving. Toys, books, puzzles; the accoutrements of a life he’ll never live, all stacked up with the chaotic order of an unexpected visit. The couch is ready for Natasha, with a sheet covering the cold, worn leather. He’s left her the handcrafted afghan and the better of the two pillows Clint’s wife had offered, and kept the sports fleece for himself.

It makes sense that they’ve put the two of them in here; whatever is going on between Bruce and Nat means it would be irresponsible to force them to share. Stark’s by himself on an air mattress in the laundry room instead of in the guest room with Bruce, because out of all of them, he’s the one most likely to accidentally set Banner off-- and just like Clint said, it’s not that they don’t trust Bruce. They don’t trust Tony.

Steve likes Laura Barton. It seems to him that she understands the purgatory they’re all putting themselves through, most of them, anyway. He sure as hell hopes she hasn’t caught on to his, but she couldn’t have.

If she had, she wouldn’t have put him in a room with Natasha.

He gets up and turns off the overhead light, using the chain, then flips off the switch. The ceiling fan’s breeze is just on the edge of too much, but if Nat wants it on, it’ll be set up so the light won’t disturb her. He walks over to the door and cracks it, listening. Laura and Natasha are still talking quietly in the kitchen. Steve pushes the door mostly shut again, and turns off the light that’s across the room from the couch, leaving just the one lamp directly next to it. 

He winces. The room is now bathed in an orange-yellow glow that reminds him of the quality of light in the vision he’d seen in South Africa. The truth is that practically everything here reminds him of the vision.

The glint of the sun off of the axe had reminded him of the flashbulbs.

One of Barton’s kids had spilled juice, and its blood red color had been like the wine on the soldier’s chest.

A rare moment of collective laughter in the dining room with Nick Fury had pulled Steve out of the moment and thrust him, unwillingly, back into the vision.

He’d had to walk away, away from the mirth, away from her red hair as she faced away from him, so similar to the twice-damned vision where Peggy Carter had asked him to dance. As he’d turned to say yes, she’d spun away, dress flying off to reveal a tight-fitting black jumpsuit, the brown wig falling away to red, her familiar, beloved face morphing into Natasha Romanoff’s familiar, beloved face.

Because she is. Beloved. Despite everything. No amount of brutal training at the gym until his hands are numb and bruised, no amount of self-denial or self-recrimination has cured him of it. Hell, no monk has ever kept himself as pure for the sake of his God as Steve Rogers has, for fear of thinking of his teammate in a way that is definitely unholy.

The result has been the exact opposite of his intention; all roads lead to Natasha in his mind, because as ever, Steve Rogers aspires for that which cannot be. The only thing he’s learned from being chosen for the program, from rejecting orders and saving his best friend despite everything, from crashing the plane to save the world, from waking up after seventy years on ice, is that fate loves to give him what he wants.

And he wants her.

“Not this time,” Steve murmurs from his position on the floor, one knee up, arm behind his head.

“Well, if that’s the way it’s gonna be,” Natasha says in a sultry, teasing voice from the doorway.

Steve launches himself into a stand as if she’s the personification of an enemy, and in a way, she is.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Steve, but you’re a little edgy.”

“You and Clint are always telling me to rough it up a little, just trying to follow orders,” Steve jokes, backing up out of her way as she walks into the room.

“We were thinking more along the lines of getting you to watch some porn, grow some scruff,” she tells him. “So, you trying to be chivalrous, leaving me the couch and the best blanket?”

The tingling awareness he’s been fighting down for hours rears back to life at her provocative words, even more so when she immediately tempers them with a challenge about the couch. He knows her. Her behavior tells him that she thinks her words were reckless, that’s why she’s covering them. That means there was some truth to what she said, that they were revealing. If he were an enemy, it might be a trick to let him lower his guard, but she doesn’t know that he’s been fighting her in his mind for months. At least, he hopes to hell she doesn’t.

“Not at all,” Steve lies smoothly. “It’s pure math. I don’t fit.”

Nat turns her warm, impish gaze towards him and Steve feels a jolt of pure, unadulterated desire. Don’t, sweetheart. Don’t, he begs in his own head. She’s vulnerable, open, teasing, coy. Because she trusts him.

