#its oil as blood idk

[evilrwbyfan]

UZI WHYYYY😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

i killed the old me, the one everyone liked better

[bayeis]

[cruelsister-moved2]

very dystopian to witness the exvangelicals who are like ‘the BITE model applies to organised religion inherently’ or something despite the fact that the guy who coined it is an observant conservative jew, bc thats easier than confronting the fact that like the overwhelming majority of american christianity is cultlike organisations operating, at their core, almost solely for profit 👍 

[mariahcarreyyy]

Hii!!! CONGRATULATIONS ON 2K! I love reading your work, it’s always amazing 💕

Do you think you could write something with this angst prompt “lashing out even though they know they will regret it” for Oscar ? And maybe he is the one lashing out?

# prompt no.7, lashing out even though they know they will regret it

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

Sometimes, Oscar wishes he could scream at everyone who calls him unbothered.

He wishes they could see him now, irritation coursing through his veins, mixing with his blood like water and oil; he wishes they could witness the dark cloud looming over his muscular frame, following him and more ever-present than his own shadow; he wishes they could cower at the sight of the scowl on his face, nose scrunched in distaste at all times.

The results of his race had been enough to send him over the edge. A less than satisfactory eighteenth, and it echoes bitterly in his head the entire race debreif.

Lando squeezes an encouraging hand on Oscar's shoulder as they both walk out of the papaya garage, and Oscar can't bring himself to do anything but send Lando a shaky smile.

A prolonged car ride, and a few hours later, the driver twists the doorknob of your shared flat. Oscar's shoulders visibly drop, leaving the remains of a bad race on the floor and letting his body (mind and soul) rest.

"Osc? Y'home?"

Your voice cuts through the silence, and Oscar wants to punch his own gut at how his jaw clenches at the sound. Relax, he reminds himself. But Oscar can't—he knows he can't.

Because the residual pounding in his head is making him wince; he's sweaty and shivering; he's famished and cannot bear the thought of food; he's put off by the sight of you before him and he wants to be cradled in your arms, too.

It's all too confusing for him. Oscar decides being angry would be easier, flow smoothly against his tongue. He almost forgoes his plan when his brown eyes meet your pity-laced ones.

"Hey, baby," you murmur, hesitantly reaching up to cup his cheeks. "I'm sorry, 'bou—"

Sweet nothings die in your throat when Oscar swerves away from your touch, wincing distastefully. Seemingly refusing to look at you, his eyes dart anywhere but the comfort of yours.

"I don't need you to baby me," Oscar grits out, his hips swaying to glide past you and the crestfallen look on your face.

"Oh," you bite the inside of your cheek, hands flailing helplessly to your side and watching him pad against the cold floors. "Okay, uh. There's pasta on the stove if you're hungry."

Oscar pinches his wrist. The thought of tangible pain seemed more comfortable than the guilt gnawing in his heart. Still, Oscar laments, you are too nice; I'm cruel now, and you shouldn't be this way towards me. He refrains from turning around when he hears you audibly exhale shakily.

"M'not hungry," he shouts again, slamming the door behind him without looking back.

Without looking at you.

authors note. i dont like this honestly i feel like its very ooc bcs i dont see osc lashing out a lot. i made him feel guilty idk if that helped. en e wayz enjoyy xx

[vmpiires]

﹆₊ 乗車‧₊˚ RIDE IT LIKE A HARLEY, KAMO CHOSO

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ﹆₊ 概要 ‧₊˚ you should be heading to uni for class but your driver has other plans. wc, 1.76K. dark mode recommended.

␥ note. wrote this in advance despite the results of the poll ;) i just really wanted to write something and i was getting bored (i was also gettin agitated by the banner pic cuz i’m running out of the pics that look like the one on the previous post and idk if i like this one..) ANYWAYYYYY hope ya enjoyyy. reblog to support meeee

␥ tags. biker AU, smoking, smut, female anatomy, etc. lmk if i missed anything

␥ misc. masterlist AO3

you grew increasingly anxious as you waited for your driver, your heart pounding in nervous anticipation at the thought of being late and having your professor give you a scolding. as if the situation wasn't bad enough already, the acrid smoke from the person behind you only further stirred up your sense of dread.

"ya look like a damsel in distress," the voice behind you said. you cautiously spun to see an imposing figure, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

your gaze fell upon the intricate tattoo displayed on his forearm, a symbol that you instantly recognized with a flicker of fear and awe. it was the insignia of the most notorious biker gang in japan, synonymous with power, rebellion, and danger. the black lines and bold design seemed to pulsate with a life of their own, drawing your eyes in and leaving you both captivated and wary.

"can give you a ride if ya want." he offered.

the words hung in the air for a moment before you finally replied, "i guess that's fine."

your grip on your bag tightening with tension. your tone was hesitant, unsure of what to make of the situation. the silence around you amplified the sound of your own breathing and the rustling of leaves in the wind. you could feel the weight of his words lingering between you, like a heavy fog that refused to dissipate. your heart raced as you tried to process the implications of his statement, unsure if everything would be okay or not.

his gaze roamed over you, taking in your appearance. you were the complete opposite of him; a sweet and cheerful girl who looked like she'd break if someone breathed on her wrong. the thought made him scowl.

still, there was something about you that he couldn't put his finger on. even though he knew your fear was palpable, he felt some sort of urge towards you. like you were a forbidden fruit that he shouldn't be touching, but desperately wanted to taste.

he watched you with a faint flicker of appreciation, taking in your frame. his gaze ran up your legs, appreciating how short the length of your skirt hugged your hips. you were a delicate flower. soft and easily manipulated, waiting to be plucked.

'damn, she's fine.'

"don't be all tense," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "i ain't gonna hurt you. just don't be all talkative. i'm not in the mood for small talk." he took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke, the faint scent of tobacco lingering in the air. your eyebrows furrowed at his words, unsure of what to make of this mysterious stranger who had just saved you from imperil.

but you knew you didn't have time to hesitate or argue. with a deep breath, you made your decision and strode over to the blood red harley parked nearby. the streetlights glinted off its shiny exterior, making it look like it was straight out of a magazine cover.

you climbed onto the black padded seat, adjusting your bag on your shoulders as you rolled your shoulders to get comfortable. the engine roared to life beneath you, simply ready to get the day over with.

your driver started the engine which sounded rumbling and thunderous, the smell of fuel and oil from the vehicle lingering in the air. he gave a low whistle before peering behind him to look at you, his ponytail slinging over his shoulder.

"alright, we're going, so keep your arms tight around me if you don't wanna fly off." he warned with a bored expression, not bothering to give you any pleasantries whatsoever. "name's choso, by the way."

you eagerly nod your head and wrap your arms around the man's body, pulling yourself in close. his back is broad and strong, and you bury your face into his warmth, inhaling the intoxicating mix of cologne and cigarette smoke.

despite the thick leather jacket he wears, you can still feel the defined muscles of his back beneath your fingertips. the scent of him fills your senses, adding to the overwhelming desire that pulls you towards him.

choso could feel your frame snuggling up to him, which amused him. it reminded him of the times when he had his previous girlfriends wrap themselves around him while they rode. he was used to the feeling, but he didn't complain; it felt nice to have a woman against him, especially one with your frame. his grip on the bike handle tightened as he shifted speeds.

he turned his head, catching another glimpse of you behind him. "so what's your name, darlin'?" he asked in a soft, inviting tone. you couldn't help but feel drawn to him as you told him your name. he nodded, a small smile forming at the corners of his lips, followed by an acknowledging hum that made your heart skip a beat.

"mm...nice name for a pretty princess," choso's words lingered for a moment before an idea appeared in his mind. as the bike approached a red light, he'd look back behind him to look at you again. "what do you say we go somewhere else, hm? i know you're heading to class but what's wrong with being a lil late?"

choso's question caught you off guard, wondering why a man you barely knew had been asking you to go somewhere with him besides dropping you off to uni and driving off. but, you didn't understand why you even said yes to his query.

the entire time, you were so worried about your professor scolding you because you weren't on time for class yet here you were, making your way into this man's apartment and to his bedroom.

as you lay on the bed, choso's lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses in their wake. his hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and dip as they slowly made their way down to your thighs. you could feel his nails digging into your skin, leaving a slight sting that only added to the pleasure. with each passing moment, your body grew hotter and more responsive to his touch.

his voice whispered seductively in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "you know what would be cute?" he began, his breath tickling your sensitive skin. "you with your legs wrapped tightly around my waist, your hands grabbing at my hair, and your nails digging into my back… do you think you'd like that, baby? because i'm sure as hell gonna love it…"

with a gasp of anticipation, you nodded eagerly and pulled him closer. your heart raced as you awaited the ecstasy that was sure to come with choso's skilled touch and wickedly sweet words.

your feet danced lightly in the air as you tried to maintain some semblance of composure, despite the marks and bites left on your skin by choso. you managed to reach a shaky hand up to his head, pulling out the elastic band that held his jet black hair in a ponytail, causing it to fall down over his broad shoulders.

choso's smirk widened as he felt his hair come loose. He stopped his teasing and looked up at you, before deftly flipping both of you over so that you were now on top.

you sat there in confusion for a moment, unsure of what choso was trying to get you to do. you had never been intimate with anyone like this before. but as he placed his hands on your hips and gave you a mischievous look, lifting your skirt slightly to get another glimpse of your body, you understood.

"don't get all shy now," he chuckled lowly, assisting you in removing both his pants and boxers. "it's just like riding a bike…except this time, you'll be riding me." his words sent shivers down your spine as you straddled him, ready to take control.

choso pushed himself into your sopping wet core, his length surprising you as he attempted to bottom out. a low groan escaped his lips as he filled you, and you instinctively grabbed onto him for support.

"quit whining," he scolded, waving a dismissive hand. "you'll get used to it in a minute." he placed his hands on your hips once again, guiding your movements. "you go like this, okay? keep your eyes on me."

as he rocked your body, you let out a soft moan, trying your best to follow choso's instructions. But your gaze kept wandering away from him, unable to focus with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. sensing your distraction, choso moved one hand from your hips and placed it under your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"i'm right here," he murmured, locking eyes with you. "not over there." his intense gaze held yours, grounding you in the present moment.

choso's lips curled into a smirk as your full attention became fixated on him. the room echoed with the sounds of your moans and groans, mixing with the creaking of the bed frame and the wet slapping of skin against skin. your fingernails dug deeply into the soft flesh of his shoulders, urging him to push into you harder and faster.

as the intensity built, your breath hitched in your throat, matching the increasing pace of your movements against him. choso's strong arms pulled you closer, his grip on your hips becoming tighter as he matched your urgency. every thrust was met with a powerful response from your body, driving both of you closer to the edge of pleasure.

you both collapsed onto the bed, your bodies tangled together in a sweaty, orgasmic haze. you could feel choso's hot breath against your skin as you panted for air, your bodies still tingling from the intense release. slowly, his hands released you, his fingers trailing down your body before coming to rest at his sides. he let out a deep sigh and gave you a sly smile.

