#lustres HAND??

[blushouyo]

HOLY MOLY

[sleepgarden]

Limited run of Under the Perfumed Bower prints are available in my shop now! They're only available in A5 size texture and petal paper ♡

[horsefigureoftheday]

Can you explain the "breyer horses are stylised" thing you said a while back? Not because I don't believe you but because I don't know enough about horses to see it (besides the mane and tail)

All artistic representations of a horse will be somewhat stylized. Humans can't help it, they imagine details, even when referencing photos or live animals. A swayed back gets exaggerated, sickle hocks are overlooked, the face becomes more expressive, because to a human who loves a horse, and who expresses their own emotions with their face, the horse's face just feels more expressive.

Take a look at this horse from Peter Paul Rubens' "Wolf and Fox Hunt" (1616) and how it compares to a photo of a horse

The artist was clearly familiar with horses, and most likely referenced off a live horse. And yet its face is much more expressive than a real horse's face - it's neotenous and borderline anthropomorphic, with its huge sorrowful eyes, and the short muzzle that puts the mouth in closer proximity to its eyes (making its expression more readable).

I think a lot of people see what they want to see when they look at a horse, and they reflect that in their art. Is the horse an independent agent or a tool of its rider? Is the horse an unthinking animal or a soulful creature like yourself? Does the artist admire animals, in spite of painting them in terrible war-like scenarios? Does the artist paint animals in these scenarios because he admires them? Is the horse meant to elevate the status of its rider, by being depicted as a soulful creature that nonetheless submits to its rider? (You can probably guess my own opinion from these questions)

Earlier art saw horses almost an afterthought, depicted from memory while their rider was drawn reverently. All those art pieces of emperors and kings on horseback, where the horse looks like a cartoonish oaf, use the horse as a symbol of power, with no regard for the animal itself. Even when the horse is beautifully rendered, it's nothing more than a vehicle to carry its rider. The artist has depicted the horse as expressionless, beastly, and soulless.

Even when you get into portraits of horses in the 17-/1800s, they are still stylized, though now you're just as likely to see a lithe and graceful companion, as you are a muscled working horse or a faithful old friend. Horse breeding really took off around this time, as did theories of animal minds, so adoration of horses-as-individuals became more widespread. Examples are "Lustre" (1762) by George Stubbs, "Mare and Foal in a Stable" (1854) by John Frederick Herring Senior, and "A Grey Horse in a Field" (1873) by Rosa Bonheur.

All this is to say that horses will always be stylized in art. Humans can't not twist the horse the suit their own tastes, and that's fine. I actually think it's kinda beautiful. The way horses are stylized can give you insight into the artist's opinion of horses. An artist with a neotenic, expressive stylization probably has more respect for horses-as-individuals than an artist who depicts them as inexpressive, powerful, willing beasts of burden.

Breyer horses have an airy painterly quality to them. Even the draft horses seem almost weightless. Compare Breyer's "George" with the self-released resin horse "Gustav," both sculpted by Brigitte Eberl.

George has much longer hooves and smoother curves in his legs - you could draw a near perfect curve from his hind knee to his toe -, giving him a flowing appearance with very little weight behind it. Gustav, on the other hand, has sharp edges and corners. He feels heavy. I'm a big fan of wrinkles and muscle on model horses, but the muscles on George seem like he's been through a rock tumbler. They're smooth and soft-looking, except for the extremely deep crevices between them, which are probably there to better catch paint and enhance the shading (an effect that's especially noticeable on George's thigh). Gustav, on the other hand, has very subtle muscling and virtually no wrinkles (he deserves neck wrinkles, give my boy neck wrinkles!!). He looks like a working horse with a solid layer of fat over his muscles. George's stylization is, for lack of a better word, smooth. Flawless. A bit too perfect for my liking. George is like the platonic ideal of a visually appealing draft horse. A horse like him can't exist.

I think resin horses by master craftsmen are the closest we'll get to depicting horses exactly as they are in life. The stylistic choices are extremely subtle, and seem more like a consequence of the medium than a deliberate goal on the artist's part (e.g., you can't make a realistic mane out of resin, so you have to compromise).

I love both the stylistic trappings that humans fall into when depicting horses and the endless quest for the perfect artistic representation of the horse. Both are beautiful. All horse art is beautiful.

(Obligatory disclaimer that I'm not an art historian or anthropologist, I literally studied bugs at university, so if you think I'm talking out of my ass you are MORE than welcome to add to this post!)

[anantaru]

synopsis. you got alhaitham to tutor you, although he uses a method you weren't quite expecting, ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ cw, fingering, soft dom alhaitham, petnames used: good girl, fem! reader ᰔ

"repeat that paragraph, that one, read it to me," shuddered and twisted, you weakly nod back at alhaitham's words, the veil of lust drawing across his face.

you admire his honed jaw and poised tone, the perfect shade of red on his cheeks, no trace of imperfections except a lustre ignite of fire shaped inside the yearning in his eyes.

for now, you were only capable to re-read half of the paragraph as he digs the finger deeper inside before curling it, curling it hard, nudging your puffy cunt as you close your eyes at the impact, alternating between squeezing his hand with your thighs and parting your legs in obvious invitation.

alhaitham continues to lightly stroke over your searing walls, tracing his way further until you squirm at the mind-altering press on your cunt, your hole clenching around the digit, holding the finger in for him to never leave you, "yeah, good girl— ugh, but what else? that's not all," he grins as you sneakily ride his hand, his cock hardening inside his pants.

you rest your head on his shoulder, your focus forced on holding onto the book as good as you could.

you attempt to continue, founding it to be futile when he fucks you with a precision that quickened your blood.

"what else do you got for me?" he repeats.

"c-can we just forget about studying already?" you attempt to reason, stuttering over your words, "you know i can't— i want more," as you cough out and squirm, your hips shifting forward so your clit could grind against the heel of his hand ever so often, "i can't focus like this,"

you were correct, in fact, you were certain no one in all of sumeru could ever focus on a single task when a man such as alhaitham himself, no matter how aggravating at times, would look at someone with such hunger in his eyes, a gaze filled to perpetual sharpness.

you do not want him to stop, you want him to do more.

"you seem to enjoy it," the confidence in his tone could not be any clearer, "very much."

he tilts his head to look at you, the brush of his lips against your cheek making you whimper, the following scrape of his teeth hovering against your jawline tempting out a shiver after such tenderness.

a sensual thrust of his hand repeatedly curls and digs into you, knocking the air from your lungs as you clench as strongly as you could around a single digit, his finger rubbing just so against the furthest, most delicious spots of your walls that it increased the force and pressure on your tight belly from the inside.

how long until you break?

his finger wiggles inside, the touch exquisitely precise, awfully confident, and you found yourself in an inescapable position, impossible to hold yourself back from sinking into the sensation of feeling him. just having him touch you.

"you want me to put another finger?" he kisses your cheek tenderly.

your skin holds against sweat and desperation, tickling the hairs on your skin as a satisfactory pleasure could be felt ebbing and flowing through the entirety of your body.

"yes, please another," you breathe, greeting the scribe with a little more than soft excitement in your voice— but you sounded so angelic to him, your voice silk alike, drowning in a river of solace.

shameless in his doings, alhaitham smirks against you, his lips a hairbreadth away from your ear, "really? you think you got that?"

you nod in certain ecstasy, keeping one hand wrapped around his wrist as he pleasures you, stretching and burning into your hole.

the scribe remains confident in wanting to embed his touch, all of it, on you— not only that but his scent too, he needs your body to pick it up until his aura webs all over your most delicate spots naturally, nothing comparing to the feeling of fullness he gives you.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[starshipsofstarlord]

honey suckle

summary. daryl gets lost in eating his favourite meal between your legs

warnings. smut, oral (female reader receiving), fingering, squirting, swearing, pet names (babydoll, darlin’), some and implied aftercare

divider credits. @cafekitsune

It was one of those excruciatingly delicious nights when Daryl had returned home from a long run with Aaron, he was ravenous to be as close as possible to you, and so here he was, large hands splayed on your thighs as his head lay between your legs. His hair was tousled to a haphazard degree, the waved brunette locks splaying in every direction as your fingers sunk into their roots, tugging at the strands in your grip, which only egged him further on.

His face was practically buried in your centre, tongue sliding relentlessly through your folds and swirling with educated concentration around your throbbing clit. You were sure his cheeks were smothered in your aroused essence, however you couldn’t see as he didn’t lift his head once, caring not for breath, his only priority was to taste you for as long as you could handle it.

If he had all the options that rotated the planet at his hands, he would never let up, he would die a happy and breathless man from suffocating himself in your addictive cunt. But even then, after he was a corpse from being delirious to be drowned in your sweet juices, you would be angry at him, needing more from his chapped lips and sinful tongue. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” The fall was enclosing at your dispense, your heightened pitch indicated so, as did the clenching of your walls that his tongue thrusted in and out of.

Each of his taste buds were consumed with your aroused honey, and even as you came, he lapped without hesitancy, cleaning up your wetness only to create more to flee from your slick entrance. Your mouth was agape in sensational and pure distress as you thrashed your legs around like a maniac, until you wrapped them around his head, feet locking at the back of his neck.

“Need one more from ya babydoll.” His gruff voice that carried the dry lustre from his smoking habits vibrated against your lower lips, causing you to release an elongated squeal. You weren’t entirely sure if you had one more in you, this felt like it had been going on for hours, and although you were never complain about such circumstances, your body was growing exhausted.

But you would do it for him; one more couldn’t hurt, so as he settled three fingers into your walls, your hips bucked at the intrusion. He’d only been using his tongue the entire time, although it seemed you were drenched enough for them to slide in without much effort, he held them still so that you could adjust to the full feeling, peppering languid and wide kisses against the heated skin of your thighs.

His kisses moved left, closer to your stuffed mound, as he began to rotate his fingers inside of you, twisting his wrist as your eyelashes involuntarily fluttered, and deep mewls of pleasure surpassed from your bitten lips. Until finally, his mouth transcended you to another planet, far beyond the reality that you had harshly adapted to, as his lips suckled around your clit, his fingers scissoring in and out of you.

You were hypnotised in the sensations that were floating from your head to your curling toes, you were starting to feel dizzy, a heavy feeling that left you practically unconscious, as you faded in and out of your surroundings. Even when you opened your eyes, straining them to do so, the bedroom was blurry to your sights, and you bit at the air, failing to warn Daryl of the pressure that was growing by the second.

“Ah fuck.” Daryl groaned as a gushing stream that you hadn’t been aware was on its route to escape from your aching cunt, the liquid bursting in Daryl’s direction and coating his face. However he didn’t let up, even as he removed his fingers, leaving your walls clenching from the empty feeling, as he stroked his tongue in long lines up and down your pussy. “Gotta clean yer up.” He muttered almost to himself, as he dared not waste a drop.