“Now, come on, soldier,” she says, sweetly mocking. “That’s boy scout math. Unimaginative math. I could probably fit the whole team on that couch if I had to. They might even enjoy it.”

He’s hardly ever seen her like this, but he knew she had it in reserve. “Well,” he says in his best regimental, Team Captain voice, hoping she won’t hear the regret he feels in pulling it out to dash water all over her lush, flirty flames. “That might be so, but that has nothing to do with sleeping.”

“Oh no, Steve,” she says, amused concern woven through the husk of her voice. “Turn it off, I absolutely cannot sleep with a Steve Rogers figurine in the room with me tonight!” Natasha comes over to him, her lips curved into a smile under furrowed eyebrows, and before he can fully understand what she’s doing, she’s got her hands on him, stroking along his back, and he’s hard, his heartbeat spiking, she’s going to know, fuck, fuck… 

“Nat, what--” he chokes out, throwing his arms out wide in hopes that he can talk himself down before she walks back around.

“I’m looking for the pull cord,” she says, resting a hand on his arm so she can lean over and catch his eye. “For your sayings. You know, ‘It’s the American Way!’ and ‘Do it for your country!’”

Every single thing she says sounds like innuendo to him. To think that Tony fucking Stark thought he doesn’t have a dark side. He’s sworn more in silent frustration about this gorgeous, unattainable woman than Stark probably has in the whole year, on purpose, out loud.

“Lay back and think of Uncle Sam?” Steve suggests, forcing his limbs to move, walking toward the other side of the room as he pulls his arms out of the long-sleeved overshirt he’s wearing.

“I’ve actually done that, you know. Multiple times,” Nat tells him, chuckling.

“Are you going to sleep in that? Do you want me to leave the room while you change?” he forces himself to ask. She’s got her own dark, long-sleeved shirt on, over a soft, grey thing that clings to her curves in a wholesome, farmhouse way that doesn’t stop him from finding it sexy in the slightest.

“You wouldn’t have to even if I wasn’t,” she tells him in a voice that chastises him for even asking.

I don’t trust a man without a dark side, Tony’s voice repeats, in his mind.

He should have just confessed to Stark. ‘Some nights I’m so desperate for thoughts of Natasha that I’ve tied my hands to my own bedpost. Just enough resistance so I wake up if my hands drift down to touch myself. It’s her face in my erotic dreams, her body in my everpresent thoughts. Not Peggy’s. I’m not wholesome, Stark. I’m a sinner. A hypocrite.’

“The figurine comment was metaphorical, Steve,” Nat is saying. She’s inches away from him somehow, because once again he’s caught up in his thoughts. “You okay? Tony said you were unaffected, but--”

“He’s wrong. She got to me.”

“Yeah,” Natasha breathes, looking up at him. “Me too.” Her eyes are troubled, hurt, practically anguished.

Steve’s resolve weakens, and he smiles down at her with a fraction of his feelings showing through as reassurance. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Nat looks up at the ceiling and does a little frustrated shiver. “Talk, no. I either need to--” she breaks off and looks at Steve, her eyes shining with repressed tears. “There’s something really wrong about punching Captain America in the face because I need a release of tension.”

He thinks he knows what her aborted sentence was. I either need to hit someone or fuck someone.

Steve says what he was thinking out loud. “People see me as standing for the way things ought to be. Fairness. Doing your duty. Things working out the way they’re supposed to.” He lets out a short, frustrated sigh. “Life doesn’t always happen that way, and reacting with frustration against that fact is very reasonable. If you need to, go ahead. Punch me.”

“She really did get to you,” Nat whispers.

“I mean it. You know I can take it, Natasha. Physically, I mean. I won’t take it personally.” He wants her to. If he can’t have her softness, he’ll take hardness over nothingness.

The regretful vulnerability is back on her face. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew why I need it.”

“They’re trying to tear us apart, Natasha. The best way not to tear is to reinforce the connections you already have.”