"next time," he said in a husky voice, "we'll see if you can handle it without my help." his words sent shivers down your spine and the smirk on his face only added to the thrill. "but for now, go clean up so you can make it to class. i think you can handle a quick scolding. being late ain’t gone hurt ya none."

you nodded, feeling both ecstatic and exhausted from the recent experience. as you made your way to the bathroom, you couldn't help but reminisce every moment in your mind, already counting down the minutes until you could be with choso again.

⠀© vmpiires | like, reblog & follow.

[jeon-ify]

on live - nakamoto yuta

pairing: yuta (nct) x female reader *

a/n: hello!! this is my first nct smut!! ofc its gonna be of my bias????? yuta is rlly hot in this one and hes super super dom and mean but recently ive been into cnc (its a trauma response or a coping mechanism mannn idk) and i had a dream about yuta last night so i think this would be THE ONE! this might be my most toe curling and nastiest and most graphic smut i’ve ever written and tbh i love it 😁

in which yuta fucks you and makes you touch yourself on camera for him to watch while he’s on tour.

warnings: swearing, dom!yuta x sub!reader, unprotected sex (yeee a big no no) mentions of tossing out birth control (ib @justaaveragereader ), yuta calls reader a bitch, slut, whore, cnc!play, sextape in the making, pussy slapping, titty slapping and sucking, face slapping, spit play, breeding kink, female anatomy, she/her reader, some?jaehyun? sex on live, if i missed anything lmkk

genre: smut, dark romance

mdni. 18+

enjoy nasties

“wait, why are you buying lingerie? isn’t yuta leaving in like 3 days?” your friend asks you as you both decided to shop around for a set of lingerie to prepare for a film that your boyfriend was oh so excited to make.

as you both walked through the last couple of aisles, you find a gorgeous black and pink set. you already knew yuta would go insane over it, already imagining the different positions and scenarios he’d play out for you.

lately, yuta’s been into cnc play. something that he was so unsure and insecure about; but when the topic came up, he brought it up to you. you were always open to trying new things with yuta, as long as you both knew where you stood, and that there was a line.

“girl come look, oh my god…” you hold up the piece for you friend to see, watching the way her eyes shift to the corset area.

“good luck walking normally for the next week. he’s gonna fuck your brains out!” she says, almost too loud for the crowd.

you pick out your size and check out to head home. you throw your bags in the car, finally getting a chance to text your man.

my yuta 🤍: hey baby, i’m on my way home. i’m gonna stop at target really fast

my yuta 🤍: are you home?

y/n: hi baby!!!!!!!!! i’m not home yet

y/n: i’m almost there tho

my yuta 🤍: okay gimme like 20 minutes bb

y/n: okay :3

you pull into your driveway, grabbing your things and rushing inside to hurry into your new set. you quickly showered and did your hair, spraying it to hold the wet hair look. you rubbed on body oil followed by a body shimmer, yuta’s favorite thing you do. you sprayed perfume on your ankles, wrists and neck, wherever yuta would be closest to you.

you also put on a touch of makeup, as yuta loved when you wore makeup, just so he can watch it run down your face when he fucks your throat.

after 20 minutes of getting yourself ready for your man, you unlock the front door, running up the stairs for yuta to see you waiting on your knees in the middle of the bed. you calmed your breathing, nervousness clouding your entire body when you hear the front door slowly open.

the front door was never unlocked unless something was going on— and this had yuta’s blood rushing, knowing you were home with the door open already for him.

“baby? i’m home, why’s the door unlocked?” he yells for you, getting no answer— expecting him to walk upstairs looking for you. you hear him putting some bags down, listening to the jingling of keys and shoes being thrown around.

“my love, i’m not playing this game.” he sighs. you hear him finally walking up the stairs, blood rushing to your ovaries and making your head spin in excitement. he opens your bedroom door, taking in the view before him. you’re on your knees in the middle of the silk covered king bed, with a pink maid lingerie set on, your wet hair almost coming down to your breasts, shifting with every deep breath you take.

you hurriedly finish setting up the camera on the chair across from bed, making sure your hair and outfit looks perfect— if you’re posting this on twitter, it has to be astounding.

you rush to get back into position, hearing yuta’s footsteps approaching. he nears the room, leaving the door completely open. his gaze darkens, curiosity at the scene before him is making his cock hard. he can only wonder what’ll happen next.

“fuckin’ hell. this what you were doing? look at you, pretty girl. is this new?” he walks up to you, reaching for the straps on your fabric, admiring the way your clean skin is perfectly suited by the set you’ve had on.

“all for you, baby. wanted it to be a surprise when you got home. i remember you mentioned you wanted to try cnc, so i got excited.” you breathily laugh. yuta’s fingers run up your neck and down to the valley of your breasts.

“yeah? good memory, baby. what do you say i rip this off you and pound your pretty cunt, hm?” his long hair bounces off his shoulders when he stands up and undresses himself. slides off his white top, his black trousers following suite.

he doesn’t notice the camera at first, but when he catches you looking at the phone on the chair every 20 seconds to make sure it hasn’t fell, his cock (impossibly) gets harder and harder.

“yuta, aren’t you tired from work?” you pretend to push him away from you, but yuta doesn’t budge. he leans over your smaller figure, planting a kiss on your forehead.

the smell of his car is what’s following his body, the new car scent making your head spin. the cologne he wears makes compliment to his aesthetic, edgy and mysterious— with notes of tobacco and ocean breeze. you catch a tiny bit of vanilla as he moves away from you. the mix of fragrances makes your mind fuzzy.

“never too tired to fuck you,” he continues demandingly, cupping your jaw to get a better view of your nervous look. his shoulders are tense and you notice the sweat beginning to form around his chest. “no, yuta. i don’t want to,”

“don’t fight me baby. you’re only making this worse for yourself,” his large hands press your back down onto the mattress, spreading your thighs to kiss around your heat. his teeth magically unbutton the body suit you struggled to clasp together. amazed, you moan out when you feel his teeth graze your cunt through your thin lace panties. he pushes your thighs apart as he kisses and licks you through the thin material.

letting go of your legs, he rips your panties off and licks a long stripe from the top to the bottom of your clit. he sucks at the sensitive area, whimpering and gasping at the taste of you.

your pussy clenches and convulses around his tongue while your thighs attempt to shut around his long haired head. his brown hair is damp with sweat, using his free hand to brush his hair back. he bites at your clit, making your legs twitch. “yuta, stop— please,” you whimper with watery eyes while your orgasm threatens to approach.

he only groans in response, sucking harder and flicking his tongue faster up and down your entire cunt. your orgasm approaches; you release all over the area where a beard would sit.

his stronger hands make impact with your pussy, your body jolting in response. “stop fucking moving. i’m gonna use you how i see fit, am i clear, y/n?”

“but i-“

“but i don’t care. don’t make me tie you down.”

his dark eyes lock into yours, making your heart jump in fear and excitement for what’s about to come. your legs force themselves open while yuta strokes himself slightly and lines his cock up with your soaked, sore cunt. in one thrust, he’s all the way in, giving yourself no time to adjust. he places his hand on your mouth to block out all sound from you. “yeah, keep that fuckin’ mouth shut. only thing you’re good for is this pussy.”

he lands another sharp slap on your cunt, making you cry out. your back arches upward and you could’ve swore you just saw your brain from how hard your eyes rolled back. “gonna toss out your birth control and fill you up every. fucking. day.” with every word, he pulls out completely, then thrusts harder back into you. your body shivers and your toes curl at the contact. with your back arched up, he takes the opportunity to remove his hand from your mouth and undo your entire set, stripping you completely naked.

after he’s satisfied with the scene before him, he slaps your right tit, then your left, then the right. the muscle turns red and you wince out in pain. he leans down to suck and lick at the area, earning a gasp from you.

“don’t cum in me, please!” you beg. you absolutely need him to breed you— it’s a staple in your’s and yuta’s sex life. it wasn’t sex if he didn’t full you up by the end of it.

“shut the fuck up. the last time i checked, sluts like you don’t care about getting pregnant, hm? they just sleep around and wait for someone to empty their cum into their loose pussies, yeah? that what you are?”

“n-no.” your eyebrows furrow in anger at the words he throws at you. the expression on your face doesn’t match the expression your pussy displays. you’re throbbing and swallowing him in, unknowingly cumming around him for the -nteenth time.

“yeah, you are. say it with me.” his tone softens as he talks you through the most vulgar words, waiting for you to say the words.

“i’ll call someone if you don’t let me go.”

“who are you gonna call, darling? the cops? i’ll make them watch.” he slaps the left side of your face, leaving a red handprint on your glossy skin.

“open your legs. don’t make me repeat myself,” you force your shaky legs open while yuta continues his assault on your sore pussy. the lewd moans he lets out makes your head fuzzy. “so fucking tight. even after i fucked you for hours,”

his thrusts slow, then they continue at a rough and fast pace. his fingers are hooked into the right side of your mouth like a dental clamp. your teeth are covered in your own arousal.

he repositions the both of you to where you’re both facing the camera. he cups your jaw, making you watch him fuck you through the camera. you connected your phone to the tv, so you’re both seen on the screen.

“say hi to your fans, bitch. we’re on live.”

somehow, yuta managed to switch to a livestream, the comments being flooded with a sweaty face emoji and thirsty comments. he pounds into you while you’re both whining and whimpering, holding your hair back to push you deeper onto his length.

“n-no, yuta, let me go!”

you’re cut off by a sharp slap on your ass. “one more chance. say hi.”

“h- fuck, i can’t!”

you watch the views go up dramatically, while yuta smiles manically.

12.7M VIEWS

3.7M COMMENTS

1.27M GIFTS

cznniehoe: man im tryna get my coochie stretched too

johnnysuh: no sharing?

jaehyun: hot

marklee: dude this is so hot

taeil: bro what let me get some

taeyong: BOW BOW BOW BOW BOW THATS THAT BOOTY MEAT

the views only increase, making your heart clench at nervousness.

“say hi to jaehyun for me.”

“i can’t—“ another slap to your right ass cheek, already forming a bruise. he pulls you off of him, watching yours and his cum drip down his cock and your thighs. “h-hi jaehyun,”

jaehyun: hello pretty girl

“there you go. wasn’t so hard was it?” yuta leans over to grab the camera and angle it at your face. it’s at selfie level as you stare at your own arousal on your face and the mascara on your cheeks. your lips are puffy and red with strands of hair on your face.

you look like yuta’s bitch.

[art-that-fucks-you-up-tournament]

SET ONE - ROUND THREE - MATCH TWO

"Bath Curtain" (1992 - Hugh Steers) / "Can’t Help Myself" (2016 - Sun Yuan & Peng Yu)

BATH CURTAIN: I don’t have any coherent way to describe Bath Curtain just that I want to swim in the colors and I can feel the. the It. I can’t put it into words but if I think about it too hard I’ll start crying. there’s poetry in the way they’re sitting. There’s poetry in the way it takes me ten minutes to track down every time because Google just shows me Amazon listings and mommy blogs. I can’t do this. (courfeyracs-swordcane)

CAN'T HELP MYSELF: oigjg my god im not nlrmal about it not at all. ever sinc ei learned about it around 2017 its just been buried there. idk something about its repetitive endless motion and the noises it makes and the stains the blood leaves on the floor. the way its been gradually slowing as if getting tired. the way it will Never see end. it has many different interpretations and i agree with every one . idk. idk. insane insane insane (firebuug)

("Bath Curtain" is an oil on gesso-ed paper painting done by Hugh Steers, a gay American painter, during the time of the AIDS crisis in the US. The piece, 162.56 x 182.24 cm (64 x 72 in), is currently owned by Yale University Art Gallery in Connecticut.