You just laid there, breathless and cross eyed even as he finally removed himself, leaning up to stroke your face. “Yer did real good darlin’, so fucking good for me.” The starving man spoke, licking his lips as he started down into your eyes. He reached down, grasping your hips that had invisibly restrained themselves against the bed, as he picked you up, treating you like porcelain as he carried you in his big arms to the shower. He turned the water on, grasping a cotton rag from the side as he sturdied your weight against his, your back facing his front as he began to clean you up whilst the water was warming up.

[eyenaku]

FOOL MASK (GITM BY @venomous-qwille)

Handbuilt porcelain with slip, overglaze, glaze, and gold lustre accents. Paint and lacquer detailing added post fire. Handsewn fool's cap and bells added post fire.

This mask is a part of a (loosely connected) mask series, all hand-built and fired using a range of different temperatures and techniques.

My favourite mask to date, Fool from Ghost in the Machine by the wonderful @venomous-qwille !! GITM is absolutely incredible and I cannot put into words eloquently how much I adore it and Fool so instead I made this mask! Hi!

My word was this mask a struggle to make. The mask itself is entirely one piece, and entirely porcelain!! That's right, those long thin rays are solid porcelain!! The eyes and tips of the blades are done in 22 carat gold lustre. All colouring save for the black and the satin sections of darker red on the face were done with only slips and underglazes. The red colour was correct without the paint, but I thought a contrast from the rest of the gloss would look nice :)

Made to scale, the mask measures 50.8x60.96cm without the hat, and 50.8x116.84cm with it! (20x24in without hat, 20x46in including hat). He is Large, but turned out absolutely lovely and I send my many many thanks to the kiln gods for producing him unscathed.

(naku & wall for scale)

(he's so big guys i have large walls (the top of my head is only slightly above the top of the bookcase beneath him) look at him at the wall it's nuts)

[lokisgoodgirl]

My Girl [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: [Oneshot] Literally just smut. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Avenger!Loki. Language. (Slightly) Possessive Loki. Loki tying his hair up during sex. (w/c 1.8k)

Loki surfaces from between your legs, strands of loose hair grazing against the delicate skin.

Your eyes are sealed from pure pleasure, the feeling of his wet lips working up one trembling thigh making you mewl his name in broken breaths. Five? Seven? You’d lost count.

He chuckles quietly to himself.

His fingers dance down your hips where they were hooked beneath your legs, a final biting kiss signalling the understated finale of his favourite repertoire.

“How tempting it is," he rumbles softly, " to see if you can take one more."

You open your eyes, lessening the punishing grip on his forearm.

Loki’s hair is a mess, mussed and wild from your fingers tangling through its lengths. It surrounds his angular features with the lustre of a Raphaelite halo, blended back into the darkness.

The glow of fairy-lights draped around your bedposts illuminate the glint in his eyes. Dark shadows caress the carve of his cheekbones as he sits back on his haunches, stroking himself leisurely.

He’s always hard when he pleasures you. However long it lasts.

As tempting as it is to watch him work, you find yourself rising; leaning forwards to catch him in a hungry kiss. “I need you,” you pant into his open mouth, fingers finding their way to the fist snug around the base of his cock.

Loki pauses, smouldering down. Your legs are spread open, bent at the knee. He kneels between them, the muscled expanse of his torso rising like rock from the sea.

All you want is him. All of him, always.

“Need me?” he purrs, feigned incredulity followed by a slow tut. “I must do better if my girl is still not satisfied.”

You place a loving slap on his shoulder.

The god bites his lip, gaze dropping to your breasts while his palms slide up your waist. They cup your curves, thumbs toying with your nipples as he pushes you lightly back to the pillow.

“I need you inside me,” you specify with an air of playful sarcasm.

Loki’s dimples flash while your eyes drop to his manhood, thick and hard and ready to fuck you.

“See what you do to me?” he says with a squeeze of his hand around the tip of his cock.

A pearl of pre-cum sparkles. The guttural sound which rumbles in his throat makes you clench.

You can feel a fresh rivulet of desire descend between your folds. Slowly, you work back to his delicate smile, a ring of moisture still glistening around his mouth. It’s smeared up his cheeks. Long winds of hair cling to his jawline, sealed to your arousal on his skin. He peels one off with understated grace.

Loki rakes a hand through his hair; wild again. Waves fan out like onyx flame behind the chariot of his devastating features, each tendril like the stroke of a madman’s brush.

He releases his grip of himself, and with one purposeful pump of his powerful thighs a hand lands on the mattress by your shoulder. You raise a foot, helpless to resist a brush of it against the curve of his ass as he hovers above. The god’s other hand sinks into the bed on your left with a soft thump.

“You are perfect,” he murmurs, nose brushing down your forehead, your eye socket, before his lips fasten to your own.

You can feel the hard column of flesh between his legs press upwards against your slit. It pulses eagerly. He slides back and forth, sending sparks of pleasure zinging through your core. With every wax and wane of his all-consuming kiss, he gyrates. Ragged breaths heave in his chest with each clench of his muscular ass, the pull of his foreskin against your heat building a growl.

Delayed gratification is a drug for your god. And you, his girl, indulge him.

He breaks from your lips, a strand of saliva dangling as his forehead rests against yours.

The veil of his curls shields you in darkness, only the hot mist of his heavy pants filling the space between you. It’s all you can do not to reach down and guide his cock deep inside. Right now, it might be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. But you allow Loki the theatre of his seduction. Encourage, even.

He’s desperate for you. It shows.

And you love it.

Your fingertips comb past his temples, the flash of half-lidded eyes coming into view.

His eyebrows rise a fraction, a strangled yes from your lips all the encouragement he needs. With a shift of his hips, Loki’s eyes flutter closed as the crown of his cock squeezes inside your cunt.

A deep groan fills the air, his mouth hanging open.

A long curl drips over his parted lips, buffeting gently with every pant as your lover bottoms out.

He thrusts slowly as you buck your hips to meet him, rolling as one. Thick veins in his cock tug your delicate walls, flushed with the glorious weight of his need.

Your god’s hair swings around your face, dirty mutterings of devotion blasting the shell of your ear. That velvet voice absorbs into your soul like wine on tissue paper. Nothing feels as good as Loki’s cock. The way it massages the hidden depths of you, the pull of his pubic hair against your clit; the way that he can flick his hips that makes your eyes roll back.

The way he fills you so completely. He knows you; his girl.

Loki leans back on his knees, fingers wrapping around your hips and raising them. He slides in and out, enjoying every drag of your walls along his pulsing length. Those long digits knead down your thighs, spreading. Your chin is tilted to the ceiling, drowning in love-drunk chants of his name before Loki grunts.

His fluid thrusts slow.

You look up, frowning gently as he raises a hand to his side.

The god’s heavy smoulder hangs in the air like woodsmoke, chiselled torso towering over you; jet-black mane hanging sluttishly around the dagger of his jaw.

“Loki wha-” you slur, beginning to rise to your elbows. The will is knocked out of you with another of your lover’s glacial, mind-bending thrusts.

You fall back to the pillow with a gasp of his name.

“I simply wish to observe it, unobstructed,” he drawls stoically – only a tiny quiver in his voice betraying the heightened arousal searing through his veins. The warm glow of the fairy-lights is interrupted by a flash of green.

You squirm, clenching around Loki’s cock as a single circular hair-tie appears between the god’s thumb and forefinger.

“Observe what?” you manage to pant as you paw at his chest. Your pads catch in waves against the flex of his abdominals.

Loki casually sweeps his hair back from his shoulders.

Gripping with one hand, fingertips rake the tendrils cascading over his brow. He draws it back, winding the sex-dampened hair into a messy bun. You clench again.

The angles of his jaw slice into view, gatekeeper to the long thick of his neck. Veins strain beneath skin. The blood pumping within them pulses to the beat of his cock. He tilts his head.

“This,” he says darkly.

He slides his hands under your legs, hoisting them onto his shoulders. There’s a slurp as Loki’s tip pops from your entrance.

The sudden emptiness makes a gnawing hunger stir deep in your belly. The god’s cock presses gently against the squelch of your sex as he positions you with ease, fingertips sinking into the plump muscle of your calves.

Your eyes squeeze shut as Loki pushes inside you – so deep that you think you might break.

He pauses, and you can feel the primal weight of his stare roaming your face. You know that your skin is hot, that the backs of your thighs pressed against Loki’s chest slap with sweat and sex. You know that your face is contorted in pleasure, that he is fighting the urge to slam into his climax like the wild beast he is.

With difficulty, your eyelids open. Strands hang loose from his bun, flirting against his cheekbones; already falling free. Dark lashes fan against his cheek as he slides out your pussy with an obscene squelch. A deep frown appears on his forehead while he watches it disappear again, slowly.

So slowly.

“F-f-fuck-k,” he groans loudly.

A muscle in his jawline bobs as teeth clench, and you remind yourself with a prayer of thanks that Loki buried deep in your cunt is the most beautiful sight in the universe.

His fingers move from your calves to your wrists, drawing them above your head. Instinctually your digits curl around the cool metal bars of the bedstead. The god’s grip tightens, just for a moment.

“My girl,” he rumbles as he stares deep into your eyes. In this moment, more than any other, you are his.

Loki leans forward, his tongue demanding entrance and you melt into him. The weight of him bears down, squeezing air from your lungs as he fucks into you. Bucking your hips, Loki slips deeper. An untoned moan rips the air, his thrusts tripping as one of his hands palms your breasts.

You groan his name, sobbing the syllables as the fingers of his right hand curl tighter against your wrists.

More rogue strands of hair have fallen from his top-knot, sticking to his shoulders. One swings against his cheek, eyebrows peaked as climax threatens to overwhelm him.

“Do you w-want me to fill you, darling-” he grunts rhetorically, a whine snaking from his throat.

You yank your wrists from his grip, making Loki’s hand fly to the frame. It rattles the metal, the bed beginning to shake. “Fucking fill me, Loki” you cry so loudly the whole floor could hear. But you don’t care.

“Fill you with my...se- seed? My raw power, my n-norns, fuck-k-k,”

“-dripping out of me, down my thighs- Loki...please,”

Loki shudders, the ripples of his obliques between your legs making your vision blur.

You clench a final time around his cock, Loki’s head falling back. Dark tendrils fall with abandon from his topknot now, sticking against his brow. His whoreish slut-drunk form on full display as he releases a thundering rip of your name.

Hot cum throbs in a gush against your walls, the judder of your lover’s hips delivering a final wave of pleasure to your deepest centre.