“It’s not about what I saw. At all. It’s about wanting someone and being rejected, not even because I’m not enough, but because he’s too broken.” She reels back in reaction to even saying the words, and impulsively, Steve reaches down and takes her wrists, shakes them until she responds by resisting his actions.

“You didn’t want to set him off in Clint’s house. You won’t set me off,” Steve lies. She already has, in exactly the wrong way. “Shove me, hit me, punish me. Get it out.” He pulls her hands, despite her resistance, until they’re flat on his chest. “He said he was too broken?”

Natasha’s lovely face crumples for a split second before her jaw tightens in anger. She shoves him; Steve was ready for it, doesn’t stop himself, lets the momentum carry him back a little.

“As if being broken is some kind of contagious!” she bites out, her voice angry but restrained. There are children sleeping in the house somewhere, after all. “As if I’m not a shattered teapot--” another shove. “--held together by the kind of toxic glue that builds up--” she punches his shoulder in a jab that does more than sting. “--in your system until I’ve killed you just by doing my job!”

For the word ‘job,’ Natasha drops back and her foot flies out, catching him in the chest. If they had been anywhere else, Steve would have let the full force of it knock him across the room, as intended, but he can’t risk the sound bringing someone who might see the heat he’s trying to repress. Instead, he takes the hit, his foot braced on the door, which shakes but doesn’t make much noise. Steve ends up on one knee, looking at Natasha, who is breathing heavily out of fury rather than exertion.

“Isn’t that just the perfect kind of symbolism,” she sighs, sounding defeated.

Steve raises his eyebrows, biting his cheek inside his mouth against the way his pants are pulled tight and uncomfortable against his arousal. That should be enough to kill it, but she’s walking toward him and all he can focus on are her hips, the way they sway. He wants to see what they look like with his hand gripping them, his thumb pressing against the thin, delicate skin that curves toward her inner thighs.

“You have my shoeprint on your chest, Rogers,” Nat says.

“What, it’s visible now?” he quips. The hold she’s got over him has been too close to the surface for too long.

“Now don’t go trying to make me feel better,” she says in that rich, amused voice of hers, tossing him a look before starting back toward the couch. It reminds him of the first time he ever wanted her; she’d said something in that tone and he’d found himself suddenly desperate to trace the origins of the sound with his lips and tongue against her neck.

“Any man who doesn’t want you is definitely broken,” Steve tells her, standing.

If she doesn’t recognize his confession, is that his fault?

“Even if that’s true, and I know it’s not, I’m just as easy to brush off,” she says, nodding at the way he’s wiping away the dust of her shoe so it doesn’t soil Laura Barton’s bedclothes. His hands still, not just because of what she’s said, but because Natasha’s rolling up the sheet and tossing it to the side, adding the pillow seconds later.

“What are you--” he starts, cutting himself off when she tugs the couch cushion off of the frame of the couch and sets it beside his makeshift bedroll. “Nat?”

He can’t sleep beside her. He can’t not sleep beside her, not after Bruce seems to have done his best to fracture her confidence into little pieces just so he could sweep her away more easily.

“You asked what you can do? You can do this.” Her words are short, choppy, defensive. “I can’t sleep next to Clint and take my confidence from him, not when he’s doing that for Laura right now. Unless you--”

“Here, my arms are longer,” Steve says, picking up the sheet and unfurling it over the cushions for her before she finishes that final, uncertain sentence.

“Thanks, Captain,” she tells him, her lips twitching up into a tiny, precious smile.

“At your service, Ma’am.”

He doesn’t let himself watch her wriggle into a comfortable sleeping position, choosing instead to walk over and turn out the light. He seeks out his own sparse sheet and too-short blanket in the fresh darkness, turning his back so his arms can’t seek her out in his sleep. Steve does scoot back far enough that he’s up against her cushions, the only concession he’ll allow himself to her nearness. He reminds himself sternly that it is just to give her the warmth and closeness she said she needed, nothing more.

Steve wakes to the feeling of a small hand worming its way under the tight shirt he’s wearing. He can feel Natasha’s body pressed up against his back, all softness and curves and forbidden sweetness.

Is she awake??  

