#he looks so fleshy and mushy

[emsisisi]

idk if it COUNTS as a spoiler but it's in the book sooo

BABYBILL ‼️‼️ patootie

[tadpolesonalgae]

On The Wrong Side of History: The Queen of Hybern

Azriel x Hybernian!Reader

synopsis: Reader is one of Hybern’s generals, fighting for her freedom after Prythian turned her back. Born with no magic, she was forced to cultivate a different kind of power, one that could prove deadly to the inhabitants of magic-blooded fae of Prythian. But when she’s captured and thrown into the scarred hands of the Spy-master, which side of history will prevail? Will Hybern’s story be told, or will it be covered up and concealed before the suffering of her people ever makes it to the light.

warnings: miscarriage at the end, war, general suffering and grimness, slight torture(?)

a/n: I had this idea yesterday and wanted to write something so fair warning it’s a little rushed! It also lightly brushes over miscarriage which might be a delicate subject for some so please take care of yourselves 🧡💛

word count: 3,810

——————————————————————————————————————————————

The war is coming, and not a single inhabitant of Hybern will stand by and let the chance for freedom pass. It’s been five-hundred years since you were confined to that island, cut-off from the mainland and left to rot and starve. Now is the time to reclaim the ground you were deprived of. War is coming, and she is starving for revenge. Starving like your people have for centuries, and nothing will stand between you and fighting for your right to life. Not even the baby you know is growing inside of you.

The air is fresh and damp, and you take the time to inhale its freshness before hot blood is spilled, turning the ground to a mushy, fleshy soup. The day is overcast, heavy grey clouds that look like the mould on bread swelling in the sky, ready to start leaking, dripping down into the open fields. Grass stomped into a muddy mush as feet frantically fight for ground, desperate to keep steady before they’re trodden down into the dirt, trampled and crushed beneath the weight of an army.

If you fall, you cannot rise. Not with a writhing mass of violence crowding the land, oozing bloodlust so thick it won’t matter which army you fight for. A body shouldn’t rise from the mud, any attempts to would be met with steel slicing down in a frantic jolt.

You turn from the entrance of your tent, making for the bed, moving slowly, peacefully, to the protective coatings you’ll be wearing in a couple of hours. The leather that will stick and slide over your skin, wet with blood and sweat, hopefully some rain, too. Heat gathers quickly in the midst of battle, and between the stink of gore and the sweltering sweat that greases any soldier’s grip, rain and wind are much appreciated for their gentle touches.

Your nose twitches as a breeze passes through the camp, quiet in the early hours of misty, grey dawn. Even beneath the cover of your tent, the smell of the battlefield can reach you—damp and bloody, contaminating the fresh air you’d been treating yourself to.

Something shifts inside of you, and you glance down at yourself, hesitantly raising your palm to your lower stomach. You only found out about your condition mere weeks ago, but even had you only found out this morning, you would still be here, preparing for your freedom.

The baby won’t survive, anyway. Not with what your body has turned into.

————

“You’re ready for today?”

A wry smile curves your lips, settling deeper into the chair that’s been set to one side of his room, the large bed in the centre already made despite him having risen as recently as yourself. Neither of you have ever particularly been ones for sleeping in, having so much to do at all times of day. “I’ve been ready for the past five hundred years,” you answer, leaning your chin on the heel of your palm.

The King of Hybern reflects your smile—the slightest twist of his lips. “Perhaps I made a mistake sending Amarantha to seize control of Prythian,” he muses, slipping the shirt over his head, pulling his dark, shoulder-length hair free of the collar once it’s on, making to tighten the laces that can be used to close the V of the hem. A note of dissatisfaction slides beneath your skin as his amulet is obscured—a hollow iron circle, his crest welded from the dark metal inset to its centre.

“Perhaps,” you agree lightly, watching as his fingers tighten the ties of his trousers, noting the distinct lack of armour—he’ll be watching over the Cauldron today. “Though in that case she might still be alive,” you murmur quietly, a little smile dancing in your eyes.

“You disgrace her,” he chuckles lowly, pulling the thick coat from his bed, leather on its exterior to keep out the bite of wind or the lick of rain, while lined with a warm fleece. “You trained beside her for a good portion of your life, at least honour her memory.” The King of Hybern shucks on the coat, the hem of leather coming down past his knees, and he adjusts the cuffs before making for the large, wooden chest at the foot of his bed.

“There was little to honour,” you counter, straightening in the chair as you watch him decide on which daggers to hide beneath the coat. “She was brash and brazen at the best of times, too quick to grow comfortable on her throne. And I never liked her bedside manner. She was always too grabby and rough for my liking.”

“She was ambitious,” he counters, strapping a small blade to the interior of the coat, hidden away in a pocket on his left side. He pauses, briefly considering something, then glancing over you, how you’re lazily sprawled across his chair, “though her nails could have been a bit shorter. They were an unpleasant surprise, at times.”

Your lips curve at one corner, sharing a look with him, before he returns to selecting his daggers, settling on one with a jagged, serrated edge, a wicked hook to its tip.

It’s then he turns, blades concealed beneath his coat and he silently walks to you, charcoal eyes glittering as you sit straighter. “How long have you been serving me now?” He asks, pausing at your side, so you have to incline your chin to look at him, baring your throat. “Five centuries? Six?”

“Six and a half,” you reply, “if you’re counting foot soldier duties as serving.”

He smiles a strange smile, glittering teeth showing briefly beneath familiar lips. “Loyalties are rewarded,” he says cryptically, his palm settling beneath your jaw, inclining your chin—it would be easy for him to snap your neck with the slightest snap of his hands. “Have you thought about what you want?”

“It seems greedy to ask for something before I’ve even succeeded at winning this war,” you reply.

“Consider it a show of assurance,” he remarks, “I have no doubt you’ll prove instrumental to Prythian’s ruin. Now, what would you like, upon your victory?”

Your eyes gleam with hunger, and you wonder if it’s at all possible he might not already know what you desire, more than anything. And looking at the way those charcoal eyes of his are gleaming, as if goading you on, urging the words to spill like honey from your velvety tongue—you feel it’s impossible. He knows what your request will be. And he’s practically dragging the desire from your throat, with the grip he has on it.

“Make me your queen.”

———

Darkness pounds at your mind, eyes aching as if the blood vessels are bursting, hot pressure building, ready to splash out through your pupils. The air is cool…cold, skin hypersensitive to the slightest shift in temperature, telling you there’s a layer of sweat over your exterior, alerting you to each swish of air.

Your thigh stings, the laceration taking its time to heal, longer than others of your kind would. The small cuts you’d been given the day before—a few inches long—have scabbed over, no longer in danger of leaking blood, but there’s going to be a definite pucker around each cut. A shiver traces up your spine, an involuntary shudder passing through your lungs as coldness sweeps across your skin, like a winter’s breeze.

Slowly, keeping your breathing as even as possible, you crack an eye open, only to be met with darkness. Hesitantly, the other slides open, and you peek at your surroundings but the dark seems impenetrable, thick and absolutely solid. Your nostrils flare, and the faint smell of ammonia and iron waft up along with the sharp tang you associate with stomach acid, the air itself thick and damp, slightly humid. Fertile and rife, perfect for things to start growing.

Casting your gaze downward, you can spot the stitching that’s covering the split in your right thigh, jaggedly stitched up, and from the looks of it you’re quite glad you weren’t conscious for it. You also notice the grime that’s already begun settling on you, dirt and mud and gore still layering your skin, save for the small perimeter that’s been cleaned around your thigh. The thought of how you must smell is a grim one.

“You’re awake,” a voice observes from the darkness, making your ears twitch.

You keep your mouth tightly sealed, waiting to hear what the observer has to say. Let them speak their part first, before you start making your own moves. Already you can tell this one is different from the previous ones—yesterday’s one had a lighter voice, squeaky and dragging. This one sounds like the first roll of thunder before a storm breaks.

“You’ll forgive me for the haphazard stitching. Healers are needed elsewhere.”

So this one’s to blame for the child’s-quilt on your thigh. It’s more than likely it was done intentionally carelessly, rather than simply poorly—poor stitching could lead to further infection, while careless stitching just might leave a trace of a scar. On a regularly healing body, at least.

Straightening in your chair, you try to pick out where the voice is coming from, but the darkness is so thick, and your eyes have barely had a chance to adjust, and with the faelight bobbing above your head there’s little chance they will anytime soon. Keeping them shut would be the quickest way, but it would be leaving yourself open. More open than you already are, that is, with your arms bound at your back. They haven’t bothered to shackle you to the chair itself today, the ties from yesterday are gone, and you can feel the weight of the stone around your wrists: Gorsian shackles—utterly useless on you.

“What do you want today?” You ask into the darkness, stretching your fingers to keep them awake and ready. It’s already been at least three days, and you suspect whoever has come to visit today isn’t just any old torturer. You can tell from the silence they keep, how undetectable they are despite your honed senses, sharper than most’s. They had to be, for you to survive.

“The same thing anyone might want from a prisoner of war,” the voice replies, ghosting through the room, bouncing about in the darkness so it’s impossible to tell its root. “And what is that?” You ask, following the script, familiar with the direction of the conversation—unaccustomed, however, to be on this side of it. “Information,” the voice replies, and there’s less than a second of detectable presence before your hair is wrapped around a fist and dragged back, your throat exposed as you’re positioned over the back of the chair, making it impossible to swallow. The faelight glares down at you, beaming into your adjusted eyes, and you’re forced to squint as your vision blurs from the sting of the light and the grip on your scalp. Cool steel settles just below your jaw, the tip of a blade spiking into the soft flesh just beneath the hollow of your mouth.

Your teeth grit together, hissing sharply at the roughness of the touch, thigh aching from the tension that shot through your body. A laugh forces its way from your chest, ragged and strained as you peer up into the faelight, pupils tightening to slits in the face of the brightness, “give me something in return. I can’t very well go back empty handed, can I?”

Your captor roughly tugs on your hair, your lip twitching a little from the pain but otherwise unruffled. “You might go back with no hands at all, unless you’re careful.”

“Threats already? You haven’t even told me what you’re after,” you bite out, voice heavy and grim.

A beat passes between you, then the steel is flipped away between deft fingers, removed from your throat in favour of pressing to your sternum—a warning before the cuts begin, gradually skinning you alive until they get what they want. Fury simmers quietly inside of you, but you keep it tucked away. That’ll only come in useful once the pain starts setting in. A fuel to fall back on when food would become a problem. But it’s high time you return to your king. You’ve spent long enough here, all because of a stupid, foolish…

“Would you like to hear something interesting, then? In the name of compromise?” The voice asks, low and rasping, and you sit silently, waiting for what they have to say.

“The one who visited you yesterday, the day before that, and the day before that…each one refused to come back the next day. Insisted there was something wrong with you.” The hand tightens on your hair then releases, the presence vanishing like a flame snuffed out, leaving your skin tingling with awareness. “Once is by chance, twice is a coincidence, but three…three’s a pattern.”

Something hisses past your ear, and you jerk in your seat, not foolish enough to stand. You glare into the darkness, peering deep from beneath your lowered brows, lips turned down in the corners as you try to pick out even the faintest shadow, but they all blend together so seamlessly, like one giant, blank wall. Not a single shape to be found.

Something whispers to your left, then cracks to your right, your pulse beginning to pick up involuntarily form the confusing stimulus, attention split between both directions.

A figure steps into the grey shift in light, silent and menacing as it prowls forward, one military-grade boot in front of the other, and you take in the towering silhouette, the great wings looming in deeper shadow. Your eyes follow the light as it glides up his frame, revealing long legs clad in Illyrian leathers, scarred hands within easy reach of visible weapons, a lean waist and broad chest, the Night Court insignia clear over his heart. Cold, cutting hazel eyes, with a glint you recognise. After having spent so many centuries gazing into eyes like that, it would be strange to not be able to place the intense glint of honed reproach, the look that desires utter eradication of the thing that’s causing suffering.

Calm and deadly, he is your exterminator.

“We’ll start with an easy question,” he says, gaze unfaltering as he meets your own.

“What is it that makes all kinds of magic recoil from you, General?”

A slow smile breaks across your lips, delicately curving in a mocking grin. You should have known this would be his question, that they would have figured something was wrong with you by now—the slowed healing, the way their magic leans back from you, as if trying to scuttle away.

“And you?” You ask, a gleam in your eye. “What’s your title?”

His mask doesn’t shift, not even the slightest hint of emotion in his dark eyes. Just silence. Patient, grating, silence.

“Not even the name of my captor?” You push, smile slipping away, settling back into a wall of ice to match his own—you can play that game, too. “Or are you nobody? You don’t seem like you’re nobody, though.” You angle your chin, shifting in the chair slightly, re-flexing your fingers, testing the gorsian shackles. “You’re clearly important, if you were sent in to investigate after three turned away, and considering the insignia you’re wearing, with those wings…master torturer of the Night Court?”

He inclines his head, “Spymaster. Shadowsinger.”

“And how do your shadows like me, Spymaster?” You murmur, able to guess the answer.

His dark eyes narrow on you almost imperceptibly, then his right hand is wrapping around the hilt of one of his blades, inset with strange markings, as dark as obsidian. The hairs on the nape of your neck rise as he thumbs the blade free, a sharp glint in his eye being the last thing you see of him before he steps away into shadow, falling seamlessly back into the darkness.

“How long had you planned to let this war go on for?” He rasps from the darkness, the question bounding in and out, coming from different sides that make it impossible to track his position. All while he’s free to observe from the shadow. “You ask that like we have control over the nature of war,” you reply neutrally, keeping your gaze sharp, but all it looks the same. If you could find a way to put the faelight out, or to lure him to stand before you… Getting some information first would be preferable, though.

“But maybe we had an idea.”

The sound of steel slicing through air comes from your right, and you instinctively follow the familiar hiss of a blade, body tensing, as if expecting it to come flying out from the darkness.

“You’d have to be confident in a victory to have a timeframe in mind.” His rasp echoes throughout the room you’re kept in, whispering in varying volumes as it’s bounced off shadow. “We’ve had a long time to prepare,” you reply vaguely, features remaining blank, despite being unable to so much as feel the weight of his attention. If it wasn’t for the fact you’d seen him, and were having a conversation, you wound’t believe he was in here with you. You hate to admit it, but it’s impressive.

“And I suppose you believed you’d win?” He questions.

“I know we’ll win. Whether I’m in here or not.”

The steel tip of a blade grazes the top of your back, slowly tracing the length of your shoulders, occasionally pressing deep enough to disrupt the skin, but mostly remaining as a taunting reminder—he could choose to cut you at any moment, as deeply or as slowly as he pleases. “What made you believe that? Numbers? Experience? Speeches?”

“We have the cauldron,” you reply, keeping apprehension clear from your voice, the tip of the blade pressing a little too deeply into the back of your left shoulder. “What was it like, by the way? Seeing your soldiers wiped from existence in the blink of an eye?” The blade bites into your skin, probably pushed in to about an inch of flesh, and you grit your teeth as he twists the steel, opening the wound up. “I’m fairly certain we targeted your aerial armies on the first day,” you grit out, remembering the wings at his back. “I’m guessing you knew some of that scum?”

The blade retracts calmly, but he makes no further incisions, walking back around to stand in front of you. He’s strangely under control, considering how badly the war will be going for his side.

“Why are you so repulsive to fae magic?” He repeats. Unruffled by the comment. Good. “Why don’t you come closer and figure it out yourself?” You reply, noting the living shadows that are gliding down from his shoulders. “See if your shadows can answer that question.”

He regards you silently, then slides the blade back into its home at his hip, walking forward until he crowds your space, scarred fingers biting brutally into your cheeks, squeezing as he leans down. “I don’t think I need an answer. Not anymore.” You keep your mouth shut, confused by what he’s saying. “You see, despite your certainty, you were proved wrong. Two days ago. I would like to know what it is about you that makes magic react the way it does, but at the end of the day, it’s ultimately of no importance.”

You glare up at him, muscles tense from the grip he has on your cheeks, squeezing your jaw.

“You lost the war,” he says, quietly. “Your king was decapitated by one of the humans he used as a test subject. Felled by his own creation.”

There’s no falsity in his gaze, just ugly, unforgiving, truth.

And he’s in reach.

You twist your wrists in a snappy movement, harsh enough the already weakened gorsian stone crumbles away, allowing you to launch from the chair, hand seamlessly wrapping around the hilt of his blade, sliding it free with the familiar sing of steel.

He’s caught off guard—it’s impossible to break out of those shackles—his moments of surprise allowing you to use his weight against him, pushing into the frame of muscle in the places you’re familiar with, tripping him up. His wings thrash as they’re caught beneath him, shadows vanishing at your proximity, shoved away to some godsforsaken pocket as you aim the blade for his throat, his own scarred hands wrapping around your wrists to loosen your hold. But fae are made of magic, their very strength dependant on it. Encountering a creature that nullifies any and all types…his muscles tremble beneath you, shaking with the force of keeping you from plunging the blade into his throat.

“I’ll kill you, and your High Lord,” you hiss, leveraging your own weight, so the blade sinks down toward the bare, unprotected part of flesh. “I’ll end every single one of you, and I’ll save that abomination for last,” you snarl, in regard to the human who he’d told you decapitated your king.

His strength is draining swiftly, and he knows you can sense it, can feel the tremble in his muscles, and the steel inches closer, spurred on by his weakness.

The Spymaster grits his teeth as he shifts suddenly beneath you, allowing you to gain precious inches so the steel scratches the swell in his male throat, but in turn allowing him to raise his leg from the ground, stomping his boot into your stomach, sending you flying back, crashing into the chair you’d been sat on, the faelight flickering above.

Your lips part, eyes going wide as nausea rises up swiftly, having only seconds before you’re vomiting onto the floor, heaving up chewed food and saliva, a dizzying feeling sweeping through your entire body.

You’re flipped over not even a second after you get the first clear breath down, the Spymaster over you, dark eyes cold as ice as the steel of that blade glints in the unnaturally pale faelight. The blade hisses down, aimed to slice up beneath your ribs, cutting into your heart, but his eyes have dropped to the hand you have over your abdomen. Nostrils flaring at the slight tang of blood.

His features slack. “You’re—”

You take the chance, knocking the blade from his hand, reaching to wrap your hands around his throat, but something impacts with your temple, a second figure coming from the darkness that you hadn’t noticed, and you feel as the hit registers.

A fresh wave of dizziness slams into you, the world tilting dramatically before you’re slumping, heading for the floor before hands catch you. Making sure you don’t land on your front.

The world goes silent.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[secret-places-of-the-heart]

⊹ how overwatch heroes love

⟢ i found the start of this in my notes from last summer and decided to finish it. only did a few because they stuck out to me the clearest

⟢ cw :: none; just drabbles of their "vibe" or whatever. includes junkrat, ashe, and widowmaker

also putting it here since i dont have it anywhere else: yes i do requests

| ♡₊⋆ˎ-ˊ junkrat

junkrat would, fittingly, love like a bomb.  jamison fawkes has no experience with a partner, let alone love.  but he’s diving in headfirst, fuses alight with hearts for pupils.  he’s unpredictable; you never really know where he’s going to land emotionally.  all you know is the blast will be damaging — not particularly in a bad way.  those little explosions of love will burn away your skin and all those fleshy layers until he can see your heart.  he doesn’t mind the blood as he cups his hands around it, so raw and so you, the beating of it against his palms akin to a countdown.  and then every burn scar he gets while tinkering on his creations he dedicates just for you.  his love is always around, just a constant ticking clock until the wick is at its end and you hear that familiar ring.  he’s a block of c4 strapped right over your heart.

| 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ashe

ashe is a hole in the head.  something so intense it disrupts your entire way of thinking. a shot she never misses.  her love is all you can focus on, dripping all out down your forehead and into your eyes and mouth, staining your teeth a visible red when you smile so love-drunkenly for her.  it’s a consistent shot of pain, an ache that will never cease.  she leaves your brain all mushy, torn up so all you can really think about is her. when you look, she’s stood in front of you with her hat tipped down, muzzle of her gun pressed to red pouted lips, blowing a leash of smoke around your neck with no intention of letting go.  your head is split open for her viewing pleasure, and she makes sure you know. but she cradles your jaw with lissom fingers and wets a white handkerchief with her tongue, dabbing it over your heart-shaped wound.  she sort of revels a little in the way you wince at the sting, cleaning you up just enough so the wound never really heals.  it may scab over, but ashe is always ready with another bullet, and you know how quick she can reload.

| ᥫ᭡₊ ⊹ widowmaker

widowmaker loves like a spider bite.  you’re tied up in her sticky strings of love, her carefully woven web tied from lamenting bone to lamenting bone. and it seems for a moment the spider whose web you’re caught in has died with how long you struggle all alone.  but she’s there, perfecting her poison before her final performance.  widowmaker is graceful as she moves along that pretty, heart-shaped web of her design.  long legs tantalizing you, love just dripping from those sharp fangs of hers. you can feel it spread painfully through your veins, pumping into your heart.  and it’s like your chest constricts; she’s taking you for herself from the inside out.  she’s focusing in on every single part of you, scoping into the sweat that’s dripping off your face, the intoxicated way your eyes fight to stay open.  your vision is so foggy when she lifts your head by your chin, all you can really make out is her shadowed form.  and now it’s like the web that ensnared you is the only thing holding your body up.  your veins write jeremiads up your arms; her love is a pain you just couldn’t bring yourself to hate.

[chelseeebe]

haunt // bed

summary: you find comfort in the arms of steve harrington when your dad dies. can this arrangement really work when he begins to fall in love?

a/n: so this started off so good n then i left it n now i hate it :D but hey, it’s finished and i do not ever have to think about it again

hopper!reader x steve, basically starts as smut w a plot line n then gets mushy

steve could do casual sex.

steve was the king of casual sex.

it was just sex, right?

he’d practically invented it.

so why did this feel so different.. difficult almost. like something was itching at his brain.

maybe it was the fact he had always had a little crush on you? or because he knew you were still grieving, not in your right mind and maybe he should take a step back.

it didn’t stop him.

you were only supposed to go over to his to talk.

he was there at the mall when it happened and you’d wanted to know every single detail. what your dad had said before the basement of starcourt mall had exploded and he was ultimately caught in the eruption.

they’d combed the ruins for his body but to no avail. strange government agents reassuring you that it would have been totally painless and the blast would have meant there were little to no remains.

unsurprisingly, it offered no comfort.

steve had offered an ear, a shoulder to cry on. he understood. having been wrapped up in this otherworldly shit for years now, and still having to come to terms with his own experiences.