"Can't Help Myself" is a Kuka industrial robot made of stainless steel and rubber mopping up cellulose ether in coloured water made by two Chinese artists, Sun Yuan & Peng Yu. This installation was displayed in Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York but was removed from display.)

[sunspearesque]

Forbidden Fervor

Summary: Douse the fervor raging within, bestow upon me the forbidden release, frigid and honed, dripping with crimson... Let it carve through my dread as relentlessly as time erodes the vigor from an aged soul.

A/N: yo, idk what happened here.. i saw the inspo and we dove headfirst. i’m so very sure old man nasty spirit possessed me or something cause idk how i wrote this.. but yeah enjoy the filth i guess? lmfao.. also, i did use some of the famous lines from the show/books—specifically the scene where he stabby stab the pink little man at the brothel just because :3 the rest tho are the whispers of my little brain hehehoho

Pairing: Oberyn Martell × OFC from WoV

Rating: E (18+ only)

Content: established relationship (marriage); canonical racism (against dornish people); threat of assault (nothing happens); we hate Lannisters in this house; protective!Oberyn; depiction of injury/attack; use of weapons (dagger); Wet and Wanting™️; primal urges, kinda sorta; a hint of possessive!Oberyn; inappropriate use of weapons; dagger riding (don’t look at me); unprotected p in v; creampie (the man has a breeding kink what can i say?); quoting mr. darcy

WC: 1.9K

Read on AO3 • moodboard

A grand retinue accompanied Prince Oberyn Martell and his wife Nala on their journey north to attend the wedding of Lord Stark's eldest son. The journey was replete with delightful surprises and, regrettably, some less pleasant ones. One of their travel days found them lodged in an inn nestled amidst the forested lands of the North. The weather was cold and crisp, the air dry and biting, causing Oberyn to grumble about the layers of clothing encasing his form. Nala found his discomfort amusing—this man is averse to decency.

As they were enjoying their meal in the inn, a trio of golden-haired men strode in, their disdainful expressions evident as they cast disparaging glances at the other patrons. Murmuring curses under their breath, they took a seat at a nearby table, much to the discomfort of those around them. Nala sensed the tension in the air, recognizing the unmistakable look of Lannisters. She knew all too well her husband's scorn for them. Desperate to diffuse the situation, she attempted to divert his attention away from them, whispering softly, “My love, look at me,” noticing his gaze fixed upon them with obvious contempt.

The Lannister men, oblivious to her attempt to diffuse the tension, noticed her caress on his thigh and exchanged mocking remarks amongst themselves. “Why does such beauty consort with that Dornish bastard?” one of them jeered, his laughter echoing loudly in the room. “This whore should try to get with a real cock... a Lannister one,” another added, patting his bulge and leering at her. “Just give him a shaved goat and an olive oil bottle and be done with it,” the third chimed in before all three joined in uproarious laughter.

Nala could feel the blood charring beneath her skin, her heart pounding in her ribcage as she dreaded her husband's reaction to the insults. She observed the vein running through his neck pulsating beneath his golden skin, indicating the rage boiling within him. Despite his efforts to conceal it, a smirk tinged with bitterness adorned his face, masking the fury that simmered beneath the surface.

With graceful poise, he rose from his seat, his hand drifting toward the dagger secured at his hip—a weapon fashioned in the likeness of two intertwined vipers; its smooth, golden surface gleaming in the dim light of the inn. Slowly and deliberately, he approached their table, his gaze locking onto the perpetrator who had called his wife a whore.

Oberyn's tongue clicked disapprovingly as he addressed the men, his tone dripping with mockery. “Do you know why the world despises a Lannister?” he quipped, his words laden with scorn. “You believe your wealth, your lions, and your gilded pride make you superior to all.” The Lannister men exchanged smug glances, sharing a condescending chuckle amongst themselves. One of the trio stealthily reached for his sword, attempting to draw it from its sheath without detection. Yet, unbeknownst to them, he noticed—he always does.

“May I tell you a secret?” Oberyn continued, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “You're not a golden lion. You're just a pink little man who is far too slow on the draw.” With a swift motion, he unsheathed his dagger and plunged it into the hand of the man who had insulted his wife, the same hand he had earlier used to pat his cock. Piercing between the carpals of that hand, it now lay on the table. The man let out a guttural wail, paralyzed in his place as the dagger twisted amidst flesh, bone, and veins.

“When I pull my blade, your friend starts bleeding,” Oberyn stated calmly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Quite a lot, I'm afraid. So many veins in the wrist.” He observed the man writhing in pain before turning his gaze back to the other Lannister. “He'll live if you get him help straight away,” he added mockingly, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Decisions,” Oberyn remarked, his head tilting slightly as his gaze shifted to the bleeding man again. “And when you speak of a dornish princess—my wife—you will address her as ‘your highness,’” he continued, his tone carrying a dangerous edge. “Lest you wish for me to sever your tongue at its root.”

He withdrew his dagger from the man’s hand, the Dornish soldiers surrounding him, swords and spears at the ready. One of them addressed him, “What shall we do with them, Your Highness?”

“Nothing,” Oberyn replied calmly, wiping the blood from his dagger with the end of his shawl. "I reckon they've learned a lesson or two about manners from the Dornish, and I expect they'll find their own way out.” With a dismissive wave, he turned to walk toward Nala, who stood frozen with fear, wide-eyed, and breathing shakily.

“Apologies, my love,” he said tenderly, encircling his arms around her waist and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. Nestling her gently in his embrace, as though she were the most delicate of blossoms.

Ever the viper; deadly, dangerous, unpredictable... and mine.

A familiar primal heat stirred within her, much to her chagrin as she cursed herself for succumbing to it.

Gods be good, this shouldn’t ignite a fire within me and make me crave him and the dagger he wielded in my defense.

She kissed him with fervor, her hands caressing his face, yearning to melt into him and merge with him completely. As they parted, both breathless, he chuckled softly. "I see you enjoyed that, princess?" he whispered, prompting a blush to bloom across her cheeks—was I too obvious?

He pulled out the chair for her to resume her place at the table, a gallant gesture amidst the chaos caused by the departing Lannisters, who left mutilated and humiliated.

Throughout the meal, Nala’s gaze remained fixed on Oberyn, her desire for him evident in her unwavering stare. Yet, her eyes also flickered occasionally to the dagger sheathed at his side, her longing palpable. Catching her subtle glances, Oberyn couldn't help but tease her with a smirk. “My love, you are eyeing that dagger as if it were your lover,” he quipped, his tone playful and suggestive.

She regarded him incredulously, her expression stern, before a laugh escaped her lips, unable to resist his irreverence. “What? People engage in all forms of pleasure,” he remarked casually, a hint of mischief in his tone. “I’d be curious to witness you attempting one of these forms, my love,” he added, raising an eyebrow, his smirk unyielding—the infamous smirk that both infuriated and delighted her.

“How in the Seven Hells would I engage in such forms, Oberyn?" she retorted, her tone a blend of amusement and exasperation, unsure whether to marvel at his wit or roll her eyes at his audacity.

He chuckled, unfazed, and resumed his meal, prompting her to shake her head in bemusement before following suit, both indulging in their food as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

—

As they retired to their chambers, the earlier unpleasant encounter and their playful banter lingered in her mind, unable to shake off the eagerness she felt for him.

Not surprisingly, he seemed equally consumed by their earlier conversation. Upon entering their room and securing the door behind them, he immediately closed the distance between them, kissing her hungrily. His hands roamed over her body, gripping her ass firmly, igniting a fire within her and causing desire to pool between her thighs.

Breaking away from their passionate embrace, he strode to the bed and plunged his dagger into the mattress, securing it firmly in place. Only the gleaming, serpent-shaped handle remained visible.

"What... what are you doing?" Nala inquired, perplexed by his actions.

“I long to see you mount it," he declared simply, taking a seat on the wooden chair facing the bed.

"Mount it how?" she questioned, furrowing her brow in confusion.

"Like you mount my cock every night," he replied with a crooked smile.

She stood in stunned silence, her thoughts swirling with a mixture of surprise and anticipation. The unexpected request from her husband both startled her and ignited a flicker of excitement deep within her. It was not uncommon for him to embrace unconventional pleasures, to seek out new experiences in their intimate moments together.

She offered a gentle smile before beginning to shed her dress, letting the fabric cascade down her form like water, revealing the delicate curve of her clavicle, the supple swell of her breasts and their hardened peaks, her glistening cunt between her thighs, before finally pooling at her feet.

His gaze lingered upon her with a hunger that seemed to devour her, as if he yearned to possess this beauty solely for himself, to adore… to pleasure and treasure... wholly and entirely his.

She moved with grace toward the bed, settling and facing him, her eyes fixed on the dagger embedded in the mattress before her. It was the very same dagger he wielded to protect her, a silent warning to any who dared to show her disrespect.

She lifted herself slightly before sinking into it, feeling the cold metal filling her searing flesh. Her eyes closed, lips parting as she relished the peculiar sensation, the ridges of the handle gliding against her inner walls, deliciously. It was unfamiliar yet pleasing, strangely fitting. She quickened her pace, with each rise and fall, soft moans escaping her lips and filling the room. Her breasts bounced with each movement, a testament to the pleasure coursing through her.

Oberyn watched her with an insatiable hunger, enchanted by her allure. She accepted his offerings eagerly, with devotion, her yearning unwavering as she sought to be filled with everything that was his. Whether his fingers, his cock, or even his dagger, she embraced it all, an extension of him in every way.

He felt the bulge in his breeches grow bigger, his cock throbbing painfully with desire, yearning to pierce that sweet cunt of hers, to fill her with his seed over and over again til it takes. He longed to hear her soft moans as he pushed her to the brink of bliss, feeling her warm, wet, and wanting in his embrace.

He freed his hardened cock, his hand beginning to caress it with slow, deliberate strokes, as she mounted his dagger with unyielding ardor, deriving her pleasure from it. Her gaze met his, lethal and luring, eyes that could have felled him had she not been his.

Her movements became erratic, her moans blending into strained whimpers. She slipped her hand down frantically to circle her soaked clit, driving her closer to her release. Collapsing onto the mattress, she murmured his name, her thighs trembling with pleasure.

Rising from his seat, he approached her, cradled her languid form, and moved her to the center of the bed, laying her on her back. He spread her thighs apart, watching her clenching sex seep her release, delicately. He nudged the head of his cock to her entrance. Her cunt sucked him in effortlessly, eliciting a soft whine from her lips as he filled her. He laid atop her, his weight offering a comforting warmth she had always longed for, drawing her closer to him before thrusting into her fervently.

Mine, my love, mine… all fucking mine, the Others take them all.

