#there are so many words you can use to describe the feel of pain and what it does to the body

[actualaster]

I know media does it to most easily showcase how much pain a character is in, but you don't actually need to be in so much pain you're screaming from it for a limb to give out from pain.

Sometimes it's just a white-hot flash of agony so sudden it takes your breath away and the next thing you know you're on the ground/bed/back in the chair/whatever.

It's so abrupt and intense and quick that it's over before you have even a chance to make a sound and all that's left is the deep, lingering ache of it.

And sometimes it's not even pain! Sometimes a limb can just... Stop working and down you go. The pain comes after.

(That's what happened to my knee where I ended up needing to be wheeled around because I couldn't walk--just gave out and hurt after it stopped working)

There's pain you cry out from, for sure, but there's plenty of pain--pain that can be literally debilitating--that you don't scream from, either, but that doesn't make it less of an impediment. Depends on the person themselves a lot, as well as the type of pain itself.

[fear-is-truth]

forgive me mother for i have sinned… hear me out, father charlie fucking reader with a crucifix

NSFW MDNI 18+ tags: f!reader・blasphemy・super dark content・ misuse of a crucifix・impact play a/n: gahdamn. anon you are insane for this

your eye the pale, cross-shaped patch on the wall where the crucifix used to hang. at least he had the decency to take it down, so the figure of christ didn’t have to witness you like this. bent over his lap, hands pressed into the armrests of his chair, cheeks burning from humiliation. father charlie mayhew’s methods for penance were nothing if not…unconventional. well, “kinky” or “downright blasphemous” might be better words to describe it.

“three years without repentance,” he muses, slowly dragging the edge of the wooden crucifix along your folds. “must have a lot of sins built up in that soul of yours. we’ll work on them one by one.” his tone is almost gleeful, as if the prospect of your transgressions excites him.

“tell me, where do we start? greed? sloth? oh, i can sense the laziness in you, even now.” a loud smack of wood hitting flesh, followed by a sharp sting on your left buttock—you squeal in pain, the sound slipping out despite your best efforts to keep quiet. the cross-shaped imprint it leaves behind numb tingling, and you just know it’ll leave a mark.

“and then there’s lust. look how wet you are.” he murmurs thoughtfully. this time, he taps the foot of the crucifix against your entrance and pushes it inside. you moan at the unexpected intrusion, the agonising stretch, not to mention the sharp angles pressing against your tight walls. it feels out of place—too rigid for the curves of the human body.

“how many impure thoughts have you had?” he asks, his tone almost playful, conspiratorial. “how many times have you let yourself get… carried away? or maybe,” he slowly pumps the crucifix in and out of your cunt, until the wooden shaft was shiny with slick, “maybe you didn’t fight those thoughts at all. maybe you liked them. indulged them.”

you whimper when he pulls out, an obscene squelching noise. “i wonder… how many times have you let yourself fall to temptation? all those late nights, alone… and no one to know but you. and god, of course.” you feel him shift on his seat, and suddenly, the base of the crucifix is blocking your vision, tapping gently at your lower lip.

“clean it, like you’re washing away your sins.”

m.list © fear-is-truth do not repost, modify or translate

[myjisung]

stray kids : calling them pretty !

content. stray kids ot8, gn!reader, complimenting, idol and non idol!skz, lots of dialog, insecure bangchan, confident hyunjin & seungmin, sillies — fluff.

warning. none

wordcount. 1,6k ( got carried away a little bit )

a/n. sorry, i had brainrot !!

bang chan ( 방찬 )

"you're pretty"

"now you're just being silly."

"i mean it!"

chan looked back at you, unimpressed. his brow looked unamused and so did his mouth. he did not buy it.

"chan i promise you. you're a very pretty guy."

he shook his head and you could feel your heart break to pieces. no matter how many times you complimented him, whatever the words you chose, chan would not believe you.

"that's not a word i'd use to describe myself" he laughed dryly "i mean, have you seen me?"

enough. you got up and walked towards him. that got his attention. chan turned his face away from his computer to look to your side and you grabbed his face with both hands. shocked, his eye grew a little bigger.

"chan" your voice quivered "you have to believe me. you ARE pretty. always have been. it pains me to hear you deny it over and over again." his lower lip trembled "whatever it is that makes you believe you don't deserve to hear that word being uttered about yourself, forget it!"

he swallowed and his eyes watered.

"okay" he said after a while "alright. i-" he sighed, looked somewhere else then closed his eyes "i can't really- i don't-" another sigh "for you, i'll try."

lee know ( 리노 )

this time, after ten minutes spent trying, your facetime call went through.

"well fucking finally minho! why are you-" on your screen, your boyfriend's face appeared. he was getting makeup, a small brush softly highlighting his nose bridge "oh... you're pretty."

minho laughed gently.

"what is it that you want y/n? why'd you even call me seventeen times? can't you tell i'm busy?"

he tried to use that annoyed tone he usually threw your way when you were being clingy. but you could tell he was blushing, something that didn't happen often enough if you had to be honest.

"well damn, calm down with the questions. can't someone want to talk to their pretty boyfriend?"

another laugh, a shy one this time.

"okay, stop that"

"stop what? calling you pretty? well that's what you are. pretty pretty pretty!"

"alright i'm hanging up"

"MINHO NO WAIT."

you had to call him eight more times for him to pick up a second time.

changbin ( 창빈 )

"can you compliment me some more?"

you had just spent the last fifteen minutes telling changbin about how perfect of a man he was. and there he was asking for more? there were only so many compliments in the world. so much so that you had to think about what to say in order to not repeat yourself.

handsome you had used. super witty you went on and on about without forgetting about complimenting his dedication to living a healthy lifestyle and promoting kindness.

but then, it dawned on you. you knew just what to say.

"you're pretty."

changbin furrowed his brows.

"huh?"

"you're pretty" you repeated. "like, you're actually so pretty."

a tentative smile stretched changbin's lips.

"are you sure?" he was shy. changbin brought his hand to the back of his neck and tickled it gently—as if it was the first time anyone ever used the word 'pretty' to describe him.

"i am" you said without hesitation "you are super pretty, changbin. you've got pretty eyes and a pretty nose and pretty lips and pretty cheeks and and and..."

changbin laughed that silly high pitched laugh of his.

"you've got a pretty face overall."

"that's the first time i heard of it." he finally said, too shy to ask for any more compliments.

you mentally took note: in order to shut my changbin up, call him pretty.

hyunjin ( 현진 )

"what did you think the first time you saw me?"

you looked up from your book to lock eyes with his. that came out of nowhere. tilting your head to the side, you furrowed your brows.

"what do you mean?"

"like" hyunjin looked to the left, pondering how to word his question better "what was your first impression? when we first met, what did you think of me?"

"oh." you went back to your book "he's pretty."

hyunjin coughed.

"that's it?"

"did you expect me to think you were hot or cool or whatever? the first time we met you were drenched in soda and asked me for napkins, not very cool nor hot. but you were very pretty, the prettiest man i had ever seen."

a gentle smile stretched his full lips.

"do you mean that or are you being funny?"

you looked at him again, shocked. after marking the page you were at, you closed your book.

"no what do YOU mean? don't play with me hyunjin. you DO know that you're pretty, right?"

he brought his hand to his mouth but, before he could hide it, you saw his slight smirk.

"i mean..." he started.

"oh come on!"

"no like" hyunjin giggled "i'm aware it's just, i didn't think you'd think that of me. pretty? is that really the impression i gave you?"

"well cut me some slack here! you're a crazily pretty man. sometimes i just look at you for fun. for FUN, hyunjin! i am ENTERTAINED, i am having a GREAT TIME looking at your pretty face."

"okay now you don't have to be dramatic about it"

hyunjin was blushing crazily for someone so confident.

han ( 한 )

he was painting his nails and a look of concentration had him furrow his brow and push the tip of his tongue out of his mouth. han wanted to draw stars on each and every single one of his nails and you admired his dedication to the task.

the room smelled of both nail polish and nail polish remover. the coffee table was littered with cotton pads and q-tips drenched in acetone. the smell had your eyes water but you couldn't leave.

han was just so pretty. and you had to tell him.

"hey" you started.

"busy" jisung replied "can't mess up again."

you heard him but, it had to be said.

"you're so pretty right now."

it took him a while, maybe three or five seconds before the words registered. once he pieced it together, he looked up at you.

"huh?"

"i said, you're pretty"

"no i heard you" he started "it's just... really?"

han kept his brush above his fingers so long a droplet of pink polish splashed on his nail, ruining the design, but you didn't have the heart to point it out yet.

"yeah? you're a very pretty guy, jisung. like, your eyes for starters, insanely pretty"

he gave you a shy smile as his cheeks turned pink. you could tell he was trying to tone down his reaction from the way his leg started bouncing.

"no... you're the pretty one." he finally said.

jisung looked down at his nail and shrieked. he was going to have start over, AGAIN.

felix ( 필릭스 )

"you're so pretty"

you weren't expecting to say that out loud but could anyone even blame you? the sun was hitting felix's face in a way that enhanced his freckles along with the gold of his skin. his long eyelashes tickled the skin under his eyes and the bitten red of his mouth made him look ethereal.

felix was, objectively, a very pretty boy.

his eyes fluttered open and your cheeks blushed pink. felix noticed and a playful smile stretched his mouth.

"d'you mean that?" he asked, his voice low and gentle.

you weren't exactly boyfriend and partner yet. you weren't anything really. something in between, something blurry but neither of you dared saying or doing anything about it. you were content with this in-between, for now.

"i do" you started and he brought a hand to your cheek, letting his thumb gently stroke your skin "you're very pretty, felix"

his smile got bigger.

"thanks" he said "you're super pretty yourself."

you swore your heart leapt out of your chest.

seungmin ( 승민 )

"has anyone told you that you were pretty before?"

"plenty of times actually, y/n."

seungmin smiled playfully and you watched him, deadpan.

"i mean," he started "i get it. don't you?"

he giggled and you could only scoff. can't someone compliment their boyfriend and have him react normally in this economy?

"alright mister pretty boy. i guess you've heard it so much it got to your head."

another laugh, a bright one this time and you could not contain your own smile anymore. seungmin had this way of brightening every room he walked in. he always managed to have you in the best mood and make you forget all of your worries.

"oh no y/n... i beg, compliment me again. i only care when it's you that calls me pretty."

it was your turn to act. pretending to be unimpressed, you looked away.

"well. i better be!"

seungmin giggled again. and so did you.

i.n ( 아이엔 )

shopping with jeongin always took hours. you were used to it at this point, but still. your feet were killing you and you had spent far more money than you had planned to.

your boyfriend had a way with compliments afterall. whatever you tried on, he loved and managed to make you love too so, purchased they were!

"how about this one?"

the fitting room's curtain quickly opened and you were met with yet another huge-pair-of-pants-and-oversized-shirt outfit. it was crazy the way jeongin managed to make them work every time.

"pretty" you said "you're pretty."

he smiled and his eyes crinkled.

"pretty?"

"mh mh" you nodded "you look super pretty. you always do but especially right now. crazily pretty, insanely pretty, gorgeously pretty. extremely pretty even. have you considered-"

jeongin cut you off, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. he giggled against your mouth as you kissed back, sending happy shivers down your back.

"okay i think i get it." he said "you're perfectly pretty too"

with that, the curtain closed again.

taglist. after being absent for a long while, i'll make a new taglist instead of using the old one so let me know if you would like to be added / removed.