‘treat me like an old friend.’

you recalled the moment you pulled up outside the mall, how the flame’s encapsulated the entire building and joyce byers gave you that teary-eyed look. how you’d just known.

you tell him about the feel of your knees hitting the concrete as they buckled from beneath you, in the moment the pain was numbed but your legs were still black and blue from the impact.

the tears rolled down your cheeks, hugging onto your knees like a small child, feeling minuscule on his gigantic sofa.

then you leant over, sodden cheeks and planted your salty, tear stained lips on his, he was taken aback. only briefly, as he chased the feeling of your lips, cradling your cheek.

‘d-do you think we should? i mean-,’ he mumbles against your lips.

you stop him with a finger on his lips and nod, ‘i want to.. i need to,’ eyes still blurred and unfocused.

he pauses, but only for a second, ‘if you must then,’ smirking slyly.

there’s no hesitation to the second kiss, you were just aching to feel something, anything and steve could provide that.

you clamber on top of him, knees either side of his legs and tug on the hem of his shirt, lifting it over his head, discarding the fabric on his living room floor.

he moves underneath you, gripping onto your fleshy hips as he got more comfortable, his lips moving down to place small, gentle kisses to the skin of your neck.

‘off,’ he breathes against your neck, lifting your shirt up.

you oblige, lifting your arms up to make it easier.

you shuffle around as his fingers tug down your worn sweatpants, it’s awkward and quite frankly difficult to get them off and you lean forward, connecting your lips once more to fill the space he had created.

he fumbles with his own jeans and you lift yourself up as he pulls them down around his thighs, boxers shortly after and you can feel how hard he is beneath you.

your fingers entangle into his long hair, his eyes gaze up at you, blown out pupils and wet lips.

‘y-you’re sure?’ he reiterates and you nod, reaching down between your bodies, positioning his cock to your slick entrance.

your breath hitches as you move down onto him, pausing for just a moment to adjust to the fullness of him inside of you.

his fingers dig marks into the fat of your waist, top teeth biting down onto his lip as you begin to slowly move your hips, a low groan in your throat.

you reposition your hands, gripping onto his bare shoulders, nails leaving small indentations in the skin.

the rough feel of denim brushes against you as you bounce, his length sliding out of your pussy.

his head falls back, a deep moan falls out of his parted lips, only encouraging your hips to rock faster.

‘ho-holy shit,’ he sighs, glossy eyed as he watches your face, enjoying the sight of pleasure painted on your face.

you slow your rhythm, rolling your hips against his and tilting your head down, burying your sweaty forehead in his shoulder.

steve wraps his arms around your waist, knees bent, digging his heels into the soft sofa as he starts to buck his hips upwards, slamming into you from below.

‘oh my god,’ you whimper into his neck, leaning forward to allow him to continue thrusting up.

it’s a filthy sound, his balls slapping into the backs of your thighs, only turning you on more as he quickens his pace.

his carefully designed living room full of skin-on-skin and both of your moans and groans.

the familiar feeling in your stomach heightens and you pull your head out of his neck, pressing your forehead to his.

‘i’m gonna come,’ you whimper, nodding against him, eyes planted firmly on his as he falters, breathing heavier as his own orgasm builds.

you bounce against him, hitting the indescribable angle as your knees weaken and the coil snaps, white-hot pleasure searing all over your body.

your eyes clamp shut, a show of white stars flood your vision as he grunts, pumping in and out for the final time as he erupts, meeting a similar orgasm.

he pants, open mouth pressed against your cheek when he slides out of you, arms going slack around your waist.

you catch your breath, still on his lap and clear your throat, watching him come back down to earth.

you move off his legs and onto the couch, reaching down to get your shirt, throwing it over your body.

steve’s eyes follow you, shocked at your nonchalance after what was arguably the best sex of his life.

he sighs, knowing that for you, it was truly nothing.. a way to cope with your grief.

you wipe your moist face and look back at him, a slight smile on your lips, ‘well.. definitely needed that,’ you chuckle.

he returns the smile, wriggling his jeans back up. his eyes fall to your still exposed thighs, trying to memorise every last part of your body incase this was the last time.

‘yeah..’ he nods, completely enamoured as you redress, jumping into your sweatpants again.

you stand, running a hand through your tangled hair, ‘you don’t sound too thrilled.. was it that bad?’

‘no no, god no.. i was just..’ falling in love with you, ‘trying to remember how to breathe,’ he jokes, trying to change the subject.

you let out a breathy laugh, ‘well thank you.. i needed that,’ you comb through your hair with your fingers and spin to find your discarded shoes.

‘you going?’ he questions, sitting up on the couch. not wanting you to leave his sight again.

‘yeah.. said i’d have dinner with el.. i’m actually already late,’ you slide your shoes on and fling the discarded jacket over your shoulders.

he stands, following you over to his front door, ‘well.. i’m here anytime.. remember that,’ he nods assuringly, brushing a hand against your arm.

you grin back, ‘oh, i will,’ exiting his house and walking over to your car, flashing a short wave to the still-shirtless boy.

he closes the door and leans back against the wood, letting his head bang against it as he exhales.

there was no way this could ever just be sex. not with the way his heart was aching after you’d only been gone mere moments.

-

well, it is just sex. at least you keep telling yourself it is.

but over the weeks, your sporadic hookups eventually turn into staying over.

and you call him when nights at the cabin are too much. when the silence echoes just a bit too loud and you know you’ll combust if his hands aren’t all over you soon.

he becomes a sort of crutch for you to lean on.

this sensation was new to steve, finally seeing the other side of the situation.

see, he had been the user many, many times. but never the used. and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

sure, there were moments of tenderness, moments that two people not in a relationship probably should not share.

like the nights when he’d stay over, cooking for both of you and just rotting away in your bed, a soft cocoon of gentle kisses and shared laughter.

and then there were the other times when you’d get dressed straight after sex, using him for that sweet release and leaving him alone, pining for more.

you weren’t exactly thinking about it too much. steve was more than willing to be whatever you needed him to be, even if just for a moment.

-

‘it’s just sex,’ you shrug to the two girls, picking at the fries in front of you.

you weren’t even sure if you believed your own words.

they glance at each other and you clock, furrowing your brows.

‘what?’

robin sighs, pushing the empty plate away from her, ‘is it?’

you shake your head, not understanding her question.

‘is it just sex?’ nancy takes over, eyes wide and full of concern.

‘yeah? i don’t- what are you trying to say?’ you push back, unappreciative of their lack of understanding.

robin bites down onto her bottom lip, shaking her head.

nancy pouts, contemplating whether it was wise to explain.

‘i’ll i’m going to say is.. maybe steve doesn’t see it as just sex..’ robin blurts out.

you shake your head again, letting out a breathless laugh, ‘what? he does.’

they look at each other again and robin exhales, ‘no.. he doesn’t.. he knows you do but he wants.. more,’ she stumbles through her words.

she’d never really been good at articulating herself and was even worse in sensitive situations.

‘don’t take this the wrong way,’ nancy speaks up, ‘but maybe.. maybe it’s not such a healthy way of dealing with things.. we all just want the best for you,’ she nods, giving a flat-lipped smile.

you frown, standing up from the table, the chair making a terrible screeching sound along the wooden floor as you do.

‘i don’t recall ever asking for your opinion on how i deal with my dad dying.. but i’ll make sure to take that on board,’ the tears brim in your eyes as you storm out of the diner, sniffing as the door slams shut behind you.

nancy sighs, watching as you storm out of the building. she knows you don’t mean it, you’re angry. hell, you’re a lot of things but not one of them okay.

-

the temptation to call steve was becoming too much.

you sit on the couch, knees to your chest as some old timey movie blares on the tv, the volume entirely too high in an attempt to drown out the awful silence.

it was one you’d used to watch with your dad and then eventually with el, turning into some sorts of a family tradition.

the byers had very kindly taken el into their home, with the offer of you joining her if you’d wanted. it was tempting but you knew how much joyce had struggled and giving her a whole other human being to look after was too much.

besides, you were old enough now to live on your own.

though, she would make sure to come down to the cabin every few days just to check up on you, having jonathan and will bring you home cooked meals and little care packages she’d curated.

it meant more to you than she’d ever know, especially on days like today where your heart sank into your stomach, the cabin walls closing in.

robin’s words bouncing around the inside of your mind.

maybe it wasn’t just sex.

would two people just having sex hold each other the way you do?

would they stroke your hair as you slept the way steve did to you?

steve had been there through a lot of the uncomfortable times, dressing in his nicest suit to accompany you to the funeral, gripping onto your hand as they lowered the empty coffin into the ground.

the funeral itself had taken a lot longer than anticipated to happen, with owen’s having to scour the entire crumbling down mall and conduct their own reports.

there were only a handful of attendees that knew that your dad wasn’t actually in there. owen’s had told you that unfortunately there was no trace of his body, but trying to assure you that it would’ve been painless.. and no body was better than the alternative or him being dust on the floor.

you turn the tv off, trying to shake the thoughts of your dad in that basement, now sat in uncomfortable silence as your hand twitches, finding itself on the plastic receiver, already dialling steve’s number.

it rings a few times and you will for him to pickup, honestly just wanting to hear his voice on the other line.

‘hello?’ he breathes into the phone.

you exhale a small sigh of relief at the sound of him, ‘i need you.’

he sighs, already knowing who was on the other side.

‘please.’

‘i’m coming,’ he assures and you can hear a brief scuffle as he grabs his car keys.

you squeeze your eyes shut, falling back onto the sofa, wishing he could just be here immediately.

‘i’m leaving now, okay?’

‘okay,’ you nod, placing the receiver down.

you stay in that exact position on the couch, waiting for steve to arrive.

there’s a small knock on the cabin door and you shoot up, rushing over to let him in.

you swing the door open, wet eyes meeting his as you let out an unexpected cry.

he steps forward, throwing his arms around your body, pulling you into his warm chest.

‘hey..hey, it’s okay,’ he coos, rubbing your back, attempting to console you as he had done a multitude of times before.

he guides you over to the couch, kicking the door shut behind him and sitting back on the soft cushions, your body falling on top of him.

you cling onto him, wriggling around to face him, his hands still holding onto your back.

his hand comes up to wipe the tears from your cheek, pressing his forehead to yours.

you look at him through glossy eyes, arms slung around his neck, ‘thank you,’ you breath.

he shakes his head against yours, ‘don’t.. of course i’d come, did something happen?’

‘no.. i just wanted you,’ you sniff, finally consoled as he rocks slowly back and forth.

he smiles, meeting your gaze, ‘have you eaten?’

‘not yet.. not really hungry,’ you let go of him slightly, moving one hand to hold onto his stubbly cheek.

‘what do you want? you need to eat something..’

‘hmm.. pasta?’

‘now how’d i know you were gonna say that?’ he chuckles, booping his thump on your nose.

this was definitely not a casual sex relationship.

your heart skipped a beat as he placed you onto the sofa, walking off to make the pair of you dinner.

maybe you’d finally realised exactly what you wanted.

-

‘i think el’s going to california.. joyce is selling up and moving them all out there..’ you say quietly, looking up at him.

‘oh?’

you nod, trying to gauge his reaction.

‘yeah.. she asked if i would want to go.. dad uh-,’ you clear your throat, but the lump sits firm, ‘he left some money.. there’s more than enough to get me a place out there..’

his mouth falls open, you’d mentioned joyce’s plan to leave hawkins before.. but he’d never have assumed that included you too.

‘are you gonna go..?’ he mumbles, trying not to make it obvious about how much he hated that idea.

you bite your lip, placing the empty bowl on the table and sitting back against his chest, ‘i don’t know.. i’ve been thinking about it.. hawkin’s just doesn’t feel like home anymore..’

only when i’m with you.

his heart sinks, surprised that you couldn’t feel it travelling down his sternum. how could he tell you that he’d probably keel over and die if you left him here alone if he hadn’t even told you how he truly felt?

‘oh.. that.. that makes sense, being there with el..’ he tried to mask the disappointment in his voice but fails incredibly.

your fingers twist around his, bringing his hand to your chest.

‘i don’t know though.. i wouldn’t want to leave you all on your own,’ you chuckle slightly, picking up on his glum tone.

he smiles slightly but you don’t see, ‘i wouldn’t be completely on my own..’ his mind flashes to robin and how much closer they’d grown over this summer.

shared trauma and all that.

‘no.. hey.. i saw rob and nancy the other day and- can i ask you something?’ you move off of his chest, turning to face him.

he looks back at you, puzzled, ‘what did she say? i told her not to say anything about.. what happened, she’s not exactly great with words,’ he shakes his head.

‘no no.. it’s okay, it was about you actually,’ your lips twitch into a smile as his cheeks turn red.

he’d told her practically everything about you and him, they were like gossiping old friends, but now his mind flashes to the multitude of things he had confided in her and can’t think of which would be most embarrassing.

‘oh.. i think that’s even worse,’ he mumbles, not quite meeting your eyes.

‘shh.. i just wanted to know.. well, she basically said that.. with us,’ you gesture between both of you, ‘well that you wanted.. more, and i just wanted to know if that was true.’

he wasn’t really sure what he was expecting to come out of your mouth, but it definitely wasn’t that.

words fail to come out of his mouth, feeling slightly exposed by his supposed best friend.

he tries to read your face, determining how you felt but you weren’t giving much away, staring back at him and awaiting an answer.

he shrugs slightly, ‘i.. i’m happy with whatever is going on here..’ his attempt at brushing this off had not worked.

‘so you don’t want anything else from this?’ you grill him further.

you hadn’t even really thought about that possibility until robin had bought it up and with the decision looming over about whether you were going with the byers to lenora or staying here.. the thought of being in a relationship with him was now something you’d actually considered.. wanted.

you’d thought back to all those times, all the shared laughter and his glowing eyes, how they’d make you feel whole again.

how you’d began to crave his attention in more than a sexual manner, wanting to see him smile just because it made you smile.

‘i.. might have mentioned something to rob.. just talking about how sometimes it feels like we’re in a relationship, it was stupid-,’

‘steve, can you please just answer my question,’ you stop his rambling.

he closes his eyes briefly and breathes in, ‘i do.. i want you to be my girlfriend, but.. i’m okay with that not happening especially if you’re moving.. i don’t wanna pressure you,’ he goes on, words tumbling out of his mouth a mile a minute.

you put your hand on his knee to calm him down, widening your eyes at him as you try to stifle your laughter at his word vomit.

‘it’s okay.. you can breathe,’ you nod, reassuring him, ‘so.. if i stay here in hawkins, i think it’d probably be a good idea if things were maybe.. more official between us?’

he looks back to you, slightly confused, ‘really? don’t feel like you have to.. i know you’re still going through stuff, i don’t want you to feel pressured, that’s all.’

you shake your head, squeezing his knee, ‘i don’t, i just hadn’t really thought about it like that until robin mentioned it.. and i realised i actually wanted that.’

he smiles, ‘okay.. so,’ he looks bashful, suddenly coy, ‘what are you like.. my girlfriend or something now?’

you laugh, a real guttural laugh, one that only steve had gotten out of you over the past few months, shrugging, ‘i think so.’

[hawkinsuniversity]

𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

word count : 4.3k

pairing : steve harrington x reader x eddie munson

warnings : 18+ content, dark!steve, soft!eddie, bratty!reader, use of pet names, swearing, daddy kink, intense humiliation, degradation, dom training, boot worship, forced eating, praise, dumbification, exhbitonism, face slapping, bondage, pussy spanking, temperature play, very rough spanking, and fluffy steve at the end

minors please dni (do not interact!), due to 18+ content.

•••

“something wrong sweet cheeks?” eddie’s voice broke through the intense silence that the two of you, and steve had successfully maintained for the past fifteen minutes. it had been made clear at the beginning of the evening that steve had a short fuse on him after a long day at work and neither of you had dared to say a word since he had gotten home. that was until now.

your eyes quickly shot up from the pile of mashed potato’s that you had previously been shovelling around your plate. eddie’s dark eyes bore into yours disapprovingly as steve glanced up from his half finished meal.

“how come you haven’t eaten any mashed potato’s yet?” steve asked firmly while clutching tightly onto his steak knife. he was not in the mood for bullshit tonight.

“i don’t know… jus’ not hungry” you defended.

eddie cleared his throat and gently kicked your leg underneath the table, trying to make it clear now was not the time to push any of steve’s buttons.

honestly it was very rare for steve to develop such a fowl mood, but after today it was well justified. he had experienced one of the most stressful days at the family video store since he started working there and ended up having to cover two extra shifts of robin’s because of an important collage interview she had scheduled.

“well your gonna finish your dinner whether you are hungry or not.” he commanded.

no, not what he had commanded… what he had ordered.

you began to feel warmth pool in your lace panties and your pussy throbbed in anticipation.

steve was already dominating. no question about it. but on days like these he tolerated nothing less than perfection and precision. your cheeks flushed pink and thighs pressed together at the needy thought of steve punishing you while so short tempered and frustrated.

suddenly a large hand came hurtling towards you and a firm smack was laid across the fleshy part of your face. the hand roughly grabbed onto your chin and yanked you to the left so you that were nose to nose with the attacker.

steve harrington.

king steve.

daddy.

“i’m sorry princess did that sound like a suggestion?” he growled.

“n-no daddy..” you whimpered while trying your best to avoid eye contact.

just then another aggressive smack was angrily delivered across the other side of your face.

“look at me in my fucking eyes when you’re being spoken too!” he yelled.

as you stared up at steve you shook fearfully in his arms while eddie slowly ran his hand down your back soothingly.

“told you not to push sweetheart.. and of course you did anyways.” he scolded gently into your ear while steve scooped some of the cold mashed potato’s onto a fork before shoving it in front of you.

“eat.” he demanded.

your nose instantly scrunched in disgust and your eyes started to well up with tears.

“daddy please no! please daddy! i’ll be a good girl!!” you promised in hopes of a reward later tonight.

“open now.” steve warned in an even harsher tone while moving the fork closer to your lips.

“no daddy!” you whined while thrashing around on his lap in hopes of breaking free from the tight restraint his arms were creating around you.

steve only looked down at you in pity. you looked so pathetic. thrashing in his arms like a helpless dumb baby. he felt himself growing hard just thinking about it. but his own needs weren’t important right now. you needed to be taught a lesson. put in your rightful place. and steve knew just how to do it.

suddenly he aggressively ripped your plate off of the table and dumped the mushy contents onto the ground and one of his freshly polished shoes. you instantly stopped struggling and looked up at your boyfriend in curiosity.

“well what did you do that f-” you started before steve ripped you off of his lap and plopped you down on the ground so that you were kneeling in front of the mess.

“listen up brat. you can’t seem to follow simple fucking instructions today so i think that it’s time you are taught your place. now this is what’s going to happen… you’re going to lick the rest of your dinner off of my boot in silence and once you’re done you will receive your punishment. is that understood?”

you quietly whimpered. steve and eddie had humiliated you in the past but nothing as extreme as this. this was fucking crazy. your neighbours could literally look over the fence at any moment and see you kneeling mercifully at steve’s feet.

“is that understood?!” steve questioned again angrily, snapping you out of our worrisome trance.

as tears quickly begin to stream down your face you barely managed to choke out a verbal response.

“y-yes daddy.” you sobbed pathetically before lowering your head down to lick up the mashed potato’s and peas that were splayed across steve’s boot. the two boys watched with satisfaction as you gagged due to the texture of the soft peas while your hair dragged through the barely edible mush.

“awww harrington… our dumb little baby’s looking so worthless and needy for us.. would be cute if it wasn’t so pathetic..” eddie chuckled to himself while staring at you in awe.

you cried out helplessly at the boys harsh and degrading words while continuing to lap up your dinner as fast as possible without throwing up.

“well munson, don’t let me enjoy all the fun.” steve responded excitedly while handing eddie the glass of half drank apple juice that you had left unattended on the table. eddie’s eyes sparkled darkly before turning to you and directing you to remove all of your clothes immediately.

you looked up at your boyfriend in fear.

“eddie please no..” you begged pathetically while a mixture of tears and saliva streamed down your chin.

“oh yes baby.. take them off now.” he demanded once more.

you knew that arguing would only result in a worse outcome so you accepted your fate and quickly began stripping your clothes off layer by layer. as you removed your last undergarment you felt eddie’s tall shadow looming over you and you looked up at him sheepishly.

“you better keep fucking eating.” he ordered harshly as you felt a heavy boot come down on your backside and push you forwards.

he forced your face back into the soggy mashed potato’s while you silently begged for mercy at the men’s feet.

suddenly, your body froze in shock as the apple juice that eddie had previously been holding began streaming down your face and body. the juice got everywhere. it was in your hair, on your face and body, in your mouth, and even in the food.

steve let out a deep hearty laugh and gently patted the top of your head. “awww she’s such a good little whore, isn’t she ed?”

“our perfect personal little cum dump.” he agreed.

you winced in embarrassment at the sound of their degrading praise and continued to gag while humiliation overwhelmed your senses.

“come on sweetheart, just a little bit more…” eddie encouraged.

your tongue swiftly swirled across steve’s boot as you attempted to finish every last morsel of food that might still be remaining on the surface. despite the intense feeling of disgust that had settled in your stomach, arousal continued to pool heavily in your soaking wet panties. and from what you gathered, the two boys clearly felt similarly due to the bulging erections that had formed in their tight jeans.

suddenly steve’s large hand reached down and grasped onto your soft hair to pull your head up to face him.

