#You Wrote These Songs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ghost-proofbaby · 21 days

Text

too sweet (astarion ancunin x reader)

"you know, you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain. pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape. [...] you're too sweet for me."

summary: astarion realizes you're too sweet for him, and he probably shouldn't let this go further than necessary. but, oh, he's going to. isn't he? (based on this request and the song 'too sweet' by hozier <3)

pairing: astarion ancunin x gn!reader

warnings: spoilers for games regarding camp dialogue with astarion, discussion of astarion's past trauma, talks of self-loathing/disgust with sex, vague mentions & allusions to sex having been had, manipulation at it's finest! minors dni.

wc: 2k+

a/n: i just wanted to get inside this man's mind when he drops that fucking line the second time he tries to sleep with us/tav. why does his face fall like that? why?

divider by @firefly-graphics <3

As Astarion observes the rise and fall of your chest in the soft morning light, he can only think one thing: shit. He fucked up.

And he had spent most of the early hours trying to retrace his steps, trying to decipher exactly where his monumental mistake had begun, but it seemed useless.

It could have been somewhere between the first and third bottle of wine shared with you last night during festivities, where he’d sweet-talked you to the high Hells until you’d agreed to return to his bedroll in the dead of night. Where he’d made the joke that wasn’t all that funny – the joke that he loved you. Three pretty words tried out on his tongue, and they hadn’t been nearly as light-hearted as he’d wanted them to be. More of an experiment, a quick sip to see if he liked the taste. And he had fucked up, because he did like the taste. He liked the sweetness that stuck to every corner of his mouth as he delivered the sugar-coated lie to you, his entire face falling as a new weight appeared in his chest.

But perhaps it had been the first night he tasted you – well, your blood, that is. The night he’d awoken from a nightmare of Cazador and in his vulnerability, had chosen you as his victim of yet another experiment. A test to see if he was truly free. One drop of a thinking creature’s blood, that was all he needed. But you’d given more than he’d bargained for, and your cloy ichor had coated his taste buds so addictively, and he had just known that night was only the beginning. It was the first time, but certainly not the last.

He thinks he could drink in whatever you offered him, and only that, for the rest of his days while still finding some sickly, twisted version of reprieve regardless. Not a drop more than he needed, always vying for more.

He’d be okay with that type of hunger, that type of yearning, and that might have been his first real mistake.

Or maybe, just possibly, it had been that very first meeting. Maybe he had doomed himself from the moment he’d pressed a blade to your neck, when he had dragged you to the ground with him and felt all that warmth, all that fear, radiating off of you. So frightful, and you still had offered your help to him when it was all said and done. Perhaps that was when he had well and truly screwed himself over. One simple introduction, void of his usual wine and flowers, and he’d locked himself in for pure trouble.

Not even the fun kind, at that. What a shame.

At the end of the day, or rather the beginning of the day as it is now, it doesn’t matter where his threads had started to unravel. All that matters is that they were – every carefully thought out line of his plans had all frayed, all detangled from the bigger picture, all because of you.

Heart of gold, blood of honey. You were far too sweet for him, and he knew it.

“Having fun, are you?”

“I am, it’s hard not to with you.”

You’d taken each of his tactics in stride, hadn’t you? Whereas his face had nearly crumbled beneath the weight of that beautiful lie, insides twisting uncomfortable as the humor had slipped through his fingers, your eyes had only glittered as you bit back a smirk. To so lightly tease him, to banter right back with him, instead of see the truth behind it all. He didn’t know if you were simply that naive or if you were another kindred soul – Perhaps you were finding just as much safety, just as much sanctuary, in whatever dance he’d dragged you into. An entanglement of lies, a blithe facade, a daring smile that whispers come now, play with me.

And play with him, you had.

You’d played with him, you’d drank with him, and you’d now slept with him. Twice.

“You’re up early,” your voice murmurs, silken tone cutting through all his racing thoughts.

He hadn’t even noticed you had stirred, rousing yourself out from underneath his stolen blankets to peer at him curiously as he perched on the edge of the bedroll. As far from you, and as far from your sweetness, as possible.