He nipped at the tender flesh of her breasts and shoulder, his warmth flooding her as he spilled his cum deep within her, his breath ragged.

After their heaving chests stilled, she gently raised her hand to brush the damp curls from his forehead, meeting his gaze. “I love you most ardently, my fierce viper,” she whispered.

[dimepdf]

can you write eddie smut with male reader? if u do that sorry if not

TAKE MY BREATH. + EDDIE MUNSON

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? summary. You can't possibly be in love with your best friend Eddie. He wasn't gay, and you were completely as well straight. Not to mention that he had a thing for Chrissy Cunningham, too. There's no way he could have feelings for you too, right? … right? author's note. its gay month, which means i'm writing mainly queer fics for a bit sorry to all my cis followers (not really) HAPPY PRIDE!

[ ❥ ] pairing. eddie munson x reader

[ ❥ ] word count. 2.9K

[ ❥ ] genre. 18+, angst

[ ❥ ] warnings. mature language, male reader, bisexual reader, not time period canon, idk what the fuck is inside of a car, one sided pining, drunken confessions, dub-con since drinking, Nancy being your ex, no bad blood though, oral (m), the denim and leather jacket awooga, cheating, Chrissy deserving better

You couldn't help it. You knew how wrong it was to be practically drooling over your bandmate Eddie in Donny’s garage.

You were set under a spell as you watched his arm flex with every move he made under the hood of his car, showing his long fingers curving with every flex of his muscle.

Hawkin's summer air hit you like a cold shiver up your spine as you raised your shoulders to flinch away from goosebumps from eye-fucking your male best friend.

The thoughts you had about Eddie were wrong. You knew they were, but every time you’d see Eddie, the desire for him would suddenly hit you like a high-speed train.

You just couldn't explain it, you just couldn’t be gay. Your last relationship with Nancy proved your defense, as it did end abruptly.

You still valued the connection you two had and decided not to end it in bad blood. And yet there you were gawking over Eddie in his shirtless band logo shirt.

Stumping your nerves to drop down on your knees and beg for anything Eddie would give him. You shot up from your guitar amp, your legs practically moving on their own as you dragged your feet towards Eddie’s car.

He noticed your appearance, glancing through his lashes as he hunched over the front of his hood, his forehead glistening with sweat as he reached into his back pocket for his dark blue handkerchief to wipe his sweat.

"Aw dude, lend me a hand real quick." As he was pushing the tool into your hand, you were as clueless as you looked, glancing at the car and then the wrench in your hand.

"Oh god, if you actually would prefer your car to not have spontaneous combustion, you should probably take this away from me." Eddie didn't let you get away too quickly. Grabbing the sleeve of your shirt and guiding you in front of his car.

Standing alongside him by the car hood, and placing a hand on your back in a physical gesture of support.

"Just wait, you're going to be thanking me soon enough when you finally get your own car and need to change your own oil." He grinned, bumping his hip into yours.

"Or I can just be normal and have an actual mechanic do it for me," you recommended, your hands going to work as he pointed to what you needed to do. Eddie’s attention was strictly tied to your hands.

You noticed how easily the dust and grime clung to your fingers under all the wires and such. "I feel like I should be wearing gloves for this," you chuckled, glancing at your right hand, which was covered in a thin layer of unidentifiable car fluids.

"Come on, don't be a pussy. Are you that worried about your perfect, delicate little fingers getting dirt under your nails?" Eddie’s tone was teasing as he turned his back to the hood and leaned to sit on the edge.

You shot him a pointed look as you continued to finish the task with Eddie’s help and guidance. Of course, you discovered that changing the oil in his car wasn't as hard as you cracked it up to be.

You, of course, wouldn't do it again without his assistance, but you were proud of yourself nonetheless for actually doing it. "Are you sure you did everything right? I don't want to start my car and have spontaneous combustion as you say." Eddie inquired as you wiped your hands on your jeans out of habit.

grimacing at the oil stains that your mother so no doubt is going to nag you about later. "Please don't tell me you're one of those single guys that treat their car like a chick." You were chuckling at your own joke.

Eddie sneered, scrunching up his face, mimicking your laugh before snatching the front collar of your shirt and wiping his dirty hands clean. You winced and pushed him away before he could do any more damage, tugging your shirt down to glance at the dirty splotch in the middle of your gray shirt.

“Dude this is like my only normal shirt.” By normal you meant non-rock or metal band shirt, your mother never let you leave the house wearing “such demonic logos” you would be lucky enough to even sneak out wearing all black Eddie smirked admiring his art.

“Oh yeah, well that's what you get for not coming to Hellfire club today left me for the losers for almost a week straight.” You didn't want to tell him the reason you had been missing out on more and more time together was all because of the short leash your parents had you.

You stretched not liking the damp feeling of your shirt sticking to your skin, you peeled the shirt off over the top of your head standing shirtless in the middle of the driveway before you could stop yourself.

It seemed like Eddie took notice, his eyes trailing over your slightly muscular chest as he seemed to freeze in place his lashes fluttered as he turned his head away grimacing, shedding his own jacket as he tossed it over to you.

“For your dignity.” you caught the jacket easily hurriedly as you covered yourself just as you zipped it up to your neck Donny and Bako entered back into the garage unsuspected of the moment they had just ruined with just their mere presence.

Not being able to get the words out that you wanted as band practice came to a start.

You decide that day that you would act upon the weird feelings bubbling in the pit of your stomach. It was the way his snug black leather and denim jacket clung onto your skin, forgetting to give it back after band practice you realized the moment you walked into your bedroom shirtless with the scent of Eddie still lingering on you.

It was all so embarrassing the flush of your face as you realized the erection in your pants just from wearing his jacket. It was even more embarrassing when you reached your fingers under the elastic waistband of your boxers and touched yourself thinking about him.

The next morning was less eventful than last night, as it was normal for Eddie to pick you up and drive you to school together. The drive was just a tad bit more awkward than normal, with the music blasting from the stereo saving you from the stuttering string of sentences that was no doubt about to come from your mouth.

You tried to look uninterested as his eyes flickered over to you as he drummed on the steering wheel, his voice pitching as he sang along to the music, your head resting against the window as you closed your eyes and sighed.

You were convinced that whatever pride you had left would crumble at the thought of Eddie piecing together what you did last night while wearing his jacket, so you didn't want to hear about it.

The only surprising thing that happened the rest of the day was your ex-girlfriend Nancy Wheeler and her bubbly personality approaching you at the beginning of English class. Handing out invitations to a party she and her new boyfriend Jonathan were throwing to kick off the school year.

You didn't question the fact that Jonathan looked very uncomfortable with the idea, despite the supportive smile he would plaster on his face every time Nancy would glance at him.

Eddie agreed with you, cutting off any chance of conversation Nancy could make with you as he took the flier and turned your attention to his own conversation, not bothering to bid the preppy couple a farewell as Eddie practically cringed and shooed them away from you.

It would take you the entire rest of the day to realize that Eddie was actually jealous. You both showed up to the party anyway after convincing Eddie that you and Nancy were not going to run off and hook up.

She had Jonathan now, and you made it really clear that it didn't bother you that she had moved on, just wanting the Wheeler woman to finally have the happiness she deserved.

If anything, you were more annoyed over seeing Chrissy Cunningham hanging off of Eddie’s arm.

You hadn't remembered the two even speaking since middle school. You found it ironic that Eddie made you promise not to run off with your ex, only for him to cling to Chrissy the moment she stumbled over to them.

It was as if something started boiling in the pit of your stomach the moment they started chatting and smiling at each other, and you didn't even bother making an excuse before slipping away and blending into the party as you watched them laugh about something from across the room.

You were mindlessly sipping on your own red solo cup, filling it up every time it was half-filled just so you did not look awkward standing all alone in one place. You realized a few minutes in how testy your tolerance was like you.

You felt more light; you were suddenly so blank yet so full the moment you glanced over at Eddie, holding his own beer.

You strained your eyes as hard as you could at the couple across the room, reminding yourself that he'd rather spend his time talking and giggling with Chrissy. You hoped you'd suddenly get the force and make Chrissy's face blow up.

The plan was unsuccessful as Eddie leaned in to whisper something into her ear. You cringed, glancing down at your cup as you swirled the contents around in the cup.

As you returned your glance, you noticed Eddie parting ways, striding into the crowd into the other section of the home. You were just a bit quick on your feet to linger after him, following his back up the stairs.

Your mind was so focused on one thing that you, of course, didn't know, just opening the bathroom door and walking inside, shutting the door behind you like you had the right to be there.

Eddie was standing in front of the toilet, his hands just lingering at the bottom of his pants as his head snapped towards you, his glare softening as he realized it was only you.

"Did you want to see my cock that fucking bad?" It was an obvious tease, but your mind was too preoccupied with something else as your bottom lip poked out once your back hit the back of the door, your posture stumbling.

Eddie was in front of you before you could blink, his arms grabbing your torso as you slumped forward into his arms, an involuntary giggle slipping past your lips.

"I forgot how much of a fucking lightweight you were [y/n]." You didn't really try to say anything, or at least the words that you did speak didn't really fit together

. It just seemed like your mouth was moving and your lips and tongue would get in the way, "Woah Woah, slow down, what are you saying?" Although Eddie was as drunk as you were, the closer you saw his flushed face and dilated eyes, he would nod along like he understood every single word you strung together.

Once you finished, a moment of silence broke between you two as you actually realized how close Eddie was standing in front of you, feeling the brush of his breath against your face and the smell of alcohol on his breath. It was like once Eddie glanced down at your lips, you took the opportunity to pounce on him.

Your lips messily seek out his lips, your fingers reaching to tangle into the sides of his hair. It only took Eddie seconds to keep up with you, slamming your back against the door as he hooked his hand on the curve of your knee to grind his erection into your lower stomach.

As Eddie bites at your bottom lip, your hands trail down his torso, your hands stopping at his pants. You didn’t bother hesitating, yanking down his zipper, pulling away from the kiss to drop down on your knees, "holy shit [y/n] you’re going to be the death of me." Eddie groaned as you extracted his cock from his pants.

It was the first time you’d ever seen another man's junk as well as held another guy's junk, yet no questions or protests came from Eddie once you wrapped your warm lips around his mushroom tip.

You felt him shudder under your hold, leaning his forehead against the wood of the door as his fist clenched around a fistful of your hair, the other covering his mouth as he watched you struggle to know what to do with your tongue.

"You're really big." You mumbled with your mouth full. It was all you could really acknowledge in your drunken state.

As your tongue swirls, the black hair of his pubes tickles the top of your mouth, accompanied by a few erupting gags from your throat. Not used to the feeling of him thrusting to the back of your throat without warning, wetting the brim of your eyes.

Eddie's hand was resting tightly on the hairs of your head as he whimpered your name, a warning before you would swallow the thick bitterness of the mess he made in your mouth.

"I better not be fucking dreaming," Eddie grunted under his breath feeling his length twitch with just the tease of your tongue.

His hands reached to cover his flushed face as you stood up with wet lips forming a soft grin on your face proud of the effects that you had over him. Both of you did not really know what to say after.