Your calves tighten around his shoulders as Loki falls forward. His face buries in the curve of your neck, gyrating slowly as you milk him to completion.

Cum wells around your entrance, the filthy slurp complimenting the wet lap of Loki’s kiss. He purrs against your mouth as climax ebbs, lower your legs gently by his sides.

“My girl,” he hums quietly, before placing a kiss on your collarbone you already know will bruise.

“My girl.”

(thanks @glitchquake for reminding me Loki with a bun was hot AF❤️

Tags (cont in comments)

@lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @mrs-illyrian-baby @icytrickster17 @multifandom-worlds @buttercupcookies-blog @goddessofwonderland

[cherie-doll]

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: You’ve Got Sleeping Issues

ᶻz Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Alejandro, Phillip Graves, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

‎܂ ｡ ༢ medicine isn’t enough i need someone to knock me out with a shovel (for all my insomniacs <3)

Ghost

Oh, what do two insomniacs do with each other on restless nights?

He used to be alone on these nights, listening to the ticking of the clock as the hours cruelly pass by without granting rest

Now you both sit in silence watching the reborning sun and it’s kind of enjoyable now

Pulls out a bottle of NyQuil and takes turns taking shots until either you or him or both simultaneously pass out

Soap

When he’s with you he wants to do everything with you; including sleeping

He’s visibly upset that you can’t sleep but he’s not mat at you, he’s mad at whatever prevents you to cuddle next to him under a heap of blanket and pillows at night

You’re often tossing and turning in bed, fidgeting with your hands as you pace around the bedroom that it wakes him

You try and coax him to go back to sleep but he’s up and determined to stay up with you bingewatching tv shows, trying weird snack combinations, etc…

Gaz

Tries out everything to get you to sleep

From adjusting your routine to diet choices before bed

He knows you hate taking pills and it’s the last thing you resort to by doctor’s orders

He adjusts your pillows and blankets on your side of the bed, letting you rest your head on his shoulder as you drift off to sleep

Gently cradles your head as he lays you down on your back

And doesn’t sleep until he hears your breaths change and the pulsation of your heart, at ease knowing you’re finally resting

Alejandro

You have terrible nightmares that prevent you from getting a peaceful sleep

Anytime you awaken in a panic; cold sweat, hands seizing and tugging at your shirt, feeling your heart thumping wildly in your chest

He wakes up right away upon hearing your quickened breaths

“It’s alright, I’m right here cariño”

Touching foreheads, light touches on your arms and neck to sooth you, holds you close to him, intertwining fingers

Taking you to the window where you can observe the moon, “see the moon? Look at how she shines… focus on her lustre.”

Phillip Graves

Turning over in bed, his arms searching for you only to find you in a slouched position

“Hard time falling asleep doll?” He drags out his words, words slurring together from having just woken up

When you whimper and nod he pulls you down with him, his hands pulling you against his chest and placing sweet and comforting kisses on your head as he caresses your hair, softly humming

Spooning you is one of his fave ways to feel your body against his, wants to feel as if he’s protecting you and wishes he could lull your mind

Keegan

Knows you’re likely to fall asleep at random times of the day due to fatigue

With a tap of his finger on your wrist he’ll signal for you to rest your head on his lap

He’ll take to trailing his hand up and down your back, following the outline of your spine with his index finger, slower and more deliberately

Speaks very low and softly to give you reassurance he’s there, leans down and places a soft kiss on your cheek once you’ve fallen asleep

König

He takes one look at you and immediately knows you did not sleep

And yet, even if you watched the moon descend and the sun rise your cherub eyes are as loving and warm as they meet his

Whilst he was asleep, you inched closed and wrapped his strong arms around your body

Now he’s awoken to holding what he considers dear, you, enfolded in his arms gently

Cuddles and stays curled up next to you until you drift off to sleep, even if it’s only for a little bit

Horangi

At night, before bed he prepares teas, warms milk and anything else he can think of to get you to sleep

As daybreak enfolds he finds you yet again with dimmed eyes, signaling you did not sleep

You feel as if a river rushes through your bones as he strokes your back in circles, whispering softly in your ear

The soft, golden glow of the sun makes this scenery seem dreamy as your eyelids feel heavier

He watches until you fall asleep and subtly slips out of your arms, tucking you into bed and closing the curtains to let you sleep in and catch up on your sleep

Nikto

He’s either out like a rock or is tossing and turning unable to quiet his mind

In the silence, thinking you’re asleep, he reaches out to your form to engulf in your warmth only to find you awake when he glances at your face

You open your eyes and he freezes, already starting to retreat before you clutch his hand close, not letting go

“Sorry…for waking you” he mumbles, before you tell him you can’t sleep either

He’s silent for a moment before he softly says, “come closer” so he’s spooning you as you inhale his scent and fall asleep, your body rising with every breath; you’re like his stuffed animal 〜(⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄ ·̭ o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝)♡

[toji-bunny-girl]

𝙎𝙖-𝙏𝙤-𝙍𝙪

CHARACTER— yandere!gojo x fem!reader CONTENTS— yandere themes, stalking, hidden camera bear thingy, slight angst? IDKK gojo is just gross asf, noncon, intoxicated!reader, worshipping kink, DELUSIONALL‼️‼️‼️, slight fingering idk, sex yuh A/N— enjoy this masterpiece I wrote months ago (I no longer have the ability to write as good as I did) kinda weird but I literally had this dream a few days ago of a guy kidnapping me and bruising my ass with his initials 💀💀 scary asf and I remembered it hurts like a bitch anyway I have an exam later on so wish me luck 🤩 (repost)

The lustre of his eyes glimmered against the reflection of the screen, his face turning rubicund was evidence of the blood rushing underneath his cheeks. Sweat flecked across his palms, marginally soiling his pants when he rubbed his hands on them.

Your eyes stared straight into his, and he thought your orbs must be of millions of blended colours for them to glint in iridescent. The sliver of rays from the screen pierced his irises, and he swore the sight of you must be cleansing his soul.

He sucked his lips as you played with the toy bunny’s hands, and a smile reached your face before you pressed the soft toy into your chest, clutching it in your arms as you sighed something. Something that started with Sa and ended with Ru. His mind must be playing tricks on him, right? It couldn’t be that—

Then there it comes again, the cadence of your voice, the shape of your lips, and his name that you whispered. Sa-To-Ru.

The Sa whose eyes would only trail behind your wake, the To that breathed just for the air that you exhaled, and the Ru that didn’t believe God lives in heaven, because there was you, his Goddess that walked the Earth amongst the sinful humanity.

Satoru. He thought he had never loved his name even more than that moment.

But he found himself wrong—oh so wrong.

You sounded even more euphonious sprawled out before him, intoxicated with alcohol on your tongue and in your veins—not a clue about where you are and what’s going on. All you could gather was the familiar mop of silver in your foggy sight, and how the world seemed to be on vertigo.

The bits and pieces of recollections you could grasp onto in your besotted state were the hours spent drinking bottles of liquor, giggling at the charming jokes and teases from Gojo. Then the clashes of teeth and his hands on your chest, the long ride up an elevator, and stumbling onto a bed that smelled like him.

“My name…” he panted when his head rose from your jugular—marked and claimed through teeth and tongue. “Say my name,” he repeated, pressing his lips against your jaw as he took in a drag of your ambrosial scent, long fingers pumping in and out of your squeezing cunt.

You frowned, moaning into the torrid air that bubbled around the two of you and arching your back when an orgasm tumbled through, warmth pervading through your core when pleasure glitched over your body like static.

His name doesn’t read past your lips, but your groan of pleasure was enough for him to render him halcyon. Lining his painfully pulsing head to your slick entrance, the dilatory push of his fat tip into your folds made a cry ripple through both of your throats. In you he found warmth that tasted like divinity; the forbidden fruit between the thighs of his Goddess.

He didn’t dare move, afraid that your grip would tempt an orgasm in him to soil your quim with his load. His thumb drew circles upon your clit, trying to mitigate the tight clench of your cunt in the wake of your previous orgasm.

Your muscles finally relaxed in a few rubs, and he let his length ease into you, your hole still pulsing and spasming as his cock filled your insides. Gojo’s chest fluttered with rapture as he groaned for your name, almost as if he was trying to have you look at him, fully sober instead of laying crumpled on his bed.

But you don’t, your eyes remained still shut, and only the little whimpers and cries that fell off the edges of your lips denoted your senses still awake yet torpor from the inebriation.

“Please, look at me?”

You groaned when he benignly lifted your jaw, his sense of deify for you felt through his cold fingertips before his lips meld into yours. Your mouth lax open, letting his tongue taste the heaven off of yours and swallow your saliva of ambrosia down his throat.

When he withdrew from your face with a dense cloud over your heads, he found the hues of your orbs peering into his summer’s blue sky, your eyelashes fanning the heat over his cheeks. His heart jumped and paced, and he was sure you could hear his heartbeat. Could you?

“Satoru…?” you whispered. The tang of liquor blazing strongly in your system, but you still managed to recognise him. “Wha–Where are we? And wha—”

You were cut off from your words when his lips crashed into yours, and his hips began pistoning in and out of you, your moans jumbled between your dancing mouths before sizzling in the hot air. Your walls tightened around his girth as he pumped deep into you, his cock throbbing and threatening ejaculation, but he would rather abnegate himself from pleasure if you hadn’t succumbed to it.

Every stroke of his swollen head against the bump of your g-spot made you gasp and cry with the stimulation, palms desperately attempting to push the weight of the male off, but it simply came to piteous futility.

At his last stroke, your squirting cunt squeezed his cock tight and wet his pelvis, and his load began filling your inside to the brim, thick spurts of cum shooting at your cervix as you screamed his name.

The Sa who you could taste on your tongue, the To who swore you’re the lone fire to his loins, and the Ru who promised to never let your divinity step a single foot out of his door—your temple, to walk the earth soiled by sinning humans.

Satoru—the priest to your Holiness.

[selineram3421]

*stares into the void*

Dizzy For You

Lovesick Alastor X Reader

Warning⚠

⚠ blood/gore, reader is really into creepy alastor, kisses, consensual biting *cough*, cuddles, fluff ⚠

You were in love with one of the most powerful Overlords in Hell.

The Radio Demon.

At the moment, he was in the process of courting you. Or in what the new generation calls it, dating.

Now you're not that old of a demon but you still use the term courting as it feels more genuine.

The way he spoiled you made you feel like the only demon in Hell. Of course there were limits but like any good relationship, you both communicated.

You knew he wasn't one for physical displays of affection out in public, unless it was holding you close or kisses on the back of your hand.

It didn't bother you one bit.

