#they have blood and guts and muscles and bones

[luvvictoria]

The Mission That Changed Everything

+ pairings. simon "ghost" riley x f!reader

+ tags. romance, heavy (?) angst, slow-burn, action-packed military romance with angst and tension

+ summary. A skilled Air Force pilot is assigned to provide air support for a mission alongside Task Force 141, specifically working with the infamous Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley. You immediately feel the tension in the room, as Ghost is cold, distant, and unapproachable. Despite the pilot's efforts to be professional, it’s clear that Ghost doesn’t trust easily, especially not outsiders. The mission itself is simple — clear the skies while the ground team breaches a weapons facility — but the dynamic between you and Ghost is far from smooth. Your mutual dislike is evident.

+ materialist ; prev. part ; next part.

+ a/n. Reblog with your favorite line! It would help me to grow my account !! Thank you in advance. Thank you so much for your support ! It means very much to me! Also if you want to take a little peek at the next chapter here is my ko-fi !!

The mission was a disaster. A complete, overwhelming disaster. The kind of disaster you couldn’t see coming, but the moment it hit, it shattered everything.

One moment, you were slicing through the skies, the hum of your jet’s engines a steady rhythm, your fingers dancing over the controls as you executed the flawless maneuvers you had perfected over years of training. The air was clear, the mission parameters as simple as they came: provide air support, neutralize hostile targets, ensure the ground team could complete their objective. But the next second, the world went to hell.

A sudden, violent jolt rocked the cockpit, throwing your body against the harness with a force that left your chest heaving. The world flipped upside down, disorienting you completely. A flash of fire filled your peripheral vision, bright and blinding, followed by a gut-wrenching screech as metal collided with metal in a way that was almost deafening. The jet’s frame shuddered violently, groaning under the brutal assault, and the overwhelming sensation of chaos washed over you. Your hands were glued to the controls, but the jet seemed to have a mind of its own, fighting against your every attempt to regain stability. Your heart pounded in your chest, blood thundering in your ears. You could feel the vibrations reverberating deep into your bones, every tiny tremor amplifying the danger you were in. The pressure of the impact intensified everything — time seemed to stretch and bend, and your vision blurred in the haze of panic. The cockpit felt as though it were collapsing around you, the warning lights flashing in a strobe-like effect, further disorienting you. The world outside the glass cockpit was a haze of flames and smoke, and you couldn’t tell up from down.

Alarms screamed — louder than the deafening roar of the jet’s dying engine. It was a shrill, unbearable sound, drilling into your skull, pounding relentlessly, and making it impossible to think clearly. You could feel the shrieks vibrating through your teeth, a physical sensation that made every nerve in your body stand on end. Red lights blinked frantically across the console, flashing in a chaotic frenzy, illuminating the darkness around you like some twisted, warning beacon. The acrid scent of burning fuel seeped into the cockpit, thick and suffocating, and you could taste it in the back of your throat. It was like inhaling poison. Your eyes watered as the smoke began to fill the confined space, but your focus remained fixed on the instruments, trying desperately to read them, to understand what was happening. Your brain struggled to process the data flashing in front of you, but it was a blur, impossible to make sense of. The dashboard flickered and sputtered, flicking between life and death, before finally going black. It was a final warning. The jet was done.

Then, the adrenaline hit. It surged through your veins like a live wire, electrifying every muscle, every nerve in your body. It shot through you with such force that it made you dizzy, sharpening your senses to a level of clarity that was both terrifying and necessary. Every fiber of your being was alive with panic and instinct, the fight-or-flight response taking over completely. Your hands were already moving before your mind could even fully comprehend the danger. There was no time to waste. The instinct to survive kicked in, and everything else — everything else that was even remotely important — became secondary.

You didn’t think, you just acted. Your fingers fumbled, trembling with a mix of terror and resolve, as you grabbed the ejector seat lever. Your palms were slick with sweat, but you didn’t hesitate. You pulled it. The world around you exploded as the ejector seat launched you violently from the cockpit. Your body jerked so hard it felt like your bones might snap, the force of it slamming against your ribs. The breath was knocked out of you, a harsh, gut-wrenching gasp escaping your lungs. The world outside became a blur of motion. The air rushed by you in a deafening whoosh, the speed and force of the fall too fast to process. For one split second, you felt like you were suspended in time, weightless, as if the world had gone completely still. There was nothing but you, the terrifying feeling of falling, and the jagged edges of the chaos you had just escaped. Your body trembled in the void, your senses still reeling from the jolt, your mind scrambled as you tried to focus on the parachute deployment. But it was as though time itself had frozen, and every movement, every breath, every heartbeat felt too loud, too real.

Then came the chaos of descent.

The world seemed to explode around you as your parachute deployed with a deafening snap that tore through the air, a sound so loud it rattled your bones. The violent jerk yanked you upward, your body suddenly weightless before it was yanked down again with an immense force that tugged at your very core. The harness dug into your shoulders and waist as the chute unfurled, but it wasn’t enough to steady you. You were tossed into a wild, uncontrollable tumble through the air, spinning, twisting, the ground below still far too distant but rapidly approaching. Every second felt like an eternity. The wind ripped at your body, biting at your skin and pulling at your limbs as though trying to tear you apart. Your clothes flapped against your body, the parachute above you billowing and flapping in defiance. You felt your muscles scream in protest as they strained against the g-force, your arms and legs struggling to adjust to the intense pressure.

The air, thick with the bitter scent of smoke and fire, tore at your face, stinging your eyes, making it impossible to see anything clearly. The pressure against your chest felt like it might crush you, but there was no time to think about that. The wind was like a living thing, battering at you, pushing you in every direction. Each gust threatened to throw you off course, each violent movement of your body felt like a mistake, like something more was trying to go wrong. You couldn’t control it. You couldn’t stop it.

The trees below rushed toward you, their jagged, skeletal forms appearing far too close, far too fast. A thick forest of sharp edges and twisting trunks, a maze of branches, waiting to snatch you from the sky. You couldn’t outrun them. You couldn’t avoid them. Every breath felt ragged, torn from you by the sheer speed of your descent. The trees loomed larger with every passing second, their dark outlines becoming more defined, their dangerous spires more menacing.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, each beat a loud echo in your ears as the ground below you—the earth, the rocks, the forest floor—rushed up at you with terrifying speed. The ground was coming for you fast, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. No more time for maneuvering, no more time to brace yourself. The world spun uncontrollably, a dizzying blur of green, brown, and sky.

You braced for impact.

But when it came, it was worse than you had imagined.

The ground hit you like a violent slap, a crushing blow that rattled every bone in your body. Your back slammed into the earth with such force that it stole the breath from your lungs. Your chest felt like it might cave in, a sharp pain shooting up your spine, and your legs screamed with a burning ache that was almost unbearable. The parachute tangled around your body like a cruel, suffocating vice, pulling you and twisting you into the dirt. For a moment, the world went dark with the sheer intensity of the hit, the pain radiating outwards, too much to process, too overwhelming to think through.

Your body was an alien thing—heavy, unresponsive, bruised. Each breath felt like a labor, every gasp like a struggle against an invisible force trying to keep you down. The air was thick and heavy in your lungs, the sharp smell of dirt and pine piercing the haze in your mind. You could feel your heart racing, each beat thunderous in your chest as you forced yourself to sit up. Your vision was swimming, the edges of the world flickering as you tried to focus. The trees above you were swaying, as though they were the ones in motion, not you.

It was a slow process, forcing your limbs to obey, to move, to pull you out of the wreckage of your parachute. Your head felt heavy, your thoughts fogged and slow, but you had to move. You couldn’t afford to lie here. The world felt like it was spinning, the adrenaline still thrumming through your veins, but beneath it all, a sickening realization crept in: you were deep in enemy territory. Alone. Stranded. And if you didn’t move now, you might not have another chance.

The world exploded into pain. The canopy of your parachute tangled in the branches, jerking you violently. You slammed into the ground, the earth unforgiving, and your body was jolted like a ragdoll. Every inch of your skin screamed in pain as you hit, your head spinning from the shock. There was no moment of clarity, no time to adjust. Your arms and legs felt like they were made of lead, useless weights in your effort to regain control.

Your body felt wrong. Every part of you ached — throbbing, burning, sharp pain radiating through your spine. Your ribs felt bruised, your knees scraped and raw. You took a gasping breath, and pain seared through your chest. Your hands were slick with sweat, trembling from the shock. Everything inside you told you to stay still, to breathe, but your mind was already working overtime. You couldn’t stop now. You were deep in enemy territory, alone, and that realization hit harder than the crash itself.

You fumbled for your comms device, fingers trembling and slick with sweat, the sharp sting of panic clawing at your chest. Each movement felt sluggish, heavy — like you were dragging yourself through thick mud. Every breath was ragged, strained, the aftershocks of the crash still reverberating in your bones. Your chest tightened with each passing second, fear creeping into your mind, suffocating the clarity you desperately needed. The line crackled and hissed, the static scratching in your ear like nails on a chalkboard, and for a moment, all you could hear was the echo of your own breathing and the deafening silence of your surroundings.

Then, a voice came through, low and firm, cutting through the fog of panic with a force that made your heart skip a beat.

“Pilot, do you copy?”

It was rough. Harsh. Too familiar. It was Ghost.

You froze for a moment, relief washing over you, mingled with frustration. You could hear the underlying tension in his voice even through the crackle of the comms, and a knot of unease twisted in your stomach. He was still out there, still alive, and that fact alone kept the fear from drowning you. But you knew you couldn’t afford to let your guard down, not even for a second. Not here. Not now.

“Ghost?” You managed to rasp out, voice hoarse and strained, the words barely escaping through the fog in your head. The adrenaline was still pumping, but your body felt like it was shutting down around you. Every muscle ached. Every breath felt like a battle. "Yeah, I copy. I’m... I’m down."

The pause on the other end felt too long, stretching into something heavy and suffocating. You could almost feel the weight of his eyes on you, though you couldn’t see him. The silence felt like an eternity, each second stretching longer than the last, until your chest tightened, your pulse quickened.

“You’re a damn mess.” His voice was harsh, a sharp observation, just like before. It cut through the air, but there was something beneath it. Something deeper. A flicker of concern? Or maybe annoyance? The words stung, but they didn’t carry the usual coldness. It was the first time in all the chaos that you’d heard a crack in his usual detached demeanor.

You swallowed thickly, the bitter taste of adrenaline and smoke still in your mouth. A strained, breathless laugh bubbled up from your chest, more out of reflex than humor. The sound was harsh, raw, and it left a bad taste on your tongue. “Yeah, well, I don’t crash on purpose,” you said, your voice trembling with a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. Your body screamed at you to rest, to lie still, to let the pain fade, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t afford to. Not when you were alone, stranded in enemy territory, with only the faintest thread of communication keeping you tethered to the world you knew.

You tried to shift your position, desperate to free yourself from the tangled parachute that had caught around your legs like a vice. But every movement was agony. Your body was stiff, unresponsive, each small action sending another wave of pain crashing through you. The weight of your parachute pulled at you, the fabric constricting, making your limbs feel heavier, less cooperative. Your head swam, dizziness threatening to overtake you, but you gritted your teeth and pushed it back, forcing yourself to focus.

Survival. That’s all that mattered now.

Your hands shook as you gripped the parachute, struggling to free yourself from its suffocating grip. The forest around you was eerily quiet, the stillness of it all adding to the unease that settled over you. Your mind raced — how much time did you have before the enemy found you? Where was Ghost? Could you trust him to get to you in time?

But for now, you couldn’t waste time on questions. You had to keep moving. Had to keep fighting.

You needed to survive.

The line crackled again, and this time, when his voice came through, it was softer — more deliberate, but still carrying the weight of something unspoken, something buried beneath the surface.

“I’m coming to get you. Stay put.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a split second, your chest tightened with the force of them. The sound of his voice — rough and steady — cut through the haze of panic that had clouded your mind. For the first time since the crash, you allowed yourself to breathe. A shaky exhale left your lips, almost like you were afraid to believe it. But you did. You had to.

Relief came in slow, uncertain waves, fragile and trembling like a leaf caught in a storm, but it was enough to quiet the panic gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. For a moment, everything slowed, and you realized you were not alone. And despite the edge in his tone, despite the usual distance he kept, there was something solid, something unwavering in his promise. It wasn’t just words — it was a commitment. He was coming. He wasn’t leaving you here.

You didn’t realize how badly you needed to hear it until that very second.

"Understood," you whispered, barely above a breath, your voice strained and raw from the physical exertion, the tension still clinging to every word. The faint crackle of his breathing was the only thing on the other end, but it felt like more. It felt like an unspoken bond, something connecting you beyond the battlefield. The distance between you was vast, and yet, for that fleeting moment, you weren’t as alone as you thought. It wasn’t just survival now; it was the odd comfort of knowing you were not completely abandoned out here in the chaos.