You watched as Eddie tucked his dick back in his pants and exhaled before leaning in and kissing you again, this time with more passion, not like the first kiss, where you were all hurried and rushed as a knock on the door pulled you both apart.

"Yeah Eds, are you still in there?" It was Chrissy. her voice instantly wiping away your smile turning into a scowl as your hands fisted into the collar of Eddie’s shirt.

"I don't like her," you slur, leaning into him for another kiss that was rejected, your mouth just latching onto the skin of his neck as you trailed wet kisses down to his collarbone.

"Give me a minute, Chrissy," Eddie called out. his voice cracking as he used one arm to steady himself to stand still as you sucked hickeys into his skin, parting away to intrude a small "No stay," not knowing how badly Eddie wanted to take up on that offer.

He had a bit more sense left than you did know that it would be a really bad idea for you both to be caught fucking in Nancy Wheeler's bathroom.

"We have to—wait, Jesus Christ, you’re like a vampire." Eddie struggled to hold you still. Just to get your lips away from his body as you whined, pouting as he gently pushed you away against the door.

"You’re gonna' fuck Chrissy." Your tone was pouty as your glared eyes made Eddie grimace, shaking his head while holding you up to look down at you.

"I won’t," he spoke, "but only if you promise that you’ll kiss me again like this when we’re sober." Answering with a nod, Eddie accepted the gesture with a smirk before you could touch the knob of the door.

A sound came, Eddie, as you glanced at each other. "I mean it, I really like you [Y/N]," he says, swallowing the thump in his throat.

It was all so wrong, you knew it. He was your best friend, let alone a guy for fuck sake: you didn't even know if you were gay, and yet there you were in your ex-girlfriend's bathroom giving him a blowjob.

You couldn't keep your promise.

It was clear that Eddie wouldn't hold up his end of the bargain either. The night of Nancy’s was just another memory you both chose to just not to bring out the second you stepped out of that bathroom.

You, of course, remembered everything that happened that night, also remembering what happened after you exited the bathroom.

You would think that since Eddie and Chrissy became official just the same week after Eddie’s confession. You would think that just because of that you would catch the hint and stop lusting after Eddie.

It didn't work, it just made you want him more, and it didn't help that you were now going behind Chrissy's back and fucking her boyfriend in secret. Him into your bedroom by the sleeve of his jacket as your mouth felt so natural wrapped around his cock, like it was meant to be there.

Eddie really wanted to be a good person, but he was only human and your mouth just felt so godsent, so he sucked up all his guilt and moaned it all out as his head leaned back against your pillows, his fingers threading through your hair as you bobbed your head.

Eddie whimpered and shivered as the sensation of your warm tongue swirled along the tip of his cock. Sparing your parents from hearing the sinful control you had over his entire body.

His thighs tense under you as his effort to not make a sound fails when the feeling of your warm tongue trails along the trace of his vein.

His brain shortcoming not bothering to warn you of his erupting ending as your mouth suddenly filled with the taste of him.

Maybe he could have opted to keep you his little secret just a bit longer.

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[beepersteeper]

I Will Always Find You -- Astarion x Tav -- The First Day

Astarion and F!Tav live happily together for the remaining years she has, she refuses to be turned into a vampire because her faith says that her soul isn’t finished with its work yet. Tav dies of old age and leaves Astarion to put together the pieces of his broken heart. AN: Lord of Light lore taken and changed to fit the story's means. Not canonically accurate. TLDR story line stuff. This is an AU where Astarion ascends but isn't a power hungry bastard and Tav is able to help him continue healing. Wyll is immortal and the Duke. Karlach in my mind, if given a new engine would be able to live a lot longer than the usual tiefling. Another AN: idk if anyone wants tagged in this WIP but let me know. 

For the first time in years. That heavy ache in his chest returns. He sits in a high backed chair next to the door, unwilling to lay in the bed. Rest finds him at some point through the long night and he slumps in the chair until he's awoken by a gentle knock on the door 

“Lord Ancunín?"

He mumbles a half-hearted response 

“Do you require anything my Lord?" 

"Breakfast will do nicely. Thank you.” he says through the closed door.

He hears an affirmative answer and stands to stretch his poor spine. He opens the old oak wardrobe and sighs as he carefully passes his hand over the dresses that Tav hadn't worn in years, even before she passed. I am too old for such pagentries. He heard her voice in his mind save those dresses for when I come back to you, she'll wear them better than I can anyway. Tell her I want her to wear them if she is too polite to wear my old clothes. I bet she likes the green one. He would have rolled his eyes at her then, just like he did now. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. He walked over and cracked the door open to retrieve the gold goblet from the tray.

“It’s still warm my lord." The man nods a bow to Astarion.

Astarion nods in response and closes the door before raising the goblet to his lips. He sucks the blood from his teeth grimacing slightly. He hasn't tasted animal blood in years, having met many villains in his wanderings, but it is nice drinking from a goblet again so he will take it as a win, making a note to himself to get new alliances for willing donors. That's the way Tav preferred him to feed if it wasn't from her.

He returns to the wardrobe and pulls out a dark outfit, one of his less regal ones. He walks into the washroom attached to their room, stopping to smell the bottles of perfume and oils. The ache in his chest tightens when he opens a pale oil with a heart on the label around a T. Peaches and champagne. He sighs as he breathes in her scent. Like a nice summer day she would laugh as he closed his eyes and breathed the scent from her skin just in case you ever miss the sun before he had chosen to ascend.

He shakes his head as he closes the vial and dresses himself and hurriedly leaves the room walking through these still familiar halls. He stops in to let Wyll know he's leaving for the day but will be back by evening should he be needed. Wyll happily waves Astarion away to enjoy his day “Nothing major happening today, signing budgets. Enjoy your day Astarion."

Astarion taps twice on the doorframe before leaving to walk through the Alley ways to make his way to the cemetery. Wanting to feel close to Tav again. He set himself on the earth, leaning his back on his own headstone crossing his arms over his chest and his ankles across each other as he reclined into the stone, rocking his head back facing the sky with his eyes closed feeling the warm sun in his always fair skin. He tries to seek a feeling of connection with his love. He hears a light voice whispering to themselves, he assumes. He listens attentively, surprised to hear talking.

“What am I?" the voice mutters a question he had heard Tav recite, looking into the reflection of a strange shaped item. A beacon she called it. It's the last question I need to answer before I spend eternity with you love. “What are you?!” The voice said more harshly “and what more do I need? What do you want from me!?”

Astarion heard soft footsteps approaching his direction. Hoping for a coincidence he didn't move his body at all. When the steps continued closer and stopped too close for his comfort he opened his eyes and turned his head seeing the woman from last night tracing her fingers over the engraving on Tav’s headstone. Now more able to see her features, about as tall as him, slender, deep black hair with pointed elven ears peaking through. 

“Maybe you would have been able to tell me." She sighs “Tavilline"

Astarion chuckles mostly to himself before saying quietly “she preferred to just be called Tav.” not moving his body.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to intrude.” the woman says, taking her hand from the stone quickly and taking a step back.

He waves his hand gesturing that there was no harm done “Not at all. Just haven't been able to visit in a while. You've been keeping her company though it seems?" He looks at her face meeting her green eyes, feeling his breath catch in his throat. Tav's eyes. No. He thinks to himself, blinking away the idea. 

The woman laughs uncomfortably “I guess so. When I first moved here this was the only place outside of my own home I saw the Lord of Light imagery and have just kind of been drawn to her. And it's just strange that the day she started over was the same as mine” she shrugs the last sentence. 

“She was very attached to her faith." He sighs “even had one of those beacons she would study every night." he points to he object in her hand

“She had a beacon too?!" The woman all but jumps from herself. “That's impossible, what are the odds of so many being in the same city."

He smiles a half hearted smile. “If I come across it I can bring it here. You'll do more with it than I will." He shrugs, expecting to feel guilty at offering Tav's belongings away, but instead he feels excited to share something of hers with someone she's oddly connected to. 

“Sir if you really mean that I will be forever in your debt. I work at the bookstore" she gestures to the holy books book store that shares a sidewalk with the cemetery.

“Astarion." He shakes his head “I'll see what I can do darling." He feels bile form in his throat as he calls her Tav's pet name. 

She bends at her knees crouching as if trying to contain excitement and looks him in his eyes. “Thank you so much sir- Astarion. I am needed in the shop but thank you so much.” She turns to walk away stopped by Astarion speaking

“I didn't catch your name." He states implying a question

"Ta’Vira." She smiles “but my friends call me Vira."

“And what should I call you?" He was shocked by hearing his honeyed voice flowing freely from his lips.

"I haven't decided yet.” She jokes pushing her hair behind her shoulder. “I'll see you around Astarion."

He nods his head down to her, motioning his hand as if tipping an invisible hat “til next time." Before leaning back onto his own headstone. "I'm sorry my love." He sighs quietly to himself wanting for something, but knowing that there aren't such things as signs. After spending a little more time with her plot and his thoughts he stands and takes the long way back to the palace to look for Tav's beacon. Humoring himself as he walks he thinks about what if.

What if she was right and she would be back for another life? 

What if she was right and they would be able to find one another? 

What if this Ta’vira was his Tav?

He stops himself at the last thought. There's no way. He thought. There will never be another like my love. He walks quietly through the halls to their room and sits in the tall backed chair again. He sits with his knees crossed and he tries to remember where her beacon would have been put away. He squints toward their bed and slowly stands walking to stand at her side of the bed. He runs his hand over the soft blanket leaving trails from his touch on it. Astarion kneels down and pulls a wooden crate across the floor with a screech and pries open the dusty top.

In the box he finds several of Tav's favorite things. Her journal, some jewelry, a painting she commissioned of the old crew from the 6 month reunion with withers. Karlach was holding the adamantine longsword to harken back to a funny and unspoken day of adventure, her beacon, her emerald ring she wore every day from the day he gave it to her on their wedding day. Odds and ends, little trinkets she picked up throughout her life and the last thing he pulled from the box was a blood stained handkerchief with his and her initials embroidered onto the corner. He sat cross legged on the floor surrounded by the things that she treasured, feeling a smile creep across his lips. 

He turned the handkerchief over in his hands, chuckling remembering how hard she tried to remove the stains from the cloth that she used each time he fed from her. Why did it have to be white she would whine scrubbing it in the sink. He would remind her she could have a new one or a different one at any moment but you made this one for me. He had embroidered his own handkerchief with their initials as a gift after she was willing to stay with him, even after he confessed his initial motives for courting her. A new one wouldn't be the same she’d whine again. He brought the cloth to his face hoping to still find her scent locked away in this crate. It was there. It was faint and stale, but it was there. A scent that he would be able to pick up anywhere. He sighed and replaced all of her belongings back into the crate folding the cloth delicately and placing it on top of her journal. Sealing the lid as tightly as possible.

He held the cumbersome beacon in his hands. Turning it over and over in his palms looking at all of its angles and almost without really thinking he whispered to it “what are you?" Reciting the question like he had seen Tav do millions of times. Like he had heard Ta’vira do today. His mind was flooded with white light, the warm feeling of light seems to emanate from the tips of his ears to the souls of his feet. Uncomfortable with the sudden feeling he dropped it in his lap. “What are you?!" He said more harshly. “What in the sweet hells was that?!" Asking the beacon out loud scowling at it. He lifts it again, holding it without speaking, feeling an energy pulse between his hands. 