This is the stuff of his nightmares, dreams he’s forcibly categorized as such because of the moral implications. Her arm has snuck under his, so he lifts his arm, hoping the change of pressure will be enough to wake her up. Instead, this earns him a closer snuggle, one where he can identify her breasts along his back, the dip of her pelvis molding against his ass.

“Nat?” he whispers.

“Cold,” she says, her lips and nose nuzzling the word against his shoulder. Steve doesn’t know what to think. Her hand on his stomach is warm. In his sleep-fuzzed laxity, he decides to react the way he assumes he would if he didn’t have an attachment to her, which is to roll over and encourage her to curl up against him to warm herself up.

Steve rolls onto his back, the movement brushing his body against her in thrilling ways.

“Mmm,” she murmurs, chasing his heat as he carefully scoots over so that she can slot into the warmth of the place he’d been lying. Steve only succeeds in moving about three inches before Natasha throws her right leg out and twines it around his left leg as she slips down from the thick cushions toward him. Before he fully understands what’s happening, she’s mostly on top of him, her head pillowed on his shoulder, her hot hand tucking ever so slightly into his waistband.

“Natasha, this can’t be what you do with Clint,” Steve hisses at her, desperate for her to stop moving before he shames himself with the speed of how fast he hardens for her. So far he’s controlling himself through sheer embarrassment on her behalf, but that won’t last much longer if she keeps squirming.

“Mmm, you’re right. He would have shoved me off by now, and we would have sparred about it or I’d have headed off to have a hot shower and a thorough conversation with my own hands,” she says, her voice wavering between an actual whisper and a tone husky with vocal fry.

Steve is nearly speechless. “Shower it is, then?” he suggests.

“Fresh out of hot water.” Natasha tells him, using a firm grip on his waistband to haul herself across his body to straddle him. Steve lifts both of his hands up over his head in self defense, but he’s essentially lost the battle. She’d removed her pants at some point in the night, and she’s sleep-mussed and gorgeous. Their enemies’ mental handiwork has done its job, led him right to what he’s always wanted, and it’ll be the end of them. She has to feel his reaction to her.

He closes his eyes and turns his head away. “I’m not going to fight you,” he says.

“That much is obvious,” she observes.

“What do you want me to say?” he asks between gritted teeth. “Put any man in this position and he’ll react the same.”

“Anything but that,” Natasha says in a small voice. Steve looks at her and sees pain in the angle of her head, the tightness around her eyes, the straightness of her back. She’s not putting all of her weight on him, he can tell, and just imagining the coiled strength that she’s exerting to rest so lightly and devastatingly against his thighs is undoing him.

She’s holding steady, but it feels like she’s pressing down thanks to his reaction to her. His body is gorging itself on a futile hope, and there’s no way that Natasha Romanoff doesn’t know this.

“I’m not Bruce,” he says, simply.

Her smile is a slice of pain. “Obviously,” she says, lowering herself fully and rocking her hips, pinning him with a challenging gaze.

Steve’s instinct is to stop her, but when he tries, his hands clutch naked skin and soft lace. The smile she offers him in response freezes him in place.

He shakes his head, delighted, miserable. “What are you looking for? Validation?”

“Goddamnit, Rogers, stop trying to fix everything,” she says, grinding against him again, making him gasp. “If the team’s fucked, the team’s fucked, so why not fuck the team, right? That’s what I’m trained for.”

The agony in her voice is all the worse because she doesn’t sound vulnerable anymore, and her eyes have lost the sheen of regret. She’s bitter, determined, and so broken in the process that Steve aches for her in a whole new, terrifying way. He reaches up to touch her face and she slaps at him before grabbing him, tearing open her shirt and clutching his hand to her breasts, fighting to keep him from fisting it.

Steve sits up, alarmed at her violence, and she tightens her thighs against him, rocking rhythmically.

“This is just sparring with different weapons, Nat, don’t do this,” he says.

“It’s all I have,” she snaps. “It’s my role. Tony would do it, you know he would.”

The jibe hits him in just the right way to be really painful, and Steve wrenches his hand away from her breast, trying to mitigate the way she’s ramping his desire up so skillfully with the drag of her body.