[vonne-inc]

product: yandere husband.

gender neutral reader. mainly fluff. yandere-ish (a little).

yandere husband, who met you a few months after your high-school graduation. being a barista at his parent's cafe and seeing you walk up to the counter. oh, how he immediately fell in love with you. he found you beautiful— no, more than beautiful; glorious, angelic, heavenly.. there were too many words to describe you. he knew you were perfect.

yandere husband, leaving his number on the receipt taped to your to-go drink. he watched as you glanced at the writing while walking out the door. your eyes met his, smiling as you held your phone in your palm. his heart raced with nervousness. his phone buzzed as it showed a text message from an unknown number. when he lifted his head, you were gone. he was happy, elated even.

yandere husband, at work or at home texted you any moment he could. he really liked you— you were just so fun and interesting! he couldn't get enough of you, and you could get enough of him.

yandere husband, after a few dates and flirty conversations, you started dating him. his obsessive and possessiveness didn't start until your first i love you's. only then did he realize that he needed your touch, your voice, your presence, all of you. he needed you, only you.

yandere husband, after two years of dating him, fully comfortable and accustomed to each other, he's asking if you'd ever want to get married. after months of talking and questions, hinting at the idea, he finally proposes. on one knee as you're in bed while the early sun shines through the curtains. it was a beautiful scene for your eyes.

yandere husband, who is smiling from ear to ear once you say yes, pulling you into a long, loving kiss. now he can plan his next moves to have you all for himself, forever.

yandere husband, smiling brightly as he watches you walking down the aisle. your attire fitting you perfectly, it was divine on you. he could feel himself falling in love with you all over again.

yandere husband, who said his vows, holding your hands as he repeated the rehearsed words he spent months on writing. there were too many things for him to say, words couldn't describe how you made him feel. the love you brought him were beyond description— you were ineffable, intangible, unutterable. he'd do anything for you; go through any suffering or pain for you. he'd even kill for you, if it came down to it. once he'd end his speech, kissing your knuckles, he'd listen to your vows with a loving smile.

yandere husband, as soon as he was able to, he pulled you in close as he cupped your cheek and kissed your lips. a short yet eternal kiss that made him feel like the luckiest man on earth. parting, he held his lips near your ear, whispering, "'til death do us part."

yandere husband, once the wedding was over, he carried you to your shared hotel suite. immediately climbing into bed with you, smiling widely as he peppers you in kisses. you stay in his arms during the night, comfortably sleeping in his embrace after the long and overdrawn day. he adores your sleeping figure, keeping himself as still as possible as to not wake you. oh, how he can't wait to spend the rest of forever with you. "you're mine and i'm yours, my love. forever and always."

[metalbuckaroo]

The Chase

Summary// "we had a deal, my dove. You promised."

AU// WinterSoldier!Bucky x F!Reader

Warnings// chasing kink, unprotected sex, smut, a yank to the hair, cursing, use of petnames- dove, dovey

Note// I think I'm a little rusty, but I'm also beyond tired rn so it could also be that ehsudienaua. This is a part two to the Black Mail fic I did for kinktober many moons ago

"Who is he?" He was everywhere. His gruff voice echoing through the trees, surrounding you as you frantically looked around. Trying to find a way out of this situation. "I don't share, dove."

He was right behind you, your legs working before your mind to carry you in the opposite direction. Lungs burning from the cold night air as his dark chuckle faded in the distance.

But, he was quick and quiet. Moving just as fast as you could look over your shoulder before slamming into what could only be described as a wall of pure muscle, sending you falling back onto the leaf covered ground.

"Please- James, please. I'm sorry." You pleaded, tears stinging your eyes as he stood over you. The same mask Hydra forced him to wear covering the lower portion of his face.

He kneeled down, denim blues dark with something you couldn't place. "I won't ask again. Who. Is. He."

"Your way out! Please, just let me go. I still have a week!" The metal of his left hand gleamed in the moonlight as he reached his hand out to grasp your chin. Pupils blown and touch gentle.

"I'll give you a headstart. You have three minutes, dovey." You just stared at him wide eyed, chest heaving and heart hammering against your ribcage. "Run."

As if on instinct, you scrambled to your feet, trying to find your footing to dart back into the darkness the trees provided.

You knew you couldn't go much longer, your aching muscles sending pains through your legs each time your feet would hit the ground. There was no use in running anyways, he'd always win.

"We had a deal, my dove. You promised." You swore you could hear the grit of his teeth when you'd stopped, so close to giving in as you leaned your forehead against the rough bark of a nearby tree. Fingers curving against the wood. "You're just like them."

"No, I'm not." You heaved, trying to take a moment to catch your breath.

"I saw you with him at that diner. You're suppose to be mine."

His voice was getting closer, making you bite down on the inside of your cheeks to take some of the attention away from the burning in your legs before taking off again.

Though, you didn't make it far before fingers curled in the back of your hair. Crying out when he barely yanked to make you stop.

"I was doing what I was told. You want out, I have to find someone who can do that." You tried to reason, words not coming easy from the way he had your head craned back. His warm right arm snaking around your waist to pull you against him.

"Lies." He seethed, calloused fingers slipping under your shirt. "I've dreamt of you. Craved you. Now I finally have you again. I've been so cold without you my sweet dove."

Your body gave in the moment nimble fingers flicked the button of your pants open.

There was something twisted inside of you that liked the chase, the constant looming feeling you'd had over the weeks since you'd last seen him- like he was just lying in wait for the right moment.

It was hard to think of much else than the last time you'd saw him. The drag of his fingers against your skin, the way his lips seared kisses to your throat- much like now, cold and warm hands dragging against your sides as your fingers worked at the tactical belt that kept you from what you were truly after.

The ground freezing against your bare back not slowing you from getting what you craved.

It seemed to take ages for James to notice your struggle, his hands replacing your own to easily pull open the buckle as yours went to unclip the mask. Carelessly tossing it into the leaves to pull his lips to yours.

The hunger behind his kiss fueled you, your fingers weaving through his long locks and legs going around his waist to pull him closer. Swallowing breaths and quiet grunts as his hand fumbled to grasp his shaft.

The shudder that rolled through your body as he pressed into you was enough to send your mind reeling, everything else around you fading away and your senses overwhelmed by only him as he found his pace. Short, hard thrusts rocking your body- sending shocks of pure pleasure shooting down your legs.

You'd missed how full he made you feel. An emptiness left behind in his absence, his touch electric as he groped at your chest and left sloppy kisses along your throat. Deep moans vibrating against the skin, mixing with your whines in the cold night air.

"Can feel you milking me, dovey. Make a mess, show me who I belong to." James panted, drinking in the pleasure drunk scrunch of your face as your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer.

Wedging his arm under you for a better angle, he didn't change his pace. Taking the opportunity to slot his lips over yours when you cried out in bliss, swallowing the sultry sound as your cunt clamped around him. His hips jerked forward at the feeling, the swirling sensation at his base building until he couldn't take it anymore- spilling into you with a huffed grunt.

The warmth of his body was quickly replaced with the night air, goosebumps prickling your skin as you whined in response. The dull ring in your ears making it hard to focus as you found your jeans to redress.

"One more week, dove. Better hurry."

[hamza-gaza2]

Dear humanity,my supportive friends

🚨A besieged family in Gaza appeals for help to survive🚨

Please consider reading my story

Peace be upon you, I am Hamza from Gaza, Palestine. I am 18 years old. Last July, I finished high school and obtained a grade of 92.6% in the scientific stream. I began my university studies, at the Islamic University of Gaza, specializing in software engineering. I fastened my belts, made my intention, and began the journey. However, with great regret, my journey has not yet begun and has ended quickly before it even started!

How difficult is that word for me. I made plans for my future and was determined to achieve them, but because of the war that is still ongoing today since last October, I lost that dream and I lost my plans and my future that It has become unknown, because of the machine of Zionist arrogance, which left nothing and hadn't left yet.

In the beginning, I lost 3 of my dearest friends, then our house was burned, and warplanes also bombed my university in which I was attached. I wish I could accept that easily, because when you put yourself in my place, perhaps you will feel the horror of the event, because what is gone is My life in short: my room, which I always spent my time in, my simple office, where I spent my best times during my high school studies, and even my recreational time on social networking sites, and my university, where I used to spend the most beautiful times with friends, especially the university cafeteria, where I spent the most enjoyable times, all of this and more. I was deprived of it because of this brutal war. I don't know if you imagined the horror of the situation.

Today, as I am in Deir al-Balah in the south of Gaza due to forced displacement, I wake up every day not knowing how I will spend the time.

There is nothing we can do here except wait, which I cannot describe in reality. Its difficulty. Emptiness is a very bad thing. The feeling of being unable to do anything and waiting for the unknown is truly frightening. Here we are on the 220th day of the war, and its duration is still unknown, and we do not know when it will end. Even if the war ends, we will only have escaped real death, but here we are, dying, Every day, every hour, and every minute, all of that steadfastness in order to meet our beautiful future ,so I write to you these lines that are filled with sadness for our situation here to tell you that we are here and we still have not given up and become complacent, and to also inform you that I created this link asking for helping me to complete my studies outside the walls of my city and country, knowing that the engineering major requires fees of 20,000 US dollars distributed over 5 years of studying.

I also attach pictures of everything mentioned in my story.

Thus, I have no hope left except for this campaign! which I never expected to need, but it is life.

Today, I stand helpless on the abyss, and I await your support to continue my journey, in the hope of meeting the desired hopes and trying to forget the unforgettable pains. I ask you to help in all forms (spreading, donating, moral support,...)

Many thanks and gratitude to you❤️

Hamza

@90-ghost @sayruq @appsa @aria-ashryver @northgazaupdates2 @timetravellingkitty @wellwaterhysteria @deepspaceboytoy @ot3 @dirhwangdaseul @mahoushojoe @schoolhater98 @rainn-dropz-world @baby-girl-aaron-dessner @communist-hatsunemiku @the-eldritch-it-gay @girlinafairytale @buttercuparry @amygdalae @transmutationisms @ashwantsafreepalestine @yugiohz @dykesbat @watermotif @stuckinapril @xinakwans @nibeul @komsomolka @aristotels

[flowerandblood]

Play with my heart (1/3)

[ modern actors • Aemond x Strong • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, sexual tension, unprofessional behavior ]

[ description: He gets the main role in a series about a great family and dragons, which could change his career. He is set to play the uncle and love interest of his childhood friend. When he meets the actress who plays her role, he begins to lose track of what is an acting and what is his real feelings. Sexual tension, grumpy, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: Yeah. I talked about it and I did it. You don't even know how much fun I had doing this. Of course, my characters play in a series whose script is an exact copy of my story The Fall from the Heavens. In this universe, Aemond (playing the One-Eyed Prince) and Rhaenys (playing the Princess) are of course not related – the other characters are also just actors. This three-part series is my gift to all fans of the original series, thank you so much for your support. "Rhaenys" in this story is her artistic pseudonym which she use instead of her real name. In this chapter you will see her Instagram photos without any face reveal, just treat it like some moodboard of her modern look. You can read this as a standalone story.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Despite his resistance, his grandfather said this series could be his big chance. Because what's the likelihood of a big production looking for a tall actor with a scar over his left eye?

The white line running from his eyebrow to his cheek was a reminder of when his nephew smashed a bottle next to him, the shards of which shot upwards as he leaned over it. He lost the sight in that eye at the time, but got a new artificial one that looked almost identical to the real one.

"The director became interested in you when I described your appearance and character to him. It's a leading role, Aemond." His grandfather continued, clearly excited. He, however, felt only discomfort at his words.

"It's a fantasy series. Dragons, gowns and knights. Romance, on top of that, between an uncle and a niece. I don't know. It's…" He started and didn't finish, running his hand over his face.

It sounded idiotic and he felt he would have made a fool of himself in front of millions of viewers who would forever remember him in the role of the cripple prince in an incestuous relationship.

"At least read the script." His grandfather didn't give up and placed a thick volume of stapled white pages in front of him.

Resigned, he spread himself comfortably on the sofa in his flat in the evening and began to read. He pressed his lips together when he saw that it all started with a flashback – the characters of the prince and his niece were still children at the time and were to be played by younger actors.

There was no cloying or exaggerated sweetness in the story or dialogues that he had expected. What surprised him was the moment when his character lost his eye and the fact that he decided not to speak to his betrothed for eight years.

He thought it was a bit of an overreaction, but perhaps in those days men approached their honour in this way.

Then he got to the scenes where their adult characters appeared and their first scene when they see each other in the courtyard. He imagined what was happening as if he was watching a film, them, throwing glances full of pain at each other, and him, unable to bear it, attacking his opponent in rage.

To his surprise, the next scene, the scene in his chamber turned into a love scene that made him hot – and then, just when he thought the rest of the plot would be a soap opera, his character suddenly became aggressive and cold again, destroying everything they had managed to accomplish.