“the little cum slut is enjoying herself so much down there..” he degraded while his gorgeous brown eyes bore into your soul and the rough pad of his thumb toyed with your bottom lip.

“did you enjoy your dinner sweet girl?” eddie teased as steve smiled up at him in approval and let out a light chuckle.

“i hope she did because she’s gonna need something to sustain her through her punishment..”

you sobbed.

you had worked so hard to be a good girl for your daddy and he still wasn’t satisfied. he still thought you deserved to be punished.

he was still disappointed in you.

acceptance washed over you and your quaking body quickly became numb and useless below him.

“come on, just a little longer baby.. you can do it.” eddie encouraged while picking up your lifeless body from the ground and handing you to steve.

“mhm k” you mumbled under your breath quietly.

steve then flipped you onto your stomach and began to gently run his palm across your plump bottom that now had a large boot print displayed across it. he poked and prodded at the skin and even started to gently kiss your lower back. your body melted into his and just as a sense of safety and security had washed over you a large whip echoed through the backyard and a harsh sting formed on your ass. a shrill scream escaped your lips and your body began to thrash around on instinct. almost instantly another firm smack was placed on your raw bottom and you desperately whined out for eddie.

“eds can’t save you now baby.” steve taunted. “you’re gonna have to succumb to my mercy now…”

he then slowly started to trace gentle lines and shapes on the surface of your sensitive inner thighs. you whined out in need and attempted to grind your hips against steve but were unsurprisingly unsuccessful.

“tsk tsk tsk.. such a naughty impatient little whore.” he degraded. “and you really don’t seem to be learning your lesson.. think you’re gonna need a really rough punishment.”

you cowered in fear at the thought of a worse punishment so when eddie took his bandana off and tied it over your eyes, an instant wave of panic washed over your shaking body.

“shh be quiet baby.. will all be better soon.” he promised while stroking the back of your head.

by now you had began to feel steve fidgeting underneath you but were unsure of what he was doing. well.. that was until you felt a large hunk of metal come down on your bottom and roughly impact the fleshy part of your rear end.

“ow! what the fuck was that!” you screamed out in pain, unable to control your words.

you quickly whipped your head back and was instantly met with the horrifying sight of steve’s firm grasp around the strap of his belt, which now had fresh blood painted across the fancy buckle.

now it was eddie’s turn to punish you.

he swiftly brushed past you and made his way in between your legs (which had previously been dangling off of steve’s lap) before grabbing you by the ankles and hoisted your legs over his shoulders. you gasped out uncomfortably due to your tender muscles and lack of flexibility.

“ed-” you started when suddenly the munson boys large, ring clad hand came down harshly on your soft, fleshy pussy and the sound of a loud, squelching clap filled the back patio. the solidity of the iron caused you to shriek out in pain but the coolness that the metal provided simultaneously soothed the searing irritation.

“what have we told you about watching your mouth princess.” eddie growled in your ear. he had developed an animalistic tone and was clearly loosing patience with you.

“i- i am so sorry eds.. i swear i’ll be a good girl for the rest of the night.” you promised.

“just the rest of the night? oh sweetheart.. if you think that’s how this is going to work then you are sadly mistaken…” steve stated sympathetically. “if you ever want to cum again then you will shut the fuck up, stop being such a greedy little desperate whore, and take your punishment graciously. i do not want to hear another sound from you for the rest of the night unless you’re given special permission. do you understand?”

you looked back at steve and eddie stunned, unsure of what to do. you began to slowly open your mouth but shut it quickly after remembering what steve had said about talking. they were both fuming and you absolutely sure that if you found the courage to disobey either of them again you would never be given the privilege of cumming again. all three of you knew that the boy had been dead serious with his threat.

you slowly moved your gaze up so that it met steve’s piercing eyes and shakily nodded your head to signal that you were ready to continue.

steve chuckled to himself and jolted your head down so that your limp body was laying across his lap helplessly.

instantly the sharp pain returned and you began to feel the iron engravings on the belt press into your sensitive ass, creating obvious markings. blood had even began to steadily stream down your thighs and you bit down on your tongue in attempt to silence yourself.

“only gonna give you five tonight baby. does that sound okay?” eddie checked in.

you bobbed your head up and down to signal that you felt comfortable enough to take that kind of torment and almost instantly felt steve lightly squeeze your bicep to sooth you and let you know that he was still with you.

“so proud of you baby..” steve cooed. “just need you to count out the next four spanks for me.. yea?”

you restrained yourself from whining out in protest because you had already endured three harsh spanks so really you were only supposed to receive two, but decided against it for your own benefit.

“now baby we’ve only given you permission to count so we don’t want to hear any other little noises come from that pretty mouth of yours.” eddie demanded.

you shook your head once more in approval and within seconds felt the metal slap across your ass.

“two!” you shrieked out in agony. steve and eddie looked at each other and chuckled darkly.

“shhh baby.. better not be so loud.. the neighbours might think somethings wrong and come over to check on you.” steve taunted in your ear. “or is that exactly what you want? to have the neighbours see you sprawled out across my knee like the little slut you are?”

your pussy throbbed with desire but you knew that your punishment had to come first. steve and eddie wouldn’t let you get away that easily.

the next three spanks came down quickly, giving you very little time to even register what has happening. the pain from each of the smacks rose to surface of your ass all at once causing you to yelp out in pain.

“a- ah- three, fo- four, five!”

steve and eddies eyes immediately shot to each others and then to the ice bucket which had been placed earlier that evening in the centre of the table. you had screamed out without their permission and now you needed to punished even more.

within seconds steve was yanking you off of his lap and eddie was rushing to clear everything off of the table.

everything except the ice bucket.

once all of the plates and cutlery had been moved to one of the unattended patio chairs steve laid you out on the dinner table on your stomach. because you were blindfolded you were completely unsure of what was going on, but you knew that it definitely didn’t involve pleasure. at least not for you anyways. steve and eddie were overwhelmed with pleasure. seeing you struggle turned the both of them on beyond belief and only intensified their deep desire to have complete control over you.

the tea towels that eddie had plucked off of the wooden table were now being slung around your wrists and ankles by the two boys and you quickly realised what was happening.

you were being restrained.

you let out a shrill cry to exhibit your frustration but were quickly put in your place when eddie took the last tea towel and shoved in down your throat so that you were practically gagging on it.

you tried to scream, kick, and punch your way off the table but it was completely useless. you were going to be punished and there was no getting out of it.

“now” steve began.. “lets try this again, shall we? and try to listen this time you bratty, ignorant whore. you are going to endure your punishment of five spanks and daddy’s belt buckle will be used. no excuses. while i do that eds has seem to taken pity on you and agreed to make you feel a little… better.”

you didn’t like the way steve said better. you had almost heard his voice become darker and more demanding.

suddenly you gasped when you felt something gently touch your abdomen. it was steve’s hand. you could tell just by his touch that it was him.

“are you doing okay?” steve whispered.

“we can stop right now baby…” eddie assured while stroking a strand of hair behind your ear. “do you think thats what you need?”

you shook your head no and steve responded by giving your stomach a playful squeeze.

“my perfect girl” he praised while bringing his hand up to stroke your cheek.

you blushed at his kind words. steve and eddie both had power over you but steve had something that eddie never would. control.

obviously you loved the both of them equally and were desperate for each of them but you wanted something from steve that you could never get from eddie. no, you needed something from steve that you couldn’t get from eddie.

discipline.

everything about steve was so demanding. he was never afraid to be rough with you, was never afraid to push you past your limits. he was the only one that could truly put you in your rightful place. you loved eddie but sometimes he would only go so far with punishments in order to not hurt you too much. but steve knew how much you could take. steve knew what he could get you to do and he knew how much raw potential you had. although he might never admit it out loud, steve thought you were the most incredible, talented person out there and all he wants is to help you achieve anything and everything, even if that means being rougher with you.

steve then quickly broke contact causing you to whine out in annoyance but any sound that should have come out was muffled by the makeshift gag.

eddie followed steve’s lead and left your side to jump on top of the dinner table and kneel in between your spread legs.

the two boys exchanged mischievous glares with one another before steve gripped onto his leather belt and slashed it mercilessly across your bloody bottom. simultaneously, eddie plunged his ring clad fingers and a freezing cold piece of ice up your tight pussy.

shock.

your body had gone into complete shock.

you couldn’t feel anything.

that was until thirty seconds later when you were quickly snapped out of the numb state just to find another harsh slap delivered on your ass.

you were going to be horribly bruised and welted in the morning and you were almost certain that you wouldn’t be able to sit down for weeks to come. blood was splattered across your thighs causing both steve and eddies jeans to tighten as their erections grew at the dirty sight and the skin was already turning slightly purple. both boys felt bad but by the way eddie was looking into steve’s eyes it was clear that he felt really fucking bad.

steve shook his head but eddies eyes only pleaded back at him. he didn’t want to see his baby suffer. not like this. only wanted to make her feel good.

steve shook his head once more but eddie held his ground. you didn’t deserve this. yeah you had been a little bratty and you should have finished your dinner but it shouldn’t have been taken this far.

finally an exasperated sign escaped steve’s lips and he walked back towards your head to gently remove the gag and the blindfold. both were soaking wet from tears and saliva but you didn’t care. you were too needy to care.

“baby?” steve asked.

“mhm” you barely managed to whimper back at him.

“eds thinks that we should stop. do you think so too?” he questioned innocently.

“steve stop it. she’s done. i’m fucking serious. let’s just take her upstairs and give her a bath and then cuddle her to sleep.” eddie scolded.

your head instantly jolted up after hearing eddie’s words. he wanted to take you to bed, which meant you would be forced to sleep. you couldn’t fucking sleep. not now! not while you were still so achey,.. so needy,.. so fucking desperate…

“no!” you almost screamed at steve while his eyes bulged out in surprise at your instant response and quick recovery.

“i-i mean…” you began to correct. “i mean that i want you to finish punishing me daddy.” you said politely and definitively.

“baby are you sure?” eddie cooed while rubbing his warm hands up and down your smooth legs.

“y-yes eds.” you promised. “i’m sure.”

steve beamed down at you. he was so proud of you.

you were his girl.

you were his best girl.

steve stroked your supple skin with one hand and gently began undoing one of the wrist restraints with the other. eddie was doing the same on the other side.

“wha-” you protested. “daddy i said i wanna keep going!”

“i know baby, we are just gonna do things a little differently…” he assured you.

the boys untied the last two tea towels from the table and your ankles before steve was taking a seat in a chair that lay close to you. as he gently picked you up from the table he carefully positioned you across his lap and started to play with your hair again.

“how’s this?” he asked.

“perfect daddy, thank you.” you mumbled into his chest.

“good girl for using your manners.” steve praised even more. his mood had drastically improved and at this point he knew that you had reached your peak and needed to be brought down.

“are you sure you wanna finish this?” eddie asked worriedly while his eyes shot daggers at steve.

“yes eds.. wanna finish my punishment and be a good girl for daddy.” you announced while nuzzling your face deeper into steve.

“ok baby, just tell me if it’s too much.. ok?” eddie asked. he knew you weren’t going to change your mind when it came to appeasing steve, and he also knew how much steve felt the need to complete a things after starting them. especially punishments. steve’s need for constant control really angered eddie and it frustrated him that your constant need for validation had been taken this far.

“mhm k” you mumbled sheepishly back.

and with that sound of confirmation steve’s palm rose and quickly clapped back down on your bloody ass. a slight squeak escaped from your lips, but honestly the spank had been fairly gentle and it was quite obvious how much steve was truly holding back. he knew how angry eddie was and he was angry with himself for hurting you to this extent. but deep down a small part of him knew that this was what you truly needed and what you had wanted all along.

another light smack was placed on your rear end but this time even gentler than the last. pain was still searing through your thighs and steve started to worry some of the wounds might become more serious or infected if touched too much or left them exposed for too long.

finally the last (but firm) spank was laid across your back side and you cried out in relief as realised that it was all over.

“shhh..” steve cooed while pulling you closer and peppering kisses across your face. “come on baby let’s go get you cleaned up.”

and with that steve scooped you up in his arms and began making his way towards the door to go back inside…

•••

water rushed over your body while you grasped tightly onto steve’s large hands and carefully traced over each of the prominent veins. the boy had been sitting in a warm bubble bath with you for the past half hour after bandaging you up and giving you a million feel better kisses (which you were still in the process of receiving btw) while eddie cleaned up downstairs.

“baby?” steve mumbled into your shoulder.

“yes daddy?” you responded quietly.

“i know that i can be hard on you sometimes.. and i know that sometimes i can be a bit too rough but i just want you to know that i only act that way because of how much i love you and want you to reach your full potential. you’re perfect baby and i really don’t know what i’d do without you in my life. i love you so fucking much and never want you to ever feel unwanted or like i would ever actually want to hurt you. i know i can get carried away sometimes and it can feel like you might want to leave me during certain moments so i just wanted t-”

steve was abruptly cut off by you latching onto his pink lips and kissing him passionately.

“daddy i love you so much.” you pulled away and confessed.

tears welled in steve’s eyes and as you clung onto his body you could feel him melt into you. he had never been this vulnerable and open with you before and you knew how much it truly scared him. you wanted him to feel safe too.

“i’ll never leave you daddy.” you whispered into his ear. “i promise.”

•••

this smut fic was inspired by @rollergirlworld and @carol-munson so make sure to check out both of their pages because they post some really amazing content!!

[troubled-tums]

CW: diarrhea, tummy aches, gas, minor body image issues, belly rubs

Imagine somebody who’s very shy about his body. He’s shy about being thicc, mainly - his chubby belly, soft thighs, and fleshy arms all make him try to avoid taking off his shirt.

One weekend, he gets… sick. He wakes up in the morning feeling a little urgent, so he goes to the bathroom. It starts out normal, but his tummy still feels unsettled, so he rubs it a little and waits. When he finally manages to let it out, it’s mushy and loose, and he grimaces as it burns. Maybe it’s just the spicy food from yesterday, he thinks, and cleans up.

He and his boyfriend make breakfast, and he eats that without a problem. But a couple hours later, he’s feeling kind of sick again. His lower belly is feeling bloated and full, and there’s a gurgling in his gut he doesn’t like. He shifts uncomfortably, letting out a loud fart.

Good thing his boyfriend doesn’t laugh. He just smiles at him over the top of his book as he excuses himself hurriedly, and doesn’t comment when he puts down his own book and gets up to go to the bathroom a little while later. Nothing much comes out - it’s just a whole load of gas at first. He groans a little, feeling unsatisfied, and wipes himself just in case.

“Feeling better?” his boyfriend asks.

“I’m okay,” he replies, a little embarrassed. He tries to keep from rubbing his belly, which still feels bloated. He doesn’t want to draw attention to himself, since he knows his boyfriend will try to comfort him, and he really doesn’t feel good about having his chubby stomach touched.

He doesn’t really want to eat lunch, not really, but since there’s food that’s been prepared… He gives in and sits down at the table, forcing down his portion. The trouble is that his tummy is all kinds of messed up today, so his stomach is aching and overstuffed while his guts are grumbling and hurting, too. He barely manages to get everything down, stifling an uncomfortable burp.

The jig is up when his boyfriend suggests that they go out for a walk in the afternoon, after lunch. He winces and puts both hands on his belly, cradling his rioting abdomen. It’s clear enough to his boyfriend that he’s not feeling well, so he suggests that they sit on the sofa instead and watch TV. Bit by bit, his boyfriend inches his hand over until it’s resting on his tummy, and he jerks away abruptly.

“What’s wrong?” his boyfriend asks gently.

“I - I don’t want to be touched there,” he stammers, grabbing a cushion and hugging it to hide himself.

“Alright. But you seem to be in some discomfort, and I want to know what’s wrong,” his boyfriend persists.

“Oh… I’m so stuffed from lunch, and I think my gut is a little upset,” he admits, looking away. “I just… I just need to digest.” He covers his mouth again as he lets out another tight belch.

“Okay. Come here, okay? I promise I won’t touch your cute little belly,” his boyfriend coaxes, and he moves over reluctantly, still hugging the cushion. His boyfriend puts an arm around his shoulder and encourages him to lie down on the cushion he’s laid out on his lap. Gently, he starts massaging his scalp until he relaxes a little. His stuffed stomach unknots itself, becoming merely full instead of an angry ball of tension, and he even dozes off for a few brief moments.

He’s awoken by a loud, booming fart that erupted without his permission. His traitorous guts had continued digesting and producing gas, and now he groans, feeling how stretched his tummy is. This really sucks. “Sorry. Excuse me,” he apologises miserably.

“That’s okay. Is your stomach still feeling upset?” his boyfriend asks, keeping his tone casual as he continues to pet his hair. He screws up his face and palms his own belly, letting out a pained breath. Something gurgles inside him, and he’s forced to let out more gas abruptly.

“Sorry again. I… I guess I’m not feeling so good,” he explains, trying to sit up.

“No, it’s okay. I just want to help you, baby,” his boyfriend soothes, moving closer to hold him from behind. “Since your tummy is still hurting, will you let me give you a belly rub?”

He bites his lip, torn. On one hand, he really wants to be comforted. His tummy is feeling pretty awful - his intestines are bubbling and distending with gas at least, and he doesn’t know if he’ll have diarrhea again. But his belly… he doesn’t want his boyfriend to see how he looks, especially now that he knows he’s bloated.

“Just keep the cushion over, okay? I won’t see anything,” his boyfriend suggests, and he finally nods. As his hand descends on his tummy, though, he can’t help but tense up, jerking a tiny bit. His heart speeds up, and his breathing speeds up too, until his breath comes in short, shallow pants.

“Relax, baby,” his boyfriend murmurs, his heart breaking a little at how skittish he is. “Just breathe with me, okay?” He exaggerates his own breathing, taking long deep breaths in and out until he finally manages to calm down. Only then does he begin rubbing his upset tummy, his palm sweeping in slow circles around his whole belly.

It helps - it really does. Over the next ten minutes, he releases quite a bit of gas, even relaxing enough to admit that his lower belly is hurting now. His boyfriend switches his attention to his lower tummy, slipping just his long fingers under his T-shirt to knead his lower gut without saying a word about how he finds his belly cute. A cacophony of gurgles results from the kneading, and he groans a little at how his tummy is cramping up.

“I think I gotta go,” he moans quietly, and his boyfriend lets go of him. Getting up, he locks himself in the bathroom and shudders as he expels more loose slop, hugging his belly tightly as he whimpers and winces through the cramps. When he finally finishes up, there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead already, and he just rests for a moment before he cleans up.

“Feeling better now, baby?” his boyfriend asks when he stumbles out.

“A little,” he mumbles, a hand still on his own tummy, which is no longer as bloated, but still sore.

“Here. Drink some water before you lie back down.” He picks up the mug gratefully, getting down half of it before he leans back in his previous position. He reaches for the cushion again, but this time, he doesn’t flinch when his boyfriend’s hand reaches under his T-shirt to rub his tummy.

[dirty-brainrot]

Kitty

Very late sexy man birthday (and early post) !!! Also might start finishing up requests for February... No valentines special this month I guess.

Pairing: Kira Yoshikage x Reader (Platonic + You are a cat.)

It was cold, dark and lonely. A storm had passed and you resided in muddy alleyways as you had no choice after being left homeless.

Now you wandered the empty streets of Morioh-Cho. But in the far distance, you could hear shoes clacking into the ground and vague splashes. "Now, who could be out at a time like this?" You pondered and hid into the shadows, waiting for this mysterious person to pass by.

They stopped just in front of you, accidentally dropping something. It was meaty, fleshy, and not to mention it smelt horrid. You scrunch your nose and backed away further but the man notices your presence.

He stared at you with a dark and empty stare however you stared back with beady eyes observing him further. He had golden locks and wore pink... Or was it a magenta suit? You couldn't tell because of the darkness. But despite his proper look, he strangely smelt like ashes. A smoker perhaps?

"My, my... What's a cute little thing like you doing here?" Ignoring his question, you proceed to stare at him. A sense of danger surrounded this man but you can't help but get curious about this stranger and his weird mushy rotting item.

He reaches out expecting you to back away from him or even scratch him but was surprised when you leaned your head onto his hand. It was warm, unlike the cold temperature of the night. "Oh, you poor thing... You must be so hungry too."

Usually, he isn't the one to take in pests from the street but it's one of those sudden urges to do something brash and bold.

You nodded upon hearing the word 'food'. Mewling at him to give you some. "I don't have one on me right now." He apologizes then picks you up with ease, you didn't even retaliate which surprised the man. Was it due to feeling at ease with this dangerous man? or you were very hungry to the point you can no longer fight back? It was mostly the latter considering the man could easily see your rib cage.

"There, there... We're not far from home." His hands were big and warm... It was enough to make you feel drowsy or fall asleep even. But the time you close your eyes, the sounds of a door being opened brought you back.

You were now inside a stranger's house.

He flicks on the light causing you to be momentarily blind but you gained your sight back after adjusting to your surroundings. The interior of his home was minimalistic. It was certainly better than boxes or previous houses you've ever been in. The place was huge!

Your drowsiness disappeared as you look around in awe. Whilst you looked around, you failed to notice that the man had grabbed a towel to wrap you on. "There, warm and cozy?" He pets your head and brings you to his kitchen, making for food that you and he can feast on. Whilst he cooked, he sets you down under the table and you laid in place.

It didn't take him long to finish cooking. He grabs you once again and gently sets you on the table with your own small bowl of goods. It was bits and pieces of leftover pork which looked incredibly tasty, possibly the best food you've ever had. "Slow down, you might choke." His words went in and out of your ears as you continue to devour the meat in huge bites.

While you continue to feast, you saw from the corner of your eye, he takes out the smelly item out and sets it down at the other side of the table. He continued to converse with it but you didn't care. Sustenance was only in your mind and the pork has your full attention.

After a while, you finished before him. He sees you and grabs your bowl to set it down with his plate in the sink. He also gave you a bowl of water to hydrate and help the food go down. Shamelessly, you spilled water everywhere which did not impress the man. "We'll... Need to work on that, sweetie." He sighs, taking the fleshy item into his hands and whispering sweet nothings into it while he waits.