“Tony couldn’t, not in the way you want,” he says, his heart pounding, realizing that her plea for him not to fix it will have to be the one that will go unanswered. He knows exactly what she needs. Exactly. It’ll rip him apart to do this, in all of the best, soul-destroying ways, but it’s what she needs. Steve Rogers, throwing himself on the wire for his team.

“You and your stupid fucking rivalry--”

Steve interrupts her by arching his back, thrusting up against her, holding her gaze. “That’s not it.”

Natasha’s still hard-edged, scoffing. “I should have realized that would set you off. It must drive you crazy that his giant tower puts him ahead in your dick-measuring contest.”

“You think Tony wants you the way I want you? He doesn’t,” he says, blunt and honest. Her hips stutter in surprise, and Steve lets himself slide one hand up to the front clasp of her bra, flicking it open. “He’s known you longer, sure.” Natasha’s green eyes are wide, stunned. He takes advantage of her momentary stillness to hold her steady as he sits all the way up, sliding his other hand up to cup her face. “But would he throw away everything he has at the very thought of kissing you again, on purpose this time? No.”

“Steve?” she breathes, hesitant, haunted.

“Say the word and I’ll sleep on the porch and never mention this,” he tells her, hoping to hell she doesn’t.

“What even is ‘this?’” Natasha asks, tracing his face with doubtful eyes. “You trying to make up for Banner? I’m not a grenade, Rogers.” Her words are vulnerable but her voice isn’t. She’s using it as a weapon, pushing her sex appeal into the tone, sultry and challenging.

He watches himself push one of her wild curls back behind her ear, indulging a long-held desire that has nothing to do with the other ways he wants to touch her. “Seems like you’re trying to blow up like one. You just picked the exact wrong person to prove your point.” Steve makes eye contact with her. “Since when do I lie to you? About anything?”

“You want me,” she states dubiously, tossing her head, shaking it as she questions him, as if even saying it at all is too much to be believed.

“Very much.”

“I find it hard to believe this is anything more than a seventy-year--”

Steve buries his hand in the curls at the back of her head and kisses her, pouring all of his longing into the sweep of his lips, coaxing her to respond. For all the time he’s wanted this, he’d always thought if he got the chance again, it would be like the first time. Unexpected, unplanned, uncomplicated, unrepeatable. Not like this. Not with ardor, affection, adoration.

Natasha shifts toward him after a few seconds, letting out a small noise and tilting her head to deepen the kiss. Her movement sparks the napalm in his blood, little explosions of pleasure that follow her hand as she grabs his shirt, dragging it up his back to bare it for her fingernails. Steve can’t help it, he thrusts up into the sweet heat of her thighs in his lap, even as she gasps her mouth open for him to taste her. Natasha pulls back and rips off her shirt.

“Touch me, please, Steve, touch me,” she begs, grabbing his hand from where he’s been gripping her hip like a lifeline.

“I--” he starts, completely forgetting what he was going to say as he watches her throw her head back as soon as he palms her breast, shifting his grip so he can trace his thumb across her nipple. “Ahhhh, fuck,” she groans. Steve dips his head to suck an open-mouthed kiss against her neck at the same time he uses both hands to circle his thumbs across her nipples again. The sound she makes in response is as resonant and aching as he’d always hoped it would be, from the outside.

“Do you believe me now?” he says, each word a kiss.

“I might need more proof. You could be very dedicated to my well-being,” she laughs. It’s throaty and sexual, and he surprises her and even himself by the way he abandons what he was doing to hold her down as he grinds his hardness against her yet again, blatant and demanding. “Yeah?” she encourages.

“Yeah,” he pants, screwing his eyes shut to settle the overpowering urge he has to wreck everything about himself and the team, rip off their clothing and rut with her. He wants to keep this, and to hell with Banner and his reticence.

“So, you’re saying…” she dangles, reaching down and unbuttoning his pants, taking down the zipper, and lifting herself up long enough for him to yank everything down in a frantic rush. Steve can barely believe what’s happening until it happens-- she takes him in her hand at the same time she curls her other hand around his neck to haul him down for a filthy kiss. Every single nerve ending in his body is a conductor for her electricity, and the two of them together prompt a chemical reaction that send his pleasure centers into overdrive.