You let your head fall back against the dirt, your body still trembling violently from the crash. Every inch of you screamed with pain, like your bones were made of shattered glass, your muscles too raw to move without protest. You knew you needed to move, to get up, to find shelter, but it felt like the world was pressing in on you. Each breath was a struggle, your lungs aching, the air thick in your chest, as if it was harder to pull the oxygen into your body. You could feel the ground beneath you, rough and uneven, but it gave you something to anchor yourself to. Your fingers dug into the dirt, desperately trying to keep yourself grounded, to ignore the dizziness threatening to overwhelm you.

The silence that followed felt almost suffocating, the only sounds the low rustle of wind through the trees and the occasional shift of your weight against the forest floor. But it wasn’t peaceful. It was oppressive. Every snap of a twig, every distant murmur of movement, had your body tensing, your muscles locking in place. You didn’t know where they were, how close the enemy might be, or how long you had before they found you. But you knew one thing, something that burned like a truth carved into your bones: you couldn’t afford to be found. Not now. Not like this.

You had to stay alive.

You had to stay awake.

Your heart was still hammering in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears, louder and louder, a constant reminder of the fragility of this moment. You could feel the adrenaline still pulsing through your veins, keeping you on edge, keeping your senses heightened. It was a curse and a blessing — your body was running on pure instinct, but it left you feeling raw, exposed, as if every nerve was too sensitive, too alert.

The air around you smelled thick with pine and earth, the forest surrounding you alive with quiet tension. But it wasn’t a peaceful quiet—it was the kind of stillness that came before something terrible, the calm before a storm. Every second stretched into eternity. Every movement had you on edge, your breath catching in your throat with each new sound. You couldn’t tell if the footsteps you heard were the wind or something much worse. Every shadow that flickered at the corner of your vision made your body stiffen, your pulse rising.

You weren’t safe here.

And despite the pain, despite the exhaustion, you forced yourself to move, to shift your weight, to get a sense of your surroundings. The ground was uneven, the forest thick with undergrowth, and you knew staying where you were would make you a sitting target. But every step felt like an insurmountable effort, every shift in position sending new waves of pain through your body. You had to stay alert. You had to keep your head clear.

There was no room for weakness. Not here. Not in enemy territory.

You couldn’t afford to die.

In the stillness that surrounded you, with your thoughts still reeling from the crash, your mind couldn’t help but wander back to Ghost. His words, cold and clipped as they were, had taken on a new weight. I’m coming to get you. The promise had hung in the air between you like a lifeline, offering something you hadn’t expected—a shred of reassurance. You had always seen him as the silent, unapproachable figure, the one who stood apart from everyone else. Cold. Distant. Untouchable. His mask wasn’t just for protection — it was a barrier, one he used to keep others at arm’s length.

But in that moment, when he’d said he was coming for you, something had shifted. Maybe it was the way he had said it, or maybe it was the tone beneath the words — something unspoken that made you wonder if there was more to the man behind the mask. More than just the soldier. You tried to push the thought away, but it clung to you like the weight of the wreckage pressing against your chest. Maybe, just maybe, there was humanity beneath the layers of war and duty he wrapped himself in.

But you couldn’t afford to dwell on it now. Not in a place like this, with the silence pressing against you like a vice. Survival. That was all that mattered. The weight of the present — the pounding in your chest, the searing pain in your body, the relentless fear that wouldn’t leave your mind — demanded all of your focus. There was no room for distractions. No room for thoughts of what Ghost might be, or what he might feel.

You shifted again, biting back a wince as the sharp pain shot through your spine. Every muscle screamed in protest, your body stiff with the aftermath of the crash. You gritted your teeth, trying to ignore the dizziness that pulled at your senses. The forest around you felt suffocating, every rustling of leaves, every creak of a branch, amplifying the tension in your veins. Stay still. You couldn’t afford to move too much. Every rustle, every shift in position could give your location away. You had to stay hidden. You had to stay alert.

But somewhere, buried beneath the fear and the pain, there was a glimmer of hope. It was small, fragile — more like a whisper than a shout — but it was enough to give you strength. Ghost was coming. He had promised. And for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe it. You weren’t alone. Not completely.

You forced yourself to settle, to breathe deeply, even though every breath felt like it tore through you. The pain was a constant companion now, but you wouldn’t let it take over. Not yet. Not until you were safe. You pulled yourself together, even as your body screamed for rest. You needed to stay awake, to stay aware, to keep the focus sharp.

Survive.

And maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as alone as you thought.

tah list : @jajouska @hao-ming-8 @pinkpookiebear

[blue-rose-soul]

I really love your Devil’s bastard and Raised Together AUs because there’s a lot of familial drama but also lore associated with Lucifer and just what he can pass down to his children that is so fascinating.

https://youtube.com/shorts/MV4InNo3zCY?si=qM459R9-jSxE-6jR

I can imagine a scenario where something like this occurs and both Charlie and Alastor are pushed to unlocking the sleeping demons that lay sleeping inside them.

Imagine Charlie with red and white wings and Alastor with red and black wings, the hellfire being appearing over their horns and insane power emanating from them

Appreciate it! The big fun of this AU for me is definitely how it throws a monkey wrench right in the characters' usual dynamics. Lucifer going from implicitly threatening to murder Alastor to awkwardly stumbling around him. Alastor trying to manipulate Charlie without letting her assimilate him into her idealistic fantasy version of a brother-sister bond. Vaggie waking up from nightmares of having Alastor as a brother-in-law.

But yeah, it's also interesting to imagine what effect Lucifer's angelic DNA would have on his offspring. We don't know much about what Charlie actually is or how she's different from demons in general - Hellborn or sinner - or from either of her parents. Sinners are human souls, but based on the fact that they eat and sleep have toilets, they do seem to have all the same gears and whistles as living breathing humans. At the same time, they can twist their bodies into impossible shapes, grow to enormous sizes, even pull themselves back together after being ripped apart by anything that isn't an angelic weapon. And this isn't even mentioning any supernatural powers they may have like Sir Pentious's hypnosis or Alastor's - [gestures to all of him] - everything.

The idea of Alastor and Charlie unlocking some greater power does sound pretty cool! However, as they're already pretty demonic at their base, I would instead flavor it as them unlocking their sleeping angelic powers. After all, angels are said to be more powerful than demons in-universe, and this is power inherited from Lucifer. Plus, I love love love angels as monsters. I think that Charlie did experience a more mild form of what you're talking about after Sir Pentious was killed.

Of course, it wasn't quite the raw explosion of power I think you're thinking of, and the end result is still pretty demonic looking. But this is still power she inherited from Lucifer. But we're still early into the story, and it's fun to speculate what kind of greater power Charlie may unlock in the future.

(Alastor agrees.)

But back to the AU, the thought of them manifesting wings along with their greater powers at a later date would be sooooo fun. Maybe while facing off against the person who owns Alastor's soul (who I will say is Eve for the purposes of this AU). The both of them manifesting wings would be a nice way to visualize their shared bloodline. Plus, the addition of wings to Alastor's design may call to mind the peryton; a mythical creature with the appearance of a winged stag. A not-so-minor pet peeve of mine is when people say Alastor is a w**digo just because his deer-like appearance, and the peryton feels much more appropriate to his character.

Granted, he doesn't have any cultural ties to the peryton either aside from maaaaaybe his name (the name 'Alastor' has its origins in ancient Greece and the creature seems to be either Greek or Roman), but it does make for a great visual pun if you take 'peryton' to refer to radio signals.

[kittenintheden]

When I Think About You

surprise jorkin it PWP fic drop lol. enjoy.

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Astarion/Reader (You) Word Count: 1550 Content: 18+, jealousy, voyeurism, masturbation, mutual masturbation (sort of?), pillow humping, gender-neutral Tav/Reader

AO3 Link

You went to bed early tonight.

Well, earlier than you typically do. Not that Astarion has been paying you much attention. Hardly any, really. You’re just easy to miss.

Notice. You’re easy to notice. Because you’re so obvious.

Obviously annoying, obviously infuriating, obviously determined, and obviously infatuated with him. True, that had been his goal, but hells, you could blush a little less at his come-ons. Even if it does look cute on you.

Not that he thinks you’re cute. Not really.

The others are packing up their gear and turning in for the night. Astarion will take first watch like he typically does, have a quick trance, and get up in the early morning hours for a hunt. Easy. Routine.

So what if he’s falling into a routine with these people. It makes things simpler.

He should check on you. Just to make sure you’re not ill. For his health more than yours. These days, a headache could mean a rapid onset of calamari face. He’s doing everyone a favor, honestly.

When he approaches your tent, his steps slow to a stop as his ears pick up noise from inside your tent. You aren’t asleep.

And by the sound of it – and it’s a sound Astarion knows well – you aren’t alone.

He huffs an irritated breath through his nose. Gods damn it. He really thought he had you in the bag. There’s a shard of something sharp lodged beneath his rib. Annoyance, probably. Disappointment that he’s back to square one. Bitterness that he lost another competition, even when he’s doing what he does best.

Astarion turns to walk away. Takes three steps. Stops. Turns his head back toward the sound.

Who is it?

Who are you with?

He has his suspicions, but might as well take a quick peek to verify. His steps as he approaches are catlike. Not that you’d notice anyway, preoccupied as you are. He won’t look much. Only enough to see who stole his prize.

His mark. Who stole his mark.

Astarion pauses at the far side of your closed tent flap and finds a gap in the cloth. He leans in, eyes keen in the dark, and his mouth goes dry when he sees your hips grinding against someone, the length of your body pressed tight to theirs while you move over them. A blanket covers you both, but it doesn’t hide the passion of your movement.

He jerks his head away, a ball of tension aching in his gut. Ridiculous. He should go kill something. He walks toward the woods.

And stops with a sigh.

Astarion hates himself for it, this burning curiosity to know exactly who you’re riding so enthusiastically. Steeling himself, he creeps back and peeks once more through the split in the fabric.

You’re sitting up, now, showing him the long line of your spine in the center of your bare back as your hips continue to work. Every puff of breath through your lips is desperate, occasionally lilting up in a breathless moan.

Astarion worries his lip between his teeth. The muscles beneath your skin ripple, your blood thrumming so close and smelling so much of you, sweetened with the scent of arousal. If you’d just lean a little one way or the other, he could see who’s working you so… so…

There’s a flash of heat in his core followed by a sparking current of electricity, setting everything alight. He’d been doing his best to ignore the steady swell of his cock, but ignoring it is no longer an option as he goes hard as stone, the length of him straining toward his hip bone. Subconsciously, he cants his hips into the empty air and finds absolutely no relief. He has to swallow back a soft moan of his own.

The rolling globes of your arse are shaped perfectly beneath your thin wool blanket. Sharp, rocking thrusts against your playmate, against whichever lucky wretch currently feels the sticky heat of you while he watches.

Astarion lets his hand drift to the front of his breeches and sucks his breath in through his teeth when his palm grazes firmly over the covered head of his cock.

 You run a hand up your side and feel your own chest, maintaining your rhythm as you whimper.

Astarion’s fingers move to loosen his laces, lips parted as he begins to softly pant.

Your hand moves back down and you’re… yes, you’re putting your fingers between your legs, and you throw your head back with a gasp.

His fingers dip below his waistband and he curls in on himself with a huff as he takes himself in hand and begins to pump. Once, twice… ah, gods, that’s nice.

Though being under you would be even nicer.

Lucky sod. Who is it?

The blanket slips down over the curve of your arse, falling to one side and his breath catches as he realizes he’s about to get his answer.

Fabric falls aside and your incredible arse is grinding back and forth. You’re riding yourself to absolute delirium with…

A spare bedroll.

Astarion’s hand stutters to a stop and he doesn’t even breathe as realization hits him. You weren’t with someone else at all. The whole time, you’ve been furiously fucking yourself, grinding needily against your bedding for relief.

And somehow, some way, that makes him even harder. He mouths “oh, fuck” and goes back to stroking himself with renewed vigor. 

You’re desperately aroused, no longer trying to quiet your whimpers as you work your hips in circles against the bedroll while you rub yourself at the same time, your shoulders flushed with need. Your body undulates in wave after wave and Astarion feels quite certain that if he were inside you right now, he’d have come already. He puts his free hand over his mouth, pressing his palm to his lips to keep quiet.

You make a frustrated noise and swing your leg off the bedroll, and for a brief alarming moment, Astarion thinks you’re about to give up, and there’s no way he could let that stand. For either of you.

But then you shove the bedroll away with a huff and flop onto your back without opening your eyes, which is good news for Astarion, since you’d almost certainly see the silhouette of him outside your tent if you were paying attention. Instead, you spread your legs wide and give him a glorious view as one hand returns to its place between your legs and is quickly joined by the other.