In fact it made you happier knowing that your affectionate actions were private. Only for the two of you.

You could only see him that way.

As you spent time working on a few orders, making nameplates and engraving names and or numbers on them, you even got an order from Alastor! He had wanted small but fancy door plaques for room numbers. Some in the hotel having been missing or needing touch-ups.

Quickly finishing the last plaque, you packaged them and set out to return to the hotel.

A fun little gift your lover added to your shop was the door in the corner of your back room, it being a portal to one of the hotel back rooms near the lobby.

He didn't like you being so far away after all.

When walking into the lobby, you didn't notice the commotion outside until you heard a familiar laugh.

It was filled with static.

Downright dark and sinister that got a chill to run down your spine.

As if hypnotized, you walked towards the sound and saw sinners being ripped apart, blood and guts covering the ground in front of the hotel. Your eyes widened when seeing the Radio Demon eat a demon whole.

Then he turned to face the door after finishing the carnage.

"Alastor.", you gasped, covering your mouth with your hand.

He was in his tall demon form, smiling and covered in blood. The metallic scent filled the area and you felt slightly dizzy at the smell but also couldn't help being drawn in by the sight.

Seeing you stagger back, Alastor rushed towards you, shrinking slightly to get through the door.

"Darling? Are you alright?", he asked, pulling you into his hold.

You shivered and hid your face in his chest, feeling the blood smear onto your skin. The room feeling a lot stuffier than before with your quick breaths.

"Take me to the room.", you whispered and tugged on his coat. "Please."

Using his shadows, both of you appear in your room and you quickly pull him into a rough kiss.

The deer made a noise of surprise, static buzzing as his grip on you tightened.

Moving away from his lips, you peppered his face with kisses, making sure to kiss under his jaw before making your way towards his neck. Blood now on your lips and hands, heart racing at the taste.

"Fuck.", you said shakily, looking up at the deer and finding his cheeks dusted bright red. "Alastor."

His ears perked up at his name and he held you tightly, hand rubbing up and down your lower back. "Yes my dearest heart?", he responded, leaning forward to place a peck on your forehead.

"Please bite me."

You shivered again with a blush as he leaned down with a chuckle, his sclera pitch black with a lustre from his glowing irises.

"￦¡+h pl€@sμre~"

Tilting your head to the side, you let him sink his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder. A small noise escaped from your lips as you clung onto his coat, whimpering when he pulled back and blood starting to run down your neck.

"Quel goût raffiné.", he kissed the bite mark. (What a refined taste.)

He gave you a gentle smile as he caressed your cheek and you leaned into his touch.

"Let's get cleaned up.", he said softly, guiding you to the bathroom.

After a refreshing bath, you both got dressed into nightwear and got ready for bed. Alastor being extra sweet and helping you get comfortable next to him under the covers.

Feeling absolutely content, you smiled and cuddled up against him.

"I'm sorry for pouncing on you."

"Nonsense.", he brushed it off as he glided his hand down your thigh, pulling it to rest your leg between his. "I enjoy your affection."

"Hmm..", you felt your eyelids droop.

"Sleep.", the deer demon whispered, kissing the top of your head. "I'll still be here in the morning."

You let out another hum before submitting to a pleasant slumber.

*sees radio dials in the darkness* Oh shit.

~Seline, the person.

Taglist@

@c4rved-pumpk1n @scary-noodlesblog @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @lbcreations-blog @ducky-died-inside @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @line-viper @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @repentant-repeller @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @im-coolrat @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @koioli @+?

ML for Alastor🎙

[dumbsoftheart]

gibson girl

pairing: post-university!coriolanus snow x reader

tags: 18+, mdni. dark themes, heavy mention of drug and alcohol usage, abusive/toxic relationship, calls reader a bitch, degradation, cunnilingus, vaginal sex

summary: “obsession with the money, addicted to the drugs. says he’s in love with my body, that’s why he’s fucking it up.” you and coryo aren’t proud of the relationship you’ve built, but you both can’t seem to get enough of each other.

notes: yes this is a repost because i did not proofread this and got a bit embarrassed. this is probably my most crudely written work, sorry (not!), and for a lack for better words is not as carefully written as my other fics, but i hope you all like it <3 this is probably the last i will write for coryo aside from any continuations of past works for now so soak it all in!!!!!

word count: 3.2k

౨ׅৎ

in the dimly lit hideaway of pluribus’s nightclub, where pulsating lights of reds, purples, blues, greens gleamed kaleidoscopically against the writhing mass of glittering bodies and thumping music, stood coriolanus snow. he hated the affair, being clamoured in the sweat and smoke of dancing strangers, a complete infiltration of his personal space, and far too stuffy for anyone’s comfort. it was an incongruous occurrence, his presence in the glitter-drenched revelry. clemensia had tormented him that day, with piercing whines of “but it’s your birthday!” and “won’t you ever have fun?”, and there he was, ludicrously dressed in slacks and a half-undone button-up shirt, courtesy of a drunken sejanus, traces of glitter— which he despised, smeared across his face and neck. when arachne had showed up and rubbed her lustre infested fingertips all over his clean-shaven face, he’d wanted to kill her right then and there. he sat there,  wide-legged in the private section of the club, fiddling with a half empty bottle of champagne with happy birthday! streamers dangled across his shoulders. he’d had about three of festus’s liquor concoctions, with their repulsively sweet maraschino aftertastes, but amidst the chaotic symphony that had his head spinning, there existed one exception to his distaste for the ordeal—a vision he couldn't bring himself to detest: you.

festus sat next to him, head nodding and lolling to the side from inebriation, and coriolanus kept a distant eye on clemensia and arachne as they disappeared into the dense crowd of hot, glittering bodies. his body yearned for the solace of his bed, plagued by the ache of alcohol and half-hearted dancing that numbed his legs, and the variegated torment of the club's vibrant lights— and then there you stood.

adorned in a cascade of the remnant sparkles that had rubbed off on you as you danced, gold flakes carefully splayed across your eyelids, and a daringly short dress hugging tightly on your hips graced your curves as you moved without care among the chaotic company of the nightclub. when coriolanus watched you beeline into his peripheral, open-backed dress teasingly swaying as you spun in hand with one of your friends, smiling so bright you outshone everyone else in that godforsaken bar, his hands tightened on the bottle held between his legs, and he exhaled slowly through parted lips. 

the subtle reaction provoked a slight nudge and a cocky smile from festus, to which coriolanus rolled his eyes childishly at, fixing his gaze between his legs in an attempt to veil the growing want spreading through his veins. festus wasted no time in spewing some audacious insinuations about coriolanus and a hypothetical "dancing girl across the room" to a stumbling clemensia and arachne (“so every girl in here?” arachne had giggled, rippling a current laughter throughout the rest of the group and a juvenile grumble from festus). then, without warning, coriolanus pulled himself to his feet and pushed your way, propelled by a mix of inebriated bravado and annoyance, running a hand through his hair nervously as he (cutely) tried to dance his way to you. 

drunk and hazy, you wasted no time in latching your arms around him, flashing him a smile that had him feeling weak and guiding him to sway in tandem with you as the music blared and vibrated through your souls. you’d coaxed his hips to move in consonance with yours, and soon he’d figured out the rhythm you set, his hands delicately enveloping the contours of your waist. he was grinding his hips against the curve of your ass yours in a manner that was far too seductive for a first encounter and had you gasping lowly under the booming noise of music and conversation. 

by the end of the night, coryo had bid his friends goodbye with his lips half-attached to yours, and fucked you so good and hard you struggled to walk for a week. 

he returned the next weekend, alone, a halfhearted attempt to alleviate his stresses within the familiar embrace of the bustling speakeasy. he needed a drink, and he went to the first place he could think of. he had expected the place to be buzzing on a friday night, but he hadn’t expected to see you again. 

he hated smoking, but something about the way you slowly let the dense vapour of your joint escape your lips with a dimwitted smile made his cock twitch. with a swig of whiskey, he made his way towards you, snatching the long stick of cannabis from your fingers and taking a long, hot drag. in a fluid motion, he closed the space between you, blowing the smoke between the parted entrance of your lip-glossed lips with a light hand venturing to your waist. the night continued with you on his lap, high and dazed from both the weed and the delicious feeling of coriolanus’s lips on your neck, sucking and nipping dark marks onto the softness of it. he was marking you as his, and you loved every second of it. 

he coaxed you into a few more drinks, cooing words of dirty praise into your ear when you downed the dark liquor from his hands, whispering softly in your ear how much he loved your body, the sweet and sexy suppleness of it, and you became his, entirely. when he beckoned you to take another drag of a joint, you complied. when he whispered into your ear the order of his drink, you fetched it for him, sipping it lightly on his command, and when he bent you over the club’s bathroom sink and ordered you to spread your legs a liiittle further, you did. 

after that occurrence, it was like clockwork. he was downright filthy when he fucked you; he’d show up, tense with frustrations from work, and there you’d be, beautiful and seductive as ever, and he would fuck his tribulations into your sweet little cunt like his life depended on it. like he never got tired of it, he’d slowly drag the head of his cock over your slick folds, circle it around your clit and then pound into you sloppily. he’d mumble how dirty you were before loading you with his cum, then he’d flip you over and finger-fuck you to a blissful release, making sure not a single drop of his load escaped your throbbing hole. he especially liked fucking you in the clothes he bought you, ruining the expensive fabrics he splurged on greedily. you’d grown used to the gifts he’d send you. you didn't know how he’d found your address, but you couldn't find it in you to care. the plethora of dresses and jewellery and shoes he sent you, always tagged with a note, for my aphrodite, made up for it. you loved dressing up for him, to his tastes, because it made him desire you all the more. the minute he caught sight of you in his hand picked ensemble, it was impossible to get his hands off of you. he was addicted to you, and how easy it was for him to claim you. just like that, you were his, and he loved even more that you embraced it; showed him off. 

coriolanus hated the bright colours of the club, but he adored them on you. he’d always pick dresses and accessories that glinted brightly in the right light, and he’d set the dark private room to a cool silvery blue that was easy on the eyes. you’d dance for him, not because he asked, but because you loved it, and he’d sit smugly and watch, sipping on some dark liquor that you loved to taste on him before pulling you onto his lap with a small laugh and letting you ride him until the sun rose again. when you ground your hips against him, sucking him to the base, he’d string his hands through your hair and moan out pathetically, “i’m never gonna let you go, never gonna let you fucking go,” which was far too intimate for the relationship the two of you had struck, but it only drew your orgasm closer and made your heart swell, the bittersweet combo better than any drug you could take on the market. 

he was addicted to you, in every sense of the word. “takin’ my cock so well, baby, fuck” he’d choke out in a high pitched whine, nails digging even deeper into your ass as he slammed your velvety walls into him, “pretty fuckin’ pussy.. sucks me in like it needs me,” his thrusts would get sloppier, your pretty moans egging him on to coax more out of you to satiate his fix. in a moment of vulnerability, he’d peer down at you with his brows scrunched together, lips quivering and ask, “do you need me?” 

you were too dumb and fucked out to answer, just as he liked, and he loved to slide a lousy hand to rub circles on your swollen clit while he angled his fat cock in a way that made your body weak and drool escape from the corners of your mouth, and repeat the question until your body shook uncontrollably with pleasure. 