“Who are you?" He changes the verse. Nothing happened. “Who am I?" Again nothing. “What am I?" Nothing still. “What are you?" The warmth of the light returns less off-putting than before. He sat in that space for a long time, trying to feel or see the answer many before him had asked. Not seeing or feeling anything more than a comfortable warm light he dropped the beacon back in his lap. He tucks it into a bag and carries it over his shoulder. He spends the remainder of the day looking through his library for any books on the Lord of Light. He finds several and he loses himself in his studies, only interrupted by Wyll knocking on the door.

“Everything okay Astarion?"

He shrugs and pushes the book away from himself "Will you humor me for a moment?” 

Wyll nods and sits next to Astarion

"Hold this bloody thing and ask “what are you?" And tell me if you notice anything.” Astarion urges digging the beacon from his bag.

With a confused turn of his face Wyll obliges asking the question. Wylls eyes meet Astarions before he says “I don't notice anything…”

Astarion nods and purses his lips and thanks Wyll for his time.

“Should I have your dinner brought here for you?” Wyll asks passing the beacon back to him carefully “What are you looking for?”

Astarion nods about dinner "Tav. I'm looking for Tav. I might be crazy but I think she's closer to me here than she was on any of my travels.”

“If you need any help you will let me know.” Wyll says implying his concern

Astarion nods in return to his book. The night turns to dawn from the library. He sits, stands, paces and leans in all different places within the stacks. At some point he wakes up laying on a sofa with a book in one hand and the beacon in the other with soft morning light shining through a stained glass window. He closes the book and stands to stretch. His curiosity wins out over his exhaustion as he looks to the beacon again. "What are you?” The warm light returns this time  and image of hands being held flashes quickly before the blinding light returns

“That's even less helpful.” He scolds the shining metal. “And now I'm talking to you.” He chuckles at his own mania. He packs it and several books into his pack. He quickly changes into clean and simple clothes with a jacket and rushes out the door to head to the cemetery. He arrives and quickly unloads his bag and talks out loud to Tav like she was there.

“What does this all mean?" He gestures to the open books “why does this thing make my brain light up like the sun? Is that the question you need to answer?" He sighs holding the beacon again. “What are you?” The feeling and light are even stronger than before. He hisses and drops the object in the grass. “Bloody hell!” He rubs his eyes trying to ease the pain from the light he saw. Interrupted when he heard his name from behind him.

“Astarion?”

He jumped, startled only to relax when he saw it was Ta’vira. “Oh hello,” he waves “I just wanted to bring this to Tav before handing it over to you.” He shrugs and tries to play it cool. “Probably sounds silly but…” He trails off when ta’vira knelt next to him.

“Not silly. Not at all" she reassures “it's respectful if anything. Do you think she'd be okay with that?” she adds looking from him to Tav’s headstone.

He nods “I do. But can you first tell me what you see or feel when you talk to this blasted thing?”

She looks at the metal in his hands “When I hold any of mine they're each different. One is low hums that reverberate through my bones. One is the darkest dark I've ever witnessed. Total nothingness. One shows me red, wet bloody red. But it's not as scary as it sounds” she laughs “what does that one do?” She asks, tilting her head to the side.

“Different things for different people I think.” He shakes his head, handing it to her carefully and speaking in a bit of a ramble. “Tav would say it was a bright flickering candle light, my friend said he didn't feel anything change. But when I ask it it's a blinding light that's so bright and warm it almost hurts. And I've seen hands holding each other.”

[wisteriagoesvroom]

29 please

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

from a kinkmeme omegaverse prompt about the FIA banning scent blockers, which idk that i’ll finish unfortch :(

——— mildly nsfw ———

Charles is fine. Has great self control. Has trained all the time for this. Never mind when he first presented as a teenager and Gianni was there and he spent a whole week trying to chop firewood and build a nest with his laundry and make pasta from scratch (the pasta was bad). That was long ago. He has better coping mechanisms now.

Max walks past, giving him a wave. The other man’s scent hits him like a truck. Motor oil. Musk. Pine. Oh, fuck, he’s going to be so sick.

His blood is about to vibrate out of his skin. He sweats bullets. Alpha, alpha, alpha goes the awful sound. Let us crawl in this place together, and never come out. I need teeth on my neck and your come on my skin and I need to make a place that is good for you that has only us, it will be us racing against each other forever, one breath in for you one breath out for me, alpha alpha alpha.

“Do you want to fuck?” Charles blurts out, in the empty hallway. “We don’t have to bite or anything.

Max’s mouth twists. “Charles… what happened to hello?”

“Ah. Hello. Also I am being very serious. I really need to get through this rut.”

“You’re not speaking from your right mind.”

Anger flashes in Charles. Always does, when he’s agitated. “What do you know about me being in my right mind? My mind is my own.”

“I know. But I also know you.”

“Then you know that I am just needing to make it through…” Charles gestures wildly. "This.”

“Isn’t there someone else?”

The omega in Charles is petulant now. There were some lines he would never cross with Pierre. And Carlos for some reason sprinted off to the McLaren side of the pits without warning after his engineering meeting, so there went his teammate option.

“There’s no one else. It's like this. I would never ask unless I needed to.”

It spins out between them. The fact that Charles is in championship contention for the first time in a long time, the fact that getting him through his rut tonight would mean Charles has the recuperation time to drive well by Sunday. They both know that a well-timed rut in elite sport constitutes a possible, and very legal, physical advantage. An advantage that the FIA seeks to exploit with its new regulations, for audience gain, but it’s not illegal to do this with their bodies for the price of a potential win. So be it.

Nonetheless, Max hesitates. He’s probably worried things won’t ever be the same between them again. Charles has no such concern. There are no feelings involved here, simply a biological fulfilment of his inconvenient second gender.

Charles grits his teeth. “Remember when you said that you owe me a favour? I must use it now, Max. Please.”

Curiosity, and something close to concern, flit across Max’s face. Max’s fingers seem to twitch on the cap in his hand, before he thinks better of it.

“Well. We are not doing it here.”

from asks here

[mythicamagic]

Exalted One - a Sukuna x Reader fic

Summary: An apothecary ostracised by her village for witchcraft.

A murderous cannibal who practises sorcery.

Like oil and water, the two shouldn't mix. Heian era fic.

-----

AN: Sukuna x Reader/OC depending how you look at it. Idk ignore me I won't be able to update this for like a month but I have poor impulse control. This is written in third person because its more comfortable for me than first.

Read on Ao3 - here

-----

Smoke. It billowed thick and black into the sky, seeping into her lungs. Flames roared, submerging everything in bright flickering lights and casting thick shadows all at once.

The woman remained bent low on hands and knees, crumpled in the street. Everything in her screamed to move. Her teeth chattered with the force of it. She could do little more than watch, frozen in place as one such thick shadow rippled, giving way to the towering figure that blocked her path- one of his many arms lifting a screaming man aloft. 

The villager's legs swung, flailing wildly as a large hand squeezed tighter around his neck. One of his feet struck- hitting the creature in the belly. 

"Heh, tickles." 

A sick slap of flesh splitting open reached her ears as- to her horror- a mouth opened up on the creature's stomach, spreading wide into a grin. It caught the man's flailing foot between its teeth, sucking his calf inside before a harsh 'snap' and crunch could be heard. 

If the man had been screaming before, he was inconsolably shrieking and wailing his heart out now. Blood oozed from the remainder of his stump as he yanked it free, unable to squirm away from the collection of four arms holding him captive. 

The woman flinched and covered her ears, but it was useless. She'd seen too much now, heard it all. So many villagers lay scattered in ruined body parts and sinew. 

It had been such a normal, ordinary day. Nothing had heralded this slaughter, not one bad omen. The woman had opened her apothecary as per usual, and left a herbal remedy for Mrs Okami’s back pain on her doorstep. The boy called Shinta and old man Yunko had ignored her as usual on their way to the fishing lake. None of them had tossed an insult toward her at all- it had even seemed like things were looking up.

Now they were all dead- or perhaps some had been fortunate enough to flee, escaping the burning houses and terrifying monster stalking the streets. What she'd initially thought had been a random army attack turned out to be just one force of chaos. A natural disaster disguised as a misshapen human.

He was tall- far taller than any man she’d met- and stripped to the waist as if to show off the murderous arms he’d used to pluck frightened people from their homes. He’d killed them with the glee and indifference of a child toying with their dolls.

The woman shuddered as her neighbour was ripped limb from limb and split down the middle, watery noises of blood splashing onto the ground. The sound threatened to empty her stomach again. 

"Hm, raw food doesn't agree with me like it used to," the creature tsked, a second tongue appearing from his cheek to lick crimson stains off one of his meaty hands. 

Her breathing hitched, air freezing in her lungs. What was he? 

Demon.

The word stuck and refused to leave her mind. 

Burning red eyes turned towards her as if she’d spoken the word aloud. She jolted, heart leaping into her throat. Oh no no no no-

The creature dropped the remains of the neighbour's carcass. They met the ground with a sickening thud. His lips twitched and spread wider, sizing her up. He took a single step- but adrenaline kicked in and she was already up and scrambling away. 

It was useless of course. No one could outrun him after the things she'd seen, but her legs couldn't be stopped. 

She fled into her Apothecary at the far outskirts of the village, knocking pots over in her haste. 

Mother. 

It felt important at that moment to hold onto something familiar. If she was going to die- it would be while keeping the memory of someone who loved her close. With this in mind, she grabbed a well-worn bamboo book off the shelf and hugged it to her chest, grabbing a knife in her free hand and crouching against the corner of the room, hiding in the dark. 

It didn't take long before the entirety of her front entrance was ripped away. 

The roof was pushed back to reveal a firelit sky, the ceiling screeching with the snap of support beams failing. Tattooed hands were suddenly reaching into her ruined hut, his fingers spread wide, nails sharp and ready. The woman screamed as she was grabbed, scooped up into malevolent arms without much effort. 

The creature grinned and straightened outside. "You thought you could run despite seeing everything I’ve done? You- who sat back for such a long time and stared at me with a stupid expression,” he chuckled. “While the attention was flattering, I thought you might have learned something from it- and would show far more spirit than this." 

He squeezed, the sensation tightening hard and cruel around her waist, and she gasped, grip loosening on the knife until it clattered to the ground. 

Red eyes smiled, dancing with mirth when she cursed and twisted in his hold, kicking uselessly and sinking her free-hand’s nails into his arm, scratching and clawing. At one point- she bit down into the meat of his arm. The action had him chuckling richly- jolting her so hard in his grip that the book in her hand fell loose. The woman cried out, straining uselessly as it collided with the ground in a clatter of wood, cotton and string.

The air around him changed, everything falling silent. The steel band crushing her lungs eased.

"What's this?" 

Mother’s book was snatched from the earth, the demon looking it over curiously with all four of his roving eyes. 

"No! Give it back-" she swiped for it, missing as he held it out of reach. "I-it's useless to you. Please give it back to me." 