Astarion shudders out a breath, the sound thankfully masked by your own rapid pants as you stroke yourself with one hand and trace around your entrance with the other. When you push two fingers inside and begin to pump in and out, Astarion’s knees threaten to give out as he picks up his pace. The tide of pleasure in his core rises and threatens to crest.

Gods, gods, he isn’t even fucking you and you’re still going to make him come before you do.

Your pretty little moans are too much. Your furrowed brow, your flushed cheeks, the way your thighs twitch and your belly shivers with the pleasure you’re lavishing on yourself. What a beauty you are, what a treat, what a-

“-arion,” you whisper, so quietly that he nearly misses it.

“Hah,” he breathes, his pleasure shuddering right on the edge of its peak. His mind must’ve filled that in. There’s no way you said what he thought you said.

He presses his face to the split in the fabric and leans against the tentpole, jerking himself firmly as he watches you arch your back up off the ground, lifting your hips into the air again, again, again, until your hands slow.

“Oh, Astarion,” you whisper just before you slam back down to earth and groan out your release, your slick making your skin shine in the low light.

“Sh-”

Astarion slams his hand over his mouth and ducks to the side, sinking silently to the ground around the corner of your tent just before he creams himself, a pulse of spend striping the ground beneath him, followed by another, and another. His head hangs heavily before him as he catches his breath and dazedly tries to piece together what the fuck just happened.

He sits back, chest heaving and ears ringing.

Then whips his head to the side when he hears you stir inside the tent and tentatively say, “... Hello? Is someone there?”

Astarion holds his breath, which does not help with his current state of floaty lightheadedness.

Then you say, “... Astarion?”

And the sound of his name on your lips sends another ripple of pleasure through him as his cock pulses and drips one last time for good measure.

It takes a minute, but you eventually convince yourself you were hearing things and settle down to sleep, presumably in a more relaxed state than when you first retired. Astarion waits until your breathing slows before he sneaks away, silently tucking himself back into his clothes.

He holds his breath the entire time.

On the other side of camp inside the safety of his own tent, he releases it in a rush, running his unused hand through his curls as realization finally catches up to him.

“Oh, no,” he whispers.

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (39/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Addicted is the only word to describe Charles.

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of sex, male masturbation, cunniligus, breeding kink and choking (if you squint)), angst and fluff

Word Count: 3.8k

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A/N: tbh, I'd be on my knees for this Charles in a heartbeat. feedback is appreciated!

Your fingertips on Charles' naked thigh make his brain short-circuit. 

Your unexpected, gentle touch shoots like lightning through his skin like lightning and then through his veins until the heat spreads throughout his body and his muscles are on fire. His heart is beating so hard that he fears it will break his bones and jump out of his chest. He can hear the blood pounding in his ears, goosebumps are spreading across his skin – but when he looks at you, he can no longer think clearly.

He never would have expected you to be so close again. He could never have dreamt of it.

After the night before yesterday, he no longer believed that he would be able to feel your touch again.

The memory of you fleeing from the bed is as deeply ingrained in his thoughts as your touch and your expression when you came on his thigh. 

He had to hold back the whole evening the day before. To be honest, he had struggled with himself and forced himself to behave normally, even though all he could think about was you sitting on his lap and him rubbing you over his bulge until his damn phone rang. And even though he jerked off in the shower after his workout, it definitely wasn't enough to satisfy his craving for you. His hand is not you – and by God, he's addicted to your touch.

When you touched his hand in the car on the way to dinner with his family and played with his fingers as if it were the most natural thing in the world, it had taken him an incredible amount of strength and willpower to keep the car in the lane and not to pull over to the nearest lay-by or parking lot and rearrange your guts. 

He is extremely embarrassed by how much like a horny teenager he acts as soon as you are around. 

Since you first shared a bed and you unconsciously pressed against him in your sleep, he can no longer get the feeling of your body against his out of his head. The way you snuggled up against him, how your curves perfectly matched his. And you still had your pajamas on then. 

He feels very ashamed of how good you felt when you lay in his arms and cried. How soft your skin was on his, how warm you were – how perfect. He would have liked to give himself a slap or two because your dilemma had been so profitable for him personally. That he could hold you and protect you. That he could feel you. 

And your touch hasn't stopped since. Your fingertips on his bare shoulder, your palm on his stubbled cheek when he told you he was jealous of Lando and your friendship, even though that was never entirely true, of course. Your legs between his, your hand on his chest and your lips on his neck as you poured your hearts out at dawn and purple skies. 

But even though he is addicted to your closeness and the feeling you evoke in him like a drug addict, it's not as if he actively or consciously sought your touch. Like two magnets, you hadn't been able to separate after the night, whether it was at breakfast or when you were in his embrace when he told you how good your touch felt and that you shouldn't stop. 

And as if his prayers had been answered – you definitely hadn't stopped. You had intertwined your fingers, felt his heartbeat under your hand. And for a moment he had enjoyed it and let himself be carried away. 

His hands on your hips, his palms on your cheeks and his nose on yours. None of his touches had been conscious, but the result of his desire, which he suppressed so as not to jeopardize your friendship. How can a simple touch make his cock so painfully hard that he has to arrange his erection in his pants so that it is not visible to everyone?

He can't even imagine what would have happened if Pierre and Kika hadn't entered your apartment without getting a raging boner.

It would definitely be smarter if he at least made a reasonable effort to stay away from you a little and not look for your touch every second. But even when you were sitting in the car with Kika and Pierre, he had longed for you. And it had taken about three turns in Pierre's SUV before he had reached out for you and wrapped his long fingers around a calf. Thank heavens you even held out your leg so that he could grab it better. 

From that moment on, he became more shameless around you, even though he cringed inwardly every time. For example, when you were standing in front of the bed in the furniture store and he whispered to you that you should lie down on the bed so that he could see what you looked like in it before he bought it. And that he insists that you continue to share the bed. Of course, only under the pretext that you can sleep better if you fall asleep snuggled up together.

He didn't hesitate for a moment to lift you off the couch and onto Jori's terrace, only to lie down on it himself so that he could then pull you onto him with your full weight. He had seen the insecurity in your face, the way you shifted from one foot to the other, but he had also seen a sparkle in your eyes – desire perhaps? – and nothing in this world could have stopped him from feeling your weight on him. 

You felt perfect on top of him when he wrapped his arms around you and pressed you against him so hard that there was a chance you might leave an imprint of your head on his chest if you ever got up again. His lips found their place on the crown of your head and his hand found your bare skin under your shirt as you snuggled up to him and giggled that he was very comfortable despite his muscles. 

What went through his mind when he offered you that he could lie on top of you, he doesn't know himself. But something about being able to burn all the things that have caused him so much pain in the last few weeks had made him brave and maybe a little crazy. His hand in your hair, the other under your sweater on your spine. His lips on your nose and forehead. 

Then let's stay here. On this couch. It's not as comfortable as our bed, but at least I'll have you lying on top of me.

Charles fears he is losing his mind. 

He lost his mind when he asked you if you would snuggle with him and his heart skipped a beat when you assured him that friends can snuggle too. When he put your leg over his hip. When you pressed your face against his neck and inhaled his scent. He had to move your leg down onto his legs, otherwise you would have felt his hard-on. And all because you touched his neck. 

He didn't even know how sensitive his muscular neck was until you brushed your lips over the soft skin there. And as if there was a switch in his body, blood shoots to his cock every time you come anywhere near his neck. As if his body were programmed to react to your gentle touch. Just as his heart reacts to your closeness. 

He couldn't wait to introduce you to his family. The fact that his maman had already taken you into her heart had only encouraged him more to keep you close to him – in whatever way. Be it as a friend, as it was unspokenly agreed, or as more – as his family now saw you. 

Another crucial point that made him more bold. Because if you didn't want to address the matter and clarify it, then surely you have no problem with him leaning far out of the window and demanding your closeness? 

Are you a good girl, mon amour? 

He is so happy that you get along so well with his family and that they have apparently adopted you outright. The way they have taken you into their midst – even if it meant that he had to sit on that damn stool all evening. But every time he looked at your beaming face, it was worth the back pain. 

He would do anything to see you happy. And he definitely wasn't lying when he told his mom that you're “the absolute best thing that could have happened to him.” 

He has never felt so good or so loved by anyone else, even if you only consider him your best friend. This is a fact that he tries to ignore, but it is repeatedly brought to his attention whether he likes it or not. 

Every time he looks at you, he hears Joris voice in his head, whispering best friend to him, along with the question of whether he loves you, which he has left unanswered. He can't answer the question, he doesn't want to answer the question, because if he were to answer it in the affirmative, then – then – 

Your hands on his naked back, your ass on the back of his thighs, your palms on his chest. 

If you only see him as your best friend, how come you looked so indescribably divine when you came on his leg? Why do you assure him that nothing changes when he touches you intimately, when his whole world is shaken by the way you cling to him and moan when he runs his tongue along your neck?

He would have liked to throw you on your back and rip your shirt open to get to your naked skin faster. He would have sucked, licked, bitten, if you had let him. He would have pushed his face between your thighs and tasted you on his tongue until you came for him several times, burying your hands in his dark hair and moaning his name. 

But you weren't ready yet. And he definitely wasn't going to risk everything. 

Look at me, mon amour. Look at me when you come for me. 

Even if he suffered a severe concussion in the next race, he would never be able to forget the look on your face. What his hand looked like on your throat. How your ass felt in his hand. 

How you left the bed because you felt uncomfortable because of him. 

He doesn't know where it all went wrong. One moment you were moaning his name, his fingertips had felt the curve of your boobs and you had snuggled up to him – and then you were gone, unreachable and distant. He didn't buy the excuse that you weren't tired for a second. But why would you leave him?

Had he crossed a line? Did you feel pushed when he rocked you back and forth on his thigh to make you feel pleasure? What happened in the few minutes you were lying in bed cuddling that you found his closeness so unbearable that you had to flee the bed?

Was he too forward? Too – too non-platonic, that he frightened you with his behavior? Did you feel so uncomfortable about his touch, his comments, that you saw no other way out than to create an insurmountable physical distance that unconsciously shattered his heart?

He had sworn to himself that he would do everything to maintain this friendship. And if that meant giving you this space, not touching you anymore, not calling you mon amour, then he would do so without hesitation, even if it hurt him more than he would ever admit. 

Calling you mon ami felt strange and forced. Your cheek burned on his palm as he touched you one last time. A selfish move he couldn't suppress, that he had to claim for himself before moving away from you so that you wouldn't give up on this friendship. 

The night on the couch had been hell – and not just because the cushion was uncomfortable. Charles had barely been able to get any sleep because his thoughts revolved only around you, the look in your eyes and the tears that had rolled down your cheeks.

He would keep his distance, as little as possible and as much as necessary, so that you would continue to tolerate him around you. He would do anything to save this friendship, even if it meant swallowing his feelings. 

He didn't know what was happening to him when you brought him breakfast the next morning. Apparently, the night on the couch had been the right direction, the first right step to keep you around, which is why he invited you to his boat as a makeshift solution – under the pretext of having to take photos for his Instagram profile – but had forwarded the tickets he had booked for the two of you to Pierre so that they would at least not expire. 

There would be time to visit Paris during Christmas. Hopefully. 

The day on the boat went much better than he had imagined. Although he held back and didn't touch you under any circumstances, you had been as close emotionally as friends could be, which was certainly due in part to the alcohol. Or maybe it was his honesty when he called to you over the roar of the ocean that he was afraid that things between you would never be the same again. That he would lose you. 

And you looked so beautiful lying next to him on the sun bed. So carefree, as if nothing had ever happened between you. As if you had never been anything but friends. And when you assured him that you would like to work with him, he would have liked to kiss you until there was no air left in his lungs. 

You would work with him. Spend time with him – voluntarily. You would travel the world with him, see the most beautiful places and get to know different cultures – with him. And maybe, just maybe, you would fall in love with him at some point during your journey together, give yourself to him, just like you did once before.

An imagination he clung to as he touched himself in the shower a short time later. How your lips would feel on his. Your mouth on his cock, your tongue on the soft underside of his dick. 

He imagined you lying on the bed in front of him – his new bed – face down, ass up, while he slowly and deeply pushed into you, knocking you over the edge. How your skin would feel, naked and warm as he filled you up with his load, how it would run sticky and hot down your thighs, only for him to catch it with the tip of his tongue and lap it up and stuff it back inside you until you were crying with pleasure and overstimulation. 

He sincerely hopes that the walls of the boat were thick enough. 

What he had hoped for, but couldn't have imagined, was the moment when you smiled at him the next morning. After he had confessed to you, without thinking about what boundaries he would cross or what ocean he would cross, that he couldn't be without you anymore – and you had replied that you couldn't live without him either. 