He thought curiously that he liked how complicated and unpredictable the Prince's character was, how hard he tried to suppress the feelings he felt for this girl, how confident he was at the same time, with so many complexes and hatreds inside him.

He was intrigued.

He decided he would go for an audition and to his surprise, the next day he received a call that the director had decided he was perfect for the part.

He got the lead role in the series.

His grandfather, as his agent, contacted the production and it turned out that they wanted to rehearse scenes between him and the actresses who would play the Princess. He was to appear in the studio in a setting specially prepared for this, which would resemble the Prince's chamber.

They were to portray the scene in which his niece comes to the Prince's chamber on the evening they see each other for the first time in eight years.

There were no wigs or costumes prepared yet, so he was given something of a substitute, a simple leather tunic and boots, and a black eye patch that had been designed specifically for his character earlier and was already finished.

The lights were turned off, leaving only the lamps for illumination and the candles and fire lit all around. He looked towards the fireplace, fiddling with the knife between his fingers, recognising that this would add an air of unease to the scene.

"Action!" The director shouted, and the door opened. He looked to the side and spotted a tall, black-haired girl. Her lips curved in pain at the sight of him, as if she was suffering greatly, but he thought in the back of his mind that her facial expression was exaggerated.

"Did you received my letters?" She asked in a trembling voice, looking at him with her chin raised high.

This was not how he imagined her, but he decided to focus on his role, rolling the knife between his fingers.

"Yes." He replied coldly and dispassionately.

The girl swallowed hard.

"Have you read them?"

"Cut! They see each other for the first time in eight years. They feel anger, fear, disbelief! Give me something more than theatrical indifference and tears." The director called out, making both him and the girl in front of him swallow hard, embarrassed.

"Action!"

It seemed to him that it went on forever. Girls similar to themselves went in and out, and he repeated the same line over and over again, feeling nothing.

He was in character as much as he could, taking his role very seriously, trying to identify with it, but he couldn't bring up the feelings he was supposed to have for this girl who, after all, was supposed to be the love of his life.

He sighed heavily, adjusting the eye patch over his eye when the director said that there was another rehearsal ahead of them. He nodded his head to let him know that he was ready.

"Action!"

The door opened, but the girl who stood in it looked at him for a moment with big eyes, as if she didn't recognise him. There was something endearing in that gaze. She turned behind her, as if she was afraid of being seen, and immediately closed the door, breathing loudly.

At last, real acting.

She turned towards him, as if she was afraid of him, and he pressed his lips together, involuntarily looking at her body hidden only beneath a thin nightgown, her slightly wavy, long dark hair falling freely over her shoulders.

Her face was gentle, warm, her eyes large, her lashes and eyebrows dark, accentuating her charm.

She was silent for a moment, her lips trembling, as if she wanted to say something but couldn't.

"Did you received my letters?"She muttered softly in a hopeful voice, from which he felt goosebumps pass along his back.

"Yes." He whispered, his voice soft and low.

Yes, he thought, give me something I can work with.

She swallowed loudly and clenched her hands into fists, shifting from foot to foot. She shook her head, her eyebrows arched in pain as if asking how he could do this to her.

"Have you read them?" She asked, and he pressed his lips together, tilting his head back and snorted under his breath, turning the blade in his hand. She jumped up, horrified when he slammed it suddenly into the armrest lying beneath his hand.

"Yes, my Lady Strong. I have read them all. Many times, here, in this chair." He murmured mockingly, looking at her with slightly parted lips, lifting his chin in a gesture of superiority.

He was sure the director would interrupt, but he let them continue.

The girl lowered her gaze, her body quivering as if she was about to cry, an expression of humiliation, pain and shame on her face from which he felt heat in his heart.

Her gaze suddenly changed. She swallowed hard, as if she had also swallowed his insult, and moved ahead of him, pretending to walk towards the bookshelf.

He pressed his lips together and looked at her over his shoulder, measuring her with a furious, cold stare.

"Do you often visit men like this?"

She turned to him with a look as if she wanted to kill him, her hand dropping as if she had run out of strength after what she had heard.

"Have you no shame?" She asked coolly, the way she said it, the look in her eyes made him feel a cold sweat on his back.

"Cut! That was fantastic, thank you!" Said the director, and she blinked, the expression on her face turning from cold and disgusted to a wide smile full of joy, her gaze warm and welcoming.

"– you were amazing – I had goosebumps –" She whispered as she walked past him and giggled, waving goodbye to him, disappearing out the door a moment later.

When it turned out a few days later that she had got the role, he breathed a sigh of relief. The director had told him in a phone conversation that he could feel the kind of tension on camera that he expected from their characters and that this was it.

He was ashamed to admit it, but he agreed with him.

She was good and pulled the most subtle, intriguing expressions from her face with ease.

Although he didn't usually do this and resented his grandfather for forcing him to create an official instargam account, which was almost dead anyway, he used it to find her. At first he thought Rhaenys was her name, but then the producent told him it was her stage pseudonym.

He did not know what he thought of this, finding that it was an approach to acting that he was not fond of, but he decided not to judge her hastily, being a very private and withdrawn person himself.

Finding her turned out to be child's play, and he felt like a voyeur, scrolling through all her posts on her wall one by one, wanting to get a sense of who he would be working with, or at least that's how he tried to explain this unnatural curiosity to himself.

He snorted involuntarily in amusement upon seeing her Pikachu shirt, thinking with a kind of admiration that she had a distance to herself that he lacked.

She apparently wasn't afraid of harsh judgement from the outside world, of someone saying she was childish or immature, retaining a kind of innocence he hadn't seen in any actress in a long time.

Usually, like him, they created themselves, how they wanted to be perceived, making from their characters a style under which everything else was adjusted.

He felt a strange kind of satisfaction that he couldn't explain when he didn't see her in any of the photos with any man in an embrace or position that might indicate that she had a boyfriend.

He thought this would make it easier for him to get into character and not feel remorseful – although of course it was only his job – that he was touching someone else's girlfriend.

Although he was not convinced about this project at first, he was now beginning to feel excited at the thought that this really could open the door to his career.

All the way up to the start of shooting, he had been preparing himself to actually get into the character mentally, reading the script again and again, trying to understand Prince's character, unintentionally identifying with him more and more.

With his pain, his shame, his longing, his despair, his unfounded, cold, calculating irony and aggression.

While not everyone applauded the method acting, he felt the need to understand the character he was playing, to get inside his head, to become him in some way, to properly portray his emotions.

He and his grandfather flew to the hotel a few days before shooting to acclimatise, attend rehearsals and costume fittings. He met the actor, Aegon, who would play his brother-king, and Jace, who would play the Princess's older brother, and although he was an aloof man, he quickly found common ground with them.

Looking at the size and number of sets, the scenery created especially for one or two scenes, he felt the grand scale of the whole project and thought with excitement that he would be a fool if he refused.

When the make-up artists and stylists applied the wig on his head, his leather tunic, his breeches and his eye patch they said he was made for this role. When he glanced at himself in the mirror, he found in disbelief that he really did look like a different person and he liked what he saw.

He looked dark, menacing, malicious.

Just as he had imagined.

They met formally for the first time at, much to his liking, a session with a woman who he understood was a psychologist and was supposed to take care of them when it came to approaching intimate scenes and their comfort zone.

They shook hands with polite smiles in a way that was a tad too official, but there was something heartfelt and warm in her expression and her bright eyes that made him feel a pleasant sensation in his chest.

He tried not to grin as he saw her wearing a Pikachu t-shirt, the exact same one she wore in one of her photos on Instagram.

The woman invited them with a hand gesture to sit across from her on the couch as she sat on the other side, in an armchair.

"As I understand it, you have both read the script and your director's suggestions and know that there will be scenes involving you touching your naked bodies or exposing yourself in front of each other." She said calmly and they nodded their heads.

"Okay. I'll start by asking if you have any questions or concerns." She continued, but they were silent.

"I will be with you during every scene of this type, offering you advice and support. You have the right to say if you feel uncomfortable, if you are made to feel bad by a certain type of touch and you don't want to repeat the scene in the same way. The director wants you both to feel safe here." She added, and they nodded their heads.

"Do you have any barriers, things you're sure you don't want the other party to do? Touch in places that you find unacceptable?" She asked, and he remained silent, but looked at his partner out of the corner of his eye, curious.

He saw that she pressed her lips together, as if she wanted to say something but was afraid to. She swallowed quietly at last, fiddling with the material of her black tracksuit shorts.

"– I – let's just say I'm not experienced in this kind of scenes – it's hard to say where my comfort limit is – what should I do if, for example, we're in the middle of filming and I feel unwell? –" She asked uncertainly, looking at her with her big, bright eyes.

The woman nodded.

"– of course, you should then stop the filming – it would be a good idea if you just agreed between you beforehand what you plan to do, where you plan to touch each other – this will help you to prepare in advance for what is going to happen, to say what causes your concerns –" She replied calmly.

The girl smiled and let out a quiet breath, as if something in her answer had reassured her.

He saw her for the second time during a party at the hotel that the series' production organized for them, so they could get to know each other better and relax before the first day of shooting.

Like him, she was dressed plain, in long mid-thigh length, fluffy sweatshirt and woollen cream, overknee socks, while he, as usual, was dressed all in black.

She approached him to greet him for a certain out of sheer courtesy, he however appreciated her professional demeanour. When she asked if she could sit with him and the people from production he involuntarily moved over on the sofa, making room next to himself, which she accepted with a smile.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye while chatting to the set crew all evening, a few drinks were enough for him to loosen his tongue a little and start talking like a normal person.

He furrowed his eyebrows, feeling the whisky already humming heavily in his head when he saw her get up from the table and go to the toilet, leaving her half-finished drink with them.

He figured he'd wait with his assessment of the situation until she returned, but to his dismay, surely enhanced by the alcohol, he acted rather dramatically, pushing the glass away from her as soon as she sat back down next to him and tried to reach for it.

"Never leave your drinks with strangers in this business. Always take them with you." He said as if he were her older brother or father.

She blinked, horrified and ashamed, clearly not even thinking that anyone among the people around her might want to hurt her, but he knew this environment better than she did.

Seeing the look on her face, he pressed his lips together.

"Believe me. I heard this kind of stories. They put pills in your drink, tell you they'll help you back to your hotel room when you start to feel worse, and the next day on set they tell you that if you say anything to anyone, you can go back where you came from."

They stared at each other for a moment in uncomfortable silence and although the people around them were laughing, she seemed to be experiencing some sort of shock.

"Do...do you know such women personally?" She mumbled, and he shook his head, playing with his glass between his fingers.

"No, thank God. But I've heard hundreds of stories like that. I'm not trying to scare you, I'm just trying to warn you. For your safety." He added, feeling for some reason like an idiot who was now lecturing and moralising her.

She nodded quickly, however, her gaze filled with a warmth and understanding that made his chest hot, though he blamed the whisky he'd drunk for his condition.

"Yes, you are right, I should be more careful. I'm glad I'll be working with someone like you." She confessed with a kind of embarrassment that surprised him, playing with the material of her woollen knee-length socks.

He looked at her, spread out comfortably on the leather sofa, realising that there was so little room at the table that their knees were pressed against each other.

When she said she would go to sleep, for some reason he offered to walk her to her room. She smiled broadly at his words and they set off together for the lift, exchanging quiet, non-committal remarks on the way.

There was something about her demeanour that made him feel at ease, her gentleness, openness and the alcohol humming in his head made him more daring when it came to spoken words.

"You made a great impression on me during the auditions." He hummed and she looked up at him, her eyes shining with joy.

"You don't even know how much these words mean to me. You were wonderful, convincing and charismatic. I hope I won't disappoint you." She said.

"Mmm." He hummed and flinched as the elevator doors slid open on the floor where their rooms were located. They walked out into the hall in silence, the warm look in her eyes that she gave him over her shoulder made him feel hot.

"– see you tomorrow –" She said and he nodded.

"– sleep well –"

The first scene they were to play, although it was only in the fifth episode, was when they returned to her chamber after speaking with her stepfather following negotiations about the succession to the throne.

Their dialogue was about what they really thought regarding what had happened in the past – this scene did not contain intimate moments and was meant to help them get into their characters well.