“n-need you so bad, coryo, fuck me so good, please, please” you would pant in your breathy, whiny voice, absolutely unintelligible, squirming and shaky. 

“tell me again, baby, do you need me?” he’d try to overstimulate the words he wanted out of you, searching your eyes desperately until you croaked out a small yes, and his head would fall into the crevice of your neck as you managed to take almost all of him simultaneously, moaning out as he came inside you. 

when things turned slightly sour between the two of you, it only fueled your aching want for each other more. you were insecure, desperate for his approval, and when you sensed a glimmer of his disinterest in you, you were quick to spark up an argument with him; the only way you could figure out to show him you care without explicitly telling him. it was toxic, and part of you loved it. you loved to rile him up, make him so angry he’d brutally grumble in your ear how much of a slut, whore, bitch you were. you loved when the two of you would go at it and he would force you into an empty room, ramble about how much he hated you while he pumped his cock into you at an agonisingly fast pace, and then bring you two to sweet relief with a barely audible i love you, please never leave me, and then send you home. 

he hit you, sometimes. it would always happen after sex, when his insecurities got the best of him and he’d strike another argument of his own to form some semblance of conversation with you, then be driven to madness by his own doing so severe that his hand would unleash upon your cheek, staining the soft skin of your mandible a familiar shade of red. when he slapped you during sex, you hated it. you had no means of fighting back and winning, so you combat him with your words. 

“you’ll never amount to anything, snow,” slap, and his hand grabbed at your tits crudely, “you can walk around this city and act like you own it,” another slap, then he’d wrap his hand around your neck as he made you cum until your body couldn’t handle it, “and you can try control everything,” slap,“but you’ll never be able to control what matters.”

you tried your best to dig at his biggest fears, vulnerabilities, anything to ignite that shimmer of pain in his eyes so he could feel a morsel of what you did for him. he was coldblooded, and it took more than a simple jab at his ego to make him bleed. you loved him. everyone knew you did, no matter how much you denied it, because you wore him everywhere you went. in your clothes lingered his scent, under them, his bruises, and you were irrevocably his. 

you knew how deep you were in after your final shred of patience snapped. coriolanus wanted to play it hard today? fine. and off you were, dancing like a whore in the middle of the dancefloor with one of coryo’s coworkers. he sat and watched you dance with a fire burning in his eyes, his teeth grinding painfully and his hand wrapped around his glass so hard it threatened to shatter (on another occasion, it did). then, when you’d snaked a hand down the drunken man’s abdomen, lip bitten and eyes heavy with lust, he’d grabbed you harshly and stormed out of the club into the cold streets of the capitol, and you smiled. the sound of your heels clacking against the pavement reverberated in your chest. you threw him a loud “fuck you!” as he tugged you out of sight from any passerby, then, without warning, you found yourself pressed up a damp wall by the neck, coriolanus’s thin fingers twisting painfully into your carotid. 

“you’re a spoiled fucking brat, you know that?” his hands plunged into your underwear, and he toyed with your clit dangerously fast as he stared you down.

“did you want to fuck him?” the way he spat at you made you squeeze your thighs together. you smiled, mouthing a slow ‘yeah’, groaning when his grip around your neck tightened and your body became lax from the lack of air and his fingers on your dripping pussy. he dropped you, stroked a loving hand through your hair then grabbed your jaw, forced it open, and dug his two fingers down your throat.

“do you think he can fuck you as good as i can, you bitch?”

you gazed up at him, eyes wet and hazy and fucked out with lust, and mumbled with a smile, “mhm..”, he forced his fingers deeper, and you moaned. 

“don’t fucking lie,” tears streamed down your face now as you struggled to breathe with his fingers shoved down your throat, and your eyes widened as you heard the familiar sound of his belt buckle, “can he make this pussy cum as hard as i do, hm?”

he hitched your dress up, pushed your panties to the side forcefully, and lined his tip with your entrance while he awaited your answer. you shrugged, slowly becoming dizzy from gagging on his slender fingers, whining from the absence of his touch, and he growled angrily as he began to pound into you relentlessly. 

he removed his fingers from your mouth to slap you wide across the face, the slick of your saliva on his fingers causing them bouncing painfully on your cheek, and your smile grew further. 

“yeah, you fucking slut, this what you wanted? for me to fuck the sense back into you?” 

coryo liked it messy. he loved berating you, degrading you, arms wrapped tightly around your torso and feeling your cunt grow wetter on his cock as he did so. he loved to make you an embarrassing, babbling mess, then force you to watch as he bullied his way into you, a rough hand in your hair as he pumped his cock with an inhuman fervour. 

“you like that don’t you? keep watching.”

“fuck, coryo!” 

“thats right baby, let ‘em hear who you belong to.” 

you pressed your forehead against his, panting heavily through parted lips as you kept your gaze on those sapphire eyes of his that you adored, mumbling incoherent pleads and apologies as your release approached. 

“are you going to listen to me?” and with a tear-inducing orgasm, you shrieked cries of yes, coryo, fuck yes! into his shoulder, biting harshly on his pale skin as you tried to quiet yourself.

you walked home that night, panties soaked with his cum and a few new bruises to remember the night from. 

this was the routine the two of you had settled in. neither of you were proud of it, neither of you liked it, but neither of you knew how to do it any differently. you didn’t know how to love unless it was through petty quarrels or you were too high to remember the feeling. coriolanus didnt know how to love unless constituted of complete, whole control of you-- and you couldn’t bear accepting his love like in that form, not sober at least. so you let him. you let him destroy you, bit by bit. you would pump yourself full of any and all drugs you could find, down the glasses upon glasses handed to you on his lap, and the two of you would love, the only way you knew how. 

when things were like that; desperate and full of unspoken feelings after a tense week of not seeing each other, the private room the two of you often booked would glitter a dark red light, flickering radiantly against the sequins of your dress, and the pearly blonde of his hair; and you’d stand above him, between his legs, stroking the soft hidden curls of his in a haze, feeling so good and loose from whatever he’d given you that you’d giggle without warning, lean close to him and press earnest, loving kisses to his lips in between mumbles of i love you’s. he would nod, tears welling in his eyes, hating how far he had to go to make you feel love for him again, and cradle your face in his hands, kissing you with every ounce of his being. you’d find yourself straddled on his lap, like always, kissing red marks along his neck and his shirt and chest gently as you comforted him, trying your best to wash away his worries and assure him that you did, in your own messed up way, truly love him. he’d flip you over, hook your legs over his shoulders and lap messily at you until morning came. he would do it forever, if he could-- get on his knees and devote himself to eating you out. his hands would grip your thighs like he was afraid you would slip away from him, and he’d rest his head on one of your thighs after making you cum for the third time, staring up at you, breathless, face glistening, and mouth parted like you were everything to him; before diving into the saccharine mess of your pussy again. he knew how to please you like the back of his hand. he knew how to edge his nose against your folds in the way that made you whine and thrash; he knew when to insert his fingers into your gummy walls, how to curl them in a way that had you come undone in a mere seconds, how to kitten-lick his way around your clit with a lewd moan, drag out long, animalistic groans from you that had you gripping his hair so hard you wondered how you didnt rip the follicles straight out his head. 

the relentless cycle of passion and pain that defined your bond, the late-night arguments that left scars deeper than their words, the moments of fleeting tenderness that were overshadowed by deceit and manipulation. whatever you and coriolanus snow had made had eroded into a relationship neither of you could understand, but neither of you could let go. you were each other’s life lines, so when he hit you, you thanked him, and when you dug your knife deeper into his heart, he’d tell you he loved you. even as he fucked you up, ruined you, you knew he was doing it out of love, and you were grateful. 

౨ׅৎ

@dumbsoftheart, 2023

[urhoneycombwitch]

Hello baby happy high night!!! I would like to make a request for your horniest roommate!eddie thots plzz I can't stop thinking about him. Just the dynamic and all the sexual tension and the not-fucking and the wanting to fuck... I'm drooling...

I keep imagining like a really intense earnest conversation with him and reader about like their sexual preferences in a totally casual way with no ulterior motives because friends talk about that stuff right?? 👀 Is this anything? 👀👀

foreword: oh this is absolutely something. thanks for sparking this blurb anon!! 

cw: no actual smut but discussions of sex + kinks + masturbation, implied plus sized Reader with breasts, Eddie + R are in an established (but secret) situationship, (also a secret are the) feelings. 

wc: 1.2k

There’s this sketchy metal ladder in your apartment building on the top floor, leads right to the roof- no one ever uses it ‘cuz it’s really out of the way and looks super unsafe. But ever since Eddie broke out his toolkit and reinforced the bars and screws, it’s been the gateway to a perfect little summer escape.

Sitting on your loungers with paperbacks, flipping over every few minutes to distribute the golden sun evenly between your front and back- you and Eddie are having a rare, peaceful afternoon. Just the two of you, overlooking the city from your probably-illegal hangout spot, basking in just your underthings (it’s hot, and you’ll both tan better, and besides, no one around to stare except each other).

After finishing another chapter, you push yourself to sit up, lying on your stomach and leaning into your forearms to peer at Eddie through the dark tint of your sunglasses. “Hey. Have you ever tried anal?”

Eddie’s unphased, well used to the way you tend to pick up threads of conversation with startling randomness. He raises a dark brow over the rim of his own tortoiseshell sunglasses, sprawled content on his back, hands folded atop his bare stomach. 

Hums, thoughtfully, before rolling his head lazily towards your lounger- “Yeah. On someone else, no- but on me, yeah.”

Interest piqued, you lean forward further, the soft slopes of your breasts spilling slightly out of the cups of your bra but uncaring as you press, “Wait, really? Was it… like, you got pegged? Or was it a-”

“Buttplug,” Eddie confirms, head lolling back into place. Chocolate curls with a golden-light lustre shift over his shoulders- freckle-smattered from all the sunbathing- as he returns, casually, “And you?”

“Nah.” You poke a finger between the threaded plastic of the lounger beneath the length of your prone body. “I mean, I’ve never been into anal- not really my thing- but, uh, pegging. Yeah. I can get into that.”