With a herculean effort, Steve pulls back from the kiss, cupping her face with one hand, the other fisted in the fleece beneath them, channeling all of his excess energy and desperation. He’s not in control, and he knows he could hurt her by accident.

“Was supposed to be about you,” he manages to say between a gasp and a groan at the way she’s working him with expert movements.

“Are you kidding? You should see your face,” Nat says in that rich, sensuous voice of hers. “Very complimentary. But how did you keep this from me?”

Steve drops his head, overcome, when she leans over and tongues his nipple in a completely unexpected, devastating move. “S’wrong,” he slurs. “Ahhhhh, stop, stop, Natasha, you-- stop.” She stills her hand slowly, easing him into the loss of it, and it’s so thoughtful, so thorough, so Natasha, that the action cuts the last threads that held his heart back from its inevitable fall.

“Bet you never thought you’d try to stop me,” she whispers in his ear, hooking her chin over his shoulder for a second, her various movements inexplicable until suddenly they’re not, she’s naked and sinking onto him, and Steve’s gone, he’s gone, his back arching, hips chasing her heat and tightness.

“Shhh, shhh,” Nat reassures. Her hands smooth over his back, his arms, his face, and finally he can open his eyes and see her, sweat-touched and exquisite.

“Natasha,” Steve whispers, shaking his head. He has never felt so clumsy and imprecise in his life. “I wanted to make you see,” he tries to explain. She’s given him everything he’s wanted, freely, somehow, but his goal had been to tear apart her insecurities, not force her to support him in exposing his own.

“You did. You are,” she says, but he shakes his head, noses a caress onto her shoulder.

“We’re all a mess in so many ways, the team,” Steve tells her, groaning as she tightens around him, seeking out her lips to taste the groan when he strokes his fingertips over her nipple. “Most of our strengths are outside-in. Yours is inside-out. You’re made of steel, coated in silk.”

“You always fuck so poetic?” she teases, but her eyes are luminous.

“Gotta get it all out now,” Steve whispers, seeing his peak on the horizon and craving as well as dreading it.

“Steve,” she warns, and he shakes his head.

“You know I’m right.”

Natasha leans over, kisses his neck just under his ear, and whispers, “That why you haven’t really touched me?” she challenges.

“I’m inside you, that’s not enough?” he groans, knowing it’s not, feeling caught out, hating and loving the way she absolutely knows him. His avoidance had been subconscious, but she’s a master of that domain.

Oh my, is she.

Natasha sets a hand on his shoulder and caresses him all the way down to his hand, pulling him, unresisting, to just above where they’re joined.

“Touch me, Steve. Make it so every time I see your hands I remember this. If I can’t keep you, if this is it, if this is all I get, give me that to remember this by,” she whispers.

“Fuck, Natasha, you can’t just--” he groans, so close to coming his vision is whiting out, but she stills her hips.

“You kept this from me,” she says.

She’s right.

As penance goes, it’s appropriate.

Steve turns his hand, lightly probing and swirling his fingers exactly where she wants him to. Her reaction rattles him to the core; Natasha had always struck him as an inherently sensual person, even if she only let small glimpses of that show at any given time, and rightly so. But even a light graze of his fingers against that sensitive part of her takes her apart. It’s wrecking to watch, and he craves the chance to see it over and over, again and again, in any and every possible way, even as his orgasm approaches exactly like the tiny death the poets call it.

“God, Steve, yes. Yes, fuck, please, please,” she babbles, her mouth pressed against his shoulder to muffle the noises just enough for propriety, or so he hopes. “Please, sweet-- ahhhhh!”

Because fate loves to give Steve just what he wants, they come apart at the same time, the cloying, clenching, glorious pleasure bearing down on him just as the woman he cares so much about shakes and shudders and begs in his arms.

They hold still for long enough that each of them has to know it’s just to prolong the inevitable.

“Count of three?” Natasha finally whispers.

“No need,” Steve says, and they slowly pull apart, avoiding eye contact. He’s trying to decide which shirt to soil when she brings him a package of non alcoholic baby wipes.