“Oh, you know what they say, my dear,” he chirps, rolling his shoulders as the act wraps him back up. The charismatic charmer. The illusive rogue, trained impeccably to coax you in and secure his safety, “No rest for the wicked.”

He’d awoken before you last time, too. Had watched the sun rise and enjoyed the warmth of it plastering across his skin long before you’d ever woken up. He half-hopes you’ll be less talkative this time; he half-hopes you’ll try to rope him into whatever discussion you can, if only for a few extra seconds of your attention.

You were too sweet. Too sugary on his tongue, too soothing in his chest. He shouldn’t entertain you – he shouldn’t let this go further than necessary.

You hum thoughtfully, the blanket slipping and exposing more of your chest. With the light flickering in from his tent’s entrance, he can easily spot those two scarring dots along your jugular where his fangs fit perfectly, “I don’t know if I’d describe you as wicked, lover.”

“No?” Roped into discussion, it is. “How would you describe me then?”

He’s not comfortable in this lighting. He feels feverish beneath your steady stare, the way your eyes take their time as you look over every inch of him. The languid observation has him convinced you’re seeing right through him – your glance can pierce right through all his armor and expose every flaw. You see him for the monster he is, you see him for the bitter soul he’s become, you see him as the unworthy spawn he believes himself to be.

He almost swears that you even see right through his nice, simple plan at hand, not so easily fooled as he had believed you to be.

“Charming, certainly,” you suddenly sigh, sitting up and keeping your body mostly covered still with that knitted blanket. He’d only snagged it because the shade of the wool nearly matched your eyes – not that he was paying attention to your eyes, of course, “But then again, you’d have to be to have bedded me twice now, wouldn’t you?”

“We can always make it thrice,” he banters back, ignoring the bile that builds at the insinuation. But if that’s what it takes – laying on his back over and over again – to guarantee your protection, he’ll do it. He’d do it a thousand times over to keep himself as far away from Cazador’s chokehold as possible, “Does that entice you, love?”

When he turns his body fully, beginning a carefully and calculated crawl up the bed roll, ready to slot his body back between your thighs and encourage you to have his way with him, you stop him. The heel of your foot delicately presses against his chest, your head tilted curiously before you shake it.

“Who’s the eager pup now, Astarion?”

He likes the way his name drips off your tongue. Almost as if he might be made of the same sugar and spice as you, the same pure honey flowing through your veins also inhabiting his. You say it like a song, articulate it like the sweetest fruit.

He shouldn’t like it. It shouldn’t be able to overpower his lingering disgust with himself so easily.

“It’s hard not to be eager when it comes to you,” he says the line with good practice, beckoning a purr to his tone that had always won over the victims he’d entrap in dark taverns back in the city, “I said the Gods had made you just to ruin me, and I meant it.”

He’d meant it more than he’d realized. It wasn’t just your body that had been sculpted to draw him in – it was everything. Your entire aura, your entire glacé demeanor. All that innocence and all that geniality enticed him more than he could ever admit. You were certainly going to ruin him, so wholly and so entirely. You’d already started to, really.

You don’t respond at first, and he swears he has you. You’re locked in on his distraction, caught up in his web, just as he needs you to be. One lithe hand lifts to your ankle, cool fingers wrapping around your warm skin as he begins to lower his lips, ready to pepper kisses up your leg. Prepared to offer you his mouth, his body, in return for the one thing he needs. Self-loathing be damned.

Old habits die hard, right along with pride, and he’s not quite ready to bury either at your grave yet.

But just as he presses the first chaste kiss to your skin, nearly taken back by how your sweetness still breaks through the salty surface, you’re pulling the limb away from him. Your knee draws back and a disarming smile has risen on your cheeks, eyes glittering at him just as they had the night before.

“I suppose I’ll have to come find you when everyone is asleep, then.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

What exactly had he been waiting for? You, of course. But had he been waiting for you to find him solely for what had transpired? To explore your portfolios of talents once more, as he had put it? Or had it been for something more… precarious?

Was he nothing more than a prey, waiting for you to be his demise?

Had he actually been waiting for this?