Another step in the right direction. 

Another step when his mother told you that she had prepared your bed – singular – for you – and you didn't instinctively refuse to share the room with him. You could have gone home, you could have asked Charles to sleep on the couch or to get another room. 

But even when he looked at you and promised you that he would do everything in his power to fix this friendship and to keep you from turning away from him completely, you didn't push him away. He had laid his heart open to you as much as he could without having to answer in the affirmative to that lingering question. 

You are the first thing he thinks about in the morning. You are the person he looks forward to seeing most when he comes home. 

And even when he revealed to you that he couldn't stop thinking about how you feel, you didn't back down. When he confessed to you that you may be his best friend, but you're also so much more and that he craves you. 

You didn't leave. 

Quite the opposite. 

The thought that he carried around with him for a whole day, that you feel uncomfortable around him, that the distance between you is the right thing, is swept away with just one touch. Erased. Non-existent. 

He wants to kiss you, feel your skin against his, claim you for himself. But all he can do is stare at your hand lying on his. He doesn't even feel the tears of joy rolling down his cheeks. All he feels is your hand on his. 

He can't answer the question Joris asked him with words, without risking losing his heart to you forever, but the Monegasque can squeeze your hand. Twice. 

Your fingertips on Charles' thigh make his brain short-circuit, as your hand squeezes his. 

Twice.

[syoddeye]

say more about davy jones ghost, please..?

i mean, big nasty brute ghost? yeah. ten times more disgusting than davy jones price. price has decorum. he holds fast to loose ideals. he has the patience to bide his time after plucking you out of the sea. he'll at least give you the chance to come to him.

ghost, though?

cw: he saved you but did he, non-consensual touch, mouth inspection-ish

the air reeks of brine and rot. the scent of pure death clings to him. staring up at the sun-bleached skull attached to the man's face, you'd rather take your chances with the sharks—let them strip you bone-clean. at least you wouldn't have to meet the hollow, pitiless hunger in the eyes staring down at you.

the skin of ghost's hands is roughened by both time and cruelty. joints covered in barnacles, the texture a wet sandpaper. the kind of flesh that hasn't known smooth human skin in decades, unless he's gutting a screaming sailor neck to navel. if he ever feels the itch, he has a crew at his disposal. it's just fucking.

but you—you're different. trembling, ruined, your pretty dress soaked and stuck to every curve of your body. it isn't lust, not exactly. lust does not fully account for the sick thrill that each shudder, each pitiful noise you can't quite swallow, shivers through him. he steps closer, blood surging south at the tiny, scared noise you make.

he tests the waters. gives his men a show. look, but don't touch. two fingers, shriveled and slick, press against your mouth, and you freeze. he waits, glaring at you until your lips part. then they slide in, rough with scars, scraping his calcareous passengers over your tongue. your breath hitches, draws thin and tight, and when you choke around the intrusion, he tilts his head, listening. every sound, every broken whimper—fuckin' beautiful.

when he presses down, pinning the muscle, your eyes dart wildly, searching for help among the crew. he clicks his tongue. eyes on him, no one else.

when he pulls back, a thick string of your drool webs to his fingers. he examines it with a kind of detached curiosity, exhaling hard through his nose when it snaps. beneath the skull, his eyes cut to his first mate, barking an order. "i'll be below."

his gaze drops back to you. "me and the missus've got things to discuss."

[erwinsvow]

can we have rafe try to grovel ?? :((((( shy reader deserves better !!! <3 https://www.tumblr.com/erwinsvow/751213087399510016/what-if-rafe-ever-hit-shy-reader-from-built-up?source=share

he will grovel!! side note i dont know how i feel about this its just for the sweet anon who wanted part two

the moment rafe shuts the door and traps you in the room, between his body and the wall, you know some part of you has just broken that you'll never fully be able to fix.

everything in your body tells you to look up at rafe and do something. slap him back, push him away, turn around and storm out of the room and try to at least show him you're just as mad as he is—but none of that actually happens.

hot tears keep spilling down your cheeks, and you stay frozen like that for what feels like forever, staring at the floor of rafe's bedroom. the sound of rafe's heavy breaths fills the space, though you can barely detect it over the way your heart is pounding in your ears.

you want to leave. but you don't know where you even would go. before the events of the last hour, there was no where you wanted to be more than wherever rafe was. and now, staring at the floor instead of up at the boy who you had gladly given your heart to only for him to snap it in half with his bare hands and deliver it back, you stay frozen, waiting for rafe. you are always waiting for rafe.

"kid, i-" you finally look up, through wet lashes and almost painful eyes fluttering slowly, and rafe stops talking the moment you do. you don't know why, but it doesn't take you long to figure it out. there's a mark on your cheek the size of his hand, probably an imprint from his ring too.

it's such a shame—you always loved that ring.

you snap out of your thoughts when rafe keeps talking, though there's still blooding rushing in your ears. he sounds muffled, his mouth moving and expression looking, you can only imagine, somewhat close to yours—sad and angry all blended together. you keep blinking slowly, listening but not really listening, waiting for him to finish so you can leave.

how stupid you must seem to him, and to yourself, you think pathetically. he just hit you, and you're waiting for him to finish, so you don't impolitely interrupt. you should drive straight from tannyhill to a therapist's office—though you think not even a licensed professional could help you figure out what exactly is wrong with you.

the thought makes you laugh, corners of your mouth turning up and a rush of air leaving your throat. half a laugh, half a sob. the gutting realization has just hit you—whatever was wrong with you, rafe was the only one in the world who seemed to understand you.

"baby?" rafe asks, and you actually snap out of it this time—looking up at your boyfriend, wondering if he knows you haven't heard a single thing he's said so far.

"i think i should go home," you reply, wondering where your keys are and where your wallet is. you don't keep track of these things anymore, usually since rafe drives you everywhere and pays for everything.

"okay. i'll bring you, just let me go get-"

"no, i-" you stop yourself—about to apologize again. everything running through your mind makes you choose your words carefully. "i'm gonna go home."

"you didn't drive here, kid. i picked you up, remember?" rafe looks back at you and you feel a fresh wave of tears take over. you hadn't remembered.

"oh."

"listen, kid, i'm so-"

"i'm going home," you repeat firmly, mostly to yourself. "i'll just-i'll walk."

"y'not walking. it's dark and-"

"rafe, stop." the way you say it, he actually listens. you don't sound like yourself, you can tell from the way he looks at you, rafe's face doused with concern and apprehension. you look away, turning to face the door. "i'll be fine. i need to go."

"c'mon, kid, don't go," he says, and every bone and muscle inside you wants to listen, to do what he says like you always do. you feel more hot tears coming up, stopping them seems impossible yet you know crying is useless. it already happened and the damage is already done.

you turn around from your position, knowing it's a mistake. rafe gets closer, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks. he holds your face like he always does, except there's one big difference—you flinch the moment he starts moving.

"baby," rafe says quietly, and everything in you stops for a moment. brain lagging, breath catching, even the tears stop for a second while you look up at your boyfriend. "i'm so sorry. i am so sorry. i fucked up, okay? i know i did, but please don't go."

"rafe, i can't stay," it comes out just as quietly, a notch above a whisper. "you hurt me." it comes out wrangled in a sob. rafe wipes away some of your fresh tears with his hands.

"i-i know. and i'm gonna regret it forever, but-" rafe stops, and you stop too. you chew on your lip nervously, realizing it's going to bleed from how much you're biting down. "can-can i at least bring you home? please?"

"okay," you give in-but you shouldn't have.

you don't even know how you're gonna explain the mark on your face to your parents, or why you're home so early when you said you were sleeping over. every movement feels exhausting—grabbing some of your things and walking down the stairs to getting into rafe's truck. the drive to your place isn't very long, only ten minutes, and you stare out the window the whole time. it feels like hours with the way rafe looks at you at each red light.

rafe pulls into your driveway and you look up at him expectantly, though you're not sure why.

"can you-can you turn the headlights off? i don't want them waking up," you say, after what feels like ages of silence.

rafe turns the lights off but doesn't say anything. it's not until you reach for the doorhandle that he does—it's almost muscle memory for him. he leans over you to pull the handle and open the door for you, but you flinch so hard when he moves that he can't even get the door. instead he looks back at you while you stare up at him. without any words, you both know what the other is thinking.

"goodnight, rafe," you say, your own hand on the door now.

"wait, kid," he says, and you stop your movement immediately. even in this situation, you can't help but listen. "can i see you tomorrow? please?"

"i don't think that's a good idea."

"c'mon. we-we have to talk about this. i can't just.. not see you. i'm gonna go crazy."

"i need to go rafe." the second you say it, you start feeling bad about it. it's so engrained in you—trying to avoid hurting rafe in any and every way possible, that the very idea of not giving him what he wants makes your chest ache painfully. "i.. i have to think about it."

he leans over, slowly this time so you don't get scared again, opening the door for you like he always does. you climb out, getting your bag and trying to pretend everything's fine until you get inside your room.

"good night, kid. i'll talk to you tomorrow."

without replying, you walk inside. rafe's truck stays in your driveway until you lock the door, and he doesn't drive away until minutes after.

surprisingly, you make it to your room before you start crying. and you don't stop crying until the sun comes up.

[forestshadow-wolf]

His leg buckled, and the ground met him hard at the knees, but he didn't feel it. Couldn't feel it. Couldn't feel anything but fucking agony.

Ghost was dying; he could feel it in his heart. Literally. He could feel the soulbond unraveling. Out and away and away and away. Like plucking a live chicken, except he was the bird not the butcher. It was an anguish all too familiar. Only last time was like ripping his flesh open with rose thorns over and over again to pain the petals red, and this time felt like stitching open a wound to leave it weeping blood and guts and fluids and infection. This time it felt like festering evil.

"WHERE IS HE!" He roared, snapping at the hands on him, grabbing at others to haul himself to his feet again. His knee went weak again, but he would not let his limbs fail him. Fail Ghost. "GET OFF ME!" He did not wipe out an entire enemy outpost, only to be stopped by his own allies, while the very thing keeping him alive dies.

Some barking command that he didn't hear from outside his tunnel of vision had the burning touches release him. He obeyed a command that he didn't discern out of forced submission. The rabid thing rearing it's ugly face recognizing authority in the face of anger.

He wasn't sane as he stalked through the halls, following a faceless form he knew but didn't recognize. It's didn't matter. Nothing much but the decade old pain twisting where his heart should be mattered. None of it mattered because Ghost was dying.

He was dying while he loved.

Because some unlucky tosser touched what was his, and now Ghost was dying with fire as blood, as he unraveled Soap's heart. And Soap could feel every bit of it. The pain and agony of losing a soulbond. Again.

He knew the fire burning Ghost alive. I made the vial in his possession feel that much heavier. He carried the world in his pocket. It was smaller than his littlest finger, and it fit in his hand like he was meant to crush it. And it would save his life.

It would save Ghost's life.

He doesn't remember the walk to bring him to Ghost. Only flashes of anger where he snapped at too many hands.

But then he's there. Surrounded by white walls, and a white cot. Staring at a bloodied man in a dirty kit and black mask. Untouched on the command of an even less sane, more rabid him, only 27 hours ago.

He doesn't know who came and who left. Only remembers him, and his body, and the little glass vial, and Ghost. He remembers the chilled, damp skin when he pulled fabric back to reveal too pale skin underneath. He remembers how the needle went in easily. He doesn't move after that. Someone takes the needle from him. He felt it. Didn't see it. Saw only Ghost.

He just. Stood there. Watching. But not looking. Not seeing. He couldn't think. Couldn't move. Didn't dare hope. Couldn't pray. Couldn't beg. Pure catatonia. Nobody moved him. Nobody touched him. He heard people talking. Maybe to him. Maybe not. He doesn't know.

He doesn't remember how long it was. Maybe that night. Maybe that day too. But he remembers what brought him back.

He remembers the chest rhythm change. Something not just a natural sigh. Something deeper. Rousing. And the way Ghost's eyes flicked behind his eyelids for what felt like hours before they opened. Ghost was awake. He was alive.

And it's only then that he realizes that the agony had drained from his veins. The thread around his heart rewound. And it's then that exertion takes him. He falls to his knees hard. Ghost is quick on the call button with panic. But Soap doesn't make it 'til a nurse rushes in before black invades the rest of his vision like a shot to the skull

It couldn't have been more than half a minute before he comes too. It's bright, and there are hands touching him and voices speaking over his head and it's all too much.

"Where is he?" He swats at the abrasive touches, "Ghost. He's awake." Everything hurts. His muscles, his bones, even his teeth. But it's of small importance.