With two hands holding her waist, it was easy for him to open the lovingly crafted book. She had no idea if he could even read the handwritten strips of bamboo. 

He took his time, stroking his chin consideringly. Narrowed eyes flicked back to her after a moment. Despite the bloodlust he’d displayed, it unnerved her to see shrewd intelligence within his gaze. "Now I see…looking at you more closely, you're not from these lands, are you? This written in your native tongue?" 

She trembled but set her jaw. Not trusting her voice, she gave a faint nod. 

"Hm. And you can read it?" 

Again, she nodded, albeit with confusion and no small amount of fear. 

The book was tossed in her general direction and she gasped, lurching up to catch it. "Hold onto it then," he dismissed casually, glancing at the remains of her hut. "Got any more books like this?" 

"N-no. This is the only one.”

"Pity," his velvety voice drawled, belying the wicked smile that spread across his lips. "Oh well, you'll do for some late-night amusement at least." 

TBC

[cactusringed]

Etho and Bdubs' meeting | Political Intrigue AU

Putting it in a tumblr post because idk if I can commit to a full fic that'll be posted on ao3 yet so I'll share this way

Word Count: 3,715

Content Warnings: Depictions of a staged suicide

The blood moon illuminates the night sky, painting the surrounding clouds crimson. Looking up through the glass roof of the observatory tower, Bdubs knows that today is to be the day he dies. 

Even before his vision, he’d known, somehow, that the blood moon would signify his end. He was always attracted to it like a moth to a flame. Except moths aren’t aware — Bdubs doesn’t think — of the fate awaiting them once their delicate wings brush against the harbinger destined to extinguish their life. Bdubs is. He is, he believes, the most painfully aware one could be about their demise. The blood moon calls to him the way a jailer would a prisoner on death row, marching him through that last corridor towards his end. 

“No, wait, I think a siren would be a more accurate metaphor,” Bdubs muses out loud, rubbing at his scruffy stubble. He should’ve shaved. Perhaps he still can. No. He’s meant to look this way, he knows. Images of his destiny flash in his mind and Bdubs screws his eyes shut in hopes to chase them away. 

It doesn’t work. He takes one shaky breath, then another. His lungs ache. When he opens his eyes again, his vision blurs with tears that he quickly blinks away. 

After spending over a year aware of the grisly details of his own death, one would expect Bdubs to have come to peace with it. He certainly thought he did. Yet here he is, staring up at the moonlit sky for what he knows is the very last time. Fighting back not only tears but primal fear that screams at him to rattle the bars of the cage fate has sealed him in. His heart gallops in his chest with such force he swears he feels its echoes against his ribcage, all the way up to his throat. His Adam's apple bobs as he forces his gaze downwards, to the workshop he’s built in the main observatory room. To his very last painting:

A landscape - that of the country of Oblivion. He’d hoped to finish it before his death, but he supposes the least he can do is bring it to an acceptable state. He wonders how much his work will sell for. He wonders if he can ask his murderer to burn it all before they leave. 

Bdubs picks up his brushes and palette, the oil paints still wet from his last session, and works at the landscape. He paints a tree — thin, spindly, and grey — only to cover it almost immediately. He refines the cliff-face, as he’s done dozens of times, overworking the surface into a mush of dull colors and clashing textures before he throws his equipment to the ground in frustration. 

His mind’s eye always had trouble focusing on the picture he wanted to bring to life, the shapes blurring together even after spending hours studying references of Obliviate scenery — but now, with the promise of death hanging over his head, he finds it downright impossible to not only focus but also keep his every muscle from shaking. Come on, he wants to tell himself, it’s not like you’re going up on stage to give a speech. It’s just the day of your own murder. Relax.

Bdubs worries he might puke. Or cry. That would be worse. 

Another couple of breaths in and out. Shakier than before. He’s restless, to the point he knows he won’t be able to sleep no matter how late it gets, but also won’t be able to get anything useful done. What is there to do that would be useful mere hours, or potentially minutes, before his death? He could draft a will. He doesn’t know how to write one. Maybe he should’ve learned before he had to go and die, but to be entirely fair to him… no, he did know it was going to happen tonight for some time now. Ever since he knew of the blood moon. It just didn’t feel real enough to warrant any preparation, somehow. 

Bdubs looks at the unfinished landscape. The sculk that snakes through every crack of the cliff-face. It’s too flat, despite how hard he’s worked at it. It resembles the sketches and croquis he’s studied in tomes, but not the feeling they elicit in him. That infinite darkness that threatens to suck him in. He reaches for his paints, but pauses. Gazes up, instead. Up and around himself, searching for that blackness, for that feeling.

It must be here. They must be here. Whoever Oblivion sent to end him. Bdubs isn’t stupid — he knows they’ve been following him for a while. Studying his every move, habits, his entourage. Yet he’s never been able to feel the weight of their presence. Not a shadow has ever been out of place. No matter how hard Bdubs has looked, how much he tossed his room upside down. How much he’s raised his voice.

But he’s got to keep trying.

“Assassin,” Bdubs speaks in the Obliviate tongue, struggling with the soft and flat tones it forces upon him. “Show yourself. I know you’re here. You have to be. You’re here to kill me, are you not? So, show yourself. Let me see my own murderer before I die.”

Bdubs waits. He waits for what feels like a full minute, only to be met with complete, suffocating silence. His lip twitches downwards, but he keeps his chin high, and continues to speak in a register he knows to be far more proper than he prefers to speak in his native Celesti tongue. He should’ve worked harder on his lessons. 

“I’m unarmed. I don’t deal in violence. I just… wish to see your face. Then you can kill me,” Bdubs walks slowly, carefully, to the oak desk covered in loose paper and canvas pressed against one of the walls. His fingers trace over his sketchbook. He lets out a soft laugh, peering back up at the ceiling, looking out for any movement overhead. “I bet it’s not often you get to speak with your victim. I can offer you some critique. Because I have to say, the method you have planned for me… Well, it’s a bit too quiet. It’s like….” he frowns, unable to think of the right Obliviate word. “It’s boring,” he settles on the Celesti equivalent, before he switches back to the assassin’s tongue. “It will make my retainers suspect foul.”

Still nothing but silence, no matter how long Bdubs waits. A long sigh, as he lets go of held breath. He takes his sketchbook, worn at the spine, and holds it to his chest. He turns, raises a foot, intends to take a step — only to let out a roar of terror as he’s suddenly faced with a tall figure come out of nowhere. 

Bdubs stumbles back, and as quickly as he began screaming he slaps both hands over his mouth to silence himself, letting the sketchbook fall open by his feet. His back hits the edge of his desk, and he waits as the figure stands still as a statue. One, two — his eyes dart to the door, listening for guards, servants, anyone who might have heard the commotion. Only when he’s certain no one intends to ruin his moment does he drop his hands down, letting out a high pitched giggle. 

“You scared the life outta me!” he exclaims in Celesti. “I mean,” he corrects himself in quiet Obliviate: “You sca—”

The figure holds up a hand, and Bdubs stills, before letting out another, softer chuckle.

“Right. You understand Celesti. There’s no need to translate,” He insists on continuing in Obliviate, but it does save him some time.

Another stretch of silence. The figure lets their hand drop. They remain still, and though it fills the air with an awkwardness that would normally make Bdubs want to keep yapping — he instead finds himself transfixed by their presence. 

Slowly, as to ensure they don’t take it as an offensive move, Bdubs leans down to pick up his sketchbook. He opens it towards the end, and meets with a sketch of himself laid in bed, arms stretched out at his sides, small rivulets of blood dripping down. The blood moon shining in the window. He’s transfixed by it for just a moment, his throat closing up.

He flips the page. More angles of his dead body. A few sketches of gloved hands taking hold of his wrist. The fingers are slender, long — one might call them delicate, even as they hold a blade to Bdubs’ wrist. 

A study of how the blood flows. It pearls at the edge of the cut at first. There’s a few attempts at getting it quite right. The amount of blood that begins to trickle, then pour out. The way it soaks Bdubs’ sheets. 

Then, finally, the main object of interest: The assassin. His sketches become more abundant, but less clear, as he focuses on them. Looking up at the figure standing in front of him, then down at his sketches, he’s happy to note he got their build right: Tall, slender, but not too much. Loose clothes that likely hide solid muscles. That’s another thing he realises he portrayed perfectly: Their outfit. The long, dark cloak hiding the near entirety of their figure. The large hood obscuring their head alongside a scarf wrapped around the bottom half of their face. The only part that remains uncovered is their eyes and a few strands of silver hair — easy enough to remember and portray, one would think. Yet it always remained blank both in Bdubs’ memory and sketches.

The surface of some of the pages have been rubbed raw from his eraser. Some have frustrated scribbles all over the assassin’s face. Others have just been left blank. It’s endlessly frustrating, and if he doesn’t get to do anything else before he dies, he hopes to at least fix this. 

“Can I…?” Bdubs reaches for the assassin’s scarf — only for them to suddenly jerk back before his fingers can even brush against the fabric. 

It’s the first movement he’s seen from them, a proof they’re not just a hallucination. It makes him jump, and he tenses in expectation of a blow that never comes. The assassin just adjusts their scarf securely on their face before peering down at Bdubs’ sketchbook. They point. A silent question hangs in the air.

Bdubs frowns. “Can you use your words?”

“No.”

Their voice is deep, surprisingly so. It’s also rough around the edges — the way one’s voice sounds after waking up in the morning. And a bit muffled by the scarf. 

“Very clever,” Bdubs grins, reaching to shove playfully at the assassin. They move away. “It does mean you can speak though, so— Oh, how do you say in Obliviate… you know, like… gotcha? Do you guys have a word for gotcha?”

Bdubs swears he hears a quiet, near inaudible snicker from the other. 

“You can switch to Celesti. I’d rather you did, actually,” they say in perfect Celesti. Not a trace of an accent. Not even an intonation amiss, despite how much more melodic Celesti is compared to the flatness of Obliviate. Bdubs could mistake him for a native if he didn’t know better, and if it wasn’t for the paleness of his face. 

“Right, yeah, I was tryna impress you, but turns out I’m real rusty. But hey, I was doing well enough, yeah? Since you came down from your little hidey hole?”

Silence. They’re still pointing. 

“...So, uh, what’d you want my sketchbook for?”

The silence stretches, until the assassin seemingly remembers it’s their turn to speak. “I want to see.”

Bdubs raises a brow. “Not the most eloquent sort, are ya?”

They blink.

“Just gimme a second, okay?” 

Bdubs reaches for one of his charcoal pencils, and holds the book open against his chest. He peeks up at the assassin, then down at the page, lightly finishing up one of his attempts at a portrait. He sticks out his tongue as he adds the outline of lips he can barely see through the scarf, refines the shape of their face, and draws the long, white eyelashes caressing scarred skin. The hint of sculk Bdubs can barely see, pulsing like veins burrowing deep within the assassin’s skin. He goes at it for a moment, before he finally gives up with a dissatisfied huff. 

“It’s not as pretty as you are in real life,” he holds the sketchbook out to the assassin. “But have a looksie, if you want. It’s kind of… Ah, well, you can keep it as a souvenir after you’ve killed me! I’m sure in a few decades you’ll be able to resell it for some pretty money. I mean, can you imagine?” Bdubs gestures when the assassin takes hold of the book. “‘The prophet prince’s last drawings.’ People will fight for it!”