Satisfied, you mewled at the man, gaining his attention. He was leaning at the kitchen's door frame, looking back at your small petit frame. Smiling, he crouches to your level and pets you before cleaning the mess you made. "Well, wasn't that nice? Come with me, let's celebrate my birthday in the living room."

"Meow."

"Thank you, sweetheart." He combs his finger on your furry head assuming you wished him a nice birthday. You followed him into the living room and to the couch, trying to climb up the seat but only to be stopped and carried by him. "I can't let you ruin my furniture now." He chuckles with a dark tone.

He stops chuckling and looks over the rotting flesh. "Hm? What's that love? You want to pet the cat?" The man chuckles again. "Alright, I suppose you can." He replied to no one as he hovers the meat on you. It reeked badly. You couldn't help but gag and hiss at it, running at the edge of the couch too.

"Oh my... I guess she was starting to get a little stinky."

He sighs. Grabbing the ring finger, taking the ring off as it turns into nothingness. A small bundle of dust that flew with the wind. It seemed like a small bit got to you making you sneeze. The odd man smiled, petting you once again after your little sneeze. "I guess you'll have to keep me company... Y/N."

"Meow."

"You like that name?"

"Y~/N~" He sings each syllable of your new name out while scratching your head. You purr into his hand basking in the attention he's giving you. Without the meat he plays with, he pours all his undivided attention to you. Maybe you could live a simple and normal life with this man.

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Would you do a Jean x Reader x Reiner one? The reader felt so betrayed by Reiner being a titan shifter and when he left she felt so confused whether she can loves him or not after finding out the truth. Jean comfort her and they eventually fall in love. Or you can do a modern au one where Reiner cheated on the reader and Jean begin to see his chance with the reader then they both had a relationship. But she still can't forget Reiner. I truly love your writing! Have a good day ! ♥

i was wondering if you could do a modern au jean x reader. where the reader is very stressed for a test of some kind, and jean and the reader end up skipping the test and spend the whole day together instead, where towards the end of the day jean confesses his feelings for the reader. a lot of fluff please if you could i am obsessed sorry by @cj-sparkss

A/N: So i decided to merge those two requests because they fit really good together in my head! I hope ou guys like this! I strongly recommend listening to any song in Halsey's album, Manic while reading.

Pairing: Jean/ Reader, some past Reiner/ reader if you squint

Tags: college!au, art school au, fluff all the way

Warnings: Jean being way too cute for his own sake, seriously

Sketches Of You

Your head was burning.

Your eyes were stinging; tiny little little blood vessels were popping here and there, throbbing profoundly as they merged together, rushing their way to your irises. You didn't know for how long you had been awake, mostly because a few days had passed and you didn't remember falling asleep or waking up on your once comfortable desk chair.

Before you laid numerous books open in different pages, most of the writting they held emphasized by your favorite pastel highlighter. What felt like your lamp buzzed, burning a canary yellow light over the mahogany material of your desk, warming up the spot where your hand used to lay. A pen in your hand was all you could bring yourself to hold with your numb, frozen fingers, the plastic edges of its tube sunk into your skin, carving bumps to mark their spot in your hand.

Wait, oh no, you thought as you looked around this wasn't your dorm, this was the university's library.

The library around you was extremely quiet as you laid face down on one book, your mouth slightly part and your lips dry save for the little ribbon of drool that moistened a line down your right cheek. Only for one more minute, you told yourself, deciding to shut your eyes together just to allow them sometime to rest, ignoring how such request was what had caused you to drift off to such extend in the first place. Stinging tears escaped the corners of your eyelids, signifying how tired and dry your irises had grown to be. Letting out a huge sigh you tried to lift your head, at least this could be an attempt to get your life together for the day.

Your scattered books came to close quietly under your palms, the numerous pieces of papers and notes being tucked messily in between pages, your own fatigue causing you to break your own rules when it came to being as neat as you could with your notes. Another sigh left you as you sank into the back the plastic chair, your books firmly standing on top of eachother and into your palms.

This test was going to end you. You knew it. Despite having tried to memorise all the information that was required for you to even try to get a five -seriously, a five would be absolutely godsent if you could at least get that grade- all you were left with was your brain feeling mushy and muddy without any actual knowledge of the subject you had been studying for. Why on earth was gothic architecture an essential class in your first year in art school was beyond you. Was this university never supposed to let you graduate on top of trying to prevent you getting in for numerous years?

Resisting the urge to scream or pull your hair off your head you decided that it was time to get up, your knees straightening slightly at the your brain's command, only to be sent back into the blue plastic of your chair, your whole body growling in fatigue. Your chest heavied as you let out a whine, bringing your hands to your eyes to scrub away the stinging ache you were feeling.

"You good?"

Your head turned to the direction of the voice maniacally, your eyes shooting wide as you practically ripped your hands off of your face. Looking up, your (e/c) orbs met with hazel ones, little specs of yellow and green stared back at you through thick eyelashes, adorned with a complex of worry plastered on dark chestnut eyebrows.

"Yeah Jean, I'm just studying."

"Oh it's Mr Ackerman's test right?"

"Hm" you hummed in response, another whine coming out of your lips.

"Yeah I remember how that class went for me. He's pretty nice if you get to know him though. I have to submit a few sketches for tomorrow, can I sit with you or were you leaving?"

"No, I'll keep you company, I need a break from whatever.." your eyes wandered at the books in your hands and the numerous note sheets peaking out from anywhere you could lay your gaze on "..this is."

Extending a hand Jean reached out for the head of the chair right next to you, pulling it back in order to let himself sink into the dark blue plastic seat, similarly to you. His lips pushed into a thin line as he looked at you, his cheek puffing up in the action. A hand came to your shoulder comfortingly as another one pulled out his sketchbook from his run down and way too littered with dry paint tote bag.

"Are those for Moblit's workshop?"

"Mhm." Jean confirmed. "You got any 0.8 tipped inks?"

"Yeah, I do."

Setting the leather covered sketchbook on the mahogany table Jean turned his head to you again, pointing his eyes onto the black pencil case in front of you. In response you shrugged your shoulders, your palms shooting up to your eyes once again. Jean's hand grabbed on your case, his long fingers digging through the numerous inking pens and markers that overlapped each other.

"I can't believe you have the Sakura Pens when you know I don't like them." Jean whined, hands roaming through your belongings still.

"Jean," you said, a deep chuckle escaping you in the process "I happen to like them, you know."

"They're yikes."

"You just can't use them correctly."

"How do you use an inking pen correctly. Enlighten me." Jean mocked, his fingers throwing signs in the air to accentuate his words.

Resting his head on his fist Jean opened his sketchbook, swiping through numerous ivory cold pressed pages, filled with inked sketches. Your eye twitched as you tried to keep up with many of the drawings you could spot; you had seen the contents of this sketchbook a thousand times, admiring Jean's skill with ink. His professor, Mister Moblit had one of the most interesting workshops for students who specialised in inks, and you aspired to take his classes in your following year in art school, supposing you could pass your classes this very semester.

"What are you supposed to be drawing?"

"Anything, mostly things that make us feel like they are important to draw." Jean said.

"Oh and library is important?"

"Sasha said you'll be here, so yup. And I want to draw my hands actually "

You clicked your tongue, shaking your head in borderline disbelief. Honestly, if you weren't that bummed about your test and your recent break up you could have laughed at Jean's sly arrogance. Your eyes traveled to Jean, examining his quiet form as he studied his palms. Inevitably your eyes studied them as well.

His fingers were long and tan and harsh to look at, scrapped in most places with tints of Indian ink. They stuggled to manage with your pencil case, his pinkies and thumbs couldn't even begin to fit in the little object and it made you wonder how he even managed to work his inking pens correctly with such enormous hands. Some veins popped from here and there, accentuating his bulky joints perfectly; they run from the back of his palms to his wrist, mingling with more of their blue kind in his calfs and biceps. The occasional blotches of dried paint were decorating them. Even some paint covered hairs spiked as the light contracted his form.

You smiled miscellaneously.

Your own finger traveled without remorse towards them, poking at a few hairs that were littered with paint. By pinching one, Jean shot back in half pain, his brows furrowing in confusion as he stared at you. "Hey, what they fuck!"

"You do that to me all the time when i have paint in my hands!" You half laughed, shooting him a mocking furrowed look as well.

“You’re so cruel!” Jean grinned.

“To pay you back with your own penny right?”

Jean cocked his eyebrow at you, a few lines begging to make an appearance on his forehead. He shook his head a couple of times, throwing a few shaggy strands of hair away from his face, his forehead immediately lighting up as his ashy blond locks overlapped just above his ears. You mimicked him, using a hand to move your feathery bangs away from your face as to not have them intertwining with your vision.

Jean brought a digit to his mouth, biting at the bulky knuckle while wrapping his lips around it to suck at the sore spot, dramatically mourning the loss of one single hair. It made you laugh harder than it should have and you told him off, quickly grabbing his hand by the wrist to pull it further away from his mouth.

"Ew you idiot are your hands even washed!? Don't put them in your mouth!"

Jean's smile faded gradually as he nodded its only reminder remaining in his eyes as they softened with each passing second they looked at you. You bobbed your head to the side, taking in the way he was looking at you and you felt your gut grunting in the anxiety you had managed to drown at one time.

You definitely knew that look.

"So how are you after... The whole Reiner thing?"

When Jean let the sentence out, he instantly regretted it. Biting back the inside of his lip, his teeth dug into his soft, fleshy gum, the tiny specks of spiky under lip hair he had poking through his chin. You could see the regret plastered on his face, yet you ignored it with a sigh, pushing your stern further back into the chair again.

Of course Jean would ask about that. Reiner and you had broken up a little less that a month ago and it was stressful enough to send your anxiety over the roof. Coming home to find him drapped in the sheets with someone else was still burning through your brain like a hot iron, marking the fleshy crevices by piercing your skull.

Jean and you hadn't had a chance to talk about your break up yet; in the midst of it being a spontaneous reaction to Reiner's anathema and your upcoming mid-terms, you had chosen to indulge yourself fully with the everlasting pleasure of delving into studying.

And now, as you tried to utter your awaited words your stomach clenched at the foreshaken memory that you had tried to bury in the depths of your soul, your hands sweating just a tiny bit as you gulped down on some saliva to dumpen your dry throat. Jean's hazel orbs were set on you with curiosity and reluctance, his skin tingling inside his crewneck sweater.

"I mean, Eren told us about it and then we fought on who would punch Reiner first you know."

You oggled at him as he spoke awkwardly, your lashes batting rapidly as a wave of confusion washed through you.

"You don't have to hit Reiner you know, we all make our choices and he made his."

"Ah," Jean sighed heavily "I suppose so. I'm here for you though, you can talk to me."

"You're actually doing an assignment at the moment" you said and pointed your finger onto his sharp nose, giving him a playful push to the side. "No need to talk about my sorry love life."

"Your love life isn't pitiful, don't talk about it like that!"

"It's not pitiful, just sad." You sighed, reaching out to your pencil case. "Just sad."

Your fingers run through the case even though your eyes weren't fixated on the action, your sense of touch working its way to let you know which object you were seeking. The tips of your fingers caught on the thick Posca marker quickly and you locked it in a grasp between your pointer and middle finger, bringing it up through the zip up opening.

"Give me your hand." You ordered at Jean as you clapped your fingers to your palm in a 'come here' motion.

"It could always get better you know." Jean spoke and threw his hand to you.

Slowly the cap was off the market with a snap and you slid it up towards it's butt to pop it on there as to not lose it in any case it feel off of the desk and onto the mosaic floor.

Jean's nose lit up in a faint scarlet and his ears followed right next, lighting up in a deeper shade of the color on his nose which made his hand snap away from you in a matter of seconds. With puckered lips he stared at the corner of the room that was in the opposite direction of yours, his gut drenching him in short tempered anxiety.

"You done painting my nails with the posca pen?" Jean remarked, lips still puckered as he turned to face you. "When's your exam?"

"Three o'clock."

"Wanna ditch?"

Your eyes goggled in his for a second. The luminous morning light that peaked through the library binds fell onto him dearly, caressing a few of his features in a lemony colored mellow way, your gaze traveled into anywhere on his face as you tried to examine his expression while your gut was beginning to churn at the sly thought of agreeing with his query.

Weighting your options wasn't a seriously hard thing to do; if you took the test you were most likely going to fail, but if you didn't take it you'd have to live with the guilt of not even putting the minimal effort in it for a few weeks. But, you had tried so hard to pass all of your other classes so why shouldn't you slack off for one that was bound to end in a fiasco?

You found yourself nodding to Jean before you could actually give more thought to it. His face immediately lit up, ashy blond locks flying over his eyes as he shook his head in excitement. With one move his sketchbook was closed again, left to mourn over the non existent scribbles Jean could have made during all this time he was sitting next to you.

The hard cover protected sketching pages were thrown into to his tote bag once again, the sound of the sketchbook colliding and clashing with a few more objects he had in the bag filling the silent air of the library.

"Put your books in here!" He offered, opening the sides of the tote bag right on front of your face, signaling you to do as he suggested.

By taking a long sigh you took a turn in throwing your books and pencil case in the bag, one object following another on the pursuit of finding their own place in Jean's crammed bag. A shy smile adorned your features as you looked at him, the mischievous little devil on your shoulder smiling proudly at your actions as if you were a high schooler skipping school.

_____

Black Cat was a notorious cafe among art university students for numerous reasons. For example, it featured a decent amount of of beautiful contemporary art that was meticulously merged with the soft, cobblestone-cottagecore-home-during-the-winter aesthetic and all of their tables, stools and booths were artist-friendly to the max. Additionally it played Nirvana and Metallica for most of the day and on top of that they actually had a chunky and extremely cuddly black cat roaming around the store that you often found on your lap during your time there.

Oh, and the batwoman made amazing custom cocktails.

Really was there anything else anyone needed in a store?

The soft tangerine light flickered open as the sun outside started to hide it's shy low lights under the peak of a mountain you couldn't recall the name of, the soft smell of apple pie filling your nostrils as you sipped lightly from your earl gray tea occasionally, stealing a few glances of Jean's focused expression. A knowingly half smile went up to your face as you looked at the scenery outside before fixing your eyes back onto the bright screen of your phone.

Jean cooed in his leathery chair for the upteenth time today, his gaze fixated on the sketchbook on his hands. You had spend last hour in absolute silence; you had decided to roam around in your phone for references for an assigned collage you had to do in Photoshop as Jean had settled on drawing the horizon from outside the window to practice on his perspective while finishing up the sketches he had to submit.

Your day had passed by pretty fast; you had visited an urban side of the town that was flooded with art supply stores and you had delved into every single one roaming around to find any kind of supplies you were short on, or just generally needed. As Jean correctly had said, you are always short on art supplies.

Thus, you had ended up with a bag filled with complementary acrylic colors in tubes of 20ml mostly because they costed a dollar each, and also because as art students you got to receive twenty percent off of all your supply bills. Jean had only bought a new set of watercolors and a few Edding inks and 0.7 tipped poscas, as he was sure he would ruin your expensive Sakura Liners in his attempts to finish his project.

Then you had decided to cram your place for some much needed lunch before heading off to Black Cat to have some tea and coffee while Jean would finish off his last few of the sketches he had been drawing throughout the day.

"So" Jean awkwardly spoke as in to break the deep silence, his thumb pressing over the edge of the page his drawing was placed as he closed the sketchbook carefully "I wanted to ask, because ahem, I'm your friend and I'm worried about you... Do you want to vent about Reiner?"

"Ah, no" you shook your head and fixed your gaze onto the auburn colored liquor in your cup as you reluctantly lift it up to bring it to your lips before speaking "I mean, I got so sad you know. And I haven't gotten over it, of course, I mean I liked Reiner. A lot."

"I came see it in your eyes. But I'm here for-"

"And he's a bitch you know? He could have told me if he was bothered by anything I did or if it wasn't going well for him. I'd gladly work anything out or even break up peacefully."

"You know," Jean sighed, he too bringing his cup of coffee to his lips to take a sip before gulping it down. "My opinion is obviously biased here, but I support you. I've took a psychology class and we were actually delving into as to why some people cheat, there are many reasons as to why it could have happened."

Your heart slightly aches as you looked at him, a few veins in your hand twitching slightly as he continued rambling about all things he had grasped from his class. Your stomach growled angrily in anxiety, warning you to put an halt to your friend's words but you couldn't bring yourself to do so.

Not knowing the reason as to why Reiner had chosen to see someone else behind your back had hurt you beyond repair. Deep inside you still felt the need to get some closure, although with your stress on your exams you had been sure you would most likely give in to anything Reiner would say and this wasn't who you were.

You could go on without having any closure, it shouldn't have mattered so much to you in any way.

And to some extent it didn't.

"I'm hurt, but I'm the other hand I don't really care about anything you know?"

"Mhm, yeah, look at you getting over it so quickly!" Jean said semi enthusiastically. "You need to be able to share your pain in order for it to become small and eventually non-existent."

"You know, for someone who takes such sophisticated classes you talk like you haven't slept in ages!"

"Give me a break, as if you don't."

The two of you burst into bubbling laughter, your chests heaving and falling as the sounds of joy left you one by one. Jean's hand had come to rest on top of yours softly, giving you a couple of squeezes as his eyes squinted in synch with yours.

And then, in a moment that seemed like it was forced out of a coffee shop au fanfiction, Jean's hand rubbed a few soothing circles over yours. Slowly his laughter was begging to set into a silent harmony, the woody brown specs of his eyes providing the slightest tint of warmth into his gaze.

"This is why I love you so much."

The choice of words was supposed to be naive whether it was intentional or not, or that's what you tried to tell yourself because you thought you knew Jean better than anyone. The look in his eyes, the soft upwards curves of his eyebrows, the way his top lip overlapped go bottom one as his eyes glimmered into yours; this wasn't a very casual look for Jean, it was the look he had on when he was looking at something that mesmerised him. And you knew he meant exactly what he had said.

But did you like Jean?

Well, was there anyone who could spend so much time with Jean and not fall for him, even without realising it?

At one time it had become obvious that he liked you, although he'd never act upon it. You knew it in his movements, in the little ways he looked at you or cared for you like no one else actually did while hiding behind the mask of being a friend. Eren had been one to tease him for it restlessly and you had been able to catch upon that too but you had never let it be known that you had been able to see through his facade.

"Forget it I shouldn't even have had-"

With curious eyes you stared back, your gaze never truly leaving him. When he suddenly shook his hand off of yours you found your other hand pressing on top of his, trapping the limb in place as you tried to open your mouth to utter any word. It was still hard to find the right choice of words, ones that wouldn't hurt to be heard.

"Jean... I-"

"No, forget it, it just slipped, shit."

"Look Jean shut up for a second please I want to speak okay?" You huffed half playfully, despairate to stop Jean's mumbling "I know."

"You know?" Jean cursed under his breath.

"Yeah, I do, it's obvious. And I've had this huge crush on you ever since fifth grade you know? I never really got over you because I spent all of my teen years thinking we'd end up together."

You watched as Jean's face lit up at your words, a new glimmer adorning his eyes just as the sky turned a sheer violet as the sun retreated deeper into a non visible horizon.

"And then we kissed in eighth grade and we fought about it and we stopped hanging out because I asked for space since I just could believe what was happening. But we're friends again and it's the best thing to happen to me in years."

You continued, your hand never leaving his while soothing circles were rubbed onto his palm.

"But I'm not going to ask you for space this time."

"You're not?"

"No. Just a little patience. I'm still getting over Reiner and I don't want to be unfair to you and rip you off of something that you might ask from me."

Jean snapped his hand away from yours and you retreated your hands back to yourself shyly, a bitter mouth leaking into your mouth as you tried to swallow it down fast to no avail. Somehow your heart felt a strong stinging, the pulling of your heartstrings at steak while your heart was sprawled before you.

Was that your last chance with Jean? You had told yourself that time and space between you would be right one day, but that day seemed to stray further away now, slipping right off your hands because you couldn't forget Reiner fast enough.

"I'm not fourteen anymore, so don't be afraid about me straying away. I just wanted to show you something."

Jean's worked through the pages of his sketchbook, taking a few seconds before they landed where they wanted to. Flipping the sketchbook to match your point of view, he revealed the sketches he had been scribbling all day. They depicted you in majority. The look on your face as you picked a tube of paint, your hands as they grabbed through numerous brushes and sketchbooks. Even the way you stared at your phone as you sat across him was perfectly sketched on the paper and hatched in indian ink, adorned by Jean's raw drawing style.

"Jean, that's me!"

"Mister Moblit told us to draw things that were personally important to us. So, I hope you don't mind."

Damn, you felt like tearing up.

In the midst of trying to get your stupid heart to calm down from the impossible rhythm in which it was beating at and stating at Jean's sketches so hard that your eyes felt like they'd pop out and any given moment your would felt like setting fire to your whole being while your tears were restlessly trying to put it out. It was even outdated to feel like that about Jean, your younger self told you but there was no way you could help it.

With rivers of tears running from the corners of your eyes you looked up at the hazel orbs that were set on you, feeling your heart want up by their luminous gaze.

"Jean I-"

"Shush, you don't have to say anything. Just let me know if I can hug you."

"I'd love that." You said shyly under your breath.

Next thing you knew Jean had gotten up from his seat and had plopped himself right next to you, pushing your head deep in his chest. The song in the background faded gradually as you felt serenity wash through you, despite your heart hammering in your chest beyond a point you could actually feel it.

And for now all that mattered was that you could listen to Jean's heart beat nearly as fast as yours while his words played inside your head.

Maybe, just maybe time and space between the two of you was right this time.

taglist: @sasageyowrites @levisbrat25 @ackermans-freedom-inc @melancholicmonologue @berrijam @callmepromise @nobody-knows-anymore 

[babylooneytoonz]

Summary: Your first meeting with Sergeant Barnes wasn't exactly charming, hell, it was a disaster. And the only adjectives that came to your mind when you thought about him were words like prick, bastard and a jackass. He made your life hell, and you lived to make sure you made him suffer. And neither of you realized, how your sole mission of tormenting each other became the most important part of your life.