"Easy, Sunshine." A gruff voice pulls everything back into perspective. Price. Crouched at his thigh with a worried look on his face. Soap presses himself up despite protests from the nurses. "He's fine, lad." Price cups the back of his neck, "you made it in time. You saved him." He says it like a prayer. Like he knows it's the only thing that'll keep the rabid thing leashed. And he might be right.

[fuctacles]

Under pressure

For @subeddieweek Day 1 | M | 1177 | accidental subspace, non-verbal communication, sleepover, Steve-instinctive-Dom-Harrington | Ao3 Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Ao3

Eddie avoided fights because he was a coward. A pussy, even, he'll admit. But there was a whole other reason for him avoiding sports.

He wasn't a big fan of physical contact. 

But since he's become better friends with Steve Harrington, he's been discovering things about himself. Things he wished would have stayed hidden. Forever.

The first time, it was a tussle for the remote. Eddie refused to watch another episode of whatever the fuck capitalist media was trying to spoon-feed them, while Steve was adamant there was a plot that he was invested in. One elbow to the gut and some pulled hair later, he landed underneath the guy, his weight pinning him to the ground.

Melting his bones.

Soothing.

"You okay?"

Steve sounded concerned about Eddie's sudden silence, and his mind scrambled to salvage his dignity. All he could manage was a groan, which Steve thankfully interpreted as a sign of pain and not the sudden weakness that it was. 

He instantly hopped off of him, apologizing.

Eddie has been avoiding and yearning for the touch ever since.

He had never considered Steve like that, but apparently being sat on was the biggest turn-on for his poor little dick, and now it was all he could think of at night.

His doom comes when he has to sleep over after a night of drinking. Steve insisted they share a bed, that it was alright, and Eddie foolishly believed him. 

It is fine until Steve rolls over to put away his glasses. 

"Shit, sorry. I just gotta..."

They didn't think this through, because Eddie was the one next to the bedside table, the one Steve was trying to reach. He almost crawls over Eddie to accomplish it, his weight heavy on top of him, pressing him to the mattress and making his mind go blank. 

He bites his lip so hard he probably draws blood, but it doesn't stop the whimper Steve's body literally pushed out of him.  Steve freezes. 

"Are you alright?" He drops the glasses and shoots up. "Did I hurt you?"

Eddie can't answer. His brain is screaming at his mouth, but he can't manage a single word, all he can think of is Steve's body back on him, that weight pressing him down, immobilizing him. He could probably reach pure bliss with just that.

When he doesn't get an answer, Steve pulls on his shoulder to flip him on his back. Eddie whines in protest but doesn't have enough control over his muscles to stop him. His shame gets put on display and Steve's eyes widen.

"Eddie?"

His pupils are huge as he blinks owlishly up at his friend.

"You okay?"

Eddie nods.

"Do you need anything?"

You. On me, against me, in me.

He shakes his head slowly, not breaking eye contact. This seems to frustrate Steve.

"Eddie, come on," he groans. "Clearly something's wrong. Do you need water? I can bring you some." He moves to stand up, but Eddie's in the way. He has to throw his leg over him, and Eddie presses his eyes closed, begging his body not to react.

It's enough to alert Steve, though, and he freezes hovering above him, mid-movement. 

"Huh."

It's a soft sound, barely there, and Eddie decides to keep his eyes closed. Maybe if he does, whatever realization Steve has gets forgotten, and he moves on, brings him the damn water, and maybe throws it on him like on a horny dog. Maybe that would help him.

But no, the ‘huh’ is followed by Steve settling down on his hips.

Oxygen escapes him in a whiny breath, and his body presses up without his control, seeking that delicious weight of another body. 

"Want to make out about it?" Steve asks out of the blue like any normal person would in these circumstances. But Eddie doesn't answer him, he can't, and he doesn't know. He can only stare and writhe under him, making tiny sounds of need he can't comprehend. Steve frowns down on him, partially concerned, partially curious. 

"Don't feel like talking?" he asks. Eddie gives him a nod. He hums. "Can you answer some yes or no questions? Nod for a yes and shake your head for no."

Nod.

"You can blink twice if you don't know or don't want to answer. Okay?"

Nod.

"What do you do if you don't want to answer?"

Eddie blinks twice.

"Good. Great." Steve smiles, and Eddie mirrors it through his haze. "Are you feeling alright?"

Nod.

"Do you need water?"

Shake.

"Do you need the bathroom?"

Shake.

"A snack?"

Shake.

Steve considers him, perched on top of his body. Eddie tentatively reaches up, palms resting on his thighs. Steve's gaze follows his fingers, where they just rest with no ill intent, only there to touch.

"Will we talk about it more in the morning?"

Eddie hesitates. Does he want to talk about it? To bring his shame to the light of day, confess the budding crush on his friend? But Steve doesn't seem angry, he's not kicking him out of the bed. He's being soft and gentle and trying to understand. Maybe in the morning, they could understand it together. Tentatively, he nods.

That eases Steve's frown a bit, but he sighs when another problem hits him.

"I don't know what else to ask," he admits with a huff. 

Eddie wants to help, so he slides his hands up, towards his hips, and tries to convey as best as possible where he wants him. He stares into his eyes, begging him to understand.

"Want me to lay down on you?"

He nods furiously, excited to get what he needs. 

Steve looks down. It's a minuscule movement of his eyes, but it's there. He will know if Eddie's hard when he moves, but he needs the heads-up. The bulge in Eddie's sweats is noticeable but not fully there, to Steve's relief. Having his friend under him in such a pliant state is already overwhelming as it is, and he knows Eddie will feel his own chub when he moves. 

"We're just sleeping tonight, alright?" Steve clarifies and Eddie nods without hesitation. "And cuddle a bit, I guess." Eddie nods again.

He moves, watching his friend’s face for any sign of distress. Eddie’s hands slide around him in an embrace that's more comforting than Steve's ready to admit, and soon they're chest to chest, legs tangled, and he has to crane his neck to maintain eye contact.

"That alright?"

Nod.

Eddie's hands squeeze him minutely and Steve settles down against his shoulder, finally resting his full body weight against him.

The man underneath him sighs, and it's like his whole body deflates. He makes a content sound in the back of his throat, and Steve wants to cry. It's so endearing and so comforting to have Eddie trust him like that. To have him turn into mush in his presence. 

He hopes he's not overstepping when he presses his nose to Eddie's neck, inhaling him and softly caressing his skin when he murmurs a "goodnight, Eds."

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Accident

David Howard Thornton x Y/N - drabble - 853 WC

Masterlist

Warnings: reader gets hurt on accident, actor reader, hospital, guilt, apologies, pretty fluffy tbh just watch out for the beginning because its Terrifier so ya know.... gore - ALSO, L/N just means last name

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

You struggled against the sadistic clown above you. Blood covered you head to toe, your arms felt weak as you pushed against Art’s arms. He pressed the blade further, his strength outmatching yours. You begrudgingly grabbed the blade itself, blood dripping from your hands.You screamed as you felt the knife starting to press into your shoulder, the clown above laughing silently at your pain. The further the knife pressed the more you screamed, kicking and twisting underneath him to no avail as he straddled you. 

“Stop!” you said, your voice hoarse from screaming. Your hands finally slipped the knife through as your blood made it too slippery to hold. The knife plunged into your shoulder and you let out a real, gut wrenching scream.

“CUT!” yelled Damien as he rushed over to you.

You rolled to your side clutching your arm as you sobbed.

“Somebody fucking page medical now! Call 911!” Damien yelled, his hands hovering around you; wanting to help but not knowing how.

David jumped off you, sitting in shock next to you. He didn’t know what to do, he was absolutely shocked. That knife was supposed to be a prop knife but it was hard to distinguish between them, it was the prop masters job to make sure the real knives for show never got mixed up between real and fake. David watched as the puddle of real blood emanated from your shoulder. This horrible pit in his stomach formed and he felt absolutely awful. He snapped out of it when you stopped moving and your eyes fluttered closed. He tossed the knife away, moving to you quickly to check your pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt it. Strong but fast.

“They probably passed out from the pain…” Damien said as he held pressure around your wound, keeping the knife in place.

Medical arrived and took over before the EMT’s loaded you up on a stretcher and took you to the ambulance.

“What hospital?” David asked as they started an IV and put an oxygen mask over your mouth and nose.

“Lenox Hill, we gotta go.” said the EMT before slamming the doors shut. The sirens turned on and before he knew it you were gone.

Set was eerily quiet, “I… I didn’t… It was an accident…” David stuttered. He could see the sympathy on everyone's faces.

Damien clapped his hand on David’s shoulder, “I know. Go get cleaned up and go to the hospital. Were done for the day. I’ll look into it all, trust me, somebody's getting fired.”

David nodded sullenly. Hair and makeup was a quick removal, they moved especially quick knowing David would want to get to you ASAP. He took the ferry from Staten Island to Manhattan, the 25 minute ride having him nauseous at the thought of how much pain you were in. As soon as the ferry docked he pushed through the crowds and rushed towards the hospital. The receptionist could see his worried face.

“Y/N L/N they were brought in by ambulance,” he said quickly. 

“Fourth floor room 831, they’re in recovery. What is your relation to them, it’s only family visiting hours right now.” said the receptionist.

“Husband.” he said without hesitation.

“Alright, go on up. Elevators are around the corner.” she said, pointing.

David nodded before walking over and repeatedly pressing the elevator button. As soon as he arrived at your room he pushed his way in.

Your bright face smiled at him, you looked a little sleepy but that was all. “Hi baby.”

David stood in shock for a moment before shutting the door and walking over to the bed. “Honey I’m… I’m so sorry.” he said, his voice watery.

You held his face in your hands, “It was an accident. It was blunt enough that it only cut my muscle a tad, three inches deep, nothing more. No arteries or bones. Ten stitches and some pain killers and I’m good as new.” you moved your gown off your shoulder slightly, it was wrapped up but you just wanted to show him to show you were ok. 

“I’m so sorry.” he whispered, his hand coming to rest on top of yours.

“Think Damien will put that shot in the movie?” you asked with complete seriousness.

David laughed before kissing your hand. “I bet if you ask he will. That scream was something else.” 

You smiled, “I hope so. They said I can return to shooting in a few days, just have to take it easy. They’re getting my discharge paperwork ready as we speak.” 

“My perfect little scream queen. So dedicated.” he joked. 

You rolled your eyes before bringing him up to your face for a sweet kiss. You could feel how sorry he was. You kissed him over and over again sweetly.

“We should stop before your heart monitor alerts the nurses.” he said, both of you listening to the quickened beeping. 

You both laughed, your cheeks tinted with an embarrassed blush. He kissed over your neck a few times, making heat drip over your most sensitive areas. “Later.” he smiled deviously.

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

Naboo's Note:

Hello! I hope ya'll like the new addition of our favorite boy who plays our favorite clown! Idk how to really write for Art so send in a request if you have an idea, I'd appreciate it! I feel like David is so underwritten for fanfics so I might pump out a few more for him in the near future. Thank you for all the love and support! XOXOXOXOXOX!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[hurthermore]

I need rough sex (and praise kink reader) with human Alastor

»»------► 𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚎 (18+)

Warnings: 𝚁𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚜𝚎𝚡, 𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢, 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝚜𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚘 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚝, 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚜

A/N: 𝚂𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚕 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎; 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗'𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚏 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚑 𝙻𝙼𝙰𝙾 𝙴𝙽𝙹𝙾𝚈 𝙰𝙽𝚈𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂 𝙸 𝙶𝚄𝙴𝚂𝚂??

You weren't expecting this from Alastor when he had come home from work at the radio station, only to see you having a cup of coffee with the neighbour next door; the neighbour who just so happened to be a man.

It never registered in your mind as to why Alastor was so obsessive about keeping you purely to himself; but as he pummelled himself into your wet slick, you found yourself loving how much he wished to possess you.

Moaning screams of ecstasy that left your throat as your husband - Alastor, held your head into the pillows that laid against your bed with a weight that had you crying, he forced your spine to curve at such an angle whilst he repeatedly hammered his cock into you from behind; his speed and harshness reduced you into a dumbed down whore. “You’re my wife.” His words laced with pure venom as continued to fuck you with reckless abandon. “Mine.”

Letting out a gut wrenching scream as Alastor’s thick cock slammed against the opening of your cervix, you couldn’t prevent the drool that left the corner of your mouth as your eyes rolled back. “You’re so beautiful, darling. All fucked out just for me” Alastor groaned as he slapped your ass with his free hand; a hit so hard that you were certain it had the potential to break bones. You couldn’t help the scream that left your lips as the stinging sensation hit you like a ton of bricks, nor the way the spank had caused your cunt to excrete more lubricate for you husband to cover his phallic organ in.