“Thanks,” he says.

“No, thank you,” Natasha says. It’s sincere, he realizes. No sarcasm, no innuendo, no amusement, just a sincere, heartfelt gratitude that feels simultaneously like a slap and a caress.

“You’re important to me,” he mutters, pulling his clothes back on.

“Right back at you, Cap,” Natasha tells him. It’s the transition, he can sense it. He settles back onto the sheet, facing her this time, a tiny concession to plausible deniability. She’s perceptive enough to catch it, of course, but they’ve got a shared secret, now, and that’s just the way things are. There’s just one more thing to do, one final rip through a single word written on a mostly torn piece of paper.

“Don’t give up on Banner,” Steve tells her, his tone as kind and matter-of-fact as he can make it, right now. “Today was probably the worst day of his life. People don’t make rational decisions on days like that.” The smile feels bitter and truthful on his lips.

Natasha’s lying on her side, lifted those few inches above him by the height of the cushions she’s resting on top of. Her expression had been sober, maybe even sad, but on hearing those words, a tiny fraction of lightness crosses her face. One corner of her lip turns up.

“Really?”

Steve’s paper metaphorically flutters to the floor, the bold block letters of the word landing imprecisely, but readable. UNRE QUITED, it reads. The meaning of the first four letters of the second half are not lost on him.

“Really.”

[tavyliasin]

“Pain doesn’t scare me, Abdirak. It is my constant companion, it seeps into every bone, every muscle, it rears its head and bites at me when I least expect, it twists my nerves to the point I should rightfully scream…but even agony can’t sustain a scream that lasts a lifetime.” You found yourself becoming more poetic, an easy cover for the deep aches that even now threatened to steal your senses. It was easier to rely on a lifetime of masking, turning whatever harmed you into something creative, something beautiful, always a vain attempt to deny the reality around you. “Besides, I can barely walk across the room, let alone think of running.” “Dearest One, I can feel it from here, now. Your eyes speak it clearer than your precious voice…” His eyes did not leave yours, softening with understanding as he read the truth from you like an open book. “Agony is a cloak that you wear, an armour you cannot remove, it is as bound to you as the guilt you feel for its very presence. I envy you…but you did not choose this path. Your guilt does not serve you.” He took the empty glass from your hand, the brief touch of his fingers reminding you of the feelings you had when you first saw him on a screen. He was…warmer than you expected. “You’re welcome to my nerves, I’ve had quite enough for one lifetime.” You smiled, almost falling back on the fake laugh you forced whenever you told someone you felt fine on a day your bones felt like they were trying to tear free from your flesh. The empty glass was now back on the table, and he was in front of you once more. Closer, this time. His hand reached towards you, fingers curling as he stroked your cheek softly with the back of his hand. “You need not of my penance, no, you need a different hand to alleviate the weight in your soul. I can show you what else your body can feel, if that is what you wish.” You stayed silent, he was so close now you could smell the slight scent of coppery blood and hot leather, mixed with a warmer note…a perfume?... Unexpected, but it was something akin to a spiced rum. Rich, heated, and a little dangerous.  “You may consider it a gift, for the generosity of your soul screaming out to the beloved Maiden of Pain, you can sing in a different tune so all the gods may hear it.” His hand caressed the line of your chin, cupping your cheek in his palm. You leaned your face towards the warmth instinctively as he brought his lips to your opposite ear with a low whisper. “Would you like that, Dearest One? To let the heavens and hells echo with the voice I can draw from within you?” The heat rose through you like a furnace, the sound waves ricocheting through your mind and body with the promise in his words. But there was one word more important first. “Reality.” You said as calmly as you could manage, his lips pressing a kiss to the edge of your ear with a surprising softness. “That is my safe word, when I want to return to Reality I will say just that, or I’ll hum this tune.” A simple melody from an old song you loved rumbled through your throat, perhaps a little off key, but the notes and pattern would be instantly distinguished from any passionate noises. “Of course, your word is my command. It shall be as if Loviatar herself whispered it to me. But I need to hear it from you clearly,” he kissed your cheek before guiding you to face his cool grey eyes. “Do you want what I wish to offer you? The love of the Maiden, along with my own?”