She walked into the room, which was also a large medieval chamber immersed completely in darkness and smiled at the sight of him. He nodded his head in greeting.

She approached him, all beaming with happiness and excitement, a nightgown on her body and a thin robe thrown over her shoulders.

"You look amazing. Wonderful characterisation." She said softly with a sincere cordiality from which he felt warmth in his heart.

"Thank you." He replied calmly, not knowing what more he could answer.

"I am the one who wants to thank you. For what you said yesterday. I guess I needed to hear this." She said, giving him a warm look full of gratitude that made him feel relieved.

"Forgive me if I was too harsh." He whispered.

"You were not." She said calmly.

He nodded and grunted, swallowing heavily, being sober having problems again with putting his thoughts into words.

They looked up at the director who ordered that they were about to go to the first shot where they were lying on the bed, so they took their places next to each other on the sheets.

He felt the stress gripping his body, the tension at the thought that there were dozens of people around them looking at them and judging him.

He had been given this role with ease and now he had to prove himself.

"Action!"

He shuddered as he felt her hand on his and looked up at her – her face was frighteningly close to his, pleasantly smooth and soft, a warmth in her gaze from which he ran out of words.

"Speak to me, uncle. Don’t lock yourself in your mind." She whispered to him, as if these words were meant only for him, as if she really cared about him, missed him, loved him.

He looked at her with his heart pounding fast, thinking with horror that he had forgotten his line.

"– I will –" She whispered.

He swallowed hard and closed his eyelids, trying to turn his fear into an expression of regret and rage on his face.

"I will never understand how could you leave me then." He hissed through clenched teeth, looking at her again, pain in her gaze, as if his words had really surprised and hurt her.

"– that was never my intention –"

"– then why? –"

"My mother then told me to let you rest and calm down. That the guards wouldn’t let me visit you anyway by order of the Queen."

He snorted, looking at her with both disbelief and frustration. He blinked, smelling her pleasant scent, and realised that, just like in the script, she must have rubbed her skin with some vanilla oil.

He looked at her lips, pink, soft and full, and for a moment he forgot again what he should say next.

What was happening to him?

"It doesn’t matter." He muttered finally. "I needed you when it happened."

He saw her furrow her brow, her lips tightened in pain.

"I needed you too." She said in a trembling voice. "When Criston Cole held my cheeks as your mother’s guards poured moon tea down my throat. I wondered at the time if that’s how you felt."

He was impressed to see real emotion in her gaze – pain, grief, shame, fear. He didn't know why he lifted his hand and touched her cheek – he thought it was idiotic, but she followed it up and grasped his fingers in hers, kissing gently the inside of his palm.

He cursed in his head feeling his manhood pulsed softly in his breeches.

He put his arm around her waist and snuggled her into his chest as scripted – her hands embraced him, her face pressed against the hollow of her neck.

He seemed to feel her puffy little nipples through the fabric of his shirt before the director shouted ‘cut!’.

They pulled away from each other, looking up at him, rising on their elbows.

"– I liked it, but I would change the ending – I know it's not in the script, but the moment when he touches her cheek begs for a soft, tender, innocent kiss – can we try it that way? –" He asked, and they nodded and grunted, embarrassed.

She returned to her earlier position, trying again to bring to her face the same sadness, pain and grief he had seen seconds before.

"I needed you too." She said in pain. "When Criston Cole held my cheeks as your mother’s guards poured moon tea down my throat. I wondered at the time if that’s how you felt."

He looked at her for a moment with a gaze full of regret and touched her cheek again, running his thumb over her jaw. She kissed his hand as gently as before, cuddling her face into his rough skin, closing her eyes. She sighed quietly as he drew her closer to his face, her warm breath enveloping his skin before his fingers weaved into her hair, forcing her to lean down.

They clung to each other in a slow, shy kiss with the quiet click of their saliva, her plump, fleshy lips tasted of some sweet strawberry lipstick, deliciously soft, warm and wet, their breaths shaky and excited.

It seemed to him that time stood still; her touch was tender and full of peace but also the certainty of her affection, her soft fingers gently trailing over his jaw and cheek, caressing him as if she wanted to give him a sense of security.

Something about her closeness reassured him, and his broad hand stroked her head as if she were a small child, brushing gently her lower lip with his own, a quiet, shy sigh left her mouth.

He swallowed loudly, terrified as he felt his manhood swell and throb at the sound, at her closeness, at her taste, craving more.

They finally pulled away, her forehead pressed against his temple as his knuckles ran over her warm, soft cheek, something in her gaze he couldn't name.

"Cut! I loved this!" Their director called to them and they let out a loud sigh of relief, as if they had accomplished something very significant. His partner smiled at him.

"Everything's all right?" He asked, somehow condescending towards her, afraid she wouldn't tell him she felt uncomfortable even if she did.

She blinked, surprised by his question, and leaned over him as the crew discussed with each other whether they wanted to change anything in the shot.

"Why are you asking?" She asked lightly, curious, as if she didn't understand what he meant.

There was something intimate about how close her face was, her pleasant scent filling his lungs.

"We didn't talk about this before the scene. You know." He replied, not knowing what else to call what he was thinking about. Her eyes widened as if what he said scared her.

"– oh – no, no – I feel fine – but it's very kind of you to ask –" She whispered warmly, laying her head next to his on the pillow, pressing her forehead to his temple.

"– I feel safe with you –" She said softly into his ear, her words intended only for him.

He swallowed loudly at the thought that this could be a huge mistake on her part.

[kupidachillea]

What Yandere I think Ancient Greek mythology boys would be.

TW⚠️ General Yandere behaviour, biting, manipulative behaviour, clingy behaviour…mentions of self harm (not reader). Read at your own risk⚠️

Achilles:

🏺- I feel like if Achilles was a yandere he’d be more akin to the typical yandere. Jealous, possessive…almost like a land mine

🏺- He’s protective of you and wants your attention…only your attention. I think that speaks for itself about how this relationship would go.

🏺- He’s not overly touchy, but in public.,he has this weird thing about ‘laying claim’ to what’s his and making everyone know it..even if it embarrasses you…he’ll caress you thigh openly in public among other…things… he also tends to squeeze you into his chest and he has a thing for biting- and boy does it hurt..if you don’t stop him at times..you’ll be bleeding by the end of it

🏺- If you’re at home- he wants you in his arms. You’re sitting on the sofa? He’ll put you in his lap. You’re lying in bed? He’ll jump on top of you. And he’s heavy- so good luck getting him off of you.

🏺- despite his concerning behaviour..he truly does care about you..in his mind..you’re the only one that matters. He wants you to be with him for as long as possible..and don’t even think about trying to break up with him..he’ll find you.

Patroclus:

🌿- Patroclus would be one of those yanderes that aren’t openly a yandere..he’s more docile and less explosive. Though- he still has those red flags.

🌿- He’s a manipulator. Especially if you’re a sensitive and emotional individual- he’ll exploit that. Gaslighting you at times and telling you “I know what’s best for you, darling”. Yeah..not really the best part of this relationship.

🌿- He’s more touchy than Achilles. He loves to have his face nuzzled into your neck whenever he can..breathing in your scent as he holds you in his arms. Letting out a content sigh as he kisses your lips tenderly..but don’t let that tenderness fool you..he’s still got a few screws loose.

🌿- He’s the type of yandere to act calm whenever someone is trying to hit on you in public..usually it’s when you’re not around is when he finds that person and either beats them half to death or worse..he use to be a medic and warrior..he knows more than one way to put people through pain. Though It’d have to be very bad for him to immediately clock to that mode.

🌿- He knows you’ll never leave him..how pathetic of you to try.,you keep running back to his arms anyway even if you do. He’ll break you as many times as he needs to have you in his arms..he’s patient.. and once you do come back..either in tears for just looking like a sad puppy..he’ll pamper you and stroke your hair as he kisses you lips and whispers how much he loves you.

Perseus:

🛡️- This is a bit tricky..He’s like…an enthusiastic yandere..that’s how I describe it. He has limits on how far he’ll go..but that doesn’t mean he won’t do certain things.

🛡️- He’s not explosive like Achilles and he’s not a big manipulator like Patroclus. He’s a bit chill. He’s the one that is similar to being docile but at the same time his yandere tendencies will seep out.

🛡️- He actually warns you what will happen if you do A, B, and C. Because he doesn’t want to hurt you in any way..he just wants to have a loving relationship with you without any casualties. Occasionally he’ll get mad..but he’ll never take it out on you..never. Though..a few chains here and there can’t hurt..right?

🛡️- He loves to be with you..he’ll check on you at work.. on the street at home..any time really. He’s just trying to look out for you and makes his hit list anyway

🛡️- So far you’ve never had a problem with him..he’s not very overbearing..he’s smart in how he does things..you’ll never know what he does when you’re asleep..you’ve never considered leaving him..and he’d like to keep it that way..he wants to shower you with words of praise and devotion,

Orpheus:

🎼- Orpheus is what I’d call a clingy yandere. When he first met you..it took him awhile to fall for you but when he did and you both got together it was a done deal for him.

🎼- He’s so clingy..he doesn’t like to be anywhere without some physical touch involved. After losing his first love- he won’t lose you. He’ll never lose you..he’ll make sure of it.

🎼- He peppers your face with kisses in public that it makes even married couples jealous..dear lord. His words are sweet and filled with honey.

🎼- Sometimes he wishes he had the power to hypnotise you with his voice..so he could make sure that you’d stay with him forever..but I guess locking you inside will have to do..trapping you under his body as he cuddles you will have to be enough.. chaining you to the bed as you both sleep together is what he has to settle for…such effort.

🎼- Once when you tried to leave him, he literally got down on his knees and begged you to the point of tears to not leave him..he said how he couldn’t live without out you and how he’ll harm himself if you do leave him…you fell for his trap and stayed with him..having pity on this poor man. Perfect..he likes it when you break and ignore your better judgement for him.

[eddiernunson]

Ice Cream, Bikinis, and Other Ways To Torture Him | Older Rockstar!Eddie x Harrington Fem!Reader | 18+

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Summary: The stories of Eddie Munson, front man of Corroded Coffin and his music filled the Harrington household, his albums on shelves and picture frames hung of your dad and him, young and dumb. You’re home for the weekend, which just so happens to be the same weekend Eddie is in Hawkins on a personal errand. The longtime crush on him bubbles to the surface as you meet him, giving into the temptation of small summer dresses and bubblegum gloss for the fun of it. Until your dad is called in to an emergency work meeting. Then the fun of torture becomes temptation.

Warnings: Older Rockstar!Eddie, Harrington!Reader (Steve’s daughter), multichapter build up, excessive use of nicknames, no use of y/n, use of marijuana, perv!Eddie, this chapter has some forced proximity, tension and uh oh feelings.

Describes: long hair, shorter than Eddie by a few inches, reader is described to look like her mom (can be ANY race) with Steve’s freckles. No skin colour, body shape/type

Word Count: 3.7k (it’s the shortest one, I promise I’m so sorry 😭)

Chapter 2

The first thing you did when you got into Eddie Munson’s little red corvette was peel the window open, claiming you had just needed some fresh air. It was true, as his scent had choked you as soon as you sat down on the dark gray leather seats. It’s strangely intoxicating, an odd mix of smoke, woodsy, and pure man that has you wanting to take a big whiff like some little pervert.

Strangely even from the window of a rockstar’s corvette the little town looked no more glamorous than it did from your beat up car, the small town feel of it all suffocating as you fill with gratitude you managed to get out. He finally pulls in front of a three story apartment, white walls and balconies so small they make you claustrophobic.

“Uh, how are we supposed to fill this small car with all your uncle’s stuff?” You ask, peering into the backseat as you undo your seatbelt.

He smiles, his eyes momentarily switching between the backseat of the two door car and you. “My van is in the resident’s parking lot, it should have plenty of room to move stuff over.”

“So, donation, your place and your uncle’s place, I’m guessing?” You ask, walking a step behind him to the front door of the building.

“Pretty much. It just comes down to going through it which I know, will be a fucking pain.” He reaches your eyes, giving you a small smile. “Thanks for coming.”

You didn’t have much of a choice.

“Not that you had much of a choice,” he adds as he opens the apartment door, a small bout of laughter filling the halls.