Despite your incoherent moans of mumbled words, you asked him to slow down; asked him to give you some room to breathe. In response, he only increased his harsh thrusts, plummeting his pelvis into the fat of your cheeks with haste, causing your whole body to thrust up the bed to the point where his sex almost left the walls of your core, only to push you back onto his fat cock at such a rate you thought he was going to damage something.

Your sex felt like it was in the pits of a fire as Alastor continued to spank you, each as hard as the last as he fucked himself into you; your cunt squeezing his length from every hit with such tightness it had him almost spilling his cum into you.

Groaning loudly with gritted teeth, Alastor's grasp on your neck tightened ever so slightly before retracting, only to pierce the tips of his fingernails into your back, shallowly tearing your skin as he dragged his hand along your spine; causing you to scream in pain and pleasure as he caused little drops of blood to seep through the torn flesh.

Halting his movements, he stilled his cock inside you, giving you a moment to relax from his rough and relentless pace as he leaned over your form. Pressing his chest against your now slightly bloodied back, he gripped your jaw; forcing your head to tilt awkwardly before he shoved his tongue between your gaping lips. Despite how dumb Alastor was able to make you whenever he made love to you; or fucked you with a passion like no other, as he licked every part of the innards of your mouth, you bit your teeth into his sloppy tongue, causing him to buck into you with a pained groan; his eyes rolling back as you inflicted pain back onto him. And as the familiar taste of metallic salt began to cascade onto the buds of your tongue, you began to suck on his oral muscle, drinking up the blood that left his wound.

With a curse on the tip of his tongue, he retracted from your mouth before kissing your temple with intense pressure. Flushing from his soft gesture despite his rough assault, Alastor adjusted his posture, giving you another harsh thrust before leaning over your back once more, only to lick the wounds he had inflicted onto you, feasting on the blood he had caused to drip from your flesh. Moaning at the sensation, you pushed yourself back into him, trying to recreate the ministrations he had fucked you with. 

Gripping his fingers into your hips, he guided your cunt to drag along his cock at a slower rate than he had previously gone, but one that went so deep inside of you, you thought you could see stars.

Sighing a staggering moan into the damaged skin of your back, Alastor's hair tickled you as he lifted his head from your back, your blood smeared on his lips as he began to fuck into you harder and faster; matching his previous roughness as he snaked his fingers along your stomach before pressing his fingertips against your throbbing clit.

Crying out as your husband strummed your blooming bud with such mastery that he had learned over the years as he had attuned his knowledge of your body and what pleasured you, you could feel his sweat and drool drip onto your back as he continued to slam his sex rapidly into you. It felt too much, and like a tidal wave, you could only squeeze your thighs as they shook from the sheer amount of pleasure your loving husband was pouring into you as your cunt began orgasm over your husbands cock, squeezing down on him with such pressure that forced him to thrust into you one last time with such harshness it caused his own ejaculation to splatter the innards of your core.

Panting as Alastor remained inside you despite coming down from your highs, he wrapped his arms around your stomach before placing soft kisses along your back and into your neck before he nudged his sharp facial features into the crevice of your neck and shoulder.

“The next time you talk to another man, I’m going to carve my name into every part of your beautiful skin, darling.” His word mumbled into your skin before he removed himself off of you; his cum slowly exuded from your core before he laid back into the bed, pulling you into him as he wrapped his strong yet slim arms around you.

Laying your head into his chest, you could only think about his threat.

Why did it make your cunt throb in pleasure?

»»------► 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

[theambitiouswoman]

Supplements & Vitamins

Here's a list of some of the most commonly used supplements and their benefits. Please remember that while supplements can be beneficial for certain people, everyones nutritional needs are different. It's always a good idea to consult with a specialist before adding any new supplements to your routine, as individual needs may vary.

Multivitamin: Provides a range of essential vitamins and minerals to support overall health and fill potential nutrient gaps in your diet.

Omega-3 Fatty Acids: Promote heart health, brain function, and reduce inflammation. Typically derived from fish oil or algae.

Vitamin D: Supports bone health, immune function, and may have a positive impact on mood. It's commonly obtained through sun exposure, but supplements can be useful, especially in winter or for those with limited sun exposure.

Probiotics: Help promote a healthy gut microbiome, aiding digestion, nutrient absorption, and immune function.

Magnesium: Important for muscle and nerve function, bone health, and energy production. It may also help with relaxation and sleep.

B vitamins: Help convert food into energy, support brain function, and maintain healthy hair, skin, and nails.

Vitamin C: Boosts immune function, acts as an antioxidant, supports collagen production, and aids in iron absorption.

Zinc: Essential for immune function, wound healing, and cell division. It also supports normal growth and development during pregnancy, childhood, and adolescence.

Iron: Required for red blood cell production and oxygen transport. Iron deficiency can lead to anemia and fatigue, but it's essential to get iron levels checked before supplementing.

Calcium: Crucial for bone health and muscle function. It's often combined with vitamin D for better absorption.

Coenzyme Q10 (CoQ10): Plays a vital role in energy production within cells and acts as an antioxidant. It may benefit heart health and cellular energy metabolism.

Curcumin (Turmeric extract): Possesses anti-inflammatory and antioxidant properties, potentially supporting joint health and cognitive function.

Ashwagandha: An adaptogenic herb that may help reduce stress, promote relaxation, and support cognitive function.

Green Tea Extract: Contains antioxidants and may support cardiovascular health, weight management, and cognitive function.

Glucosamine: Commonly used for joint health and may help alleviate symptoms of osteoarthritis.

Chondroitin: Often taken alongside glucosamine, it may help reduce joint pain and improve joint mobility.

Probiotics for Gut Health: Certain strains of probiotics can help restore and maintain a healthy balance of gut bacteria, supporting digestion and immune function.

Melatonin: A hormone that regulates sleep-wake cycles, melatonin supplements can help with insomnia or jet lag.

Vitamin E: An antioxidant that supports immune function and may help protect against cellular damage.

Ginseng: An adaptogenic herb that may help increase energy, reduce stress, and support cognitive function.

Prebiotics: These are non-digestible fibers that promote the growth of beneficial gut bacteria, supporting gut health and digestion.

Magnesium: In addition to its previous benefits, magnesium may help reduce muscle cramps, improve mood, and promote relaxation.

Probiotics for Vaginal Health: Certain strains of probiotics can help maintain a healthy balance of vaginal flora, reducing the risk of infections.

Cranberry Extract: Often used for urinary tract health, cranberry extract may help prevent urinary tract infections.

Resveratrol: Found in grapes and berries, resveratrol has antioxidant properties and may support heart health and longevity.

L-theanine: An amino acid commonly found in green tea, L-theanine may promote relaxation, improve focus, and reduce anxiety.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

WAR OF HEARTS

TIME: February 1942

TW: it's inspired by a movie "Pearl Harbor" FLUFF

PAIRING: soldier!anakin x nurse!reader

Anakin laid on the medical bed, every broken bone ached with even the slightest movement. He was thirsty, hungry, and desperate to recover, but the relentless pain gripped his every nerve like a living nightmare, stabbing his spine with invisible knives

His ears were filled with the groans of fellow soldiers, all victims of the war - each sharing their own agony. His mind was haunted by images of the battlefield—the relentless gunfire, the screams of men in torment, the thick scent of fresh blood, and the cold, unforgiving rain.

The only solace in his hospital stay was the presence of his favorite nurse, you. You were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen; your kind and sweet demeanor coupled with your gentle touch made his time more bearable. Your voice was soothing and sugary, providing him with brief moments of comfort amidst his suffering. He thought of you as an angel, a true angel sent from heavens by God himself, to bring him back to health and ease his suffering—a reward for the sacrifices he had made for his country

As the days passed, Anakin found himself eagerly anticipating your visits every time. Every time you entered his hospital room, a sense of calm washed over him, as if you brought with yourself a piece of heaven.

He found himself captivated by your every move—the way you carefully checked his bandages; the softness in your touch when you adjusted his pillows..it all gave him a tingly feeling in his gut. Day by day he found himself falling for you even more and it was almost surprising for him how easily you could wrap him around your finger, by doing nothing but showing kindness and care

"How do you feel today?" your sweet voice rang in his ears as you came for your daily checks on not only him but every patient here.

Anakin turned his head to face you. He managed a faint smile, the most he could muster through his agony.

"Could be better," he admitted, his voice betraying the strain he was under. "But seeing you makes it bearable.” the last words dripping with the last braveness he could bring to offer

You offered him a smile while Anakin's eyes traced up and down your figure as you moved around, checking things and taking notes on a clipboard. Despite his pain, a different kind of ache stirred in his chest. Somehow he longed to reach out, to touch you, to draw you closer. But he knew better than that to not do it, at least not right now

"Thank you... for taking such good care of me, Nurse Y/N."

"It's my job..." you replied, this time forcing a smile as your fingers slowly untied the bandage on his arm.

His gaze lingered on your face during your work. His blue eyes followed your every movement, almost studying your expression– your delicate features, the way your eyes seemed to glow with warmth. Each glance only deepened the ache within him, a yearning for something more amidst the chaos of war. The pain in his arm flared as air touched his wound; however he tried to remain still, not wanting to make your job any more difficult. He gritted his teeth for a moment, then exhaled slowly, trying to relax his sore muscles.

Your brows knitted together. "Well, it is healing, but you're going to have a scar…”

Anakin glanced down at his arm, wincing at the sight of the raw, angry-looking wound beneath the bandage. The thought of a scar didn’t bother him; he had plenty of those already. He looked back at you, his expression a mix of resignation and determination.

"Scar or not, I'll be fine. I've been through worse,"

You hummed softly, gently changing the bandage and tying it up firmly. He kept watching you intently, to which you were now used to. His eyes tracing the delicate movements of your hands; the pain in his arm had lessened to a dull throb, thanks to your skilled care. Seeking a distraction, he initiated conversation.

"How long have you been here?" he asked. The curiosity was evident in his voice.

"Started a few months ago," you replied softly with a sigh, moving your hands to the bandage over his head.

He felt strangely at ease in your presence, as if her very essence had a calming effect on him. And he didn't know you at all. But maybe it's this magic of being an angel? That every person you're around immediately feels intense trust towards you?

"You're a natural at it," he said, a note of admiration in his voice. "You're always so... gentle."

"Well, this job requires that... Does your head still hurt?”

He winced as your hand accidentally touched a sensitive spot on his head, the pain flaring up momentarily. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he tried to control it. He managed to nod,his expression a mix of fatigue and discomfort.

"It does," he admitted, his voice slightly shaky. "But it's getting better, I think.”

You sighed, twisting your body to the near nightstand. You opened the cabinet, roaming over the different pills inside. Anakin's eyes followed your every move, once more, feeling almost hypnotized by you. Well, he also wanted to memorize every second you spend here, with him before he will lost you..He wanted to say something meaningful, something beyond the polite small talk you usually exchanged. His mind raced with indecision until he decided he had nothing to lose.

"Will you go out with me?" he asked out of nowhere, his voice suddenly serious yet gentle.

"What?" you scoffed, turning to face him

Anakin mentally cursed himself for his impulsiveness. Your response was not what he had hoped for. "You heard me," he kept going nonetheless "I want to take you out on a date. Once I'm discharged from this place, of course”

"I... but you will be sent back to the frontline."

Anakin's expression darkened, the harsh truth of your words hitting him hard. The idea of returning to the place he was taken from filled him with a mix of dread and resignation. "Maybe," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But that doesn't change the fact that I want to take you on a date. A proper date, not just here in some hospital room."

Surprisingly for him, you chuckled, gently placing a pill on his tongue before holding his head so he could take a sip of water. "First, you need to get better.”

He complied, swallowing the pill and taking a gulp of water, his gaze remaining fixed on her. He hated how weak he felt, having to rely on you for his basic needs. It felt weird but at the same time, it's nothing bad. He was, now, fragile and vulnerable. Something, yes, he dreads, however your presence healed his self-consciousness "And then you'll go out with me?" he asked, a hopeful smirk playing on his lips.

You smiled warmly, leaning down to give him a kiss on the forehead, to which Anakin's eyes widened slightly. His heart skipped a beat, a mix of surprise and excitement washing over him "We will see," you whispered before walking away.

He watched your hips sway back and forth, a strange, happy flutter filling his stomach

In all his days he had never felt such excitement and building nervousness at the thought of you possibly agreeing on the date. Gosh, he was in heaven

A month later, Anakin stood nervously outside the hospital, already dressed in his uniform. He clutched a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of champagne, knowing he would soon return to the frontline. He exhaled the cold February air and waited for you to finish your work

Whereas you have just finished your shift. With giggling friends all around you, you took the step out of the hospital and the frigid air made you shiver. You wrapped your coat tighter around you hoping to shake off the cold air. Your eyes caught the visible in cold breaths before they lingered on the high man that stood in the darkness. Soon you acknowledged who it was and your cheeks flushed even more. Gosh, you didn't even know this man. You just took care of him, as your job required you to. But now, as you two made eye contact, you could see his face without all the bandages and small cuts. And only one thought crossed your mind;

He was divine

"What are you doing here?" you asked after your friends left your side, giggling to themselves after you've said your ‘bye’s’

Anakin smiled nervously, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the watchful eyes of your friends. He held up the bouquet and the bottle of champagne, his voice slightly shaky.