Warnings: Bucky Barnes continues to be an ass // Reader has finally has it // War declared

Coffee Stains - Masterlist

Coffee Stains

Your anger still lingered inside of you like a deep rooted worm, even after you had stepped into the warm soothing shower, after your encounter with whoever the fuck that man was. You were still annoyed, and you were sure as hell worried that your mood might end up affecting your performance at the training today. You stood in your room, the pads of your feet nestled onto the feathery carpet that adorned the floor of your apartment, semi dressed when you heard Friday.

"Miss Y/N, Captain is here, waiting for you."

You frowned, wondering if it was already 7 and somehow, you had lost the track of time, but you noted that it was still 6: 40 pm by the clock.

"Thank you, Friday," that was the fastest you had ever gotten into your yoga pants, pulling it over your round bum, the elastic strap stinging against your soft fleshy belly as it hit it with a slap. The towel still rolled over your hair, you ran up to the door and flung it open, only to see Steve standing there with two people you didn't know of and who were probably newbies like you.

"Y/N, how are you holding up?" Steve asked in soft voice, and somehow you found your previous anger slowly melting away.

"Great, Steve. I thought I'm late on my first day," your lips now crept upwards in a grin, and Steve just shook his head, his hand flying to the back of his head as he ran his fingers through his blond locks.

"I thought I'd introduce you to the two of them, they were the only ones I could find lurking in the recreation room, so I dragged them here."

"No, you did not, I was the one that insisted I wanted to meet the newbie," the dark haired girl just winked playfully in your direction, and you couldn't help but snort at her words when you saw Steve's face turn crimson like a cherry.

"I'm Wanda, well, people around here might call me stuff like the Sokovian witch and all that, but when they're saying that, consider it is me they're talking about." The woman threw out her hand towards you, her hand extended in a shake, and you took her hand, feeling a comfortable warmth radiating from her. Wanda then turned towards the one to her right, and smiled, "Well this one doesn't talk much, but you'll like him."

"Hello Miss Y/N, my name is Vision, and I have taken it upon myself to welcome you to our team."

"Thank you Vision, it's my pleasure." You shook his hand; the little meet and greet causing you to temporarily forget about the man; the stranger you had met in the kitchen a few minutes back.

Steve's thick voice reaching your ears caused you to turn towards him, and you saw him looking at the trio of you with a small smile playing on his lips.

"Well, I'll leave you guys to it– " He took a step away, his front turned towards you, but his steps moving backwards until he was now a good distance away, " Y/N, I will expect you to be at the training room in ten minutes." With that, his heavy footsteps retreated away, until you couldn't hear him anymore, and you were left standing with Wanda and Vision, on your doorstep.

"Around here, punctuality is the key. And in general," Vision began.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

Vision and Wanda lingered around in your apartment for the next ten minutes along with you, talking to you about the life at the Avengers Towers and how you got used to it once you had started adjusting.

"After a while, it feels like you are living with your roommates, except the fact that they all are superheroes," Wanda chuckled, as she watched you place your glasses away and pull out your contact lenses and fix them into your eyes.

Exactly nine minutes later, you left your apartment, and slowly started making you way towards the training room with your newly found friends, who you realized just couldn't stop bantering and talking amongst themselves; and it was cute, not in a way you felt left out. The three of you made your way to the fourth floor, and towards the training room when Wanda and Vision finally parted ways with you as it was time for their own training as well, leaving you alone.

It wasn't long before you reached the training room, but before you could step in, you heard muffled voices from the inside, until you strained your ears a little and an automatically induced frown found its way to your forehead.

"What's gotten you so grumpy today, Buck?"

Steve.

The other voice that replied wasn't one of the voices you really wished to hear again.

"What's with Stark hiring all the weirdos found in NYC? I can't believe my best tshirt got ruined."

"Come on Buck, it was a tshirt. And besides, I'm sure it was an accident."

"Who the hell cares what it was, if I was Stark, I would have fired her lousy ass right away."

"Buck, language."

You couldn't believe this piece of shit was still stuck over what had happened that afternoon. You couldn't say you had forgotten about it, but atleast you were acting all grown up and weren't bitching about it to anyone. And here he was, bitching around with none other than your mentor. This day was getting worse and worse, and you internally begged to call it a day and disappear into your apartment so you could peacefully spend your night curled in that soft, mushy pillows and the silken sheets.

You cleared your throat, intentionally, so you could announce your presence and as if on cue, Bucky's head snapped in your direction and his scowl widened, making him narrow his eyes at you.

"You again? The hell you following me around for? If you're here to apologize– "

Steve's eyes widened when he sensed the tension slowly rising in the room and it wasn't like he was daft. Having put the two and two together, he understood now that the person responsible for putting Bucky in this foul mood had been you, well not intentionally.

"Buck, easy. She is our newest recruit. Thank you for being on time, Agent."

Bucky took a double take, his eyes raking over you, in a very obvious way; and not in a sexual kind of a way but in a way to believe that he was truly shocked. This annoyed you even more and your fingers clenched against your sides.

"You got to be kidding me, punk. She can't even walk straight while holding a darn mug of coffee."

That's it, you had it with him taking continuous digs at you.

"You know, you deserved it. And now I wish it wasn't just coffee but something way worse. Probably horse piss," you literally spat and if it wasn't for Steve who had now fixed himself in front of you, blocking the two of you from slamming anything you could lay your hands on, into each other's faces, things would have gotten messy in the training room within seconds.

"Bucky–" he warned, his palm outstretched towards him, glaring at him, "we have to train now."

He then turned towards you, his expression reflecting a bit of disappointment in his orbs, "Y/N, I expect atleast one of you to be sensible, and if not, then cordial, he is a senior in here."

It suddenly clicked in the back of your head. You had watched the coverage of the Battle of Triskelion on TV. So, this was him, that ass, Winter Soldier. Of course, this man had issues, like really serious ones. But that didn't excuse the way he was behaving with you. But also, you knew that Steve was right. There was no point in engaging with him, so you decided to just be cordial, if it meant not having to deal with his shit anymore.

"Fine." You grumbled, almost under your breath.

Running your hand through your short shoulder length (Y/H/C) hair, you finally walked up to where Steve was standing, already in the Captain America mode now.

"Today, we'll test your hand to hand combat skills," you heard him say and you nodded your head, zoning out all the unwanted presences in the training room, although you could feel Bucky's piercing gaze on you. You knew he wanted to watch you fail, and falter but you weren't going to give him a chance.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

Sweat drenched down your face, dripping off your neck, as you shifted the weight of your body and threw out your fisted palm towards your mentor, with a sudden looping overhand, but Steve managed to block your punch, his own aim now towards your nose. Your reflexes had kicked in, causing you to duck at the right time and block his punch, at the same time managing to knock him off his feet with your foot thrown out.

Captain America was hard to beat, but so were you.

The distance had once again taken its place in front of the two of you, and the two of you were ready for another round, and you were glancing at your opponent, analyzing what he was thinking, what his next moves were. He was subdued, the weight of his body shifted to his left, his eyes narrowed at you, probably ready to attack, but you couldn't be sure; maybe he wanted you to attack first, and then he would counter you.

Suddenly, he lunged at you, his fists aimed in an attack and you had been wrong there, to study his body language, and even worse, when you let yourself get distracted when you heard a low, meenacing and annoying voice reach out to you, "Agent.. are you sure you can see Steve, because you don't seem to have your glasses on. Not that you know where to go even with them on."

Your eyes flew to him in disbelief and your mouth curved into a perfect O, making you lose your fighting stance, and your guard. Steve was already fast, and when he heard Bucky's taunt, he tried to shoot him a sharp glare for distracting you, but he couldn't stop himself, he was so in momentum, his heavy palm cracked against your abs, throwing you away, down on the mat with a force you didn't think was possible.

Steve threw his hands in the air, as he rushed over to you, kneeling down beside you, to check if you were alright, but you gave him a tight lipped smile and nodded, sitting upright, shooting Bucky a glare.

"I didn't know they taught you these cheap tactics of distracting people back at the army, Sergeant."

Bucky smiled, leaning forward slightly, so his elbows were resting against his knees, his lips stretched into what looked like an evil smirk.

"Weak people always find excuses, one way or the other. You let yourself get distracted."

He stood up, with slow steps, walking over towards you. By that time, you had lifted yourself off the mat, and your hands had flown to your hips, your neck held upright. Bucky stepped onto the mat, moving in front of Steve, who had opened his mouth in protest, but hadn't yet said anything, until Bucky was in your face, giving you a stare down.

"This is the real deal. I don't know where you came from or what you did. But this is the real deal. There will be real enemies, and they will do everything on their part to distract you. There is no room for weakness here."

Suddenly, a feeling of dread washed over you, it wasn't exactly dread, but it was something else all together, like a sudden burst of adrenaline , perhaps provoked by his words, but also because of his close proximity. You hadn't realized till that moment, and perhaps, neither had he, but he was so close, you could feel his hot breath on your face which caused your eyes to involuntarily fall over his lips for a second, and then back up, until you caught him smirking down at you, probably basking in his little mountain of victory.

You only thanked Steve inwardly, when he suddenly stepped in, breaking whatever this moment was, when he grabbed Bucky's palm and pulled him away from you, his eyes now on him, a look passing between the two of them that you couldn't decipher. Maybe it was a best friend thing between them, something only the two of them knew of.

"Buck, that's enough, she was good, and you know she was."

"I agree."

When a foreign voice sounded in the room, the three heads involuntarily snapped in that direction, only to find Sam Wilson leaning against the door, a half eaten apple in his hand, and his mouth moving as he was chewing on it.

"What?" He shrugged, his voice sounding unclear as his mouth was completely stuffed, "that was the Captain that she just fought. And I am impressed."

Your expressions softened, and a smile broke out on your lips and you nodded towards Sam, who nodded back with his eyes twinkling at you.

Bucky shrugged and finally, he let his shoulders relax, and shot you a quick look, "I don't think so. I think you just went soft on her."

You scoffed in disbelief, biting your lower lip to bite back from barking back at him and moved away from the mat to grab a chilled bottle of water that lay on a table. Your fingers worked on the bottle and at the same time, your eyes remained on Bucky, and Sam who had now joined the two of the super soldiers. You could see that Steve was trying to knock some sense into Bucky, tell him how he was just overdoing it, but Bucky just deadpanned, his glare fixed on you until he again took a dig at you, and this time you couldn't take it.

"Did it hurt? That blow to your –" He pointed his index finger towards his abs, that cocky smirk still draped over his lips,   "Now maybe that's payback, for almost burning me a few hours back."

His words caused you to almost tighten your grip on the bottle, the grip so hard, the plastic of the bottle almost shrank. You took a deep breath, taking one step towards him, slowly, before your pace rose, and you were striding towards him, your eyes brewing with anger. The bottle was still in your hand, the cap laying abandoned on the table, so when you were sure you were at a close proximity from him, you tipped the bottle, letting the cold water drain through his tshirt, right on his abs, drenching him completely.

"There you go, I think it won't burn now, I feel I should have done that hours back, atleast you wouldn't be crying about it till now."

Steve closed his eyes, his palm flying to his face as he swiped his hand over his face. He knew that things were going to get murky now, and things had gotten out of hand, which is why his grip on Bucky's arm tightened. Bucky was seething, partly in rage, and partly due to a sudden flush of what he could only name as embarrassment, while Sam was openly smirking at what he had just witnessed.

A woman had managed to shut the Winter Soldier up, and how, with cold water right on his burns.

Today was a good day.

(Feedback is appreciated. 💗)

Permanent Bucky Barnes Taglist :

@thepeakygurl

@all-art-is-quite-useless

@baumarvel

@really-dont-forget-it

Want to be added to any of my taglists? Please fill out the form on this link. 💗

[danwhobrowses]

One Piece Chapter 1004 - Initial Thoughts

We keep on rolling to 1004

Last time we continued with the fight as Luffy ran out of gas, leading to some hype and highly anticipated moments, so let’s see if they unfolded in 1004

Spoilers for Chapter 1004, Support the Official Release too!

A nice Chopper cover this time, looks like you get enough value for your money with that bag of rumble ‘candies’

The chapter title also raised a brow, lots of theories could indeed come to fruition

I TOLD YALLS ASSES THAT SPEED WILL COME BACK! THERE’S HORSELINA!

So of course, Speed is the ‘enemy ship’ that let Tama in, makes sense since she’s their master so they can’t pull the ‘you’re too young card’ on her

She’s also hard at work using her DF, Kibi Dangos all around!

Sometimes all a girl needs is a supportive family of a Tengu sensei, a pet dog and baboon, a tea shop grandma, a caring horse lady, crazy pirate brothers, a samurai aunt, a ronin uncle and your very own army of human/animal hybrids

Tama wanting to see Momo as Shogun was a pretty big statement too

I do particularly love that Speed, Gazelleman and Daifugo - who were all minor characters in the last 2 acts of Wano - are coming in big clutch for Tama, Oda doesn’t forget

Also funny is there different methods, Speed is all ‘this is a special dango that makes you stronger’, Gazelleman is just all ‘have this snack’ then there’s Daifugo that’s just ‘EAT YOUR DAMN DANGOS’

Over to Franky vs Sasaki though and Sasaki’s defence is pretty strong, but General Franky is also pretty strong too

Cheap shot though, the Armored Corps holding General Franky down to be charged by Sasaki, looks like this Flying Six member doesn’t share the honour rules that Franky does

Fortunately Nami, Usopp and Tama are riding in...aaaand they’re being chased

OR ARE THEY!?

Nami and Usopp’s chaotic grins are great behind Determined Tama

SMILE ATROCITIES, ATTACK!

And then Sasaki wipes his own men out XD

I have mixed feelings about Thunder Lance Tempo, on the one hand Yay Nami! but on the other Nooo Ulti!

Usopp as well using his salt sniping skills but this time with Dangos...another Thriller Bark callback in Wano...

Oooof, got him in the fleshy belly. I doubt he’s done though, if Ulti can take a lightning bolt through the chest then Sasaki can deal with a belly slice

Not looking good with Sanji though...well, depending on your point of view, should’ve used the Raid Suit

Maria wants Sanji to betray Robin? Ha, good luck with that

Sanji doing the badass face there too

Magical Squirrel Girl and maybe-maybe-not-CP0 Bao Huang has found the Scabbards though due to her mouse spy

Whoa now hold up, who as that Bird person with the eye tags that is an epic design!

Second floor treasure room huh? Guess that means no Yamato :/ shame

Wonder if Marco is the one keeping King’s hands full

That girl is wearing an earpiece for sure, maybe it’s a den den mushi earring, or an earworm SMILE....they do keep bringing attention to it

Maria to face down the Samurai, Sanji may yet get a reprieve

Ten people huh? Reminder that the Akazaya are only 8 at the moment; Kin, Denjiro, Inu, Neko, Kiku, Izo, Raizo and Kawamatsu, so that means 2 other people are tending to them

Hidden Person is the final panel

NOOOOOO NOT ANOTHER BREAK!

So...no Hybrid form this week...or next week, maybe not even next chapter. We seem to have used this as respite to show the movements of the lower floors, but right now we’ve only really covered Nami, Usopp, Sanji and Franky. This does leave open Chopper (and Drake and Marco), Brook and Robin, Carrot and Wanda, Jimbei and Yamato, on the enemy side we have yet to see movements from Queen, Hawkins, Apoo, Jack or Who’s Who either.

There was a lot of love about the chapter though, revenge of the Queen of Beasts! Tama is directly working to shift the black tiles white as she is practically absorbing Kaido’s armies into the alliance’s. Now the SMILE atrocities are on our side, but there is still the matter of the Tobi Roppo and the Lead Performers, but this is indeed a turning point CP0 may not have anticipated from their reviews last chapter.

As for the person helping the Scabbards, they do look feminine and have one long bit of hair drooping down, people are saying Hiyori though I wouldn’t put it past it being Robin and Brook, Robin would want to find a treasure room for any intel and her and Brook would attend to the Akazaya if they saw them, on top of this it can lead to the confrontation that Black Maria wants; Robin vs Maria. This could also bring Sanji back from his rough spot in the raid, he started strong but in the face of his simpness he fell from grace, but if he escapes Maria and is confident that Robin can handle the giantess then perhaps he can move towards other fights.

This being said, the fact that we left the top of the dome with Luffy exhausted and Kaido in Hybrid form does worry me greatly, who knows how long it’ll be before we see Luffy and Zoro again, and what state they could be in.

[heartwoodventures]

If You Go Down to the Woods Today Pt. 2

Part 1 here!

In the utter silence of the forest glen Zorah's whisper seemed unnaturally loud. Several of their number craned their necks up to peer high above them. Nazyl slowly released his blade from its holster. Bird, demon, or whatever it was, he was ready for it. Aislinn slid a hand up to the grip of her gun and tensely waited, all the while stepping back to the relative shelter of the trees.

The group didn’t have to wait long. The sound of beating wings grew loud, and louder -- the closer it got, the easier it was to pick out a sort of ungainly, awkward gait to the flapping as though the creature was struggling -- the silence around them was abruptly shattered as something massive crashed through the canopy, and came in straight for the forest floor!

The three on the front-lines managed to scramble out of the way *just* in time; though no one could escape the smell. The overpowering, sweetly rancid scent of rot rolled through the clearing as the creature righted itself. Nazyl kicked away from the creature, putting distance between him and it to get a good look at it while Zorah managed to have the grace to step back when the creature fell into their view, her hands at her sides forming the aetheric discs she relied on in combat. Though both were able to miss being hit, that putrid smell was unbearable, causing the miqo’te to silently gag and cover her nose and mouth with the back of her hand.

"Seven Hells." Aislinn coughed as both she and Vanriri scrambled backward, but there was no reprieve from the choking smell. It was almost a certainty that scent was going to find its way into the hyur’s nightmares.

A sharply beaked head lowered to screech indignantly at the party that had dodged it -- or perhaps it was lamenting its own clumsiness. Empty sockets stare balefully at the gathered adventurers as it reared back, unfurling a massive pair of leathery wings.

Aiswyda answered the creature’s eyeless gaze with a mixed look of disgust, shock, and confusion. “Is this the guy? Ugh, this chicken is far too large.” she took a moment to shake out her fists and then, “Care-to-enlighten-us-on-what-this-oversized-bird-is?” she managed to get those words out with lightning speed -- to the point where it could be misinterpreted as a very strange and drawn out battle cry. Without a moment to lose, she dashed ahead and aimed a punch right at the creature’s beak.

With its head extended from its screech, Aiswyda’s fist connected easily with the creature, crunching bone and softened cartilage. It squawked in protest and reared its eyeless head back, shaking it as though to recover from the impact.

"I've not fought maneh o' these....livin' or dead." Nazyl wrinkled his nose at the scent. Undead beast. Great. Necromancy at work. While it wasn't the worst thing he'd ever smelled, it wasn't exactly pleasant either. 

N'yami turned her head to the side and a small crack was heard from her neck, her carbuncle made a noise that sounded as if to argue with the Seeker, clearly she was about to do something stupid. "Someone has to make sure it doesn't fly away." 

Bolting towards the weird bird-like creature, N'yami jumped up to grab it around the neck then held on for dear life. She was attempting to grapple the massive pteranodon's neck, but as she leapt up to grab it, its partially rotted flesh sloughed away under her grasp, sending her tumbling back to the ground nearby. With a very nasty prize. She slopped down to the ground with some very unpleasant.....flesh on her. 

"Well....I've had worse on me I suppose." She shook her hands to try and rid herself of the gore.

Nazyl wretched at N’yami’s failed attempt to keep the ptero held down, "Try its wings first, it's a scalekin. Or was." He took his holy blade in both hands and leapt up at the unfurled wings, cutting down at the arm in an attempt to sever, or at least break it. What was this creature even doing way out here?

His blade sliced straight through the undead pteranodon's joint like butter, the severed edges turning to ash where the sword had struck. The limb itself collapsed to the forest floor nearly on top of N'yami as the undead abomination reeled backwards, dragging its bloated carcass with rather surprising agility. Nevertheless, one faulty flap of its remaining wing reveals it was almost certainly grounded.

N'yami watched as the wing almost fell on top of her. "That would've been unpleasant." She said while rolling and pushing herself up into a standing position again. She was met with a whack to the back of her head from her carbuncle, trying to get her friend’s head back in the game. "I know I know."

Aiswyda gagged as flesh and wing rained down right in front of her. She was just, so upset. The smell. The everything about this.

While the others got in their attacks, Aislinn spared a moment to pull a bandana from her hip pouch and hastily wrapped it over the lower half of her face. The smell of death and decay was making her stomach churn and she had no desire to spill her dinner all over the forest floor. Too embarrassing. That done, now it was down to business. She yanked the handgonne from the holster at her back and leveled it at the creature. With a head full of calculations, she aimed for one of the empty eye sockets and fired off a round, her back heel digging into the dirt from the kickback.

The pteranodon swung its long neck about to screech with seeming indignation at its missing limb just as Aislinn fired off her shot; though it doesn't catch the eye socket directly as she'd intended, it does glance across its already charred and softened beak where Aiswyda had struck it earlier, taking out a chunk of what charred flesh remained and shattering bone.

Meanwhile, Vanriri remained almost plastered back against the tree; she had the sense to pull the quarterstaff from her back, but her hands were shaking where she held it. Swallowing, she tightened her grip on the staff and charged recklessly into the melee, swinging her staff at the other wing's vulnerable joint. It was a good hit. Her staff cracked against the elbow with considerable force, but the impact was mitigated somewhat by the layers of leathery, undead flesh that squelched uncomfortably beneath the blow.

With sudden and surprising agility, missing limb or no, the pteranodon swung its bulbous bulk around, jabbing its sharply beaked head down at the two lalafell while its lengthy tail snaked out to trip up the miqo’tes.