Okay, that was weird.

His uncle lived on the first floor in the corner room in a furnished spot, so all it came down to were the knicknacks he had collected over the years. You didn’t think that’d be so bad until you walked in, your eyes landing on wall to wall collections of mugs and hats and other tiny sentimental things.

“Pretty sure we’re going to end up donating most of the mugs, he doesn’t use them anyway, it’s the hats he’s been fighting tooth and nail for,” he rolls his eyes, grabbing a moving box you haven’t noticed from a stack in a pile against the wall.

“How’d those get here?”

“My assistant brought them with the van,” he explains, setting the box up. “He’s hanging out around town until we pack the van up.”

“Must be nice to have an assistant to take care of that shit,” you muse, your voice only the teeniest bit bitter about it.

He passes you the box, his shoulders shaking in laughter. “I’m aware it sounds pretentious. I only hired him when I kept losing track of which fucking thing I had to do next. Interview, show, interview, photo shoot…it was fucking never ending at times. Sometimes I needed a reminder to fucking eat.”

You grab the box from him, ignoring the twinge in your gut as you walk up to a bookshelf in the corner of the small living room containing many little things. You know time is of the essence, but you can’t help yourself, leaning over to analyze the display his uncle had created. There’s a photo in the center in a simple wooden frame, a gruff older man who you supposed would be Wayne standing arm in arm with Eddie, a much younger, freer Eddie, at least, standing outside in front of a forest area.

Eddie has his hand on his hip, squinting his eyes against the sun with his uncle's arm wrapped around his shoulder. If you’d looked closer, you’d see their reddened faces, blotchy from tears shed but both gritting their teeth for the picture.

“That was the day I left for LA,” you jump at his voice, holding your chest tightly as you turn to look around to face him.

He’s still across the apartment, wrapping the mugs and storing them in a tupperware box. “I have never seen him cry like that in my life. I was scared shitless.”

You avoid his stare, the starry eyed version of him something you’re not quite used to, something stirs deep in your gut that you find oddly unsettling.

In an attempt to ignore it you look closer at the knick knacks surrounding it, suddenly realizing it was just Corroded Coffin merch, tickets, and even demos. “These would be worth a pretty penny,” you turn over the tape in your hand, imagining a rough draft of Eddie’s untuned, inexperienced vocals. “To you, they must be priceless.”

“I could release them if I’d really wanted to, but the songs suck and my voice was even worse,” Eddie shrugs, still moving mugs into their different boxes. You notice how much fuller the one on the left is, Eddie making actual progress in comparison to your dilly-dallied snooping.

“I bet Wayne still wants this.” You sigh, placing the memorabilia gently in the cardboard box, admiring the faded ink from ticket stubs over twenty years ago. The following shelf had a full row of dark fantasy novels, every spine cracked to oblivion with yellowed crinkled pages. “Do you want these?”

Eddie looks over, absentmindedly wrapping a mug when he double, triple takes, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas. “Oh I thought he threw those away!”

Suddenly the scent of his cologne invades your nose again as he leans right next to you, grabbing at one of the books on the shelf with a giddy grin. “I used to reread these all the time.”

“Princesses needing rescuing in some odd faraway land?” You tease, turning the dark green book over in your hand.

“Usually with some kind of twist,” he hums, analyzing the back of his paperback as he squats his ass an inch over the floor. “Dragons being in cahoots, noble knights acting selfishly, evil kings turning out to be righteously good… there was always some sort of twist,” his narration turned dramatic as the sentence moved on, a story teller’s voice.

It reminded you of one specific fun fact. “Uncle Dustin said you were his dungeon master in high school, were these any inspiration?”

Eddie’s brows furrow deeply, jerking his head as swivels sharply upward. “Somehow it’d slipped my mind that you would know Dust.”

You nod absentmindedly, taking in the fantastical names in the description. Lysandra the princess, Eletha the fae, King Alistair… “Unfortunately.”

“Hmm,” he peeps, fluttering through the pages. “Aah, Sorceress Nyrinn teaching Lysandra basic magic, this takes me back.”

You smile down at him, how his dimples are deeply embedded in his cheeks and his front canines peek from behind that wide grin as he skims through his harlequin equivalent chock full of fantasy and adventure.

“Any of these girls you’ve ever fantasized about rescuing?” You tease him, starting to toss the books in a box labeled Eddie Home. He remains silent, even a pink tinge dusting his ears. “I was joking, sire.”

“Just keep packing,” he grumbles, tossing the book carelessly into your very organized box. “I’m gonna go take a quick smoke break.”

You find yourself fallen into an easy pattern, having figured out what Eddie’s looking to keep very early on. He’s even willing to go through the boxes that have been long stored at Wayne’s apartment, insisting they don’t need any dead weight, not in Wayne’s small sized room, and not lugged across a few state lines back in LA.

One of the boxes stored in Wayne’s closet seems like it was just thrown together until you realize they were all belongings of a teenage boy. A soft smile graces your face as you imagine Wayne unable to part with the little part of seventeen year old Eddie he still had with him, even if it’s his messy room thrown into a box.

You pick up a small shoe box, the items clunkily jumping about when you shake it. It’s only logical that the box should hold a few dozen player’s dice and painted figurines. The box’s heavy weight is largely contributed to by the worn out and outdated version of the player’s manual.

You take note of the sticky notes curled and faded peeking out of the pages, messy scrawl noting a page Eddie must’ve used for referral once or twice.

One set of dice had a familiar red and plank pattern, painted to look like his prized guitar. You smooth your thumb along the ridged paint, putting the box aside for Eddie despite the protests he will so obviously yelp out.

He deserves to be a bit more forgiving of that side of himself.

There were a handful of items you picked up and put aside for donation, a few old music tapes, a guitar string placement poster, until something catches your eye; a well loved classified notebook.

Now, you might’ve been wrong, but you always had the feeling that Eddie wasn’t too interested in his school work, all items from his locker having been tossed in the garbage the moment the last bell rang each year. As you tentatively open the book, you realize it was probably the one thing that kept him going back.

Each lined paper was filled with his messy scrawl, an intriguing combination of cursive and print, extensively detailed plans for his run as, so Dustin called him, a vindictive and tyrannical dungeon master. Across the scrawl were doodles, well shaded pencil drawings of creatures and classes alike. One page caught your eye towards the end, a full page of scattered doodles that seemed eerily familiar to you.

“Wow.” You look up to face Eddie leaned against the door frame with his arms across his chest, his eyes trained on the notebook in your hands. “I haven’t seen that in a while.”

You glance back down to the page and its doodles, still trying to make sense of where you could’ve seen it. As if plucked out of thin air, a song starts playing in your head and it clicks. “Hey you used these doodles on an album cover.”

He nods, watching your hands gently touch the graphite on the paper. “You could totally donate these to a rock and roll museum; they'd think it's dope.”

Eddie shakes his head, as if the idea was ridiculous. “No one wants to see my ratty old notebook filled with my dateless evenings. There’s not even a single lyric in there.”

“But this is on one of your albums, isn’t it?”

He nods, smiling softly at the abstract doodles before glancing up to you. “I don’t want it, I would never look at it. Take it, if you want.”

You were already tempted to steal it, the notebook having a scent that’s so specifically Eddie with an added elixir of teenage boy added to the mix making maybe your one true Kryptonite. “Whaaaaat? Why would I take it?”

“Steve said you’re a fan of our music, yeah?” You nod meekly, still tracing the graphite. “Well if not, it's going in the trash.”

You put it in your purse.

Since your father left that morning, so did the tether that kept your head on straight, any lingering ideas kept at bay as you kept a safe distance. It was gone.

Keeping a safe distance as an act of self discipline all but seemed moot when your dad offered your services, now stuck in a tiny apartment working around Eddie as his gentle voice hums to the music blasting through his phone.

Maybe a dress isn’t the best choice to wear for manual labor such as packing and moving boxes, the length obviously not long enough to cover the bright underwear. Maybe it's the little allowance you give yourself to indulge in defiance against your own rule. Regardless, it was safer to stay as far away as possible.

Fate proves herself to be a cruel mistress as you find yourself on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab something on a shelf you wondered why someone elderly had a shelf stored so high on the wall, and you smelt him before you felt him, reaching to the shelf’s level to grab it for you.

“Why the hell did he have a shelf this fuckin’ high for?” He huffs, tossing the hidden box onto the bed.

He steps away as fast as he came, leaving the room with a few boxes you had packed and ready. The moment clouds your brain, his strong torso completely against your back, his hot breath on your neck as he stepped away. What the hell?

Your heart pitter patters, your whole body frazzled while you put a few more boxes by the door.

As you’re leaning down to pick up another box you hear Eddie swear loudly down the hall in disgust. He uses the lord’s name in vain several times, rubbing his hand on his pants as his face twists up in utter revulsion when you peek out to see the culprit.

“Somethin’ gross? I don’t see anything wrong with this picture,” you comment, looking around his setting for what might have set him off.

“Don’t–” his hands fly up to prevent you from taking another step. His overly wide eyes and panicked state would usually have you laughing if you weren’t so curious to what could possibly send him into this frantic state of disgust. “You don’t want to know, trust me.”

“Now I really do want to know,” you insist, still scanning the room.

“No. You don’t.” He shakes his head solemnly, his foot slowly shuffling slightly to his left. “Seriously.”

“Can I at least have a hint?” You plead, knowing the possibilities will drive you crazy all day.

“I just found a box of my old clothes,” Eddie starts, gesturing to a kaleidoscope of different shades of black with an occasional band font, unfolded as if thrown in a hurry.

He obviously is hinting towards something, but you need some more exposition. “...Ok?”

Eddie pauses to think, hands on his hips as he racks his brain for something. “Think of it this way. Think of the one item of clothing you don’t want to find under a teenage boy’s bed, twenty years later. Especially twenty years later.” He shudders again.

The one thing…oh. “Oh my god,” you giggle, hiding your obvious glee over his disgust behind your hand. “A…sock?”

Eddie nods slowly, nodding his head in what must be mortification. “Uh huh. I am burning this whole bucket of clothes that just–” he shudders, his left foot inching towards where you had to now guess what must be an absolutely petrified cum-sock lies, “marinated in it.”

A bout of laughter passes through your lips again, disguising the odd intrigue you found yourself in. You might be more perverted than even you initially realized.

No, put away the thought of inhaling in the 20-year-old musk–

“Hey, do you mind helping me with this box? It’s ridiculously heavy,” Eddie gestures down the hall to a tote seemingly filled to the brim with random shit, the sock supposedly tossed into the garbage by then.

“No problem.”

“You want me to walk backward?” He offers, reaching your eyes as you both bend over to grab at the awkward edges.

“Yeah that’d be great,” You cough, failing to ignore the cigarette on his breath just barely disguised by the mint.

Step by step you help him around the corners until you help lift the box into his van, refusing to allow yourself more than a singular moment lingering on how his arms bulge through the lift.

Wayne had a bedside table he hadn’t gone through, filled with momentums over the years. You grab one of the smaller boxes from the living room to hold them, wanting to take care of the things that Wayne had cared for. There were a few photos, Eddie in scattered years from an angsty teenager to a rowdy kid with a missing front tooth. It was obvious everything in his bedside would be moved back to Wayne, allowing him his precious memories of the boy he cared for.

Allotted between the table and the bed is a photo album, something you suspect is cover to cover filled with more photos until you get the glimpse of a brightly coloured pape, just a millisecond but enough to peak your curiosity.

By the second page you’re in tears, softly sniffling at messy scribblings with silly puns and elaborate doodles.

“Hey, when you get a sec–” Eddie stops mid-sentence, taking you in on the bare bed as you weepily turn a page. “You okay?”

“Oh,” you wipe away the tear that was shed, embarrassed. “I’m fine. It’s just— it’s so obvious he went through this a lot, some pages are worn out.”

“Let’s see,” he holds his hand out for the photo album, a drop of weight on the bed as he peers shoulder to shoulder with you as he reads over the pages in front of you. “Oh, wow.”

You put the book in his outstretched hands, watching his expression turn misty as well. The deceitful photo album is an album of father’s day cards, about twenty of them all lined in a row with Eddie’s well wishes in each one.