A little preview of a side fic I'm writing. I have about 4 WIPs on the go right now but I'm chasing the inspiration where it arises~ This one is Abdirak x Reader, and will be a dedication to all those in the community who live with chronic pain like an unpleasant roommate who refuses to move out. Abdirak understands pain, and carries a softness within him for someone who has such an intimate relationship with agony. So, darlings, how would you answer him? I'm going to finish this one when I wake in a few hours, then go back to writing Abdirak x He Who Was, which is currently over 6,000 words and about halfway done~ See you on the other side, loves, may Loviatar show you mercy.

EDIT - FULL FIC LINK HERE

[5tr4ylov35t4y]

reader x minho

warnings- rough sex - curse words

minho hasn’t been around in awhile. normally, he just hangs out with his members at practice and before shows. but now, he’s always with them. ‘new idea’, or something. you were sick of it. he now has time for dance practices and ect., but no time for his girlfriend.

you wanted to make him jealous, or just annoy him.

you sneak into his room, and look around in the closet. you found the shirt minho was planing on wearing today.

you yank it on over your bare chest, then walk into the living like nothings happened. the plan was, if he still didn’t notice you, make him jealous, but if he does, you want to be nice.

you sit in the living room, and minho comes running out of his room. “has anyone seen my shirt? ” he says this all while running through.

ugh. he didn’t notice. you didn’t want to do this but you also really did.

you walk up to your best friend, jisung, whom minho had always been jealous.

you talk and laugh with him. you can almost feel minho’s glare at jisung.

when you walk out of the livingrooom, a hand snakes around your waist, pulling you away from the members. your met with an angry minho.

minho couldn’t even decide if he should be mad at you or that stupid bitch trying to steal his beloved. he doesn’t know what to do without you, and he can’t lose you. he’s based his whole personality around you. he’s conditioned you to be his. “that bitch.” he muttered under his breath.

“minho! i was just trying to be nice.” you gasped at his foul language. it’s not like you didn’t say it either. minho just grunted in response as he dragged you to his room.

“you are mine, understand that?” he said, staring into your eyes. he took control of your face and started to nod your head up and down, until his actions was interrupted with your words. “yes i understand that but i-“ a hand slapped over your mouth and you mumbled as you continued the sentence. “shh. don’t speak.” he spoke as he pulled down his pants with his unoccupied hand. he unbuckled his belt and you couldn’t help but feel excited at the noise. you took the memo and pulled down your panties that were just barely covering you.

he lapped his finger around your sopping entrance. “this better be from me.” he said, looking up at you with jealousy. you nodded eagerly as you moaned.

you jumped at the sudden feeling at your entrance. his tip was poking at you. he was lining up to your entrance, he suddenly slammed into you. you winced and bit your lip, trying to not scream out. “shhh.” he demanded, but in a soft tone. you don’t know how he managed to make his tone and his words so condescending.

he started to thrust into you, he was agonizingly slow at first. it was annoying you, but you dare not speak up. you started to grind your hips and buck them to try and hint at it. minho got it, but he didn’t seem to care. he wanted control, and he didn’t want to be dictated right now. he just needed to get his aggression out.

he started to go faster and you bit your lip, drawing blood. he chuckled at your suffering of trying not to make noise. you didn’t know if he didn’t want you to make noise so you wouldn’t get caught, or just to simply torture you. you needed him to speed up. it was still slow, you needed to say something, but you were scared. he started to increase the speed as minho started to become more needy. “fu-fuck- you’re all mine, mine. just mine.” he grunted as his thrusts began to be harder. he felt himself to be close, and you could catch on too.

you felt yourself growing close too. you were on edge, about to be thrown over. you could feel it in your stomach, growing faster and faster waiting to be released. you felt it grow to the very last straw, and just as you were about to push through, he stopped. you looked at him, confused. minho just pulled out, he really fucking pulled out. he didn’t even cum either.

“next time dont tease me and youll get what you want love” he chuckles. you couldn’t believe even he could do that while trying to get out anger, but you assume it’s going to be rough tonight.