With a dancer’s agility, Zorah flexed her fingers, the aetheric discs sparking as the aether rose in the air around her.  It trailed along her feet and hands as she stepped back, out of the pteranodon’s reach, turning and moving with graceful, deliberate steps that lead into her hurling both discs toward the creature. The brief glow of aether lights up the area as they criss-crossed into the creature both into him from front and back, returning to her hands.

For her own part, N’yami wasn't quite as quick enough to dodge the tail that came slamming down, with an 'oof' she was sent back to the ground where she was before. "This bastard." With a groan she pushed herself back up to dust her coat off of any fleshy slime.

The pteranodon's maw closed on Vanriri like a bird plucking up a particularly juicy morsel, its teeth slicing easily through her leather armour as it proceeded to fling her back and into a nearby tree. She hit the trunk and slid down, unconscious or stunned, her staff falling from her hands halfway between her and the hulking undead creature. Losing no time, it swung its head around to Nazyl to do much the same -- though thankfully his armour largely prevented it from getting a good grip on him, and instead it settled for the satisfying crunch.

No one had bargained on the thing being so fast with so much of its flesh missing, but they should have, considering how fast some skeletons can move. Aiswyda watched in alarm as Vanriri soared through the air on impact while Aislinn could only curse under her breath as the lalafell hit the tree with an unnerving ‘thunk’. Nazyl moved quickly to stand between Vanriri and the beast, settling into a protective stance. He didn't need to watch someone die today. There was little more they could do in the moment. It did, however, give them a sense of urgency. The faster they could down the beast, the better.

Aiswyda continued to focus her punches at the creature’s head. One, because she thought it would do more damage, and two, because she didn’t really want to have her fist sink into the bird’s mushy torso. Her flaming fists succeeded in collapsing part of the pteranodon's skull, its motion began to seem a little more sluggish as the fire charred its flesh and blackened bone.

Back on her feet now, N’yami turned to her summon. "Whackara, ya wanna go for a little ride?" 

The carbuncle flicked her tails and already knew what was coming, with an excited squeak the summon prepared herself as N'yami held Whack like a ball in her hand. "And....go!" And with that the carbuncle went flying right through the pteranodon's body. The carbuncle made a whistling noise as she flew and like a boomerang came back to the Seeker to smack into her face....while covered in rotting flesh. 

"I hate you." the miqo’te muttered. 

As the carbuncle returned to N'yami there didn't really seem to be any effect at first, save that the pteranodon shifted slightly and began winding up for another tail swipe at the group. Then its midsection began to expand slightly, a flicker of aetherial light glowing from the slices Zorah had carved in the bulk of its middle earlier. It screeched once more -- a sound that is abruptly cut off as an impact ripples through the clearing from inside the beast -- and promptly splattered everything and everyone within a 10 fulm radius with gore as the aetherial bomb Whackara had left behind exploded.

Nazyl prepared himself for the inevitable attack, digging his boots into the dirt and raising his shield....only to me showered in a mess of rotting flesh and viscera. Gross. He exhaled slowly, staring at the ground some in quiet contemplation, before beginning to wipe the gore from his person, "Twelve, could ye a have killed it without...explodin' it?"

As the creature wavered, Aislinn saw her chance and rushed to the fallen lalafell to make a hurried assessment of her condition. Just as she had knelt at Vanriri’s side, however, the undead exploded and Aislinn simply hung her head in resignation as she was splattered in gore and rotten flesh. Yet another coat, ruined.

"To be fair that wasn't my plan." The carbuncle moved to the top of N’yami's head, each little foot squished through the flesh stuck to her. "I blame, Whackara, that was all her."

Aiswyda had been knocked over by the meaty impact, hidden under piles of miscellaneous viscera. From where she lay silent prayers leaked from her lips.

"Uh huh, blame the construct." Nazyl dryly replied. 

Vanriri was roused by the sound of the explosion; and as Aislinn approached it was clear she had some wounds that would need tending, but she seemed to be shaking off the worst of her trip. At least until she was suddenly and unceremoniously splattered with viscera which left her gaping in speechlessness. 

Surprisingly unfazed by the shower of gore, the highlander’s hands began to move as though writing in the air just above the lalafell's torso. As the arcane equation takes shape, Aislinn can feel the gemstone bracelets under her gloves heat as they release their aether, dulling the pain and redirecting blood from the injury site. It was a patch, at best. All she could do. 

She took in Vanriri's speechless face. "Surprisingly not the first time we've left a job like this." she says by way of explanation. 

“WHACKARAAAaa!” Aiswyda called out. A fist rose from the meat pile, followed by the rest of the Sea Wolf. She was covered head to toe in things that thankfully remain undescribed.

Vanriri relaxed just slightly as Aislinn's healing aether stemmed the worst of the bleeding, though she couldn’t immediately tell what was her blood, and what was the pteranodon's.

"Hey lass, ye alright? Ye took quite a hit there." Nazyl asked as he turned to Vanriri with a grimace, still wiping himself down.

"Mhm!" she squeaked immediately. She did not look alright.

"Right. Yer gettin' medical attention eithah way, in case that thing had some nasteh disease. I'll likeleh need a look too..."

Her expression said everything she didn’t as she looked at Nazyl, horrified at the idea he had just put in her head.

"It doesn't feel great either." N’yami pulled on the front of her coat as if to try and keep the flesh off her skin that had slid down with Whackara. "Someone throw me in the river."

“Nymeia's Blood, that's a good idea.” Aislinn murmured. 

Aiswyda lifted a hand and observed it. The limb is covered completely, stained red. The Roegadyn let out a sigh so long that it seemed to physically deflate her. “A river, right. We’re all going to need a good hosing off. Again!” She shook her head. “Again!”

Vanriri scrambled unsteadily to her feet, doing her best to ...not look traumatized. She looked traumatized. This was her first rodeo, guys.

Nazyl smirked in amusement, "Ye new ta this? Careful, wait too long n' ye might become a zombeh yerself!" He laughed, shaking his head, "I jest. Though, ye could get some nasteh infections if we don't get those wounds cleaned."

Vanriri did not look mollified by Nazyl humour. ".....Oh dear."

Aislinn nodded in agreement with Nazyl. She gave Vanriri a gentle look. "Could be worse. Let's get you back to the Company house."

"I'm gonna go home and shower, someone let Ma know injured are headin' to the clinic." N’yami said, still shaking out her coat. 

"Y-you have a qualified chirurgeon?" the petite lalafell asked plaintively.

Aislinn did her best not to show her amusement at the question. "With a group like ours? Indeed we do."

"Welcome ta me world." Nazyl snorted. "I deal with this daileh."

“And you never get used to it, unless your name starts with Naz and ends with ‘yl.’” Aiswyda gave Vanriri a tired, but amused look.

"I was...perhaps unprepared for this eventuality." Vanriri said, trying not to sound as anxious as she felt.

Nazyl smiled, more warmly than before, "I don't think anehone expected a bloodeh scalekin zombeh out here in the woods. I'm curious as ta why it was here in the first place..." He glanced back at the fleshless corpse, "Mayhaps we can research that latah. Fer now though, we've succeeded, n' the Shroud can sleep easiah."

Aislinn nodded and gestured to Nazyl. "As he said." she looked around at the others. "I'm going to head back and let G'lewra know you're coming."

Vanriri cleared her throat, nodding. "I--indeed. I will report the, ...success of the hunt to the Wailers on our way through Buscarrons that they might clean ...this... up before someone stumbles..." She trailed off, spying bits and pieces of what was perhaps the pteranodon's last meal in amongst a nearby pile of gore. "..."

She quickly averted her gaze up to Aislinn. "Thank you."

Aislinn gave a single nod in reply.

“Shh. Don’t think about it too much.” Aiswyda groaned, and began to make her way out of the clearing. Presumably back to Heartwood. Their job was done. The beast slain. More gil for the Company coffers. The Shroud a measure safer for those who lived within its boundaries. And, most important of all, every one of them had managed to walk away at the end of the fight. There wasn’t any better proof of success than that.

[delusional-ethnographer]

Räven

I was listening to this song by Hedningarna called Räven (The Fox) and it inspired me to write this short mlm(-ish) story. TW: Gore, death, murder

~

Unknowingly, he wandered deeper into the dark forest. The leaves of the tall trees ruffled like feathers in the breeze. His breathing irregular and his walk messy and stumbly. As he was treading through the deep foliage, he heard a rustling in a nearby bush. Against his wishes, he investigated, as if moved by an unknown force.

He followed the sound and it led him to a clearing. A single chopped tree trunk in the middle of the clearing with the rays of the dying sun softly passing through the thick leaves. In the horizon, a small cave could be made out; though not large enough for a bear or even a human, but not too small so that only a bunny could enter.

An alluring and enchanting humming broke out; it sounded to him like it came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Bewitched by the melodic voice, he let his guard down and sat on the grass. Relaxed and unguarded he looked around, taking in the beauty of the clearing.

Moments after, a young man appeared out of nowhere. The spellbound man couldn’t quite make out his features; his vision blurred by the seductive song. The mystical man’s body swayed seductively in rhythm. His hair like the reddest of flames. He continued singing, the words couldn’t register in the enchanted man’s brain, more so because it was in a language foreign, ancient even. The strange man neared closer and the smitten man could observe his features better.

He noticed a crimson red stain on his lower lip slowly running down his chin. However, he quickly dismissed it, admiring instead the shape of the man’s lips; their plumpness caused a swirl of thoughts to cross his mind.

Munnen din är röd av blod

As the singing died down, the mysterious man approached the other and sat opposite him. They observed each other -The man’s eyes, a stunning amber, drew the other deeper in his trance- and after the ginger was satisfied, he spoke up. His voice ran like water from a spring. They exchanged a few words; the mystery man’s wit hadn’t gone unnoticed by the other. He seemed to be more allured with every passing second.

The sun had set and the two were still engaged in their conversation. In the meantime, the young man got closer. In a few seconds, without missing a beat he captured the enchanted man in a tight embrace and sealed their lips. The other man returned the kiss in a passionate haze. Hands trailing all over each other’s bodies, enjoying the contact. 

He tasted earthy, like dirt, and it had a tang of metal; that unmistakable metallic taste was blood. He panicked, yet he made no move to escape, he felt a force, like the one before, order him to not resist.

The red-head moved his kisses lower, said kisses turned into bites. He raised his head, catching the other’s eyes and flashing him a toothy grin, however, to the other’s shock, the mystery man’s canines elongated into sharp fangs. His eyes widened, suddenly, broken from the spell.

A high-pitched laugh sounded from the taller man’s gutter, much like the one a delighted fox makes. He bit down on his abdomen. The other man screamed in agony, his pupils dilating, his hearth pumping, his brain in shock. He tried to push the man away to no avail.

The fox-man was ravenous. He bit chunks of flesh and pulled them apart. The muscles ripping apart, sometimes making a tearing sound, and other times a mushy one. He had started from the man’s abdomen. Soon thereafter, he moved to his chest a placed his now clawed hands in the middle. He pushed in and then outwards dividing the skin and dipping his right hand to tear out the man’s heart. He grinned in glee and bit down on the tender muscle. Relishing on its bloody delight. Happy that it hadn’t emptied out.

It didn’t take long for the man to be devoured completely. Nothing was left just fleshy bones. The ginger let out a delighted sigh and cackled at the direction of the moon; silently thanking the goddess of the sun and moon for bringing him another meal. He, then, slowly, made his way towards the small cave, shifting into a red, unassuming, fox and huddled into its home.

Är du man eller räv?

[love-minor-poltergeist]

A Fresh Start

(Widowmaker/Male!Reader)

Requested by: @widows-knight, who asked for a wedding-day request with a male reader and a pregnancy announcement at the end.

Word Count: 3,462

A/N: I originally tried to keep the request relatively simple, but the prompt developed a mind of it’s own and I kind of ran away with it! I hope you enjoy it!

Also- ngl, I must have spent what felt like a day researching flower symbolism for this (; v ;)

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For as long as she had been in Talon, Amélie  never dreamed that she’d live to see the day she’d  see the familiar sight before her again; albeit, she looked just a little bit different than her first wedding. 

She stood before a mirror in a white dress, hair neatly done and tied and braided (courtesy of an incessant Sombra) into a bun, and lips painted with a dark plum-purple lipstick. White silk and lace flowed over blue skin like water, pale roses sewn delicately into the lace sleeves. Cheekily enough, Amélie  found a few spiders hiding among the sea of roses, and she just knew that you had slipped in an extra request to the tailor. 

She chuckled at the thought and briefly wondered how long it would take you to notice the small butterfly woven into your boutonniere. 

Behind her, Amélie  can see Sombra idly fiddling around with the thin bride’s veil while Gabriel leaned against the wall. 

It had been surprisingly easy to invite the two of them to her wedding, Sombra practically jumping at the opportunity; though Amélie  had to keep a close eye on her to make sure the younger woman didn’t cause too much mischief. Gabriel, on the other hand, hardly batted an eye at her request.

In fact Amélie  thought the broody man wouldn’t even come- as he was never one for social gatherings, anyway. However, he had showed up to help her get ready in a suit that looked like it had seen better days, and seemed to at least try to be more sociable for her sake. Which, truthfully, was enough to make her almost crack a smile. 

Even whenever the two started their bickering (“Oye, viejo, quit slouching-” “Oh, be quiet, you brat.”), it hardly dampened the mood. Instead earning an eye-roll and a low chuckle from her while she did her eye make up. She’ll let it slide just for now. If anything, it only added to the strange little family dynamic they had.

It helped her take her mind off knowing that you were out there waiting for her, likely nervously fiddling with the buttons on the cuffs of your suit, and blissfully unaware of the little surprise in the making.

She lowers a slender hand to her stomach and gently bites down on her lower lip. 

Your relationship has always been...active, to put it lightly. Not that she was complaining. Oh no, far from it. It wasn’t even the highlight of the thing you had together.

Around you, Amélie  was able to actually feel. Every moment spent around you gave her the sense of normalcy that had been ripped away from her. You didn’t shy or cower away from her the first time you met her; even going so far as to learn French to grow closer to her. Though you were more or less tongue tied after you had oh-so boldly approached her, and that had gotten her attention. 

She gently chuckles to herself at the memory, the buzz of pleasurable warmth growing stronger and her cheeks flushing a light purple. At the time, Amélie  had no idea what it was about you that interested her.

Perhaps it was the way you seemed so earnest in your attempts to get to know her that intrigued her. Or maybe it was because of cute you looked all flustered and stumbling over your french- and she hardly ever used to word cute for anything. 

Whatever the reason may be, she had let you come closer to her- a choice she never once regretted. And neither did she regret saying yes when you had quietly kneeled before her to pop the question. 

The hand on her middle tenses and her brows crease as she gave her reflection a tight-lipped smile. While her heart rate was still worryingly low from Talon’s poking and prodding, Amélie  swore that she felt it race. 

And it wasn’t just because of wedding-day jitters. 

“Have you told him yet?” 

Gabriel’s sudden question snapped her from her thoughts, causing her gaze to move to his reflection behind her. 

He hadn’t moved at all from his place on the wall, but his normally stern (or as Sombra dubbed it, his “resting bitch face”) had softened a fraction as he gave her a small frown. From her place on the armchair not too far behind Amélie , Sombra piped up before the bride could answer.

“No, she hasn’t.”

Amélie  turns from the mirror to give the younger woman a hard stare, which merely earned her a shrug. Gabriel sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, his brow twitching; the sight not too far off from an exasperated father. 

He’s interrupted before he has the chance to lecture her. 

“Chut toi. I don’t plan on hiding it from him.” the hand at Amélie ’s side tightens into a fist as she  shoots the taller man a curt look. “It’s just..”

She trails off, her lips falling into a tense line. 

Talon had broken her down mentally and physically, taking her whole being and filling it with poison that burned away at her core until a fleshy, twitching wound was left. The pain excruciating as it tore away inside of her and molded her into the perfect little pawn Talon wanted: a living weapon. 

Already pale skin turned a sick, chalky white until it took on a blue hue, giving her an unnatural appearance. Her skin was now cold to the touch, almost as if she was a walking corpse. Had it not been for the fact that she could very faintly feel her pulse every now and then, Amélie  would’ve thought her heart had stopped a long time ago. 

So naturally, Amélie  assumed her body just wasn’t able to do certain things anymore.

Then the two little pink lines on her pregnancy test had to completely blindside her, throwing her for an emotional loop. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to have children; she had played with the idea of starting a family before Talon’s influence, after all. Having a child to teach ballet or proudly show off their feats had especially warmed her heart enough to almost propose the idea to Gérard. 

Of course, that was all before she had her life destroyed and her first husband killed at her own hands. 

A bitter smile formed as she crossed her arms, nails digging into lace. 

Well, if she had thought parenting would be stressful before, than she was certain that it would be a downright disaster now. Would the child even be healthy? What if it would only bring regret, causing a strain in your relationship? 

A slender, warm hand claps onto her shoulder, forcing Amélie  back into the present. 

Sombra at least had enough manners to give her a somewhat sheepish smile. Just as the younger woman opened her mouth, Gabriel interrupted her.

“You do realize this is him, we’re talking about, right?” Gabriel’s gruff voice takes on a note gentle enough to catch the attention of both women before him. 

His face hadn’t changed much, but the concerned frown was enough to emphasize the thin scars and lines littered across his face- showing off years of stress and strain.

“The guy has it bad for you, Guillard. If he’s stuck around long enough to get the balls to propose to you, then a pregnancy won’t be an issue for him.”

“..It also helps that you have the man whipped.” Sombra grins beside her as Gabriel rolls his eyes. Though Amélie  can see the ghost of a smile on his face before he covered it by coughing into a closed fist

“Sombra-”

“Oh, did you want me to get mushy with it, old man?” Sombra snorts, gently turning Amélie ’s head towards herself. Purple eyes glance over to Gabriel and motion towards the door, staring at him before he relents with a huff.

“I’ll wait for both of you outside. Try not to take too long unless you want to give the soon-to-be husband a heart attack.” 

“Well, when you say it like that-” She’s cut off as Gabriel shuts the door, leaving the two women alone. A few moments of silence passed before Sombra hears a slightly muffled “ahem” next to her, and she turns over to meet Amélie ’s slightly squished face.

She grins and the frenchwoman huffs before promptly prying herself away from Sombra’s grip.

After briefly checking in the mirror to see if her makeup was smudged, Amélie  turns back to Sombra, brows furrowed. 

Yellow eyes meet purple, neither women saying a thing as the two of them stood in silence. A few moments pass and Sombra is the first to break the silence, her voice uncharacteristically quiet as she grabs onto her taller friend’s shoulders.

“He loves you a lot, you know.” Amélie  quietly nods, more to herself. Sombra gives her a tiny smile, quietly laughing to herself as she continues. 

“Did you know he asked me if I knew any French so he could talk to you? Me of all people! And he didn’t think I would mess with him when he did- even after I told him whatever bullshit came into mind!”

Suddenly, your stuttered and near-nonsensical phrases made a lot more sense. 

“A part of me almost felt bad when I did it; pobrecito bebé just didn’t know any better,” Sombra waves her hand, a small smirk on her face. “To be honest, I was expecting you to shoot him down like you did the others.” 

Her brows furrowed as her smirk fell slightly, a smile taking its place. 

“So imagine my surprise you had this funny look on your face-” “You were watching us the entire time?” Amélie  already knew the answer to that question, but she couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit of annoyance flare up at it.

The Mexican only gives her a tiny shrug and a sheepish grin as she continues.

“Anyways, you didn’t look like you hated him, so I mostly just left you two be then. But then he just kept coming back to me for help, always so eager to try and get closer to you.”

Sombra’s face took on a softer appearance, a near giddy smile on her face.

“Even when the two of you had your down moments, he stuck by; just trying to understand the best way he can.” 

Amélie  blinks, eyes stinging slightly as her friend reached up to put in the bridal veil; careful not to undo hours of work put into her hair. Thin lace lightly brushes against her bare neck, the fabric the tiniest bit itchy as it falls over her face.

Sombra steps back to admire her handiwork, silent as she places a hand on her chin as she looks Amélie  up and down. Purple lips purse for a moment, before she nods and looks back up to meet her friend’s stare. 

She sighs, her face falling into a look of unbridled warmth.

“What I’m trying to say is that I think he’s going to keep trying to do his best for you. And I say this as the person who had to deal with him fussing over what do to make you happy.”

Though she could feel her chest begin to grow tight and her vision grow slightly blurry, Amélie  breathed out a quiet laugh as Sombra placed a hand on her cheek.

“..Plus the old man and I kinda already gave him our blessing without telling you. I don’t know if I should be saying sorry about that right now, but we just wanted to let you know that we think you deserve something good-” Sombra trails off as cool flesh meets her hand, the pair locking eyes as Amélie  gives the shorter woman a small but grateful smile. 

“..Thank you, Sombra.” 

“Pssh, don’t get all soft on me now, hermosa. You’re supposed to save that for the actual wedding part,” Sombra laughs, but Amélie  can see her wipe at the corner of her eye with her other hand through the lace curtains of her veil.

A sharp knocking fills the air, causing the two women to look over as Gabriel opens up the door. He pauses for a moment, suddenly feeling a bit awkward as he took in the sight before him. He clears his throat, glancing off into the hallway.

“...Do the two of you need more time?”

Amélie  is the first one to collect herself, taking in a deep breath before stepping forward.

“We were just wrapping things up,” She pauses for a moment. “...Where did you two put the bouquet?”

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Not too far away from the trio, you were left to wait for your soon-to-be-wife at the altar; your chest tight and heart nervously fluttering as you periodically glanced into your reflection in a nearby window. 

Every strand of hair and small wrinkle was heavily scrutinized, quickly tucked in place and neatly smoothed back; your fingers slightly shaking each time you did so. It was a little tedious, but it was enough to mostly take your mind off how nervous you were while you waited.

Then your eyes would wander to the flower on your lapel. A single, deep-red carnation sitting in the button hole and then to the tiny, silk yellow butterfly carefully placed in the center, and your heart races and a trace of cold sweat begins to form.

To say that you were nervous would be an understatement. 