“Me too.” Eddie blows out a mournful sigh. “Not really a first-date type of conversation, though, and that’s all I seem to be having these days.”

“How about choking?” You want to keep focused on the subject before it gets hijacked with another existential spiral about your on-the-rocks love lives. 

“Yep. And before you ask- both done to me, and done to a partner. Check and check.” His head rolls back towards you, an invitation to share.

“Choking is cool.” Your finger breaks through the thin plastic, a perfect hole punched in the shape of your index left behind. “I prefer to be the one doing it, though. More control that way.”

Eddie nods to show he’s listening. His hand slips to his thigh, pulling at the hem of his swimsuit shorts. “Yeah, sure. Makes sense.”

A beat. And then, in the uncanny way of people who spend too much time together, you and Eddie both say the same thing at the same time.

“What else are you into?”

Another beat, and then you both crack up, loud guffaws and cackles as Eddie’s teeth flash white and you reach for your water glass with fingers shaky from laughter, feeling suddenly overheated. 

“You first,” Eddie says, playing the part of gentlemen, a twinkle of leftover amusement still evident in his voice.

“Um.” The water glass clinks as you set it back down, touching your lips to the back of your hand before answering. “I like my nipples being sucked on. Played with. They’re sensitive, so… I get a lot out of it.”

Eddie’s gone very still, and you’d almost wonder if he's fallen asleep if not for his chest rising in fast rhythm. He clears his throat, nostrils flaring with a quick breath. “Oh. Right. That’s… great. Good for you.”

You can’t help the giggle that escapes, taking sick pleasure in seeing some of his bravado be melted away with just a few words. “Your turn to answer.”

“Nipples-” it’s almost comical how quickly he speaks, and then stops himself, like that’s been the only thing on his mind and he accidentally let it out. “Uh. I mean. I like nipples, too.”

Eddie’s your favorite bear to poke at. After crossing your legs at the ankle, you kick them up behind you, coquettish and simpering. “Yeah? Like, you like your nipples being played with, or someone else’s-”

“Fucking christ.” Eddie shoves the flat of his hands underneath his glasses, scrubbing down his face before sitting up- pointedly turned away from you, feet planted on the roof over the side of his lounger as he hunches forward. “Any of it. All of it. Yours, mine, whoever the hell else wants to join. I feel like I’m burning up.”

“Poor thing.” You stretch to run a sympathetic hand down Eddie’s curved spine, fingers dancing on the constellations of freckles and black ink. “I think you should cool off inside, for a bit. Maybe release some steam in your bedroom before I get back?”

“You know what I think?” Eddie’s words sound half-squeezed, wrung out more the further south your hand travels. “I think you might be the devil. Or some sort of witch. Haven’t decided yet.”

“Keep brainstorming, pal.” With one last stroke to the planes of his muscles, you ease yourself back into lying face-down, settling your forehead into the flat of your crossed arms. “I’ll be down in ten. Don’t come without me.”

Eddie freezes, hand floating in mid-air over the book between his feet. He recovers in an impressive three seconds, resuming the collection of his things- book, towel that gets slung low around his waist, your now-empty water glass. 

“Make it a quick ten, would ya.” He knows you’ll probably make it twenty, now, just to torture him, but Eddie can’t hold back the words as the last of his head disappears in his ladder descent.

There’s no one to hear but you huff, anyway. In an impressive three whole minutes, you’ll be skittering down the ladder after Eddie, diving into your vibrator drawer first thing. 

It’s like the apartment contractors purposefully designed the thin insulation to give future roommates an audience; every gasp, every whimper, every wet noise of his fist on his cock or your fingers plunging into yourself- heard clear as day through the shared wall. Something that started out as accidental voyeurism has now morphed into ritual, sacred and shared nearly every night. 

Unconsciously, your thighs squeeze together at the memories rushing hot through your bloodstream. 

You might need to leave the roof, soon- you think you might be burning up.

[wettvagina]

DON'T

synopsis: Nanami Kento, your ''work husband'' thinks you've finally started seeing somebody which would supposedly deter his role in your life, was he more than just a fuck here and there? warnings: p in v , creampie , rough sex a/n: i haven't even watched out jjk so sorry if i write the characters a little bit off

" Then I said 'No way, Kiyoshi. I would never even put that in my mouth, then he slaps it on my face and it gets like all over my face and in my mouth too. It was disgusting." you sum up your weekend trip of going to the amusement park with your family, talking about the infamous incident of the corndog with the green nacho cheese sauce, a tale spread widely amongst your co-workers of Jujustu High.

Gojo laughs hysterically, hitting your shoulder to express himself more. "Okay, okay." you chirp along, "Sounds interesting." Nanami spoke, you flinch, not expecting his deep, husky voice to rung amongst the group of people you were with. "Hey, when did you get here?" you question, taking a sip of your coffee through the reusable, plastic lid.

"Just recently, hope I'm not missing out in all the fun." he murmured unenthusiastically. "Nope, I have another part to my story." you mention, "Ooh tell, tell." Gojo encouraged like a child, "Right, so me and Kiyoshi went on this ride, ah- I forgot the name, but it spun me around so much times, I almost had to vomit and right after I came off, I puked all over my new shirt, it was disgusting and I think I stained my shirt too." you babbled with Gojo, earning another loud laugh from the white-haired man.

Words started spinning in Nanami's head as he stood between you and Gojo, pondering to himself, 'Who is Kiyoshi?', he tried recalling you ever mentioning a Kiyoshi, but there was no ring of recollection. Of course, he could simply ask who was Kiyoshi, however he didn't know what reaction he'd have to what you would say.

Keeping the act of being unbothered, he calmy asked, "Who's Kiyoshi?" he enquired as he vehemently pushed down any sort of emotion imbued in his voice, both Gojo and you turned to look at him, face blank as you registered his question.

"Oh. He's my-", "Sensei!!" Itadori's voice rung, interrupting you mid-sentence, you turned your head to see the boy at the doorframe, waving at you enthusiatically, you quickly walked over to him upon noticing his excitement, leaving both Gojo and Nanami in the presence of eachother.

Gojo turned to Nanami, "I think he's her boyfriend." Gojo stated while scratching his head, "Anyways, bye bye." Gojo waved before joining you and Itadori, leaving Nanami standing with a tense, straight face. He sighed unwittingly, balling his hand into a fist before releasing them slowly as he looked at you, your plump, lustre lips moving as you spoke frantically to both Itadori and Gojo.

Nanami noticed Gojo grab Itadori's shoulder, ushering him away from you, plausibly engaging him in some sort of activity or mission to build his strength, you waved at the two of them before turning to Nanami, you walk over to him, with the intention of getting your handbag that you placed on the sidetable next to your cup of coffee.

"You didn't tell me you got yourself a boyfriend." Nanami gnarled. "Hm, what do you mean?" you question, grabbing your bagstrap, "Playing dumb now?" he mused, grabbing your wrist, pinning it down onto the table. "W-What are you talking about?" you fretted, "What about me? Hm, what am I gonna do when I'm horny?" he muttered into your ear, standing in front of you now, using each of his hands to pin yours onto the table behind you, trapping you in front of him.

You gasp, the room noticeably silent after he spoke, you looked down before looking up at him again, "What are you saying?" you catechize, releasing his grip from both of your wrists, the moves his hand to the curve of your ass, grabbing at the curve of your plump, clothed ass. "Nanami, not here, we can't, not in a classroom." you asserted, "The classroom is empty." Nanami remarked as his hands traveled lower, one hand stayed on your ass as one ventured lower, pulling up your skirt shamelessly using his index and middle finger, he manouvered the pads of his fingers over the fabric of your panties which covered your pussy.

Rubbing a line, teasing your clit through the fabric of your panties, Nanami felt the cloth dampen, smirking lightly as he continued to play with your pussy through the cloth. "Turn around for me." he instructed, you looked up at him through your eyelashes, biting your lower lip as you felt your heart rate increase, "Lock the door." you spout before turning around like he said, you pressed your hands down into the wooden table in front of you, legs almost trembling in anticipation as you hear the door click.

Nanami positioned himself behind you, lining the tent in his pants to where your ass bowed, you felt him behind you, holding onto your hips as he alligned himself, he brought his face towards your shoulder, you twisted your head to look at him, lips meeting as he kissed your reddened lips, down to your neck, stopping at your collarbone. "Mine." he groaned, unbuckling his belt, you hear the zipper come down as his enormous, girthy cock sprung free.

You felt the tip hit your ass as he held his cock in his palms, stroking himself slowly before lifting your skirt, using his thumb to massage your clit through the wet-stained fabric of your panties, " Arch your back for me." he instructed to which you complied, feeling a rush of pleasure run up your spine when he positioned his thumb lower. Using his index finger, he slid your panties to the side, you felt the head of his cock around the rim of your pussy, making your chest tighten as your pussy oozed with juices, only aiding him in slipping it in.

It was only half-way in, you gasped while placing your hand on his tense lower stomach, feeling his tight abs through his shirt, slamming his entire length into your drenching pussy, he stared off with slow thrusts, getting your pussy standardized to the wideness and lengthiness of his flushed pink-colored cock.

"Oh fuck." you moaned when he fucked you slowly, dipping his cock out of you as he slowly pushed himself back in, watching how your ass pressed against his hip when he shoved himself deeper into you. "Please." you whined, in one swift motion, he used his hand to wrap your hair around his palms, tugging at your hair before increasing his speed.

Your back arching as he fucked into you at a godly pace, skin slapping against his as you moan loudly, attempting to speak, "S-slow down.'' you whine, "Be quiet." he groaned as he used his free hand to grab onto your waist as he dug his cock as deep as it could reach into your cushiony walls before drawing it out, leaving the tip standing inside alone before he rushed his cock into you oncemore.

Your hands trembled as you held onto the table, your knees growing weak with every thrust, he pounded into you so greedily and ruthlessly, your needy drenched pussy was continously being stuffed by his wide cock as he tugged at your hair, groaning upon hearing you squeal at the sudden quickness of his hips.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." you curse out, arms growing weak, "How's your boyfriend gonna like it when his girl's screaming around my cock, hm?" he taunted as his fingers dug into the skin of your waist, "Tell me." he grunted as he paced in and out of your dripping pussy, your mixed juices of arousal dripping down your thighs, "Can anybody fuck you like I do?" he questions, "Hm?" he hums, "No!" you whimper as your pussy quivers around his cock.

Removing his hand from your waist, his fingers travelled down to your clit where he rubbed at your nerves while simultaneously ramming into your weeping pussy, "Say my name." he commands, slamming into you as you slur your words.