“I started sending them when I was 25,” he mumbles, his voice wet as he turns a page. “I figured since he raised me n’ all, he deserved the title and the recognition.”

“Seems like he felt honored,” you comment, watching page by page.

“I picked these cards out in less than a second but he puts them in a pressed fucking photo album,” he laughs, shaking his head. “Wayne is ridiculous. But he’s always been my biggest supporter.”

Impulsively, you nudge your chin on his shoulder affectionately, watching him flip through the last through the final few pages. You wondered if his vulnerability making you even crazier for him would be an isolated incident.

God sure had a sick sense of humor when he tied emotion and lust for women.

Turns out, you two work remarkably well together because by the time Eddie places the photo album in the box with a not so subtle sniffle, Wayne’s room, kitchen, and livingroom are all packed up and ready for distribution. The things going home with Eddie and to Wayne’s room are in the van stacked like tetris with your very ‘helpful’ commentary and the donations are piled up by the front door waiting for their collection.

The little red corvette has been sitting in the hot sun for a few hours by the time you’re back into it, ready for a night off your feet.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” Eddie comments, taking a turn away from your house.

Your stomach growls at the mention of food, still only two slices of toast being the one thing used to sustain your appetite for the day. “I could definitely eat.”

“Good, I need to thank you for your help.”

You avoid his intense gaze from the corner of your eye, staring holes into your thighs. “It was nothing–”

“What’s your favourite spot in town?” Eddie seems to be ignoring your protests, meeting them with an exaggerated huff as if you were acting foolish.

“I don’t mind if you take me to the nearest one, Munson. I’m starving,” you insist, laughing at the manic shaking of his head.

“I’m not taking you anywhere except your favorite spot,” Eddie insists right back, without missing a beat.

No wonder he and Steve had managed to stay friends for so long, he matches your stubbornness step for step.

“Fine! Take me to Miss.Tina’s I haven’t had their burgers since I’ve been back,” you think back to their fully stacked burgers paired with their crinkle fries drizzled in mustard. You still haven’t been able to find a burger from a local restaurant near your campus that even rivals Miss.Tina’s recipe.

“Oh, I know you’re fucking with me,” Eddie laughs, taking the left turn at the traffic lights.

“Nope,” you inform him, shaking your head slowly. “It’s always been my favourite place in town.”

“Well call that dumb luck, because it’s my fuckin’ favourite place, too.”

“I take it back.”

You laugh at his deadpan, noting the new decor around the walls since the last time you’ve seen it.

“It’s not that bad.” It is, you’re just hoping he doesn’t leave because of the change.

“Are you shitting me?” Eddie deadpans, glancing around to the updated insides now turned into a hollow husk of a restaurant. At least, it certainly felt like the funeral march of your once beloved restaurant. “It’s a horrendous study in interior design. Who the hell paints the inside of a restaurant bright orange?”

“Ok, it’s that bad, but I just need a damn good burger.” You lead the way into the line, noting their updating point of sale. Last time you were there the employee had still been using a notepad, this time an iPad had been stationed on a stand.

The employee now wears some updated uniform barring the design, a bright smile on her face as she greets the two of you. Definitely not the deadened stare you were used to.

The mustard packet you received was a third of the size of what they used to be. It seems Miss.Tina’s has finally met empty corporate capitalism.

The decor might’ve changed, but the recipes remain as always untouched, a collective groan in satisfaction in your first bites in the tacky booth confirmation that Miss.Tina’s still fucks.

“If they change their recipe they are so screwed,” Eddie says exactly what you’re thinking between bites, wiping his face from the sauces that splatters his lips. As he wipes it off, you start to think of making out with him in the booth and lapping up and cleaning his messy face for him. Some real good messy make outs.

You nod, taking a sip from the large soda that must be at least 5 ounces smaller. “Oh, they’d shut down within the week.”

“This was one of the only few places where every group in Hawkins High could be seen, because they didn’t care when we loitered and Miss.Tina treated us like her own.” Eddie glances upward at a sign right by the table, NO LOITERING.

“That’s kind of really depressing,” you sigh, munching on your fry through a fucking wooden fork. “I am not sure I want these fries lathered in mustard enough to also add the taste of wood to it.”

“Plenty of wood has been tasted in these walls before,” Eddie smirks, raising his pierced brow when you choke on the following fry.

It’s like he prides himself on how he manages to make your brain short circuit so easily. Thankfully, years of being raised in the Harrington household has trained a keen sense of wit into you. “Judging on those princess books, Munson,” you take another sip, letting the beginning of your sentence settle in, “doesn’t seem like yours was one of them.”

The fry that bounced off your forehead the moment after was worth it, and the rosy pink that bloomed across his cheeks was even more so.

-

I have 99% done at this point I’m so excited for y’all to read it!!!

Main taglist: @arlxt @alastorssimp @mmunson86 @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinnschesthair @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you @names-were-taken @oddussy420

Taglist for Ice Cream, Bikinis, and Other Ways To Torture Him: @emxxblog @transparentenemypenguin @stylesxmunson @ali-r3n @mediocredreams @miaajaade @dreamerjj @prestinalove @pretty-pink-princess @alesiaaa @moonisu @love-anonymous-writer @marlena-marlena @bl1ssfulbaby @kellsck @rockmusiciscalming12 @eddie-munsonsbitch

[helluvapoison]

Feelings

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

imagine being a fallen angel and experiencing hunger for the first time

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

“Ow— Ow! Lucifer!” You screeched.

It takes him less than half a second to materialize before you. Demonic and beautiful just how the stories described him to be. Six ivory wings with crimson feathers stretched out to be your shield. His horns stretched tall, tail whipping to and fro and his honed teeth bared for the threat he couldn’t see. As a predator would asses the situation, Lucifer’s eyes, a blazing blood red, searched the area only to find you alone.

But.. you sounded hurt.

With hesitance, his features slowly ebbed away.

“What—“ He spun in a circle once more as if he was missing something. “What‘s happening? What is it?”

“I-I don’t know? It— ow!”

Suddenly you doubled over, clutching your stomach.

Lucifer was on one knee to keep your face in view, still furious at the oversight that escaped him and irrationally worried whatever it was would take you away from him. His hands hovered over your arms but didn’t dare touch. He looked every bit as terrified as you did. With no enemy to slay, he was left in the same darkness as well.

Neither of you would know what to do if you couldn’t explain.

Drawing in a shaking gasp, you muttered, “I don’t understand, it-it hurts.”

“Where? Where does it hurt? I can help you, just tell me.”

You only clutched your stomach tighter. The pain was unlike when you fell but remained just as intense. The thought of this being your new normal was paralyzing. How could anyone live this way? How would you survive? How did Lucifer?

“Your—“ Lucifer sighed heavily, shutting his eyes and allowing a weak smile to tug at one corner of his mouth. Relief. “I see. Ok, don’t worry. You’re ok, darling. I can fix this easy-peasy! You’re hungry.”

“What is that?”

His face scrunched tight as he looked for the words in the air, “It’s… It’s famine? You know, like in the mortal realm? But just here.”

He pointed at your stomach before rising to his feet. The look on your face when he stepped away was a dagger to his heart.

Don’t leave me alone, he swore your eyes begged him.

Perhaps he merely saw his own reflection in them.

Debating on waiting for you to follow (which he would’ve done; he would’ve waited for eternity) or bolting to grab something, Lucifer chose the latter.

Leaving you was hard enough as it stands— and it wasn’t getting any easier— but he would find a way to do both. One problem at a time.

“Don’t move. I’ll be right back,” He reassured, “Ok?”

You’d reply was weak and uncertain. It twisted the blade lodged in his heart.

“Ok.”

He’s never moved so fast in his fucking life.

If he had time he would’ve made you something nicer from scratch. Lucifer used to love making breakfast. If he had time he would’ve had his cooks prepare a 7 course meal. If he had time he would’ve had you sample as many dishes as you could stand to find one you like. If he had time he would’ve sat with you and found out your favorite foods. He’d find a way to recreate them in Hell.

If he had noticed, you wouldn’t be hurting at all.

But there was no time for any of that. Not for if’s and definitely not for a pity party.

Lucifer returned before you with a blue-ish pastry that almost looked like a muffin. Almost… Not really. You glanced at him once to find a tiny, calm smile that put your worries back to bed before they could rise. If you could trust anyone down here, you knew it would be him.

Since you refused to release your hold on yourself, afraid your stomach would collapse, Lucifer took it upon himself to lift the pastry to your mouth. You hoped your hesitance was overlooked. He certainly didn’t comment on it.

It didn’t taste like anything. Specifically, it didn’t taste bad so your reluctance was overruled by hunger. You took the blob from Lucifer and ate slowly though you wanted to inhale the damn thing.

“I have these when I forget to eat too. They’ll do the job alright. Give it a few minutes to work his magic and— presto! We’ll get you some real food.”

“How could you possibly forget to eat when it feels like this?” You said through a mouthful of whatever-this-was.

“It get’s easier,” Lucifer let a breath of a laugh out, shaking his head. His mirth faded slowly yet simultaneously suddenly. “I’m sorry I let this happen. I didn’t—“ He squints, blinks and sighs, defeated, “I should’ve remembered this.”

You tilted your head, “This?”

“The first time I experienced… everything, I guess. Hunger was one of them,” Deep in thought, Lucifer tapped his chin, “Not the worst of them but the first time was pretty awful.”

Your eyes bulged out of your head slightly, “There’s more?”

Lucifer groaned in agreement, sharing in your horror.

“There’s a lot more.” Looking at you he realized his mistake and corrected it too late, “B-But I’m here! I went through it all so I’ll have all the answers for you!” His hands took your own, squeezing them, “You don’t have to do this alone. Ok?”

You squeezed his hands back.

“Ok.”

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ have this idea i had for my oc but i made it enjoyable for all! this might become a series, we’ll see

[vhaos-chaotic-writing]

(TFP) Yandere!Autobots - Types of yandere

WARNING: Yandere behaviour, yandere harem, describing types of yandere, typical violence from the series and a little bit more, Reader is gender neutral and in the Autobot faction. Use of (Y/N) (minimun).

Optimus Prime is an overprotective yandere.

Clear from the start - even before the war, the Prime hated the idea of you being hurt or in any kind of pain, either if it was physical or emotional. He can't help but always think of your safety, even if it meant to keep you locked inside of the base.

His presence is overbearing, always there behind your back and acting as your shadow. You don't bring yourself to ask kindly to have some privacy or be allowed to do more than just rather small tasks at the base - he looks so happy being by your side and always looks like his spark is breaking in half if you express the minimun discomfort.

Ratchet is an obsessive yandere.

Servo on servo with Optimus, he is quite overprotective too. But what makes him different from Optimus is that Ratchet gets hysteric and euphoric in the blink of an optic if it is about you. You would get scared to see the many things he keeps and knows about you.

Knows everything about you, both in the medical field and personally for he is the bot you get to pass more time as the others are out on their missions. Has his optics on you nearly all the time, analizing and keeping every little detail, data and informatiom about you. When he is all alone or with any of his teammates, he gushes quietly about you, spilling every little detail he learned recently or holds dearly to his systems.

Bumblebee is a self-aware yandere.

From the bunch, Bee is the one to know what he and the others are doing is wrong. More than wrong. They were holding you hostage, lying to you, their love for you reaching sickening levels, and he is sick of himself... but can't bring himself to stop. His self-awareness then translates to a validation-seeking behaviour.

He needs your smile, your words of approval, your soft praise, your gentle touch - everything so he doesn't crumble down. He feels lost without you, that's why he is always following you and doing anything so you can look at him with those precious optics of yours that make Bee forget for a moment that what he is doing is wrong.

Bulkhead and Wheeljack are clingy yanderes.

Something that makes them different from one another is how their clinginess is masked - while Wheeljack flirts and tries to woo you, Bulkhead gives you small gifts and wishes to pass time with you. Wheeljack loudly demands your attention with flirting, compliments and keeping a servo on you, while Bulkhead does it quietly, his gifts always accompanied with a 'would you like to pass time together?' or 'wanna train together?'

You are their universe - they must be around you to feel alive and in calm. Spare them a glance, a word, anything and they'll melt and wish for more.

Arcee is a violent yandere.