The challenging look in your eyes as they reflected back stars, the warmth of your skin so close to him he nearly melts into you. The upturn of the corners of your mouth, outlining the way you certainly know something that he doesn’t. A look you wear well, a look that shakes his foundations and rattles his bones.

“As tempting as you are, I’ll have to decline. Duty calls, as they say.”

Can you see right through him?

He should be more deflated when you start going through the motions; he should be pouting or overthinking it all as he watches you gather your clothes once more, covering up the few bite marks of his that litter your skin. Every moment you prepare to leave his tent should be one spent overthinking where he’d gone wrong – why didn’t you want him? Was his plan even going to work?

Were you truly too sweet for him? Would he have been better off trying to romance the likes of Gale for the safety just shy of his grasp now?

He doesn’t, though. For once, his mind is quiet as he watches you patter about. The bile retreats, the disgust fades. For the first time in a very long time, Astarion is leaving this interaction not feeling used.

Maybe it’s in the way you cheekily snatch one of his shirts as you both pretend he doesn’t notice it, or maybe it’s in the gentle caress of your fingers through his hair as you pass him to pick back up your discarded weapon. Maybe it’s in every shy glance you offer him, or maybe it’s in your ever present grin.

Watching you leave should worry him, but it only feels like a breath of fresh air. A wind that comes sweeping in with the promise of next time just as you pull back the flap to his tent.

And he hadn’t realized he’d been waiting patiently for you to turn back to him until you do just this, offering him one final glance that sets him aflame, “Oh, and before I forget – you can feed on me tonight, if you need to.”

Heart of gold, blood of honey. He couldn’t say no even if he wanted to.

“Then I’ll see your delicious self tonight,” he takes a pause, one big and unnecessary breath filling his chest alongside that warmth you bring to him. The fearless leader, the kindest soul. His most apt nickname for you yet falls off his lips in a content sigh, “My sweet.”

He shouldn’t entertain you – he shouldn’t let this go further than necessary.

But he’s going to. Gods, he is going to.

After all, the sweetest fruits always fall from the most forbidden branches, do they not?

#ghost's stories #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #bg3 #god i fucking love this song #idk why i really like the heart of gold blood of honey line #when i wrote it it really scratched an itch in my brain? it's probably stupid #no taglist except for reblogging on my makeshift tagging blog because i still have been too lazy to add astarion to the options #womp womp

586 notes · View notes

kelin-is-writing · 1 month

Text

fwb!touya who despite your agreement on not necessarily having to stop seeing other peoples, has deleted the contacts of the two or three girls he used to occasionally hook up with, when you weren’t around, the moment you two had started your relationship and everytime he crosses paths with them at school he barely even acknowledges their existence. why? ohh that’s because the moment you, the girl he desires on a soul-type of level, has agreed to be in all this with him touya’s eyes haven’t been able to look away from you, not even for a split second.

fwb!touya who a mere call or text for you telling him how much you miss and want to see him, is enough to make him skip practices with his rock band only to run over to your place and spend time with you. be it doing homework, watching movies or those weird reality shows that secretly pique his interest, playing games that usually end up in heated makeout sessions, you putting on nail polish while he styles your hair, cooking together, napping together, having sex four or five times. just you two basically being all over each others at any given occasion. touya wanted you close to him as much as possible and he was going to have exactly that.

fwb!touya who keeps telling himself you two are just ‘friends with benefits’ but from time to time he finds himself playing the guitar, compose and writes songs while thinking about you. he would’ve never wanted to admit it, for the moment, but you’ve been his muse since the first day you guys meet and the major reason for it was your smile, your laugh, your voice… that beautiful spark in your eyes whenever you looked at him… it made his heart warm up and a pleasing emptiness take over his stomach… shit… this wasn’t good at all, he was going into a dangerous territory right there and it wasn’t supposed to happen.

fwb!touya who has never marked any girl he’s sleep with before nor has he ever permitted them to mark him, because he has never felt the need to do that with his past flings; yet it took only one week, three days, fourteen hours, thirty-two minutes and twenty-six seconds in your relationship to make him go around the campus proudly, a shit-eating grin on his face, with your glossy lipstick imprint onto the side of his neck right where everyone could see it while you walked around with his teethes’ mark on your neck; a statement dedicated to everybody in the school that told all of them he is yours and you are his.