"Fuck, Kento!" you bawl as your knees tremble, you feel a sudden tautness in your lower stomach, you groan as your walls clench around his cock, "Oh fuck! I- ah." you manage to squirm as you feel the tightness in your lower stomach fade out, covering his dick with your cream.

Keeping his dick inside of your plushy walls, he pressed himself against your back, letting go of your hair, "Stay with me, baby." he muttered before thrusting in and out of your weary pussy as you bite your lower lip, "'m gonna come inside you." he groans, using both hands to grab onto your sides as he plunges his cock deeply into you, painting your walls white as you feel him fill your insides, his cum runs down your thighs and down to your ankle.

He pants as he releases his grip from your waist, slowly drawing his cock from your ladened pussy, he pulls your panties to cover what it intended to, as he pulls you from your arched position, pulling up his zipper, followed by buckling his belt.

You turn around to face him, face sweaty, lips plump and in a pinkish color, "Leave your boyfriend." Nanami instructs, you sigh, as a method of catching your breath, "I don't have a boyfriend." you iterate, "You can change that though." you throw out there before grabbing at his crotch, he smirked playfully before getting a napkin for you to clean yourself.

[toskarin]

recently put together a broad-spectrum album recommendation list for an oomfie, but it felt like it'd be fun to throw this on tumblr as a blunt force answer to everyone who's asked for album recommendations from me

no particular order, no particular quality threshold, no particular mood, no particular genre, we're shooting for variety here

if there's one uniting factor, it's probably "most of this would be considered 'extreme' music" but even then there's plenty of wildcards mixed in to keep you on your toes

enormous recommendation list below the break

-

秘部痺れHIBUSHIBIRE - Magical Metamorphosis Third Eye

の子 - 神聖かまってちゃん

Envy - All The Footprints You've Ever Left And The Fear Expecting Ahead

asami - 屑籠

Blind Girls - Residue

COLD DEW - 欲​欲​YUYU

The Angelic Process - Weighing Souls With Sand

[ALBUM ART IS A SURGERY PHOTO] Maenad Veyl - Reassessment

abriction - Banshee

The Sweet Release of Death - The Blissful Joy of Living

Orchestroll - Hyperwide Lustre

Luminescence - 羞Shyness

Mahti - Musiikki 1

Evvolves - Mosses

Nastia Y - Robot Meaheret

Limbs - Everything Under Heaven

Grima - Will of the Primordial

Full of Hell - Full Of Hell & Merzbow

No Point in Living - Idolatry

Sadness - Leave

Marmalade Butcher - Onomatomani​[​a​]​kus

An Autumn For Crippled Children - try not to destroy everything you love

Theodor Bastard - Beloe: Hunting For Fierce Beasts

My Bloody Valentine - Ecstasy and Wine

ベス・クーパーに+現代日本縮図+色覚異常 - SUCKER PUNCH 2​：​FATALITY

Anti-God Hand - Blight Year

Nadja - Radiance Of Shadows

Thousand Leaves - Twilight Symphony

Ultar - Kadath

群青リボン - 夢の底

Mind Matter - Les Brumes de l'Abandon

Beast Jesus - Distributed Denial of Self

Ethereal Shroud - Trisagion

Trhä - Endlh​ë​ton​ë​g

Signs of the Dying Summer - Oto jest Pustka

i, of the trees and wind - Cry of the Forest

Hypnodrone Ensemble - The Shape of Space

The Stalin - 虫

Story of Hope - Historia

DOPE PURPLE & BERSERK - This Is The Harsh Trip For New Psyche

HEALTH - GET COLOR

Nghtly - An Afflicted Body

Ekselsior Rec. - Funky Impulse '17

Sigillum Azoetia - Erennwell

Little Nemo - Turquoise Fields

VANDAL - 地​獄​変

Sacrimoon - I'm gonna miss you

Havukruunu - Kuu Erkylän Yllä

пуща - éph​é​m​è​re

The Elements - Elementary

Second to Sun - Nocturnal Philosophy

have fun!

[avocado-writing]

notes: full version of this. contains mild brat taming, spanking, holy imagery. reader is genderless. special love to @dhampling who read over the start for me, and M for being my beta 💕

pairing: astarion x LG!Paladin!Reader

rating: E

words: 3k

Astarion looks at you, and he wonders. 

He wonders, back when he was a spawn stalking through the streets of Baldur’s Gate, if his sheer proximity to you might have burnt the alabaster skin from his bleached, undead bones. That is the force of your radiance. 

Every part of you is a perfect fragment of your god. Sunshine-brilliant and drenched equally in his glory and wrath, there could be no doubt that you are a child of Pelor. You carry his emblem on your armour and his love in your heart. Your skin has a dreamy pearlescent lustre, soft and hearty, and you seem to glow from the innate light within you.

It makes Astarion sick.

You are so nauseatingly good. When he met you on the road near the crash site it was your first instinct to help. Not to second guess his nature, not to wheedle any masked truth from him, but to draw your sword and offer protection to a stranger.

He got the jump on you, of course - but he recalls how easily you laid him out on his back in return. When he was staring up at you, forcibly unarmed, and the sun framed your face like your god had in that moment blessed you with a halo just to spite him.

And still you had reached out a hand to him in friendship.

You hadn’t withdrawn when the truth of his condition came to light. He figured someone of your vocation would try to run him through without a second thought. But instead of offering him the point of your blade, you offered him your neck. 

“If my blood will strengthen you then I will gladly share it,” had been your words. He wanted to prove you wrong for your kindness, to drain you dry just to spite you - and your taste had been ambrosia. Sweetly blossoming on his tongue he had almost lost himself in the taste of you, until once again your firm hands pushed him away.

No. He would not get to end you that night.

Every day the two of you bickered. You, the stalwart immovable paladin; him, the nefarious rogue always up to something. The two of you were total opposites. It seemed almost cruel that fate had forced you into being travelling companions. And yet…

And yet.

Whenever you finished swapping barbs (well, the threw barbs at you, and you remained unbothered in the face of them, deflecting his venom with the pavise of your cool-headedness) he would see you smile as you turned away. He’d be well aware there was one on his own face, too.

Stupid. Weak. 

How he managed to get you into bed after that party at the Grove, he’ll never know. It was a gamble and the dice were not in his favour. But he gave it a go anyway, drolly mentioning the quality of the wine and the overwhelmingly oppressive atmosphere. When he suggested meeting you later that night he braced himself to be staked.

But that hadn't happened.

You’d been surprised, definitely. Eyebrows raised and smile sudden, but you’d said yes. You’d even giggled at the idea, dizzy like a schoolchild. 

And, admittedly, he felt an erotic thrill as he sauntered to meet you in that clearing. One he thought himself incapable of experiencing any longer. He was never excited about sex any more. He’d tried to convince himself it was due to his stygian soul, that a creature like him lying with someone as pure as you would be a defilement, would be sullying your holiness - something to bring you down a peg or two. Make you not so out of everyone’s reach.

Out of his reach.

Perhaps, though, in the corner of his mind he tried to wall up, he just relished the idea of being close to you.

And close to you he was. Your grip on his cock was warm and sweet as he slid inside you. You bared your neck and he found the bite marks that were becoming a permanent fixture on your skin, the softest place on you - every other inch was hard muscle. A reminder of that shield you carried, the righteous sword you swung. He made love to you in the most passionate way he knew possible.

He hadn’t realised he’d wanted to hear the sound his name made from your lips as you came around him. It burned into his soul.

He expected you to fall asleep quickly, after, but no. You’d actually held him. As if he weren’t some creature of the abyss but…

Well, your equal.

You hand had caressed his back in a way he’d never known before, soft and sweet, reading his scars like braille but not asking for their origin. Instead you’d opened up yourself a little and let him hear some of the chapters of your life.

He wasn’t surprised when you told him you swore your oath as a teenager. You grew up in the church, devoted from youth, and he could picture you: pocked-faced and wide-smiled, knowing exactly how you wanted to live the rest of your life. 

So sure-footed. He was jealous. He was smitten.

“Do you ever regret it?” he’d asked, burying himself into the warmth of your body. You’d shaken your head and looked him dead in the eyes, so utterly sincere that it moved him.

“I rarely regret anything. Not my oath, not the nautiloid… not you,” you’d whispered before kissing him. 

And, true to your word, you never did. 

Nowadays? You make him feel safe. Protected. Watched over both in and out of battle - whenever anyone tries to take advantage of his vampirism, when they act like he is a thing rather than a person, you are the first one to his side to defend him. 

It forces him reevaluate how he feels about himself; question if he is, in fact, a being worthy of love. 

He hates it. 

He is looking at his reflection in the mirror of you. Yes. You do see something worthy in him, something worthwhile and deserving of your nurture. It makes him so damned scared. Because if that’s true, it means maybe there’s more to him than the vicious little cretin he portrays himself as. Maybe he is worthy of it all. Of kindness. Of love. 

Of you. 

His soul begins to itch. He needs to do something to realign his universe, put things back into the way they’re meant to be. He needs to be a rogue, damn it!

Your adventure has called you back out to the Emerald Grove. With Isobel safe after the attack at the Last Light Inn you were comfortable leaving the Shadowlands for a while under the knowledge that before you fought Kethetic things were unlikely to get better, but also unlikely to immediately get worse. Astarion erects his tent on soft grass, relieved to not be surrounded by magical darkness, and waits for you to be distracted. 

It does not take long. You are swept up in good-natured conversation with Wyll, discussing some sort of swordfighting technique he neither knows nor cares about. When he is certain that no eyes are on him he simply melts into the gloom of evening. 

Where he belongs. Pathetic creature.  

As far as he can tell, nobody notices him. The shadows cling to him like a second skin, like his body was made to have them mould around him, and he heads into the Grove. It is easy enough. The druids are all busy, guards down ever since the tieflings left, he just needs to not make too much noise and they are easy to pilfer from. Nothing too big or obvious. Nothing they really need. A healing tincture here, a handful of rare herbs there, a couple of silver pieces left loose on a stone desk. But the more he takes, the less it thrills him. 

It occurs to him that none of this has the same impact that it used to. Once, the idea of robbing good people blind filled him with glee. Now, he can only picture your face every time his hand flits out to snatch something up. How disappointed you’d be with him. He is trying to fill a hole in himself and it is one that you have made. It sounds violent, but truth be told it’s anything but - he has been split open by your kindness, as if you were simply trying to carve away the rot and allow him to properly heal. That healing has barely started, and he's trying to patch over the necessary work with old bad habits which used to bring him joy. Not any longer, though. 

No. His soul isn’t in it today.