The assassin doesn’t seem to find it quite as funny as Bdubs does. They stare at him blankly, jaw slack, before seemingly remembering to look down at the pages, ignoring Bdubs’ grin as they do. He doesn’t let it get him down. Instead he watches their piercing grey eyes dance across the pages. He doesn’t think he did them justice. He wishes he had more time. They genuinely are beautiful.

Their fingers run over the sketches. As they study the depictions of themselves knocking Bdubs unconscious and slitting his wrist, Bdubs can’t help but hyperfocus on their hands. They’re like a pianist’s. He wonders if they play instruments. Are Obliviate assassins allowed to partake in hobbies? Arts? 

“I wasn’t sent by anyone,” their voice force Bdubs out of his imaginings. They stop on a page depicting them hopping out of Bdubs’ bedroom through the window and disappearing into the darkness of the night. It was a bit of a challenging pose to figure out. Bdubs is proud of that sketch. He doesn’t think it’s what they’re admiring. “My actions were planned by myself, in opposition to my orders. You are dangerous, but no one seems to see that.”

Bdubs swallows heavily. A strange calm had settled over him, ever since the assassin revealed themselves — but their saying that turns his blood to ice. He’s suddenly aware of every inch of his body, and the way they scream at him to run, or hide, or fight — something. Instead, he stays frozen as the assassin circles him, takes in the room as if they hadn’t been spying on him for stars know how long. 

“You showing me this,” they tap their fingers on the pages. “It made me realise something I hadn’t considered before.”

Bdubs opens his mouth to speak, but the assassin continues before he gets even a sound out:

“If I choose not to kill you tonight. What happens with your vision?”

“I…” Bdubs looks down at his dead body laid on the pages. It’s hard to speak. He should stop staring. He can’t. “I don’t… know. Every single thing I’ve predicted has come true, no matter how hard I’ve worked to stop them. I don’t know what happens if… if they don’t. I think it would just push away the inevitable. If you don’t kill me today, then you’ll do it on the next blood moon. Or the one after. It’s not the first blood moon I’ve seen since the vision, after all. I could just be wrong on the exact date. Both of us could be.”

The assassin shakes their head. “Even if the date isn’t right, I won’t do it like this,” they gesture at the book. “So it still wouldn’t be true. Besides, you knew this blood moon was to be the one. I’ve been watching you for a long time. You’ve never called out to me the way you have tonight. You knew it was today.”

“I just… felt it, somehow. I tend to, with my visions. Even if nothing indicates a specific date within the vision itself, I just… feel it, when it’s about to happen,” he shrugs. “With normal prophecies — you know, the one they do all those fancy rituals for? With those, it’s kind of a fifty-fifty as to whether they’ll actually happen. But mine have always, always come true, no matter what. I’m just too good at this divination thing!” He laughs. It comes out wrong. Stilted. Tearful. 

The assassin watches Bdubs pace. 

Bdubs’ eyes find the image of the assassin’s bloodied blade, placed in his limp hand. 

“...I don’t wanna die,” he finally admits, quietly. A few tears roll their ways down his cheeks. “I just know — well, I don’t know… what’s meant to, to happen. If you stop it, I mean. I don’t know what happens if you don’t kill me. If I— If I wake up, tomorrow. I don’t know what… what would happen. I’m not meant to. It— It won’t. It won’t happen. You know?” he looks up, his lips trembling uncontrollably. 

He feels like a damn child. 

The assassin is obviously uncomfortable. Their previously relaxed posture grows suddenly tense. Their shoulders are almost all the way to where Bdubs assumes their ears would be. They reach into their coat and Bdubs gasps, sharply. His eyes squeeze shut. He expects the stab of a knife. For all of it to have been a ruse. A way to finally end their conversation and get to the very reason they came here. 

But nothing comes.

Bdubs takes one, two — up to three shaky, hiccuping breaths, before he opens his eyes again and looks up. What he sees is not a knife, but instead a handkerchief. It’s held in front of him awkwardly, the assassin staring at him unblinking. Bdubs hesitates, before he takes it and wipes the tears off his face. Except the very act of compassion coming from what should be his assassin makes his tears double, and Bdubs sobs embarrassingly against the cloth. 

“We’ll find out what happens when a vision of yours does not come to fruition, then. Because I won’t kill you. You won’t die by my hand, prince Bdubs.” 

Their voice is so gentle, now. Bdubs nearly chokes on air as he tries to calm himself. As he tries to listen. Take it in.  

“I was only sent here because we found out about your vision. Before you worry — none within your court knows. We’ve only inferred it through our surveillance. I will report back, explain what happened. They’ll send another spy to continue monitoring your safety. Oblivion never wanted you dead, so you won’t have to be afraid of them. And it means… you’ll know: There’s a way to stop your visions.”

Before Bdubs can say anything, before he can thank them, they turn away. They take a step to leave. Bdubs’ tears stop in an instant, and he reaches for them. For their cloak. He pulls them back towards him, and wraps his arms around them in a tight embrace, feels the air escape from their lungs as he squeezes.

“Thank you,” he says, voice only shaking a little as he clings to the assassin’s clothes. “I don’t know how I could ever repay you. I don’t even know your name, I—”

“My— My name’s not important.” The assassin’s voice is strained, as if in pain. They pat Bdubs’ hand in what he assumes is a gentle attempt to pry him off. He doesn’t let go quite yet. “We won’t meet again. Just… try to find a way to stop your visions. If anything, for your own sake.”

Bdubs shakes his head. “I won’t let you leave,” he declares. “Not after you saved my life. Not after you did… did this. You were sent to protect me, right? So you must be pretty good! Then, I want you to stay. I can write to Oblivion, get them to keep you here. Then you can help me stop the visions from coming true again. Yeah?”

He finally pulls away so he can walk around the assassin and face them, sniffing as he watches them shake their head.

“I’m not a protector. I’m an assassin. The only reason I was sent here was to neutralise your murderer. Since I technically have, there’s no reason for me to stay. Especially now that I’ve revealed myself to you. It… goes against almost every tenets of the code,” they sigh, reaching to pinch the bridge of their nose. “It just can’t happen. I’m sorry.”

“... Will they hurt you? For… you know,” Bdubs gestures. Could the price of his life be his would-be assassin’s death? Does he want to know? “...If not your full name, can you give me… I dunno, a nickname, the first letter —  anything? I don’t wanna forget the person who broke my curse. Please? Then I’ll let you leave. And I’ll promise not to speak a word of this. To anyone.”

The other furrows their brow, and studies Bdubs’ face. They shake their head again, and brush Bdubs’ hands off themselves. “Slab,” they finally offer. Bdubs recognises it: A clan name. A… very prominent one. “And what happens to me isn’t something for you to worry about. I’m… uh… Sorry. For causing you stress.”

There’s an awkward pause, then, before they take a step back. Bdubs lets them. He watches them as they climb back up to the rafters, open a window, and leave without a trace. 

“...Slab…” Bdubs looks down at his sketchbook, hugs it to his chest. Clouds creep closer to the blood moon, obscuring its glow. The observatory is plunged in darkness, illuminated only by the flickering candles on Bdubs’ desk. 

He’s alive. His vision has come and gone. 

He sits at his desk. Opens his sketchbook, picks up a pen, and begins sketching. 

He draws until the sun rises. A feverish attempt to burn the Slab assassin’s image in his head. Draws until one of his retainers knocks on the door and scolds him for not showing up at breakfast. Until they drag him out of the observatory, force him to breathe the fresh air outside. 

He’s free of the burn in his lungs as he’s smothered into unconsciousness, of the blade splitting his arms open. 

He’s alive.

[amekikai]

DIO Headcanons (NSFW - AMAB reader Reader)

(No gendered language is used other than mentions of genitals.)

I'm sorry if you know me irl idk what I'm doing with my life lmfao

DIO thrusts with his hands behind his head or one hand holding his hip and the other pushing your head down. He is very handsy. But most of the time he'll go from behind and hold your hips tight.

Dirty talk is praise if he's rewarding you or just doing it to satisfy himself. But he will degrade you if you've acted out of line. It'll look something like this:

"You're such a whore for me.. don't you dare think about anybody else satisfying you."

"Dearest pet.. you take me, DIO, so very well..~"

"Such a sweet little thing you are..."

He's loud but he'll be quiet if he's punishing you (that is until he's close to finishing)

DIO will often make you give him head, even if he's not going to fuck you afterwards. If you do well, he might reward you with sex though.

Goes at whatever pace you enjoy more but prefers to be slow, gentle and sensual with you if you've been good. He feels like being rough and hurting you is less of a reward (unless you tell him otherwise)

Bites a lot and scratches his name into you with his nails. DIO wants everyone to know you're his plaything and nobody else's.

DIO's moans are very seductive, he can growl sometimes when hes close. HE likes to moans right in your ear.

He likes it when you call him "divine" and praise him. DIO might submit to you if you praise him well enough.

#FCFFF4, tip: #F2D9BB. He's 6"8 soft and 7"9 hard. He's got two veins which are very sensitive and one is on the left side, the other is in the bottom. He's quite girthy, the tip is sort of heart shaped and curved very slightly. His cum tastes slightly salty and its quite creamy (like canned whipped cream texture)

(Jonathan's dick was darker but bc DIO is a vampire his skin got lighter due to the lack of blood flow)

Loves oral. He wants to give you it and licks dipping his tongue in your slit and tasting your precum.

Masturbates often. DIO doesn't always feel satisfied after he has sex with another whore who throws themselves at him and hates being desperate for release.

Would oil himself up for you if you asked very nicely.

He's definitely an exhibitionist. He likes showing "his" body off. (this is acc canon, Araki said so /srs)

Only fucks you in his coffin if he trusts you and genuinely loves you and even then it's very rare.

Has his bed curtains closed if he's rewarding you, but otherwise they're staying open. If anyone walks in.., DIO finds it arousing.

His dick is sometimes strangely cold so you'll have to "warm him up"

[coramatus]

What happened to Ingo(?) in that one shot where his eye is blue & yellow and he's crying black tears (blood?)? (I'm only guessing Ingo cause the post is about the Woodsman, idk if you have any kind of visual tell for which brother is which when they aren't in their usual colors so that could be Emmet on a bad day for all I know)

To start with, Emmet and Ingo do indeed have their own visual signifiers! Aside from mouth position, it’s mainly in the hair.

Emmet has bangs that swoop to his right and two locks of hair on the back of his head that point upwards.

Ingo has bangs that swoop to his left and two locks of hair on the back of his head that point downwards.

As for Ingo’s rainbow eye problem? It’s from a possible continuation of the Woodsman’s story where a bit of the Beast worms its way back into existence through Ingo’s subconscious. And one of the first things it does is infect Ingo’s eye. This makes it able to see and it is capable of moving the eye independently from Ingo’s will. It also makes that eye cry Edelwood oil.

As for the colors of the eye? That’s taken directly from Over the Garden Wall.

Hope that answers that! :3