Like Bee, Arcee is self-aware, but it is her love for you that moves her wrath, and viceversa - her anger moves her devotion for you. Arcee had lost many loved ones, like Tailgate and Cliffjumper, stucked in a cycle of grief, spiraling in the anger stage. But the anger is never directed at you (never, ever), but at the Decepticons and anyone who stands in her and her team's way to protect you.

You bring peace to her hurt soul, making her fall deeper in love for you - but once you turn your optics away, her anger is back, ready to destroy everything if it means to show you how much she loves you. And you've witnessed how her hysteria taking over, to then melt the moment she gets to see you, bringing her tranquility.

Smokescreen and Cliffjumper are worshipping yanderes.

Oh, Primus - if Cliffjumper was still alive, he and Smokescreen would be a helmache whenever both opened their mouths, as they would talk non-stop about how amazing, precious and unique you are. While Smokescreen is a 100% worshipper "(Y/N) is a flawless deity!", Cliffjumper is a worshipper that acts normal in front of you, but once you leave, he talks and talks about you, praising anything you do.

Both definitely lean on the stalkering side, too - and in their optics, you are free of any sin, of any flaw. You are perfect. And if you give them a small compliment? They feel this rush of euphoria.

Ultra Magnus is a passive lovestruck yandere.

In front of others, Ultra Magnus does his job as an autobot, following Optimus' orders and guiding his teammates. But when he is all alone with you, he changes - he seems to be in a passive, dream-like state, as all he does is sigh, kneel in front of you and whisper his prayers, holding your servo and begging softly for your benevolence and blessing.

Like others, he is also a worshipper, but a very soft, calm one - for his worshipping must be only for you to hear. He prays everyday to be worthy of you, to be your knight in shinning armour. Ultra Magnus will always view you as an angel, an ethereal being and sigh his spark out of love for you.

Hope y'all liked it! (*^▽^*) Vhaos out!

[torrancefavgirl]

i was wondering if you could do an enemies to lover smut with percy jackson and reader??? like she beats him in a sword fight and then he takes his anger out on her in poseidon's cabin? but it starts as hate sex but turns into loving sex?

(Ride it) just lose control

Pairing: enemies to lovers percy jackson x reader

Warnings: language, smut 18+, couple uses of y/n

Y/n didn't wanna wake up or get out of bed today. You may ask why it's a beautiful spring day and the weather is absolutely amazing. Well, she had a sparring session today with the person who she would describe as the definition of the word 'asshole' and 'piece of shit', and that is percy jackson himself.

She tried to go on about her day trying not to think about the shit she has to do after lunch today. She would absolutely rather be on dish washing duty for a whole week than to be in Percy's presence. She couldn't even look at him without wanting to rip his face to shreds. But, she still found herself starring at him. How his black hair looks good even after he just rolled out of bed and how...

"Okay what the fuck are you doing stop it" she thought to herself shaking her head a bit.

It's been 15 minutes since they started sparring. They're both sweating buckets and they both wanna get this over with.

Percy was stressed the fuck out because she was winning. The reason why she was training with him anyway was because she wanted to get better but she's somehow beating him.

Y/n was having the time of her life seeing him so worked up over a little sparring match.

"Are you sure you're the best around here?, cause I rarely pick up a sword and I'm winning" she said looking at him with a smirk.

"You need to drop the attitude or you're not gonna like what's gonna happen" percy said through gritted teeth.

Not even a second later he was disarmed and she had the tip of her sword on his Adam's apple.

They were both breathing hard and heavy it was hot as shit now. Percy's shirt stuck to his abdomen making her eyes suddenly drop on accident. He smirked seeing where she was looking.

She swore she could she incredible fury and anger in Percy's eyes over a stupid sword fight. But then he grabbed her sword and threw it on the ground.

"Drop. The. Attitude. Now." He said grabbing her face tightly squishing her cheeks.

"Or fucking what?" She said biting back.

Percy all of a sudden grabs her hand tightening his grip and dragging her to the poseidon cabin.

He closed the door behind him and threw her on the bed.

"What the fuck are you doing??" She said absolutely shocked at his behavior.

"You need someone to fuck the attitude out of you don't you?" He said taking his shirt off and crashing his lips to hers.

He bit her bottom lip and shoved his tongue in her mouth while touching all over her body. She started getting hot, secretly having thought about this too many times late at night alone in her cabin.

She kept kissing his lips till they couldn't function anymore.

"I need you now" percy said looking into her eyes.

"Then have me" She said kissing him aggressively again.

Percy flipped them over looking up at her.

"Ride me" He said in a demanding tone

"Aren't you like the guy you're supposed to take care of me during shit like this?" She lifts a brow in question.

" will with that attitude you gotta take care of both of us now pretty girl" He said slapping her ass.

She jolted forward out of surprise. Then began stripping and teasing him with her body. Gently swaying her hips on top of him. He immediately grabs her tits not believing that this is actually happening and the girl he wants but hates the most is naked in front of him right now.

She sank down onto his cock feeling the amazing but painful stretch of him. His tip nudging her cervix.

She started to move throwing her head back and putting her hands on his chest.

"Omg who would've thought you'd feel this fucking good?" She says moaning.

"Faster baby you can do it" percy egged her on.

She tried to go faster but couldn't. Percy was sick of it so he grabbed her hips slamming into her In a brutal force.

She was moaning like crazy and practically screaming his name. Percy looks down seeing the milky ring around his shaft from her pussy.

" holy fucking God, if only people knew how much you actually hate me right now, huh?" He says taunting her. She looks at him with teary eyes from the pleasure.

"Hey, hey baby you okay? Am I going too hard? I'm so sorry pretty girl" percy says stopping, hugging her to his chest.

"I'm okay I promise" She says softly whispering the words on his lips. He kept her close to his chest looking at her to check if it's okay to keep going.

She slightly nodded to let him know to keep going. He starts moving again but so slow and so sweet this time, taking all his time with her.

The truth is percy always had a crush on her but she hated him since the beginning for some reason so he didn't know what to do but reciprocate the hate back.

But y/n she liked percy ever since they met, she just didn't know how to deal with her feelings. She realizes that's no excuse for treating him that way, but she was just a kid afraid of her feelings.

Percy kept trusting into her, kissing her passionately, holding her to his chest feeling like she's going to disappear.

Moaning into each other's mouths "I'm gonna cum percy" she says looking at him with blury eyes.

"It's okay, baby cum for me come one. That's my good girl good job" He said praising her to no end while she spasms around his thick cock. He thrusts a couple more times before Cumming too.

They laid there in each other's arms so happy they finally got their feelings out of the way.

Y/n was falling asleep when percy gently kissed her face to wake her.

"Baby let's clean up together first before we sleep okay?" He said stroking her hair

"Mhmmm" She hums clearly out of it but agreeing with him.

Percy carries her to the bathroom in his cabin to clean her up. Then he tucks them both in all cozy.

"Goodnight, baby sweet dreams, we'll talk tomorrow" He says, kissing her forehead before passing out himself.

[v3nomly]

𝐌𝐲 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 — 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐃 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

• characters — Gwayne Hightower ; Davos Blackwood ; Cregan Stark ; Jacaerys Velaryon ; GN Reader

• synopsis — I made this post, stating I can describe any fictional characters cock in detail. As promised, here is the second batch of characters requested.

• tags & warnings — smut, hand jobs, penetrative sex, outdoor sex.

• a/n — Wowza, another one in the bag. I had told myself I was only going to write 100 words per character, but I wrote nearly double. Anyways, next up Genshin men. Request are open!

Main Masterlist | Other Parts

— 𝐆𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫

Gwayne is a man of honor, and as such the intricacy of his cock were hidden away until your wedding night. At first, he was almost bashful at your hasty hands, which had ducked under his waistline before the door closed. When your hands wrap around his already hardening length, he can’t help but lean into you. 

You bite your lip as you guide him back to bed, giggling slightly at the speed at which he removes his layers. Freeing cock, which sits leaking and flushed, his shaft freckled and tip partially pink. 

Ser Gwayne may play the part of a cocky knight, but within the privacy of your room, he is loyal to nothing but you. He’s practically on the verge of coming undone and you’ve barely touched him. Delicate are your fingers as they dance across his flesh in curiosity. Eye wide as you watch every twitch of his cock and hitch of his breath.

— 𝐃𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐬 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝

You learned quickly that Davos is insatiable when it comes to you. It doesn’t matter where you are, somehow his hands always find your hips, pulling your ass against his clothed cock, and grinding it into you with a needy groan. Even through the fabric, you can feel the strain of his thick cock, begging to be buried inside you. 

“Need you,” he begs, voice heavy with lust. 

You’ve grown used to the rough feeling of bark against your back. Davos will take you anywhere and everywhere he can. He can’t deny he loves the risk of getting caught, of someone catching you in such a debauched state, taking his cock so well. 

He holds your legs, bracing your weight against himself as he ruts into you again and again. His fat tip stretches you to swallow all of him, your juices leaking down his shaft in a way that drives him crazy. At this angle, you can feel every inch of him, every minute twitch of his cock, and the subtle curve that drags inside of you so perfectly.

— 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤

One wouldn’t need to fuck Cregan to gather that he’s well-endowed. The man is large and imposing and his cock is no different. It didn’t matter how many times he took you or how he took you, it always had you seeing stars. He could fuck you fast or slow, it didn’t matter, you’d be a cock dumb mess by the end of it. 

It doesn’t matter how needy you are for him, Cregan is insistent on making you cum at least once before he fucks you. Little does he know you crave the burn of stretching around his fat cock. The light pain quickly turns to blinding pleasure once he sets his pace, leaving you clawing at the bed sheets and whining for more. 

“Doing so good for me, sweet girl,” he praises, his eyes trained on the sight of you taking him.

— 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧

Jacaerys Velaryon was surely closer to the gods than an average man. He was handsome in every sense of the word, from his looks to his princely charm. Yet, he had this air about him as if he didn’t know it. He sits before you, not as his mother's heir, but as your lover. Sweet nothings fall from his lips as watches you with half-lidded eyes. 

Not afraid to let you take the lead, his hands ball into his sheets. His breath catches in his throat as you kiss along his thighs growing oh so close to his long aching cock before continuing upward to his navel. 

“Stop teasing,” Jacaerys finally moans, lifting himself to try and rut against you, desperate for some sort of friction. You can’t help but giggle, he sounds so cute when he begs, and you can’t deny him when his cock looks so pretty. It was as if someone had ripped a page from a romance novel giving you the perfectly crafted man and his perfectly crafted cock.

© 2024 v3nomly do not plagiarize, translate, or repost my writing to any other site.

[ughdontbeboring]

Black Robe

Feyd x WoC Reader (can be read by anyone tho)

you try to win over Feyds sentimental side (and cock) to avoid punishment.

warnings: Feyd bc let’s be real, a little smut

note: even though it’s short this is NOT the WIP I’m supposed to be working on but here we are 🙂 I seen TikTok’s of girls flashing their men during arguments so situation is inspired by that. I literally just wrote this during work hours haha 😅

🗡️

The long flowy black silk you opted for did nothing to shield your body from the slight chill that always seemed to embrace the fortress but it was his favorite. Not because it was the prettiest but because it was the one you wore the night you finally allowed him to have you. The night he completely ruined you.

He had been blind sided by your sudden appearance in his bedchambers that night. He knew it was you because no one else could open the door with their palm, only you have that privilege anyone else had to be granted entry. Though it didn’t mean he’d ever expected you to come to him to even make use of that privilege. You were so frighten of him in the beginning, your fear and curiosity drove him to fist his cock many nights when sinking himself into another no longer brought him the relief he sought.

A special key card that had specific times slots approved before hand by his palm. One unfortunate slave learned that deadly lesson when she hadn’t finished cleaning his room within the allotted time. She was still trapped inside when the Na Baron came back from a blood rage that hadn’t been quenched.

So this robe had sentimental meaning, it was odd thinking of such a word to describe how a Harkonnen could ever feel about anything let alone him.  But now you knew him in a way no one does and NEVER will. Not even his beloved darlings knew this kindness from him, knew of this love he held only for you.