He returns to camp with his heart and pockets heavy. He wonders what he should do with his ill-gotten gains. Return them? Perhaps, as quietly as he took them in the first place, making sure no attention is paid to him. Gloss all of this over like an artist sealing a painting, finish this nasty piece of work. 

He’s so lost in his own thoughts that, when he pulls back the fabric door of his tent, your presence there makes him actually jump.

You’re sitting on an old wooden chair, dragged over from your own quarters, legs crossed with one of your pauldrons in your lap. A cloth is grasped in your hand and you’re taking your time shining the metal. He catches you doing this a lot. You like to make sure your armour is in tip-top condition, every day. You once told him cleaning your plate mail is an act of worship for you, and he found that quietly ridiculous; Pelor forbid you get any blood on the thing saving your life every battle.

He freezes when you look up at him. The door falls closed, trapping the two of you in the canvas together.

“You’re up late,” he says, trying to affect nonchalance. He does not think you’d be here if this was a social call, at least not with such a serious countenance. 

He’s been rumbled.

“Mm. I was in bed when I received a missive.” You hold the pauldron up and breathe a stream of warmth onto it, watching it fog before polishing the same spot.

“What sort of missive?”

“Nettie said she saw you skulking around the grove.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Bloody druids and their bloody perception. He’s going to torch that bloody Grove and all of those green-fingered bastards in it.

Except no, he’s not. He’d never. Not now. But he still finds himself going on the offensive, crossing his arms and scowling.

“Oh! ‘Skulking’, was it? Was that the actual word she used?”

“Yes, Astarion.”

He doesn’t have a response to that, so he just harrumphs. 

“You know that I do not lie,” you add on, as if his silence threatens to be damnation of your oath. 

“Mmm, I’m aware of that, and it is incredibly vexing!”

Finally you put the pauldron aside, all attention on him now. Hands clasped in your lap. Serious. 

“Turn out your pockets for me please, Astarion.”

Fuck. Fuck.

“No. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

You sigh.

“Is that because you’re denying you went and robbed our druid friends, or you just don’t want me to see what you took?”

His face burns. He doesn’t answer.

“Please, Astarion. Be a good boy.”

Oh. Oh. His body has an… involuntary response to that, one he wasn’t expecting at all. He feels himself throb as those words settle about him. 

“You’re not in charge of me,” he protests, but there’s little oomph behind it, because slowly his defences are beginning to fall. You need do so little and he is laid bare at your feet. He would lay himself bare at your feet.

He wonders if he can push you further. He wonders if this is all working for you as much as it’s working for him.

“I know I am not, my heart. But when you act like a brat I have little choice but to treat you like one.”

His mouth falls open at your brazenness, a perfect pink ‘o’.

His lips say, “I’m not acting like a brat!”

His cock says, I am and it’s on purpose. 

“Pockets,” you say one more time, and he feels the full force of your gaze upon him. Half-hard and flaming-cheeked, he gives in. Slowly he divests himself of all of the grove’s trinkets and treasures, laying them out on the floor at his feet in a slow display of shame. You remain absolutely neutral through it, face hardly moving an inch. When he unhands the final bunch of herbs you finally speak.

“Come here.”

If his heart needed to beat, it would be racing. He feels himself twitch in his underwear. 

He comes to you.

You reach out, wrapping a strong but sure hand around his wrist, fingers encircling its width perfectly… and then with a single tug, you topple him over into your lap.

He squeaks. Well, really, it is more of a moan, as he lands across your knees, your palm running across the swell of his arse. He’s never been so humiliated. He’s never been so aroused.

“Do you want me to stop?” you ask, voice feather-light, as solemnly as if you were swearing a vow. 

Ever since he escaped Cazador, he never lets anyone do anything he doesn’t want to his body. He won’t let them have control over him ever again. But this? You? That is different. He knows if he said a single word to the contrary, you would cease. You would not exploit him or take him for granted. He knows that he is precious to you, a thing to be treasured.

And for that, he trusts you to the ends of the world with him. To take care of him. 

To give him what he needs.

So when you ask him if he wants you to stop, even though he knows what’s coming, he whispers, ‘no.’

The first smack steals the air from his lungs, a breath he did not need but must have taken on his way over to you. It is a firm sting, and his cock goes from half-mast to full embarrassingly quickly.

Your hand goes back.

On the second smack, he finds himself mewling, a desperate little noise beckoned from the back of his throat from your ‘punishment’. It is one of rapture. He begins to try and rut into your thigh for some sort of relief, but you open your legs wider in order to remove his purchase on you. 

He whines. It isn’t fair. You keep going.

On the third, his arse has begun to smart. If he had blood his cheeks would be rosy, he’s sure. And yet each strike is like lightning up his spine. He has begun to leak into his britches just from this, and he feels pathetic and small, but so thoroughly safe and looked after in your embrace.

You ask him if he wants to continue. He nods so violently his neck threatens to break.

If this is the penance Pelor would have you deliver, perhaps he can find it in himself to be a religious man after all.

His head empties as you keep striking, but he hears the way you pause after every slap to listen: take notice of if he wants you to stop. When the only sounds you hear are moans of satisfaction, you keep going. He lies there, bonelessly aroused and limp-bodied, his whole universe centred entirely onto your hand and his cock.

“Do you want to come, Astarion?” you ask, eventually, voice heavy with desire. He nods, and for the first time he realises he has tears of overstimulation trickling down his face, so desperate is he to find release.

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck…” he groans. 

“And you’ll be a good boy if you do?”

Fuck. Anything you want.

“Yes…”

Your hand snakes round to cup him through his trousers. It only takes a couple of strokes over the fabric, and your touch is enough to finish him off. He comes in his underwear like a teenager who cannot control themselves, mewling and sobbing in desperation. It is like a blinding light across his eyelids, he swears for a second he sees your god in the white-hot intensity of his orgasm. The best one he’s ever had. 

You’re an angel, a fucking angel sent to be his salvation. 

As he rides out his climax against the meat of your palm, he feels the other one rubbing across his sore backside. It occurs to him you’re using your Lay on Hands to soothe some of the sting for him, which, if he were more lucid, he’d find utterly ridiculous; however as it is the ache in his arse is still pleasant but now less demanding of his attention. 

You manoeuvre him to sit up, letting his whole body collapse into yours. He is aware, through the cotton-clouds of his thoughts, that you are whispering his praises. Telling him how well he did. Reassuring him how much you care for him. Letting him know how proud you are. He’s never been so pleased in his life, and rubs his face into your neck, like a pampered cat seeking attention.

“Are you alright?” is what you ask eventually, after you’re sure he’s returned to himself properly.

“To be honest, I don’t remember the last time I was better,” he manages, and you laugh in a gravelly little chuckle. 

“Good. Your happiness matters to me.”

He can’t think of anyone who that’s ever been true for. He’s humbled that you have the sincerity to voice it. You are so… you’re so…

Wonderful. 

Even now, you care. He’s never had that before.

“Astarion…”

“Mmm?”

“Tomorrow, you’re returning those things to the Grove.”

He groans and you laugh again.

“Come on, now. You said you’d be good.”

“Fine! Fine. Just… don’t make me think about those nature-loving freaks while I’m bathing in the afterglow, hmm? I just had an orgasm that sent me into the astral plane. I’d like to enjoy it there a little longer.”

You do not argue. He feels your lips curl into a smile against the soft skin of his neck. 

Later, you’ll carry him to the nearest stream and wash him, your hands dancing across his skin like worship. You’ll treat him as if he is a holy relic. Precious. 

It will be then, in the water and softness of your touch, he will realise that he loves you.

The next day he gives back what is stolen. He can’t look at your thighs without his cheeks burning.

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[harmonysanreads]

SUMERU LOVE HEXAGON THOUGHT: what If the boys found the reader singing? How would they react when they hear readers angelic voice??

As you might've already predicted, Wanderer has had that privilege more than anyone due to proximity. In the early days of you taking him under your care, you hummed and lulled him back to sleep after another night of nightmares. Your approach surprised him significantly, as his own creator had been perplexed by a puppet displaying emotions. But not that he minded, in fact, it'd only made him cling harder. He knows you have a habit of singing while cooking or any time you daydream. His favorite are the Inazuman tunes you learned through your travels, the sentiments they bring him now are admittedly angst ; but when through your voice, it's somewhat peaceful... nostalgic he daresay.

You'd thought Alhaitham wasn't listening because of his headphones and the accompanying book, the tavern was empty for once and the day had been nice. You'd almost pranced around singing to your heart's content that night and the Scribe had never listened more attentively in his life. Under the pretense of your own assumption, Alhaitham has heard you sing more than once. He thought about mentioning it one time as well, but refrained when he noticed why you sang. Alhaitham knows how to appreciate good music and he has no problem doing so silently. Yes, it's just well-natured appreciation even if he keeps a recorded version as supplement for the live.

There was once a time where Collei fell ill and you offered to take care of her while Tighnari attended to an emergency in the Avidya Forest. When he returned, he found Collei peacefully asleep with you by her side, humming a foreign tune. His original intention was to watch from the corner, but his sensitive ears and tail quickly gave him away. It seemed that he was more embarrassed at the prospect of getting caught eavesdropping, after all, he wouldn't want you to think of him as some sort of a weirdo. But thankfully, you didn't linger on the topic. He almost wanted to thank Collei for creating that opportunity but for that instance, he'd settled for complimenting your voice. One day, maybe one day, he'll gather the courage to ask you to sing for him.

The times a warrior truly feels at peace are few and far between, especially for one as uncompromising as Cyno. There are only a handful of things the General Mahamatra indulges in, your presence settling itself on that list day by day. While Cyno is relatively nonchalant towards the arts, even he can tell when something is truly remarkable. And when such an occurrence presents itself, he finds no reason to not let his appreciation be known. His blunt ‘you should sing more’ appeared to have flustered you to a degree he hadn't expected though. He remains firm in his stance, not understanding why you quickly fled the scene. As much as he doesn't get the reasoning behind your behavior, this chain of events only make him vow to himself that you'd never stop singing.

With each passing day, Kaveh wonders if you could be any less perfect. Just when he thinks he's seen it all or has gotten a grasp of the enigma that is you, you just throw the most delightful surprises his way. Kaveh knows of and appreciates your appreciation of the arts. But even the simplest practices seem to be amplified in their charm when done by you, cliché, but he couldn't care less. When intoxication occurs to the Architect, he usually feels more confident. But before you, even wine loses its lustre. With each new discovery, half of Kaveh falls even further and the other half curls in itself from insecurity. He doesn't deserve you, the Architect tells himself. Yet he cannot bring himself to let go, or stay away as your voice rings through his ears. You're perfect, to Kaveh at the very least but he couldn't help but dream how much more perfect it'd be if you sang only for him.

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