fwb!touya who never holds back from showing off to everyone your close relationship. you could be talking to a classmate and he would walk up to you surrounding your waist with an arm, pulling you flush against his side, and ask genuinely curious and interested what you guys were talking about while leaning his cheek against your head as he hummed along to the explanation you gave him with that voice of yours that is as beautiful as you are, completely smitten and mesmerized. once you were talking with another classmate of yours, that was assigned as a committee with you for a school festival, about some preparations when he came up to you ignoring the other person’s presence and just fixing his intense gaze on you while asking if everything was alright and if you needed any help while delicately moving a strand of hair behind your ear and then rest it gently on the back of your head to let you know that it was fine to lean on him whenever things became too much.

fwb!touya who keeps telling you and himself that the two of you are just ‘friends with benefits’, but the way he fucks you, talks to you and overall treats you are far from being those of an actual ‘friends with benefits’ and he doesn’t notice until a random guy who’s a schoolmate of you two and fan of his band starts asking him about you, throws glances your way, tries (but fails) to flirt with you and touya is watching over you two seething as he smokes by the fences outside the school’s building, tomura being the one who makes him notices that he’s clenching his jaw so hard they can hear his teethes scratching together. it’s right then that he realizes that the reason he had suggested all that thing between you two wasn’t only because he was attracted to you, but because he has been in love with you the whole time since the start of your friendship.

500 notes · View notes

queenie-ofthe-void · 3 months

Text

“Led Zeppelin? Never heard of them,” Steve lies, like a liar. Of course he’s heard of them, thinks maybe Hop’s mentioned them before. Doesn’t really know the band well, and probably definitely couldn’t name a song. But the comment serves its purpose, and the trap is set.

Eddie calls it the Zep Campaign. Every day they’ll listen to one album, and Steve will pick his favorite song from each. Eight days for eight albums. On the last day, they’ll narrow it down to one song to rule them all– because apparently even Led Zeppelin likes the Mordor books Dustin doesn’t shut up about.

Each day, Steve struggles to pick a favorite. Day four isn’t bad– doesn’t mind a song that is actually called Rock and Roll, which is just a lazy title in his opinion– but they’re only half way through and the songs are all starting to sound the same. An endless stream of too-fast guitar melodies and weird, wobbly sounds he’s sure he’s never heard before. The vocals are his favorite part, but the lyrics are vague and confusing.

Long story short, he’s not a fan.

But this growing thing between him and this ridiculous metalhead is new, fragile. So if it’s important to Eddie, it’s important to Steve.

“Stevie, we really don’t have to keep doing this,” Eddie concedes. It’s day eight, the final album, and he thinks even Eddie might be desperate to listen to something different. “You’ve listened to every other album and honestly this one is the worst. They were all on drugs, and this isn’t even their sound ya know? Like it’s not even real metal.”

And honestly, Steve does know. He’s been listening to this band for eight days and yeah, all the songs sound the same. But these ones are different. Softer. He’s made it this far, and he’s nothing if not persistent for the people he loves.

Sprawled out on the floor next to the boy he likes, passing a fading joint back and forth, he thinks he can suffer a bit longer.

“No Eds come on, we’re halfway through anyways. Just flip it over and we’ll smoke while we finish.” Eddie huffs a sigh, but Steve can see the slight uptick of his lips, reminding him of why he’s doing this. He flips the record and crawls back, presses himself flush up against Steve’s side.

The next song is long, too long to keep his attention. They burn down their joint and Steve leans heavily onto Eddie’s open chest. He gets lost staring at the vinyl art. A guy dressed in a fancy white suit sits alone in a dive bar, the only splash of color against a dull background. The bartender looks gruff, like the rest of the bar, making the man stand out even more. He wonders if that’s how he looks posted up at the Hideout during Eddie’s shows. Wonders if he looks just as out of place in Eddie’s life as this man does, even though he looks comfortable there too.

Eddie shifts his arms around Steve, bringing him back to the present. The song has changed and Steve feels the slow melody wash over him.