"I came to see you," he replied. "I wanted to take you out on that date I promised. Tonight.”

“Tonight?”

Anakin nodded, his expression serious as he took a step closer to you, holding out the bouquet and the champagne.

"Yeah, tonight," he affirmed, his voice earnest. "I only have a few days left before I…” he swallowed “.. have to go back. I want to spend every moment I can with you.”

your expression softened, accepting the beautiful bouquet "Well, I don't see why we wouldn't spend some time together," you replied sweetly.

Anakin's heart leapt at your response, a wave of relief washing over him. "Great," he said, a smile returning to his face. "I have a surprise for you. Come on.” He held out his arm, offering it for you to take. With a soft chuckle, you've accepted his arm

You couldn't help but notice how Anakin's muscles were toned and strong beneath your touch. It was a silent reminder of the physical demands he endured in his duty. He led you through the quiet streets, the night air chilly yet oddly comforting. A thrill of excitement coursed through not only him but you as well while you walked together, acutely aware of the limited time you had.

Finally after some time, you sat down on a bench. "Okay, so... I've never done this before, so I—" he muttered, attempting to open the champagne bottle. But unfamiliar with the process, the cork unexpectedly popped off and hit Anakin in the face. He grunted in surprise and annoyance.

"Damn it...!" he cursed, rubbing his nose. He glanced down at the spilled champagne that stained the bench.

"Are you okay?" you gasped, noticing the escaping blood

Anakin nodded through the pain, trying to play it off. "Yeah, just a little sting," he said, though the blood trickling down his nose betrayed his discomfort. He attempted to discreetly wipe it away, only managing to smear it on his glove

The difficulty in breathing began to distress him, his expression a mix of pain and annoyance. Anakin cursed silently, trying to staunch the bleeding.

"Damn it, I was trying to impress you…”

You chuckled softly, finding it adorable. Swiftly, you grabbed ice from the ground and gently pushed his hand away to press it to his nose. "It's okay..." you whispered

He winced as the ice touched his tender nose, but the coldness provided some relief from the throbbing pain. Anakin looked up at you, embarrassment mingling with gratitude in his eyes

"I feel like an idiot now..." he muttered, feeling his face heat up under your too gentle gaze. He felt bold again and settled his head on your lap, hoping you wouldn't push him away or feel uncomfortable. A sigh escaped him as the pain in his nose subsided with the cooling sensation of the ice.

"This is not how I imagined our date would go..." he mumbled

you couldn't help but chuckle softly in response. "It's okay," you repeated again to run your free hand through his curls

He closed his eyes, savoring the gentle touch of your fingers. It was a soothing sensation, distracting him from the discomfort in his nose. His body relaxed, tension draining away as he allowed himself to immerse in the moment.

"I'm really glad you agreed to this," he murmured, his voice quieter than usual.

"I'm glad you've asked me out.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he let out a soft exhale.

"Yeah, I was honestly scared you would say no," he admitted, opening his eyes to met your gaze, vulnerability and honesty shining through "But you didn't, and now I'm here with you, and everything feels..." he paused, searching for the right word. "... perfect."

You hummed softly. "Does your nose still hurt?”

He shifted slightly on your lap, feeling the lingering ache in his nose. Anakin let out a small sigh before answering; "Not as bad as before," he replied, his expression slightly pained. "The ice helped. But it still stings a bit.”

"The ice should stop the bleeding."

He nodded gratefully at your nursing knowledge. "Maybe you should kiss it to make it better," he suggested with a widening smile.

"A kiss will make it better?" you raised an eyebrow

"It's a well-known fact," he teased. "A kiss from a pretty nurse can work miracles.”

"Didn't know that," you chuckled softly, to which he did the same

"Well, now you know," he said, his voice taking on a slightly more serious tone. "And I wouldn't mind if you tested that theory out for me.”

You giggled again, leaning down to press a gentle kiss on his nose. When he felt the softness of your lips against his nose and he momentarily forgot about the ache. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding while his heart fluttered in his chest.

"That definitely made it better," he said, his voice slightly more breathless than usual. "Though, I might need a few more kisses just to be sure."

"Oh, more?" You teased playfully.

He nodded, a playful glimmer in his eyes as he shifted on your lap to bring his face closer to yours. "Yeah, just to make sure the pain is completely gone," he whispered, his voice a low murmur. "A few more kisses on the nose, maybe a few on the mouth, just to be thorough."

Without much hesitation, you brought your lips to his once more. However this time you've heard Anakin wince slightly, the extra pressure exacerbating the pain in his nose. But the initial discomfort quickly faded, replaced by the sweetness of your mouth against his. He let out a small hum of enjoyment and deepened the kiss.

You leaned in, your breath warm against his skin. However this time you've heard Anakin wince slightly, the initial pressure intensifying the pain momentarily. But the discomfort quickly dissolved, replaced by the tender sweetness of your kiss. He let out a contented hum, savoring the moment as he gently deepened the caress.

The night air around you was cold, but the heat between you two created a cocoon of warmth and intimacy. And he couldn't be happier right now, not when he managed to have such an angel by his side

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @ysrjune @divineani @erosmutt @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt @slutforfinnickodair

(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

[robolvrr]

you make me hard ;ᣟ݂ ✩͏⚹︎ᣟ݂    

whirl x gn! masochist reader

nsfw content. warnings: sexual content. mild blood. dirtytalk. humiliation/painplay.

whirl being whirl. nasty ensues.

"quit yer squirming, fleshie."

his warning garbles to a thick, coated snarl which sends the wire thin hair of your arms erect. you can feel a dribble of warmth flood out your nose down your jaw instead, ignoring the bitter tang and panting out your grievances instead.

motherfucker had started all this by breaking it.

you don't even have the comfort that it was accidental, because despite popular belief whirl rarely does anything without some premeditated thought.

his claws make quick work of your uniform, shredding through supposedly the galaxy's most endurable nylon and mesh with a rattle to his engines. what a scam.

that glowing orb of an optic burns bright in your reflection, which between blotted lashes and stinging tears looks awfully pleased. another whine crawls free from your throat.

"fuck, fuck, f-fuck! you fuck! stop tearing my shit, you're such an asshole—"

he must have liked that too. his attention doesn't wander though a servo does, catching your throat as a grizzley would salmon. it's strangely familiar to an animal planet special, you think, seeing his predatory frame dwarf yours.

no amount of struggling would have gone your favor anyhow.

whirl gives a mean laugh that shouldn't make you gush, but it does and he knows, especially as he uses your neck as a way to keep your hips grinding against the sharp corners of his sink.

"aw, don't be like that meatbag. and here i thought we were makin' progress!"

his spike bulges in you. you let out a shrill, wanton sob. he's grossly leering at your ass at this point, watching skin and flesh and muscle ripple the harder he goes. he thinks about the pinpricks he's left digging into you and how you take all the abuse he dishes so, so well.

"you getting.. ha.. ffff.. cold pedes, huh? you wish you were - slag, you're tighter than, shhiiii-- doing this with someone else? someone nice?"

the cackle you earn is maniacal as you manage to violently shake your head, a hand of yours slamming against the mirror as you fight to throw your weight back and meet his cruel affections.

it's difficult to find at what point your sanity finally unfolded and ended up in the lap of this psycho.

everyone is so, so nice. rodimus deemed it necessary.

everyone smiles at you, mostly. guides you, listens to you, enamored or curious or respectful enough to keep their dislike quiet.

it's excruciating. you don't like the unknown and you question the present, if it's genuine or not.

but whirl? oh, he made his opinions loud and clear. and when he insulted you and your size and the way your eyeballs bulged out your head like you were some scooped out animal when you got scared, there was a silent, shared understanding between you two as the crew tried to argue him to silence.

he saw you. he knew you and what you needed in a heartbeat.

an arrangement was made.

you aren't dating. you aren't in love and if you are it's in a way that doesn't fit standards. it's not as if you're worried though the previous entanglements where he managed to tug your jealousy from its shell leaves uncomfortable questions unanswered.

"hey. hey. don't you dare pass out on me. i want you awake when i overload. i want you alive."

a weak noise pitters when you force your control back into gear. slamming into glass shards isn't ideal.

not this time at least.

god, you are a freak.

"m-maybe you aren't hitting it like you need to be. go harder. i want to feel you burst my guts."

whirl doesn't stop but you see golden crescent, squinting at you. his claws delve into your hair and tug your scalp.

a yowl of joy is gargled with drool. limp and pliant, he now can fully destroy you and enjoy how noodly you get for him, almost as if the bones of your spine and arms and legs have disintegrated and he's fragging a puddle of goo.

"there's my nasty babe."

his spike swells. you can feel each inch grow fat with fluid, knocking into soft, sopping flesh and rubbing spots internally your fingers, toys and partners never had the expertise to find.

a claw, still holding your head hostage, is long enough to hook into your nostril. you think for a moment he's going to treat you like a pig and it makes you squeal, but it's whirl, remember?

he can't be too sweet with you.

so, he plays with your lips, still fascinated with how easily they squeeze between sharp prods. he finds the point where you truly struggle and squirm and gives you a second to breathe.

"a-angh!!!"

the air is knocked out from your lungs. it burns. you're babbling. an 'i love it' and an 'i love you' intermingle; you swear you hear whirl curse before he damn near breaks the sink, water rushing and treating you like a hollow toy.

"gonna.. gonna split you open. gonna make you break and break you again and again and again. never gonna like anything other than this. i wish i could eat you. crush you."

the closest to an confession you'll get.

you cum, crying for the third time.

"want it. whant yhu. wan' it, wan' it, harder, harder!"

hot, molten release coats your thighs sticky and thick. your arousal mixes with his, though he just keeps pumping you full until you groan.

he pulls out only to spurt over your back, hissing as he paints your skin and taps his spike crudely against your shoulder blades.

you groggily croak, curious as he rubs it between them, once. huh. strange choice.

a kink for another cycle. another nanoklik.

knowing whirl, you'll be back at it sooner than later.

"well. makes up for the little boo-boo, right?"

insufferable. maybe you will take up some of the lost light members drunken fantasies and toss him out the nearest airlock.

"ffffff..."

"fuck? me? yeah shortstack, ya' just did."

"yu.. you are suchh.."

"youuuu need me to call a medic? sounding kind of out of breath. could have 'em swing by... take a little looksie themselves."

your fire cools, a whine as you swipe back at him overwhelmed by the laughter that rumbles behind you.

[morgana-ren]

Astarion going a little batshit and embracing his yandere side is all I've ever wanted. Especially if youre his spawn because you are truely fucked. I think the first time he makes you do something, he does feel a little guilt, but it's gone quick enough.

The first time it happens, it isn't even intentional. It happens automatically— like some dormant power suddenly awakened in his blood. There is no magic, cursing, or even intention behind it. Only an effortless aura of command that your body bends to, yielding to him as second nature.

There's an argument. Over what, it doesn't quite matter-- something senseless and a long time coming. It ends with you storming off, trying to walk away before things escalate and things turn ugly between you. Abandoning the conversation before he's managed to say his piece.

Needless to say, he does not abide this.

He demands you to return, and you do not. You keep stalking off towards the entryway, utterly ignoring his protestation. Back turned, marching off, indignant and furious, clearly indifferent to his words—

And you do not ignore your Lord.

"Stop right there!"

Your limbs stiffen as if your flesh has suddenly hardened into stone, and fear spurs icy tendrils through your brain as you realize you are locked in place.

You cannot move. Even as you bid your bones, they do not heed your command. Your muscles are rusted iron, and your will cannot bend them. Your body is not your own any longer. It belongs to him, awaiting orders with bated breath.

He realizes what he's done as he senses your fury. You cannot move, even desperately try. You are wholly under his thrall, body and soul. He recalls the horror of his first time losing his autonomy to Cazador with staggering detail. The misery. The betrayal. The terror of it all, a prisoner trapped within your own mind, utterly helpless against the dark, primal magics stirring within you that highjack control of your form.

You have brought it on yourself. Had you just been as obedient as you are pretty—

"Now come back," snaps his fingers, blinking slowly with an unreadable expression and watching with interest as your legs move of their own volition towards the spot he now points at directly before him.