You let out a shaky sigh and adjust your tie one last time before turning away from your reflection. For what must have been the twentieth time today, you scanned the room of people in front of you.

Oblivious to the groom’s plight, the neatly-dressed crowd of guests chatted and laughed amongst themselves as they waited for the main event, enveloping the room in a relaxed air.

You could make out a few familiar faces of family members here and there, as well as some of the members of your unit scattered throughout; most of which were taking the occasional swig from flasks they snuck in in between conversation. 

A good chunk of the population here were mostly people you invited, which weren’t a lot of people. Amélie , meanwhile, hardly invited anyone at all save for Gabriel and Sombra. Which didn’t bother you, truthfully. 

While Gabriel may scare you a little and though Sombra had messed with you a majority of your time knowing her, you knew well that Amélie  had come to care for them greatly. And in her line of work, friends were few and far between. Most of one’s time with Talon was spent wondering whether or not they’d get to live another day. 

After how far she’s come, Amélie  deserved to have those two by her side on her big day. Where, you hope, it would only be the start of a lasting and happy marriage. 

You take in a shaky breath and ran a hand through your hair. You hadn’t seen Amélie  since this morning on account of your bride not wanting to bring any bad luck, and it’s been stressful. Your mind kept drifting to a hundreds of “what-ifs”; Amélie  getting cold feet and leaving you the most prominent one. 

It certainly didn’t help that she’s been behaving oddly since a few weeks ago, having been caught more than once staring young couples whenever the two of you were out on dates; especially ones who had a child or two with them. Amélie  had of course tried to reassure you was nothing wrong before changing the subject, but a nagging part of you insisted otherwise.

Your anxiety over the situation only grew worse when you woke up in your shared bed to Amélie  vomiting in the bathroom a week before your wedding. She had insisted that it was just from an upset stomach, but it had done nothing to quell your nerves. 

Someone clears their throat nearby, nearly making you jump. You turn to see Gabriel standing beside you and he moves to pat at your shoulder- stoic face breaking slightly to offer awkward comfort. 

“She’s coming in a bit. We just had some, ah… minor difficulties.” he coughs, moving his arms behind his back. 

Before you even had the chance to wonder just what the hell the other man meant by that, Gabriel looks towards the entrance of the room and Sombra- who had her upper torso poking out between the cracked double doors- shoots him a thumbs up.

Just like that, he gives you one last rough pat on the shoulder before stepping away to stand next to the altar. The officiant, who had silently stood back and waited, cleared his throat-causing you to nearly jump, as you completely forgot he was there- and take his place at the small podium behind you.

The double-doors open up with a groan that filled the room, a hushed silence fell over the crowd. Your breath hitches as you take in the sight of Amélie  making her way towards you, white lace following and flowing with each step. 

A carefully arranged- and from the looks of it, slightly battered- array of blue roses and slender rain lilies sat in her hands. Though their petals had suffered some damage, it did nothing to take away from their beauty; their colors still vibrant and rich, and full of life.

Beside her, Sombra was attached to the crook of her arm- a smaller bouquet of her own in her free hand- as the two walked down the aisle. The two of you lock eyes and she gives you a grin and tried to shoot you a pair of finger guns- albeit failing with her since her were hands full.

Though you couldn’t see it, you were sure Amélie fondly rolled her eyes.

When the two finally reach the altar, you find yourself at a loss of words, your breath hitching as you stare at the veil of lace in front of you. Perhaps it was a bit predictable of you, but at this very moment, even with her face concealed, Amélie  never looked more stunning like she did now.

The officiant’s droning fell on deaf ears as you gave your soon-to-be wife a watery smile. 

You mouthed a small ‘I’m happy that I met you’, chest tight as the situation began to settle in.

It wasn’t until when you finally lifted up Amélie ’s veil and kissed her that you began to feel wetness gather at your eyes, and your cheeks stinging from how hard you were smiling. 

The entire room erupted in cheers and shouts of congratulations all around you, and you were certain that Sombra had shouted something ridiculous because you hear Gabriel burst out into rare laughter.

Though you paid the noise no mind as a cool hand reached up to gently wipe at the corner of your eye, and the sight of your wife- cheeks flushed and eyes soft- with a small smile on her face. Eager, you slowly move her hand away from your face to slide the ring on her finger. 

You fully welcomed the tears gently rolling down your face at this point, you hear Amélie in front of you gently laugh; light-heartedly chastising you for working her up this much as she wipes at her eyes. 

The rest of the evening passed by in a blur, joy and merriment filled the air and creating a pleasurable buzz. Guests gradually began to trickle out as the sun turned a burnt-orange as the sun began to set down the horizon. 

Gabriel and Sombra were the last guests to leave, the two of them shooting their friend a look you couldn’t quite read. Amélie huffs at this before shooing them away and Sombra’s laughs before the door closes; leaving you alone with your new wife.

The two of you were silent, but that didn’t bother either of you in the slightest; too blissed out to let it do so.

As the two of you moved towards the exit, towards the sleek limousine that’ll escort the two of you for the day, Amélie promptly stops just when you were about to open the door. 

Confused, you turn to look towards her, and see her lips drawn into a thin line. 

“I need to tell you something before we go,” her words curt, worry bleeding into her tone as a hand smooths the lace of her sleeves.

“Of course. Is there something wrong?”

“Non, Non. It’s just..” she sucks in a deep breath. 

“I’m pregnant.”

[gyromitra-esculenta]

YESSS! Nephilim PART 4! Finished, in general <3. Okay, so this is only checked for some spelling errors - otherwise unedited. That one mystical eldritch horror thing trying to pull off Evangelion, stuff from this one is under bureau-verse tag. 

Warnings: this is ‘eldritch horror’, so: gore, violence, disturbing imagery, eldritch pregnancy (having fun with the possibilities), Famous Last Words

*

The air inside the barn is warm—moist and cloying—reminds him of the jungle during the rainy season’s mid-day, only the sounds of the insects and birds are displaced by the incessant whispering and the barely audible hummed song. His light flickers on and off for a while and Gabriel waits for it to stop acting up.

There is something quintessential about the smell of warm meat that had been left out of the fridge to thaw, the tart metallic tang giving the animal brain conflicting instructions: threat and food. He almost gags on the omnipresent reek.

Slowly, he turns the flashlight to the wall, walking along it mindful of the distance. The fleshy mass covering every surface glistens in the light. Looks almost as if it’s breathing. He can make out some shapes but he isn’t sure what they are–until he stops by what looks like a tail above a hoofed hind leg sticking out of the growth on the wall. Guided by morbid curiosity, Gabriel pokes it with the end of Remington’s barrel.

The tail twitches from side to side and the limb kicks back, barely missing him. The murmur grows. The whole fleshy mass undulates, and he sees hands, legs, eyes, teeth in it, everything that makes up people and animals. To the side, there are several wings with molted feathers frantically beating the dead air.

The inconsequential question of what had happened to the inhabitants of the farm is answered. It would be a lie to say it is something unexpected–or the worst of what he had ever seen. Gabriel waits, motionless, for the hectic ruckus to die down. Only after it returns to the slow movement, he turns around shining his light on Jack.

He's kneeling hunched on the floor, swaying forward and back with an occasional aborted tremor - beginning of some motion discarded immediately - arms wrapped protectively around the twitching mass held close to his chest that hurts to look upon.

Hoarse voice hums single notes of what Gabriel now knows to be a lullaby, one bafflingly too familiar to be any comfort to him.

The understanding strikes him as he looks around again: the air and the smell, the lining of the all the surfaces. The barn, it's a womb.

The thing Jack cradles to himself, it's trying to be born, properly this time - and it took Jack to be its surrogate, to act as its umbilical cord tethering it to reality it wants to invade.

And for the birth to be complete, the umbilical cord must be severed. Cut down.

The metal canister outside, the cap had been screwed shut with the chain still intact. Slowly, Gabriel circles Jack and moves towards the door, with care not to brush against any part of the fleshy mass.

Past the threshold, the starts are brighter than before, bigger and closer.

Watching ravenously from the distance of the void, the avaricious angels swarm. He feels their glare on his back, heavy pinpricks of fierce interest - of claws, teeth, and unending hunger - but he knows to not give into the whispering madness.

The smell lingers in the air.

It crowds his senses, wet and metallic, leaves the weight on his tongue. Sticks to his skin, viscous, flowing thicker than the air itself.

Gabriel turns and picks up the canister. Judging by the weight and the sound of its contents splashing on the inside, it's full. Good.

The growth spreads on the outside, tendrils crawling over the ground and on the walls - he tries to step over it, the soles of his boots lift with a snapping squelch. There's not much time left now, and a wicked thought forms, if maybe it is his presence that facilitates this.

'In the end, you will choose wrong.' Can't be more than an hour or two since he's been told that but seems like a lifetime ago.

Back inside, Gabriel unscrews the metal cap. The odor of the petrol does nothing for the stench of oxidizing meat. Even worse, it becomes accentuated.

Methodically, ignoring the rising ruckus, he splashes the walls with the gasoline - the last of it he uses to make a trail to where Jack is in the middle of the barn, still humming, still rocking the thing as if it's a baby.

Probably, it's exactly that, in some sense.

And so much worse.

Gabriel sets the empty canister aside and crouches in front of Jack - no reaction, and no recognition, his eyes are almost closed, only a sliver of white and blue visible behind the lowered lashes.

He reaches into the pocket for the lighter, it's still there

Incredibly funny, in a way of sad that just crosses the line, how the somewhat vindictive action of taking it away from Jack to keep him from smoking plays into his impromptu plan.

He puts the lighter between his teeth and freezes with his palms hovering over Jack's crossed arms

The thought of touching even through the gloves the lump of flesh Jack is holding is viscerally revolting. It's hard enough to look at anything in the vicinity of the thing shifting as if it's breathing with its whole mass.

At the worst is, he can hear it cooing.

Beyond the edge of perception, baby-like, little gurgling sounds, but the dissonant wrongness bubbles up mid-sound.

Slowly, Gabriel puts his palm against Jack's left forearm and curls his fingers to get the grip on the fabric of the hoodie - careful to not disturb the creature.

The resistance is static, the hand moves more like the muscles holding it in place are locked stiff - and after he manages to shift it away, the hand falls limply under its own weight, fingertips brushing against the ground.

The creature stirs, alarmed, mewling.

Gabriel bites back the urge to curse out loud - the plastic of the lighter creaks between his teeth dangerously - and moves around Jack so he can reach over his right shoulder. Cautiously he positions his hand again, the left palm resting on Jack's other shoulder.

His fingers sink into the thing, mushy and airy consistency of its flesh nauseating, and with one swift movement he yanks Jack back to the side and hurls the now screaming creature at the wall. It lands, the sound of the impact meaty and wet, almost drowned out by its screech.

The lump of rotting and squirming flesh draped over a malformed skeleton cries piercing gurgling mewls of an unborn calling after its mother as it starts to crawl back towards him - calling the things from the void to its aid, too - and, god, it's in his head.

The mother: drugged, gutted, and then hanged from the sacred tree, and when the rope had rotted through and let her fall to the ground, they buried her and it, her wretched spawn, under the holy roots.

Gabriel stands, transfixed in place by the sheer wrongness of it.

And... Jack's screaming too, clutching his head between his clenched fists, screaming at him to kill it, to shoot it, to make it stop.

He brings up the rifle and squeezes the trigger, again and again - the chunks of flesh fly off with each hit - and it's still coming.

Even after he runs out of the bullets, it's still crawling, undeterred, and Jack is still screaming - his vocal cords ready to give up just like when his voice broke...

The lighter. Gabriel swears around the plastic reaching for it, it works on the first try.

He leans down and ignites the gasoline trail, backing off as soon as he's sure it caught proper, and grabs the back of Jack's hoodie, dragging him on the ground towards the exit. The flames engulf the inside and the howling now creature still moves, its flesh bubbling and popping

The smell of burning meat and feathers immediately overpowers the rancid reek of old blood, and as soon as they pass the threshold, it's as if the oppressive atmosphere had lifted. Gabriel stops only a dozen or so meters away from the building and collapses to the ground.

Without delay, he pulls Jack close - his pants are slightly off but otherwise he looks more or less okay, there's only a shallow cut on his forearm, the sleeve dark with crusted blood, whole palm smeared with it - and silent, dazed, his fingers curling into Gabriel's shirt.

Morning is breaking.

The thing inside is screaming but now it's merely something ceasing to exist, and its hold on the reality had slipped. He cannot pinpoint the moment when Jack had stopped screaming himself, he cards his fingers through white hair keeping his eyes on the fire

Only when the roof of the barn starts to collapse into the flames below, Gabriel sees her.

The girl.

Short and gaunt, with dirty blonde hair stuffed behind the rotting rope coiled around her neck. She turns away from him and slowly walks into the fire.

He almost moves to try and stop her until he remembers the weight leaning against his frame.

And then, silence. Gabriel buries his face in Jack's hair and takes a deep breath.

“Is she at peace? Now?”

“No. I don’t,” Jack swallows, his voice hoarse from singing and screaming. “I don’t think she’ll ever be... She only wanted for it to stop crying."

The look in her eyes, it was the same resignation - or acceptance - the undead Nazi taking a drag from the cigarette Jack gave him had uttering whatever he did before crumbling to dust.

"So there's nothing to be done after..."

"Nothing good for those touched," Jack wearily shifts, taking out a single cigarette out of the front pocket of the hoodie, and puts it between his lips.

"I left the lighter inside."

"That's what I thought. I've got another."

He fishes out the lighter from the pocket - green, not black like the one Gabriel took from him - and lights the cigarette. "I was humoring you."

He inhales and immediately starts coughing, the smoke irritating his sore throat.

"Those will kill you."

"Yeah, fuck you. Died once, already, didn't care for it much." Jack takes another drag after his cough dies down. "Fuck it," he adds, his voice almost breaking, "take off the gloves, I want to feel you."

He would protest, but there's no point in it now, and Gabriel gives in. As soon as one glove is off, Jack grabs his hand and puts it to his cheek, covering the palm with his own fingers. With a shudder, he exhales - the sound sob-like but constricted and halted.

"You okay?" Gabriel asks, careful not to nick the skin with the claws.

"I have to be. Just... give me five, and I'll get Lena, to clean this up."

"No service."

"Mine will have it. Just a moment," Jack trails off, breathing into his neck. Fuck. It only serves to remind Gabriel how fucking selfish he's being, dragging him back into his own bullshit. But the detour was Jack's idea - and that idea wouldn't be there if Gabriel had not knocked on his door month ago asking for help with the missing children - so all his fault, and...

A distinct meow and a ghostly brush against his leg trip him out of his thoughts. Dizzy, in all her translucent glory, the tail swishing and ears laid back a bit, walks over his thigh to curl next to Jack - and Gabriel chuckles.

They're going to be okay, and even if not, they're going to be not okay together now, whatever the future throws at them.

[lihikainanea]

Tiger getting grumpy and watching a movie with Bill. She’s spaced a bit a way from him, but his fingers found a way to light graze her shoulder. He sees, with the pout on her face and all, that she was rubbing her own tummy. He rolled his eyes with a smile, pulling her by her arm pits to lay across his lap, rubbing her tummy as she let out a purr, yes a damn purr!

Nani, I can’t believe you’re just gonna come at me this way. As if I don’t already have the biggest tummy kink in the world, as if I DON’T already love love love to have my tummy rubbed, as if I DON’T already very much notice self-comforting gestures on people and find them so endearing, and as if I DON’T already fucking love the concept of Bill providing comfort--so much comfort--to tiger when she needs it. Bonus points if she has no idea that she needs it.

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. Like tiger all grumpy and in a bad mood, and she doesn’t even realize that she’s rubbing her own tummy, trying to get some comfort. But Bill notices. Bill always notices. And she’s all resistant, thinking she wants space instead of his touch, but he just pulls her over and gives her all the comfort she needs and then some. And she’s a little mushy burrito of happiness and safety and UUUUUGH BILL bitch you killin’ me.

****

It was sudden, it was volatile, and it was completely without reason. You had a good day, a lazy day, full of comfortable clothes and glorious gray skies that didn’t make you feel guilty for staying inside doing nothing. You had woken up to a mug of coffee being plunked on the nightstand, Bill’s hand tangling gently in your hair as you roused from a deep sleep. It was a quiet morning, Norah Jones playing though the speakers in his living room as you enjoyed each others company. You both sat propped up against the headboard of his bed for a long while;  he wove his hand with yours as you leaned your head on his shoulder.

The day continued in much of the same way. He browsed recipes with you, disappeared for an hour to do groceries. He would be home for a little while and couldn’t wait to get back into the kitchen, which is where he spent the afternoon. In his sweatshirt and your comfiest pair of sweatpants, he lifted you up onto the countertop where you sat and watched him work. Slicing, dicing, and feeding you bits of food; you looped a leg around his waist every time he walked by, pulling him in for a sweet kiss.

It had, on all accounts, been a spectacular day. Which is why you were mildly confused when a sour mood hit, making you grumpy and withdrawn. He had made two cups of tea, coming back into the living room to hand you one as he started the movie. You had curled up into the corner of the sofa, which you sometimes did, mostly when you wanted to be left alone. He let you be--you had been pretty affectionate all day, and he figured you just needed some space. You got like that sometimes. So he gave you your space, staying close enough that you could reach him if you wanted to, but not pressing you for contact. He propped a leg on the coffee table, slouching back to rest his head on the cushions and trying to stay awake.

He kept an eye on you just in case, and as he glanced at you he noticed the small scowl that started in the middle of your eyebrows and slowly took up your whole face. Without drawing too much attention to it--you would talk if you wanted to--he slowly reached an arm out, resting it on the back of the couch and scratching lightly at your scalp with two fingers. You didn’t retreat, but you didn’t lean into it either like you usually did. He kept his hand there.

The next time he glanced at you, he noticed the frown on your face, the way your shoulders were tensed. 

“You okay kid?” he asked, moving to tuck some hair behind your ear. Your scowl deepened.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled. He wasn’t convinced, and a movement beneath your sweater caught his eye. When he looked down, he noticed that you had a hand tucked up under it, rubbing your stomach. Comfort, he realized. Something had you wanting comfort. He rolled his eyes.

“C’mere,” putting an arm across your shoulders, he grabbed your bicep and pulled you into him.

“Ugh, no,” you said, but you were putty in his hands as he put your head in his lap. He threaded a hand in your hair and lifted your sweatshirt, slipping his fingers just below the waistband of your pants as he pressed his palm down gently.

He watched your eyes flutter closed, heard the faint sigh that escaped your lips as you arched your back a bit. He pressed down with his hand, crooking his fingers to massage lightly.

“Stop, I hate this,” you muttered, but you were boneless in his lap and made no actual attempt to stop him.

“Yeah, looks like it,” he teased. Rubbing his whole hand back and forth on your stomach, you practically purred when his thumb stroked over your belly button. He untangled his other hand from your hair, running his thumb down the bridge of your nose.

“Want to talk about it, kid?” he asked.

“I don’t even know what it is,” you admitted, “I just got really fucking grumpy all of a sudden.”

He hummed at that, bringing his thumb to rest on your lips. When you didn’t open up for him, he eased just the pad of it between your lips. 

“Ugh, no,” you spat it out, moving your face away, “I’m not sucking your thumb. That shit is too weird.”

“Tiger, you literally sleep with my thumb in your mouth like, every night.”

It was the wrong thing to say, and he watched your cheeks flush red as you squirmed. It had become such a normal thing between you, especially when he had you feeling really good, that he completely forgot it was something you were still a little...sensitive about. He rubbed his hand over your stomach, bending to plop a kiss on your nose.

“Just take it,” he tried again, tapping it lightly on your mouth.

“You fucking take it, you little bitch.”

“Tiger, it’s comforting to you,” he ignored your remark, “Just let yourself have it.”

“No,” you insisted, “It’s weird.”

“So?”

“Listen, you bastard. You’re lucky I’m even letting you do this,” you gestured to his hand on your stomach, “Alright? And let’s be clear. I’m doing this for you.”

“Alright kid,” he acquiesced, “Thanks for the uh...comfort.”

“No problem,” you mumbled, and practically purred in his lap when he pressed down and cupped his hand just right on the sensitive part of your lower stomach. His hand was so warm and big, and he rubbed his thumb over the fleshy part of your lower abdomen. You were putty in his lap. He scratched a bit more at your scalp, ran his finger along the sensitive spot behind your ear that he knew you loved. He traced over your features, stroking his fingertips over your brow and down the bridge of your nose. He tried again once you seemed a little more agreeable; tracing your lips with his thumb, he rested it lightly on your mouth and smirked when your lips parted, sucking the pad of his finger between them.

“For you,” you mumbled, “Because you need it.”

“Thanks kid,” he smiled bigger, “Real thoughtful of you.”

[sandranelsonuk]

581 Sensory Words to Take Your Writing from Bland to Brilliant

It’s almost too easy.

By using sensory words to evoke sight, sound, touch, taste, and smell; smart and attractive writers just like you are able to make their words burst to life in their readers’ minds.

In this post, you’ll learn:

The science behind sensory details (e.g. why sensory words are so persuasive);

The definition of sensory words (plus examples);

How answering five simple questions will help you write descriptive words that pack your content with sensory language;

500+ sensory words you can incorporate into your own writing (right now).

Let’s dive in.

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The Colossal Power of Sensory Details

Remember the final scene in Field of Dreams when Ray Kinsella has a catch with his dad?

You can smell the grass on the field.

You can hear the sound of the baseball hitting their gloves.

And you can feel Ray’s years of guilt melting away as he closes his eyes, smiles, and tosses the ball back to his dad.

(Be honest. You’re crying right now, aren’t you?)

Field of Dreams made you feel like you were in Ray’s shoes, on his field, playing catch with dad.

The scene creates such a vivid experience for many viewers that whenever they think of playing catch, this scene will come up alongside their own childhood memories.

Here’s why:

When you paint a strong scene in your audience’s mind, you make it easier for them to pull it back up from their memory. You’ve essentially bookmarked it for them so they can easily find it when something — a sight, a smell, a sound — reminds them of it.