So here you stand banking on all that to spare you what would surely come. Not that you wouldn’t enjoy it mostly but you knew this grievance demanded pain and you were still sore for your slow fucking this morning before he left you for the day. Thinking his little wife would surely do as she was told.

Your eyes trained on the door that fit seamlessly into the black wall. Your breathing foolishly starts to settle before spiking at the sounds of his shouts. The deep rasp somehow heard perfectly through the thick walls. The door slowly opens with a soft mechanical gust of wind.

You tense as his eyes find the spot immediately. Of course he already knows exactly where it is, the little red mark on your cheek bone. His stormy ocean blue eyes, the same as your home planet find yours almost instantly after his quick examination.

The air is knocked out of you, and if you hadn’t spent the time with him that you did over the course of the last 6 months you would have fallen over from the impact of his raging stare alone. Only now you know it’s never really at you, even when it is your fault. You also know now that he would never hurt you in a way you hadn’t asked for. 

His sharp eyes roam over the robe and he hesitates for a moment. 

Good you think. 

“Hus-“

“I find it hard to believe I didn’t make myself clear this morning” He says cutting you off swiftly with whatever’s plea was bound to spill.

“Fe-“

“You do not listen little wife, you were not to spare with anyone but me”

“I know but yo-“

“YOU DISOBEYED M-“ He starts to roar before his plush lips fall open for a moment before his mind quickly adjust to the view before him.

Your black robe pools at your feet as your whole body pricks from the chill and the hunger that instantly forms in your husband’s eyes before even he realizes.

You can tell he’s stuck between punishing you and just enjoying you without making a point.

You’re so lost in your own thoughts you don’t notice how quickly he approaches. Within seconds he’s before you towering above you. And you know you’ve got him when his large hand wraps around your neck causing you to look up at him from under your lashes.

“Your sweet cunt will not get you out of your punishment dear wife” He rasps as his hard clothed cock ruts into your stomach.

“Then what will Husband?” You ask trying to hold back your moans as you hold eye contact with the universes most feared man.

A wicked black smile is your only response.

You’re in such a daze from the passionate kiss your lips are suddenly trapped in by the beautiful man before you that your foggy brain doesn’t process the rest of his movements.

Your mind tries to catch up with your legs that are wrapping around his waist, his large battle ready hands gripping harshly into the globes of your ass cheeks and how suddenly the large bulbous head of his almost purple cock filled with black blood is pushing past your wet folds. You gasp as your forehead leans into his. Both of your breathing wet and heavy, your lips ghosting over each others.

“You may escape your punishment just yet sweet one, the solider already paid dearly for you both” He rasps with a condescending tone as he drops you down onto his large thick cock.

You don’t even have a second to respond to his words as you scream out. Your body completely overwhelmed by the size of him, every-time feeling like the first all those months ago in the most deliciously painful way. You’re sure your finger nails have broken skin on his upper back as you try to hold on. You soak in the deep animalistic groan that rips from his chest at the feel of you so tight and wet around him.

Your husband Feyd fucks you down on his cock like his own personal sex toy as your mind slips further and further away from the poor soldier who paid with his life for sparing with you after you begged him too.

When you aren’t being spilt open on your husbands impressive cock you’ll scold yourself and take note to be more mindful of how disposable the lives around yours are.

😅😮‍💨

[indigovigilance]

The Final Fifteen is about Terry Pratchett's Death

read on Ao3

The final fifteen is obviously a major plot point, and serves a role in a story that was written long before Terry Pratchett was ever diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. But the scene itself wasn’t written until just a few years ago, during the writing of Season 2. In fact, the scene came about during a park bench conversation between Neil Gaiman and John Finnemore.

Others have noted that the non-romantic kiss that signals the story moving into the third act is a Neil Gaiman staple. The function of such a kiss, from Gaiman’s perspective, is to communicate.

In 2023 we are seeing a lot of stories written by men, for men, about men who are best friends and discover that their friendship can go deeper than the norms of society would usually allow; that platonic and romantic love are not so far apart, and perhaps the better word for a relationship that can be described this way is intimacy.

Neil Gaiman has made it clear in interviews that his friendship with Terry Pratchett was deeply intimate. They began collaborating on what would become Good Omens in the 1980’s, endured a tumultuous experience together through the first publication, wherein Neil offered to martyr himself on behalf of Terry if the book failed, and then spent the better part of two decades touring the world, meeting the people who loved their work. Neil would even off-handedly remark that Terry’s fans were so cheerful, and Neil’s seemed like they were ready to kill themselves; wouldn’t it be nice if they got married? From the outside, it looks very much as if Terry was Aziraphale-coded, and Neil was Crowley-coded, working together in an unexpected partnership to make the world a little bit more tolerable for the humans inhabiting it. I am not conjecturing that Neil and Terry had romantic inclinations the way their fictional characters do, but I think it is fair to say that their opposites-attract intimacy became an important part of who each of them were.

In 2007 Terry Pratchett was diagnosed with posterior cortical atrophy, a rare form of Alzheimer’s. As the disease progressed, he began to lose himself, and knew that the person he used to be was slipping away. He wanted to end his life on his own terms, and die as himself, but England did not and still does not allow for voluntary euthanasia or assisted suicide. He advocated for the right to die but never achieved it, and ultimately succumbed to the disease in 2015. Neil Gaiman has spoken a lot on the topic of death, and one answer of his that resonated with me reads:

Mostly it feels terrible. It even feels terrible when it’s someone who has been in a lot of pain for a long time or has not really been there for a long time and you know that Death has in some ways been a blessing: suddenly you are mourning the whole person. 

It doesn’t get easier as you age. It gets stranger. The point where you realise how many people you used to know and like who aren’t there any longer, and you cannot talk to them or see them or laugh with them is painful in a way that I had never expected. The first time that someone you had a romantic relationship with dies and you realise that there had been moments both of you shared and now you are the sole custodian of those moments and one day you will be gone and they will be lost forever is peculiarly strange and hard. 

~~~

The entire show is seeded with references to Terry Pratchett, but the most important one is the one that’s missing. Neil Gaiman cameoed as a sleeping moviegoer in S1E4, but a long time ago, he and Terry had discussed cameoing as sushi restaurant-goers, because sushi was weirdly prominent in the book. That cameo would have been in S1E1. But when it came time to do it, Neil couldn’t. Not without Terry. 

Neil: I was gonna say our location is a Chinese restaurant we’d had turned into a sushi restaurant. So Terry and I, Terry Pratchett and I, had a standing… not even a standing joke, just a standing plan, that we were going to have sushi - there was going to be a scene in Good Omens where sushi was eaten and we were gonna be extras, we were gonna sit in the background, eating sushi while it was done. And I was so looking forward to this and, so I wrote this scene with it being sushi, even though Terry was gone, with that in mind and I thought: Oh, I’ll sit and I’ll eat lots of sushi as an extra, this will be my scene as an extra, I’ll just be in the background. And then, on the day, or a couple of days before, I realized that I couldn’t do it.

Douglas: You never told me this before either. I might have pushed you into doing it, had I known. I think you were right not to tell me.

Neil: I was keeping it to me self ‘cause I was always like: Oh, maybe I’ll be… this will be my cameo. And then I couldn’t. I was just so sad, ‘cause Terry wasn’t there. And it was probably the day that I missed Terry the most of all of the filming - it was just this one scene ‘cause it was written for Terry and all of the sushi meals we’d ever had and all of the strange way that sushi ran through Good Omens.

~~~

In the Final Fifteen, it is clear that Crowley and Aziraphale want to stay together. They love each other. They each know that the other loves them. There’s nothing that needs to be said, no convincing that their bond is true and real and precious.

But Aziraphale has to go to Heaven, and Crowley cannot follow him there.

I cannot speculate what it must have been like for Neil to endure losing a friend who, though I’m sure he desperately wanted to still be in his life, he also knew that life had become a burden to him, and grieved that Terry was not able to choose the time and manner of his departure from this Earth. This sort of complex grief, we fan-ficcers know, is the kind that is often best processed through story-telling. 

I think that what we see Crowley going through in the Final Fifteen, alongside its importance to the story arc of Good Omens overall, is Neil processing his grief at losing his friend Terry Pratchett, and even the kiss, that violent, terrible, awful kiss, was the symbolic representation of Neil saying goodbye.

[riordanness]

slow motion, double vision - [w.scobell]

wordcount: 0.8K

warnings: self harm (reader)

requested: yes!

a/n: please do not read this if you struggle with self harm and won’t feel comfortable reading about it (it’s not described at all and reader doesn’t do it in this but it’s said that she has and a brief description of her wrist is also in this. don’t read this if you aren’t going to cope with that. and if you are struggling w self harm, reach out to me, please!! <3)

Another day on the Percy Jackson set. Today, we are filming a scene between Percy and Annabeth, an argument.

Walker gives me a grin once he’s finished up with the makeup crew. “Hey, you,” he says with an easy smile.

I try to replicate it. Walker has this gift. He’s so good at it. At everything. Life, acting, smiling.

All the things I struggle with.

“Hey,” I say back. “Looking good.”

“Says you.” He gives me an appreciative look. “My girlfriend looks adorable.”

I immediately get flustered. No matter how many days I’m dating Walker for, I think him calling me his girlfriend will always make me flutter inside.

“I'm not your girlfriend anymore,” I joke. “I’m Annabeth Chase, Seaweed Brain.”

He grins. “See you out there.”

As soon as he’s gone, my heart sinks again. It’s like he’s the only thing in the world that brings any kind of light to my darkness. The only smile on my sad face. The only sweet words I can say.

“The chair is the bargain,” Walker, as Percy, says. “One of us goes in, the other gets the shield.”

“I’ll do it,” I say, stepping forward, a determined look on my face.

“What? What a minute!” Walker reaches over and grabs my wrist. A flicker of pain crosses my features, but quick as lighting, I go back into character, hoping he didn’t notice.

“Whoever goes in isn’t coming out!” I say, my voice rising a little at the end.

“I know, that’s why I said wait.”

“This isn’t the arch, Seaweed Brain,” I snap in response.

“Cut!” someone yells, and I instantly break character, as does Walker.

The directing team is talking amongst themselves, which is usually a sign for us to just chat and wait for them to be ready to film again.

“Hey,” Walker comes close to me, his voice quiet. “Are you okay?”

I look at him, feigning a frown. “Course I’m okay. Why?”

He looks concerned, his blue eyes staring deep into mine. “You flinched just now. When I grabbed you.”

“Oh,” I laugh, which comes out so brittle I almost wince. “Nah, it’s all good. Just acting.” I’m brushing him off, and he knows that.

“I’m gonna grab a drink,” I tell him, and disappear before he can argue with me about it.

He finds me in the bathrooms. I’m standing over a sink, gripping the sides like a dramatic Draco Malfoy-wannabe. I have tears in my eyes, but the second I hear someone behind me, I brush them away.

“Y/n?” Walker asks quietly. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

I can’t answer, his sweet words just making me want to cry harder. I can only shake my head.

He buries me in a hug, his chin on top of my head, and his arms encircling me tightly. “Love,” he says again, speaking softly into my hair, “tell me what’s wrong.”

“Walker, I—“ I cannot bring myself to say the words, so I pull back from the hug, and pull up the sleeve of my Annabeth jacket. Across the inside of my left wrist are stripes of harsh red, jagged and fresh.

Walker’s eyes shatter, a million emotions and words and thoughts all inside their clear blue at once. His mouth opens a little.

“Y/n—“

“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I’m so so sorry.”

He immediately folds me back into his arms. “You have no reason to be sorry,” he says roughly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you feel this awful about yourself. I’m so sorry you felt like you had no other choice. But please—“ I can tell by his voice that he’s upset. Somehow, that makes me feel even worse.

“Please come talk to me before you do something like that,” he whispers.

“Okay,” I manage.

“Do you promise?” he asks, his voice ragged.

“I promise on the River Styx.”

I feel his smile through my hair. “I love you.”

I smile too, his warmth and love spreading through me like an antidote. “I love you too, Walk.”

He pulls away from the hug, his fingertips brushing the broken skin of my wrist as lightly as he can. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get this cleaned and dressed properly, okay?”

I let him take me by the hand, and for the first time in my life, I feel completely and totally safe and understood.

With him.