He can see you fighting it. See you strain and thrash against your very mind, wailing to be set free from this ancient trick of nature he's wielding against you. He remembers miserable nights of it-- centuries of it-- begging for freedom or a miracle from the forsaken Gods or even the sweet, saccharine release of death. He imagines your expression looks exactly as his did when he first discovered the intangible chains: a portrait of true, unbridled horror.

Something within him stirs and there's a small crook ticking his lips upward. Only slightly, but still visible.

You approach him once more, and he can feel your rage. Oh, how you long to strike him down.

As if you could.

"There's a good girl," The taunting lilt to his voice is unmistakable, cruel in his mockery. "See? Was that so hard?"

Your lip curls, so ready to spit venom right back at him.

"Ah, ah! Hush now, darling. Wouldn't want to say something we'd regret, now would we?"

Your words stopper in your throat, forcibly swallowed back into the flaming pit of rage that burns in your gut. You can taste the vitriol on your tongue, but you can do nothing other than choke on it.

"You don't want to fight, little love. Do you? Of course not. We can let bygones be bygones--"

A sharp glint in his scarlet eyes that sets your teeth on edge. You've seen it before, but he hasn't turned it on you before-- not until now.

"--If you beg my forgiveness."

If you were expecting him to return your autonomy, you are sorely mistaken. Anything that forms behind your teeth is immediately forced down. He has not relinquished control, and it's now that you realize he doesn't intend to. Not until he's satisfied. This is a punishment-- an object lesson to remind you of your place and the power he wields over you, even as he claims to love you.

The only words allowed to pass your lips are those he wants to hear, and you can feel them crawling up against your will, a spidery reflex he has total control of.

And yet, even as you go to speak, he stops you once more.

"I'll need to know you're truly sorry, of course. Go ahead and kneel, darling. A little show of supplication."

You drop to your knees so suddenly that marble bruises bone, drawn down as if weighed by a thousand stones. In his magnanimous glory, you are still allowed to look up at him, bleary vision clouded with freshly forming tears at this heinous betrayal.

"I'm so sorry, Master. I'll obey. It's not my place to question you. I'll never walk away from you again."

The words are not your own, and yet, you cannot bite them back. They slip the confines of your lips, spoken into truth by his will. That is what he wants to hear, so that is what your voice speaks even as you scratch and tear at the walls of your brain to rend them apart in your fruitless battle with primal servitude.

"I forgive you, dear one."

Your head lolls against his thigh, and he reaches a clawed hand down to card through your hair, petting your head softly like you are a dog begging attention from its master. Your neck strains to pull away, but you are drawn to him as a magnet.

"Silly, foolish girl. It's as if you forget your place is here," He tips your chin upward with a long, slender finger, looking down on you from above. "But that's alright. I have as long as I need to remind you."

Roiling hate flows from your body in waves, indignant and painful in its power. And yet, it is hapless against his tide of control. Eclipsed entirely under by his shadow.

"Now tell me you love me."

You fight with all your considerable strength, but again, the sentiment is choked out between ragged exhales and a soft sob.

"I love you. I'll never leave you."

He smiles down at you, all fang and ferocity, fingers weaving into your hair and tugging just hard enough to elicit a gasp from you.

"You're right. You won't."

He laughs derisively, grin growing wider as he pats your hair.

"I love you so, darling girl, even as you test me. Now, how about we put all of this nasty business behind us and move along to making it up to me, hmm?"

[thesightstoshowyou]

I heard Ghoul fuckery is wanted and I am HERE for it. So this was an idea a friend of mine came up with, just a little something, so maybe it'll work for you?

Imagine you were taught to hunt and skin animals so blood and guts aren’t anything to you, so you can imagine the Ghoul getting turned on by you covered in blood ♡

I’m literally kicking my feet and giggling at this prompt 😍 Thank you so much.

~~

Red

Cooper Howard x GN Reader (NSFW-ish)

Warnings: Animal death, blood, gore, knife mention, suggestive themes

~~

The crack of the rifle disturbs the hush of the forest. Crows take flight in alarm, rodents skitter though trees, but the doe doesn’t budge. She hovers motionless for one, two breaths before collapsing in a heap.

She goes down easy, bullet straight through the heart. Clean, painless. A yellowing grin is the only indication the Ghoul gives that he’s impressed, but you don’t notice.

Instead, you’re busy slinging the rifle over your shoulder and picking your way through the brush. That gunshot will have told everything in the vicinity that dinner’s ready. Best get to cleaning before something big comes running.

Your knees hit dirt, dust billowing up to speckle your pants when you kneel and draw your skinning knife. You waste no time in cutting away breast tissue before moving on to open up the pelvis. Bones snap, flesh and sinew part under your blade, and thick crimson wets your hands and soaks into the dirt. The scents of tangy iron and musky game fill the clearing as you diligently work.

Quiet bootfalls saunter up behind you. “Well, if I were a gentleman, I’d offer to do that for ya’,” Cooper drawls, “But it looks to me like ya’ got it handled.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo,” you quip. Gritting your teeth, you grunt with the effort of freeing innards from the doe’s body cavity. Prickling on the back of your neck tells you Cooper’s gaze is intent upon your every move.

Pausing, you glance over your shoulder to cock a questioning brow at the Ghoul hovering over you. Cooper crouches to get on your level. “Yeah, I can see that, darlin.” Leisurely, he reaches one, scarred hand out to pluck one of your blood soaked wrists from the pile of deer viscera.

From under the brim of his hat, he looks directly into your eyes as he brings your dripping hand to his mouth. Gnarled lips part and you squeak when they close around two of your bloody digits. Your teeth dig into your lip when he sucks them clean. They slide free from his mouth with a quiet pop.

He moves onto the next finger, then the next until your cheeks burn and your thighs clench. Cooper hums in satisfaction before finally releasing your wrist. Suddenly, the need for haste doesn’t seem so pressing.

The Ghoul reaches into the bloody mess between you to wet his own fingers. He brings them to your mouth to smear scarlet across your bottom lip. You taste iron when you wrap your lips around his thumb.

“Red’s a good color on you, sweetheart,” he murmurs. You watch the muscles in his jaw flex with his steadying inhale. “Let’s pick up the pace. I got other things than food on my mind now.”

[yandere--stuck]

AaaaaAAA I was so happy to see you already had a gore fic for Bill in the works! I have reread it like. 5 times. Your writing scratches my gore itch perfectly, and I just adore fics the intestinal stuff especially <33 and his mentions of your heart also… the romance!! I was inspired by what you wrote, I hope you enjoy it once again :D! (also im doing great, hope ur doing well too :D!!) - zagreus gore anon

Notes for anyone else: This contains gore!! So much gore!! Body horror— It’s Bill’s love language!! (intestinal trauma, mouth trauma, eye trauma…. Honestly ‘you’ here are violated in like every way possible.) No sexual content, but it’s suggestive to me. Bill Cipher is a Weirdo.

---------

You never quite get used to the pain. You wish you did.

In your memories, the sensation is dulled. You know it was painful, you know it was one of the most horrible sensations of your life, but the full extent of it… You can’t remember. Your brain must be protecting you from it. Every act of Bill’s love would constitute life-long trauma for anyone else, yet you live through another session of it day by day. No. Scratch that. They wouldn’t be alive to recall it. They wouldn’t make it half as far as you. For you, no such easy, simple fate can ever be attainable. The weirdness of his new world has conquered Death itself.

Bill had cradled his intestines in your arms, laughing as they helplessly twitched and writhed against his body, cooing at them as you howled in pain. “Aww, are you excited to see papa?” He’d said, and only the strangeness of it had kept you from repressing it. He talked to your guts as if they were puppies, as if blood smeared across his bricks were innocent licks against his skin instead. Another time, he’d wrapped your guts around his triangular body, and called it the ‘world’s most intimate hug’ as he whispered sweet nothings about how much he looooves you, and also the health of your gut bacteria. Somehow, he always outdoes himself.

Bill had dug even deeper, crumbling your ribs to smithereens in his hands, and held your still-beating heart in his palms as an object of reverence. “All mine, all mine…” He’d muttered to himself, his pupil momentarily expanding to a large, inky abyss. The pain had been so intense that you’d slipped into shock. A bad habit of yours, as Bill called it, would be your tendency to slip into memories of the past to escape the present. When you should be focusing on him.

That time, he’d jolted you back to reality by fire-hot pain slashing through your heart. All the time, it continued pumping, spurting blood in Bill’s direction with every pump. His powers were the only thing keeping you alive. When, once, blood sprayed right into his eye and he was forced to take a break, you smiled for just a moment. A lopsided, crooked grin. He’d used a mirror to show you his handiwork. In the outer flesh of your heart, he’d burned a little triangle. He’d already healed the skin. The lighter pink scarring stood out against the rest of your heart. Marked forever. Though he’s usually so talkative, at that moment, he’d been quiet for just a few seconds.

Then, he’d laughed, breaking all tension. “Wow, it sure smells like barbecue in here!”

On another occasion, he had hummed a little tune to himself, comically large saw in hand, as he cut off your limbs one by one. You could never forget the sound as the teeth sawed through your bones, bit by bit. Tearing through muscle. The clunk of your arm hitting the floor. Your leg. Rinse and repeat. You swore you could still feel your arms and legs, once you lost enough blood and your vision went hazy. Bill had hugged you against his smaller form. (He could change his body’s size, technically. But he always preferred appearing just as he was to you.)

“Without all those gangly, long limbs of yours, we can really cuddle now!” The next day, all of your limbs had regrown.

He’d cradled your face with one hand, and kept your mouth open with his other wrist. You could see nothing except for that giant eye of his as he pried your teeth out of your mouth, one by one. The taste of blood filled your mouth. He’d tug and tug and tug, not nearly using enough strength, and being entirely aware of it, until finally yanking it out once and for all. (Until it regrew, that is.) Under your gaze, he took your teeth one by one, drilled a little hole in them and strung them together on a necklace.

“Hmmmm,” he’d hummed to himself, a long, drawn-out noise. “I feel like it’s missing something. What do you think?” Before you could answer, not that you had any desire to, he snapped his fingers. “Oh! I know! For a sign of our undying love for each other, it’s a little plain with just teeth!”

In the next moment, Bill had taken out one of your eyes. You cannot comprehend how such a, relatively, small part of your face could hurt so unimaginably much. You wanted him to drape his guts all over himself again. You’re sure a point-blank gunshot to the head would’ve hurt less. Been less discomforting. His fingers had shrunk into paper-thin appendages and slipped past your eyeball, digging and cutting away at the nerves behind it. You cried tears of blood. If there was anything in your stomach, you might have thrown up.

Then, all at once, pain had blossomed into pure, mind-numbing pleasure. Compared to the pain, this is what you would like to forget the most. You’d gurgled out a moan through the spit gathered at the back of your throat. Your limbs had twitched helplessly against your restraints. When your optic nerve finally snapped, you’d whined as Bill took your eye out, exclaiming “Pop!” as he did so. For just a moment, he’d juggled your detached eyeballs in his hands, having left you panting.

“Yes, now this’ll make a good centerpiece!”

Pain had become just pain once again as soon as his touch left you. There is nothing good about a gaping, throbbing hole left in your face. You whine, sniffle softly, to get his attention. You hardly ever speak out loud anymore. Bill can read your every thought and is aware of your every idea. When speaking takes up more energy than it saves, why should you? In that moment, you had lacked the energy to think about it, your body desperately trying to recover itself.

Right now, you wonder why he’d make it feel good. Why, this one time. You don’t immediately get a response. Bill just laughs and laughs and laughs, running his fingers across the teeth of his necklace, poking the eyeball in the very middle. In your eye-socket, an exact replica of it has re-formed itself.

“You’re so funny! Why do you think I did anything at all? That was all you, baby!” His pupil transforms into a heart. It’s a blink-or-you-miss it transformation, and as soon as it happened, you think you’ve made it up. “I told you that you’d come around to it! Maybe we can even share in a little bit of pain next time, huh?”

You haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since, both his words and how mind-numbingly good it had felt. Maybe he’d simply lied to you, maybe it’d all been his doing. That would be the best outcome, right?… With time, you know Bill will ‘show you his love’ again— He always does. But this time, you await it with fear, largely fear, but with a little anticipation, too. There’s no need to tell him. He already knows.

ANON I AM BARKING LIKE A DOG!!!!!!!! BARKBARKBARKBARK THIS IS AMAZING!!!!! God, your descriptive voice is so good, it's so vivid!!!! Bill tricking reader into thinking they like it and them believing it...... Yummy yummy corruption in my tummy <3

Thank you so much for this, I can only hope what I write holds a candle to this!!! You never disappoint raaghh.

Bill draping your guts around as the world's most intimate hug. GOD. Also it's so fashionable! Gut scarf, teeth and eyeball necklace, literally wearing pants of your body to shoe his love and claim of you. Aaaa I'm kicking my feet!!

Thank you so much again holy smokes