That’s the power of content that incorporates sensory details.

And this power isn’t limited to cinema classics capable of making grown men cry. For centuries, literary giants have been packing their prose with powerful words that evoke the senses:

“Cry ‘Havoc,’ and let slip the dogs of war; That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial” — William Shakespeare (circa 1599)

In addition to The Bard, authors like Maya Angelou, Edgar Allan Poe, and Charles Dickens excel at sensory language. So do literally every famous poet you learned about in school.

And that begs the obvious question…

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Why are Sensory Details so Effective?

Short answer:

Our brains handle sensory words differently than ordinary words.

In a 2011 study published in The Quarterly Journal of Experimental Psychology, experts found that our brains process “tangible” (i.e. sensory) words faster than other words.

And in a study published for Brain and Language in 2012, psychologists found that a certain part of our brain is “activated” when we read sensory words.

In other words:

So, we know why sensory details are powerful. And we know writers have been tapping into their power for a long, long time.

Now let’s define them and go over a few examples:

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What are Sensory Words?

Sensory words are descriptive words — using imagery, they describe how we see, hear, touch, taste, and smell the world around us.

Let’s break each one down:

#1. Sight Sensory Words

Words related to vision describe the appearance of something (its color, size, shape, and so on).

Examples of visual words:

Her golden hair looked disheveled thanks to the gust of wind.

He was a towering presence.

I ordered a large orange juice, but the waiter brought me a teeny-tiny glass the size of a thimble.

→ Click here to unfold the full list of Sight Sensory Words.

Angular Azure Billowy Black Bleary Bloated Blonde Blue Blurred Blushing Branching Bright Brilliant Broad Brown Brunette Bulbous Bulky Camouflaged Chubby Circular Colorful Colorless Colossal Contoured Cosmic Craggy Crimson Crinkled Crooked Crowded Crystalline Curved Dark Dazzling Deep Dim Dingy Disheveled Distinct Drab Dreary Dull Dusty Elegant Enchanting Engaging Enormous Faded Fancy Fat Filthy Flashy Flat Flickering Foggy Forked Freckled Fuzzy Gargantuan Gaudy Gigantic Ginormous Glamorous Gleaming Glimpse Glistening Glitter Glittering Globular Gloomy Glossy Glowing Gold Graceful Gray Green Grotesque Hazy Hollow Homely Huge Illuminated Immense Indistinct Ivory Knotty Lacy Lanky Large Lavender Lean Lithe Little Lofty Long Low Malnourished Maroon Massive Miniature Misshapen Misty Motionless Mottled Mountainous Muddy Murky Narrow Obtuse Olive Opaque Orange Oval Pale Peered Petite Pink Portly Pristine Prodigious Purple Quaint Radiant Rectangular Red Reddish Rippling Rotund Round Ruby Ruddy Rusty Sabotaged Shadowy Shallow Shapeless Sheer Shimmering Shiny Short Silver Skinny Small Smudged Soaring Sparkling Sparkly Spherical Spotless Spotted Square Steep Stormy Straight Strange Striped Sunny Swooping Tall Tapering Tarnished Teeny-tiny Tiny Towering Translucent Transparent Triangular Turquoise Twinkling Twisted Ugly Unsightly Unusual Vibrant Vivid Weird White Wide Wiry Wispy Wizened Wrinkled Wrinkly Yellow

  #2. Sound Sensory Words

Words related to hearing often describe the sound they make (known as onomatopoeia), but this isn’t always the case.

Examples of hearing words:

He had a big, booming voice.

The sound of screeching tires was soon followed by the deafening sound of a car horn.

As I peeked under the bed, the cackling laughter coming from the closet made the hairs on my arms stand up.

→ Click here to unfold the full list of Sound Sensory Words.

Babble Bang Barking Bawled Bawling Bellow Blare Blaring Bleat Boom Booming Bray Buzz Buzzing Cackle Cackling Chatter Chattering Cheer Chiming Chirping Chuckle Clamor Clang Clanging Clap Clapping Clicking Clink Clinking Cooing Coughing Crackle Crackling Crashing Creak Croaking Crow Crunch Crunching Crunchy Cry Crying Deafening Distorted Dripping Ear-piercing Earsplitting Exploding Faint Fizzing Gagging Gasping Giggle Giggling Grate Grating Growl Grumble Grunt Grunting Guffaw Gurgle Gurgling Hanging Hiss Hissing Honking Howl Hubbub Hum Humming Hush Jabber Jangle Jangling Laughing Moaning Monotonous Mooing Muffled Mumble Mumbling Murmur Mutter Muttering Noisy Peeping Piercing Ping Pinging Plopping Pop Purring Quacking Quiet Rant Rapping Rasping Raucous Rave Ringing Roar Roaring Rumble Rumbling Rustle Rustling Scratching Scream Screaming Screech Screeching Serene Shout Shouting Shrieking Shrill Sigh Silent Sing Singing Sizzling Slam Slamming Snap Snappy Snoring Snort Splashing Squawking Squeaky Stammer Stomp Storm Stuttering Tearing Thudding Thump Thumping Thunder Thundering Ticking Tingling Tinkling Twitter Twittering Wail Warbling Wheezing Whimper Whimpering Whine Whining Whir Whisper Whispering Whistle Whooping Yell Yelp

  #3. Touch Sensory Words

Touch words describe the texture of how something feels. They can also describe emotional feelings.

Examples of touch words:

Two minutes into the interview, I knew his abrasive personality would be an issue if we hired him.

With a forced smile, I put on the itchy Christmas sweater my grandmother bought me.

The Hot Pocket was scalding on the outside, but ice-cold in the middle.

→ Click here to unfold the full list of Touch Sensory Words.

Abrasive Balmy Biting Boiling Breezy Bristly Bubbly Bubby Bumpy Burning Bushy Chilled Chilly Clammy Coarse Cold Cool Cottony Crawly Creepy Cuddly Cushioned Damp Dank Dirty Downy Drenched Dry Elastic Feathery Feverish Fine Fleshy Fluff Fluffy Foamy Fragile Freezing Furry Glassy Gluey Gooey Grainy Greasy Gritty Gushy Hairy Heavy Hot Humid Ice-Cold Icy Itchy Knobbed Leathery Light Lightweight Limp Lukewarm Lumpy Matted Metallic Moist Mushy Numbing Oily Plastic Pointed Powdery Pulpy Rocky Rough Rubbery Sandy Scalding Scorching Scratchy Scummy Serrated Shaggy Sharp Shivering Shivery Silky Slimy Slippery Sloppy Smooth Smothering Soapy Soft Sopping Soupy Splintery Spongy Springy Sputter Squashy Squeal Squishy Steamy Steely Sticky Stifled Stifling Stinging Stony Stubby Tangled Tapered Tender Tepid Thick Thin Thorny Tickling Tough Unsanitary Velvety Warm Waxy Wet Woolly

  #4. Taste Sensory Words

Taste words are interesting. Though they can describe food, they’re often used in comparisons and metaphors.

Examples of taste words:

It’s a bittersweet situation.

Her zesty personality caught Karl’s eye.

The scrumptious jalapeno poppers comforted Karl after his bitter rejection.

→ Click here to unfold the full list of Taste Sensory Words.

Acidic Appetizing Bitter Bittersweet Bland Buttery Charred Contaminated Creamy Crispy Delectable Delicious Doughy Earthy Fermented Flavorful Flavorless Floury Garlicky Gingery Gritty Hearty Juicy Luscious Medicinal Mellow Melted Nauseating Nutritious Nutty Palatable Peppery Pickled Piquant Raw Refreshing Rich Ripe Runt Savory Scrumptious Stale Sugary Syrupy Tangy Tart Tasteless Unripe Vinegary Yummy Zesty

  #5. Smell Sensory Words

Words related to smell describe — yes, you guessed it — how things smell. Often underutilized, sensory words connected with smell can be very effective.

Examples of smell words:

The pungent smell was unmistakable: someone in this elevator was wearing Axe Body Spray.

No matter the expiration date, it was clear from its rancid stench the milk had gone bad.

The flowery aroma was a welcome change after the elevator and milk incidents.

→ Click here to unfold the full list of Smell Sensory Words.

Ambrosial Antiseptic Aroma Aromatic Briny Citrusy Decayed Decomposed Doggy Fetid Floral Flowery Foul-smelling Fragrant Gamy Gaseous Horrid Inodorous Malodorous Mephitic Musky Musty Odiferous Odor Odorless Old Perfumed Piney Polluted Pungent Putrid Rancid Rank Redolent Reeking Scent Scented Sickly Skunky Smell Smoky Stagnant Stench Stinky Sweaty Tempting

  Note on Taste and Smell:

Because they’re closely related, some sensory words can be used for both taste and smell. Examples: fruity, minty, and tantalizing.

→ Click here to unfold the full list of Taste and Smell Sensory Words.

Acrid Burnt Fishy Fresh Fruity Lemony Minty Moldy Mouth-watering Rotten Salty Sour Spicy Spoiled Sweet Tantalizing

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Sensory Details: Examples in the Wild

Imagine the following headline came across your Twitter feed:

How to Avoid Using Boring Stock Photo Images in Your Content

Would you click it?

Better question…

Could you read the headline without falling asleep?

The answers are probably “no” and “heck no.”

Now imagine you saw this headline:

Much better, right?

The simple addition of the sensory word “cringeworthy” changes the tone of the entire headline. Instead of yawning, you’re thinking of an awkward or embarrassing moment you really don’t want to relive.

Let’s look at a few more modern-day examples of sharp people using sensory language to spruce up their content:

Using Sensory Words in Author Bios

I’ll pick on me for this one.

Here’s the author bio I used for one of my first-ever guest posts:

Kevin Duncan is the owner of Be A Better Blogger, where he helps people become the best bloggers they can be.

Now look at the author bio my friend Henneke wrote for Writer’s Block: 27 Techniques to Overcome It Forever:

Henneke Duistermaat is an irreverent copywriter and business writing coach. She’s on a mission to stamp out gobbledygook and to make boring business blogs sparkle.

My bio is devoid of sensory words (or any interesting words at all, if we’re being honest).

Henneke’s is chock full of them.

Her bio is interesting.

Mine is boring.

The lesson? Add at least one sensory word to your author bio.

Using Sensory Words in Social Media Profiles

Some people opt for brevity when writing their social media profiles, and that’s fine.

But if you want your Twitter profile (or Facebook, Instagram, or any other social media profile) to stand out from the crowd, sprinkle in a sensory word or two.

Like so:

Mel Wicks is a veteran copywriter who knows a thing or two about the effectiveness of descriptive words, so she uses them to spice up her Twitter profile.

Here’s an example from my badly-neglected Instagram account:

“Enchanting” and “adorably-jubilant” are wonderful sensory words — so wonderful, it’s a shame they’re wasted on a profile no one sees.

Look at your own profiles and see if there’s a place to add a sensory word or two. They’ll help your profile jump off the screen.

Heck, see if you can use enchanting and adorably-jubilant.

They deserve to be seen.

Using Sensory Words in Introductions

The opening lines of your content are so important.

If you’re a student, your opening sets the tone for your teacher (who we both know is dying to use his red pen).

If you’re an author, your opening can be the difference between someone buying your book or putting it back on the shelf in favor of one of those Twilight books (probably).

And if you’re a blogger, writer, content marketer, or business; your opening can hook the reader (increasing dwell time, which is great in Google’s eyes) or send them scurrying for the “back” button.

It’s why we put such an emphasis on introductions here at Smart Blogger.

Sometimes our openings hook you with a question.

Sometimes we strike a note of empathy or (like this post) focus on searcher intent.

And sometimes we give you a heaping helping of sensory words:

Imagine you’re sitting in a lounge chair on the beach, staring out over the glittering sea, the ocean breeze ruffling your hair, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of the waves.

In the above opening for How to Become a Freelance Writer and Get Paid $200 – $1K per Post, Jon Morrow uses sensory language to set a scene for the reader.

And it’s highly, highly effective.

Using Sensory Words in Email Subject Lines

Like you, your readers are flooded with emails.

And with open rates in a steady decline, people are trying anything and everything to make their email subject lines stand out:

Emojis;

Capitalized words;

All lowercase letters;

Two exclamation points;

Clickbait that would make even BuzzFeed go, “that’s too far, man.”

You name it, people are trying it.

Want a simpler, far-more-effective way to help your emails stand out from the crowd?

Add a sensory word.

Brian Dean loves to include words like “boom” in his subjects:

The folks at AppSumo and Sumo (formerly SumoMe) regularly feature descriptive words in their subjects and headlines.

Here’s one example:

And sensory language appears in most everything Henneke writes, including her subject lines.

In this one she also uses an emoji related to her sensory word. Very clever:

Now that we’ve covered several examples, let’s dig a bit deeper…

Let’s discuss some practical steps you can take that will make adding sensory language to your writing a breeze:

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How Descriptive Words Can Pack Your Writing With Sensory Language

If you’ve taken a good English or writing class, you’ve probably been told a time or two to “show, don’t tell.”

This means you should create an engaging experience for your audience; not just tell them what you want them to know.

You accomplish this by using descriptive language that conveys sensations and lets readers experience your words (rather than simply read them).

And how do you do that, exactly?

Ask yourself these five questions when you’re writing:

#1. What Do You See?

It isn’t enough to tell your readers there was a scary house in your neighborhood when you were a child. Describe the house to them in vivid detail.

What shade of gray was it?

Were the doors boarded up?

Precisely how many ghostly figures did you see staring at you from the upstairs bedroom windows, and how many are standing behind you right now?

Paint a mental picture for your readers.

#2. What Do You Hear?

We listen to uptempo songs to push us through cardio workouts. Many of us listen to rainfall when we’re trying to sleep. Some of us listen to Justin Bieber when we want to punish our neighbors.

Want to transplant readers into your literary world?

Talk about the drip, drip, drip of the faucet.

Mention the squeaking floors beneath your feet.

Describe the awful music coming from your next-door-neighbor’s house.

#3. How Does it Feel?

Touch sensory words can convey both tactile and emotional sensations.

Can you describe to the reader how something feels when touched? Is it smooth or rough? Round or flat? Is it covered in goo or is it goo-less?

Paint a picture for your reader so they can touch what you’re touching.

The same goes for emotions. Help the reader feel what you (or your character) are feeling. Draw them in.

#4. What Does it Taste Like?

Does the beach air taste salty? Is the roaring fire so intense you can taste the smoke? Is the smell of your roommate’s tuna fish sandwich so strong you can taste it from across the room?

Tell your audience.

Be descriptive.

Make them taste the fishiness.

#5. How Does it Smell?

It wasn’t a basement you walked into — it was a musty, moldy basement.

And you didn’t simply enjoy your Mom’s homemade lasagna. You inhaled the aromatic scents of sauce, cheese, and basil.

Evoking the sense of smell is possibly the most effective way to pull readers out of their world and into yours.

So when you sit down to write, ask yourself if it’s possible to describe how something smells. And if you can? Do it.

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The Massive Sensory Words List: 581 (and Counting) Descriptive Words to Supercharge Your Writing

Once you’ve asked and answered the five questions above, your writing will be packed with sensory details.

In time, you’ll build up your own massive list of sensory words you can reference and sprinkle throughout your work.

But in the meantime, here’s my list.

Bookmark them.

Print them.

Use them often:

SIGHT

SOUND

Angular Babble Azure Bang Billowy Barking Black Bawled Bleary Bawling Bloated Bellow Blonde Blare Blue Blaring Blurred Bleat Blushing Boom Branching Booming Bright Bray Brilliant Buzz Broad Buzzing Brown Cackle Brunette Cackling Bulbous Chatter Bulky Chattering Camouflaged Cheer Chubby Chiming Circular Chirping Colorful Chuckle Colorless Clamor Colossal Clang Contoured Clanging Cosmic Clap Craggy Clapping Crimson Clicking Crinkled Clink Crooked Clinking Crowded Cooing Crystalline Coughing Curved Crackle Dark Crackling Dazzling Crashing Deep Creak Dim Croaking Dingy Crow Disheveled Crunch Distinct Crunching Drab Crunchy Dreary Cry Dull Crying Dusty Deafening Elegant Distorted Enchanting Dripping Engaging Ear-piercing Enormous Earsplitting Faded Exploding Fancy Faint Fat Fizzing Filthy Gagging Flashy Gasping Flat Giggle Flickering Giggling Foggy Grate Forked Grating Freckled Growl Fuzzy Grumble Gargantuan Grunt Gaudy Grunting Gigantic Guffaw Ginormous Gurgle Glamorous Gurgling Gleaming Hanging Glimpse Hiss Glistening Hissing Glitter Honking Glittering Howl Globular Hubbub Gloomy Hum Glossy Humming Glowing Hush Gold Jabber Graceful Jangle Gray Jangling Green Laughing Grotesque Moaning Hazy Monotonous Hollow Mooing Homely Muffled Huge Mumble Illuminated Mumbling Immense Murmur Indistinct Mutter Ivory Muttering Knotty Noisy Lacy Peeping Lanky Piercing Large Ping Lavender Pinging Lean Plopping Lithe Pop Little Purring Lofty Quacking Long Quiet Low Rant Malnourished Rapping Maroon Rasping Massive Raucous Miniature Rave Misshapen Ringing Misty Roar Motionless Roaring Mottled Rumble Mountainous Rumbling Muddy Rustle Murky Rustling Narrow Scratching Obtuse Scream Olive Screaming Opaque Screech Orange Screeching Oval Serene Pale Shout Peered Shouting Petite Shrieking Pink Shrill Portly Sigh Pristine Silent Prodigious Sing Purple Singing Quaint Sizzling Radiant Slam Rectangular Slamming Red Snap Reddish Snappy Rippling Snoring Rotund Snort Round Splashing Ruby Squawking Ruddy Squeaky Rusty Stammer Sabotaged Stomp Shadowy Storm Shallow Stuttering Shapeless Tearing Sheer Thudding Shimmering Thump Shiny Thumping Short Thunder Silver Thundering Skinny Ticking Small Tingling Smudged Tinkling Soaring Twitter Sparkling Twittering Sparkly Wail Spherical Warbling Spotless Wheezing Spotted Whimper Square Whimpering Steep Whine Stormy Whining Straight Whir Strange Whisper Striped Whispering Sunny Whistle Swooping Whooping Tall Yell Tapering Yelp Tarnished Teeny-tiny Tiny Towering Translucent Transparent Triangular Turquoise Twinkling Twisted Ugly Unsightly Unusual Vibrant Vivid Weird White Wide Wiry Wispy Wizened Wrinkled Wrinkly Yellow

TOUCH

TASTE

Abrasive Acidic Balmy Appetizing Biting Bitter Boiling Bittersweet Breezy Bland Bristly Buttery Bubbly Charred Bubby Contaminated Bumpy Creamy Burning Crispy Bushy Delectable Chilled Delicious Chilly Doughy Clammy Earthy Coarse Fermented Cold Flavorful Cool Flavorless Cottony Floury Crawly Garlicky Creepy Gingery Cuddly Gritty Cushioned Hearty Damp Juicy Dank Luscious Dirty Medicinal Downy Mellow Drenched Melted Dry Nauseating Elastic Nutritious Feathery Nutty Feverish Palatable Fine Peppery Fleshy Pickled Fluff Piquant Fluffy Raw Foamy Refreshing Fragile Rich Freezing Ripe Furry Runt Glassy Savory Gluey Scrumptious Gooey Stale Grainy Sugary Greasy Syrupy Gritty Tangy Gushy Tart Hairy Tasteless Heavy Unripe Hot Vinegary Humid Yummy Ice-Cold Zesty Icy Itchy Knobbed Leathery Light Lightweight Limp Lukewarm Lumpy Matted Metallic Moist Mushy Numbing Oily Plastic Pointed Powdery Pulpy Rocky Rough Rubbery Sandy Scalding Scorching Scratchy Scummy Serrated Shaggy Sharp Shivering Shivery Silky Slimy Slippery Sloppy Smooth Smothering Soapy Soft Sopping Soupy Splintery Spongy Springy Sputter Squashy Squeal Squishy Steamy Steely Sticky Stifled Stifling Stinging Stony Stubby Tangled Tapered Tender Tepid Thick Thin Thorny Tickling Tough Unsanitary Velvety Warm Waxy Wet Woolly

SMELL

TASTE & SMELL

Ambrosial Acrid Antiseptic Burnt Aroma Fishy Aromatic Fresh Briny Fruity Citrusy Lemony Decayed Minty Decomposed Moldy Doggy Mouth-watering Fetid Rotten Floral Salty Flowery Sour Foul-smelling Spicy Fragrant Spoiled Gamy Sweet Gaseous Tantalizing Horrid Inodorous Malodorous Mephitic Musky Musty Odiferous Odor Odorless Old Perfumed Piney Polluted Pungent Putrid Rancid Rank Redolent Reeking Scent Scented Sickly Skunky Smell Smoky Stagnant Stench Stinky Sweaty Tempting

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Are You Ready to Unleash the Power of Sensory Words?

It’s time to say goodbye.

Goodbye to lifeless words that sit on the page.

Goodbye to indifferent readers ready to move on to something, anything, else.

You now know why sensory details are so effective. You know how to sprinkle descriptive words throughout your content. And you now have a massive, ever-growing list of sensory words to bookmark and come back to again and again.

Variations of the following quote have been attributed to everyone from Carl W. Buehner to Maya Angelou, but regardless of who said it, and how they said it, it’s true:

“People may forget what you said, but they’ll never forget how you made them feel.”

It’s time to make your readers feel.

Are you ready?

Then let’s do this thing.

About the Author: When he’s not busy telling waitresses, baristas, and anyone else who crosses his path that Jon Morrow once said he was in the top 1% of bloggers, Kevin J. Duncan is the Blog Editor and Social Media Manager for Smart Blogger.

The post 581 Sensory Words to Take Your Writing from Bland to Brilliant appeared first on Smart Blogger.

from Julia Garza Social Media Tips https://smartblogger.com/sensory-words/