“Wait,” Steve cries out, flailing up and out of Eddie’s arms as he registers the new song. It’s soft with a steady beat. It’s got synth-- the sound Eddie told him he likes in pop music. This song isn’t loud and chaotic like the rest. The voice is soothing and the lyrics are mostly simple enough. It’s different, and he can’t believe it but–

All of my love, all of my love

all of my love to you, oh

“This one. I like this song. Like actually like it.”

Eddie sits up and stares at him. He can see the dramatic shock and annoyance on Eddie’s face. But it’s doing nothing to hide his broad smile and shining eyes.

“Steven. Stevie. Baby, sweetheart, this absolutely cannot be your favorite Zeppelin song. Out of all the songs on all the albums and all the hours of poetic melodies I’ve forced upon you, you choose the most non-Zep Zeppelin song.” Steve laughs sweetly as he watches Eddie fail to keep the glee out of his supposedly annoyed voice.

The cup is raised, the toast is made yet again

One voice is clear above the din

“This song isn’t even metall!" Eddie screeches. He rants and raves, waiving his arms as he regales Steve with all of the reasons he should absolutely not like this one particular song. He's shining with happiness, dial turned up to a hundred and it's all aimed at Steve. He can't help but to gaze back fondly, enraptured in the adorably obnoxious spectacle.

"It’s all synth, almost no guitar because Page didn’t even write this one! He wrote all of them except two songs, Stevie, and of course that’s the one you chose. No one who knows good music even likes this album. It’s not even metal music and honestly I almost didn’t show it to you, that’s how bad it is!” They're both giggling, leaning falling slowly into the other's space. Facing one another, their feet tangled together, Steve twists and pulls on Eddie's rings. Just to touch.

“Well, maybe that’s why I like it,” Steve snarks, taking his hand. “Plus it’s a love song.” Daring to reach out.

All of my love, all of my love, yes

All of my love to you

Eddie’s smile dims a bit, softens at the edges as he grows serious. “It’s not a love song Stevie, not like that.” He’s looking at Steve but he isn’t. Looking past him into the back of his thoughts. “The lead singer, he wrote it for his son. His kid died of some kind of bad illness while he was on tour. Didn’t make it back in time.”

He pauses, and Steve waits. Knows Eddie has more to say, hoping his patience will pay off. Eddie’s sight refocuses and he heaves a heavy sigh. His eyes glisten as they lock onto Steve.

“My mom used to sing it all the time. While she was cooking, or putting me to bed, or pulling weeds in the garden. She’d sing it constantly. Hell, she didn’t even know all the words, but she’d still try and sing the interludes– ya know, the music between the lyrics.” He laughs lightly, a stray tear just barely hanging on. Steve tightens his grip around Eddie’s hands and presses a kiss to his knuckles. A silent sign of gentle support and encouragement.

“Sounds like a love song to me,” Steve whispers. Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to his forehead and pulls Eddie into a tight hug.

All of my love, all of my love, to you now

“A love song just for you, from both of us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've always headcanoned that Eddie loves Led Zeppelin, because he plays guitar and loves metal and reads Lord of the Rings so of course he would.

#It's 1:30am and life is chaos #I wrote this in two hours after i spent all day at work hyperfixating on one of my favorite bands #This is all wikipedia so if something's wrong no it isn't i'm too fragile for corrections #if you see typos no you didn't #ramble on is eddie's vecna song #change my mind #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #eddie munson #steve harrington #led zeppelin #eddie munson headcanon #steddie headcanon #QueenieWritesStories

517 notes · View notes

death-by-sc0tland · 10 months

Text

first light by hozier // good omens

#wow can you believe hozier wrote this song about them #good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #hozier #unreal unearth #web weaving #1k

1K notes · View notes

poorly-drawn-mdzs · 1 year

Text

The boy patting tournament has taken a competitive turn

[First] Prev <–-> Next

#poorly drawn mdzs #mdzs #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wen ning #Our beautiful baby boy finally returns. Only to be told to get the hell out of here and move over cause its [lwj's] turn for pats #Literally that cuckhold comic. Will Wen Ning ever be able to catch a break?#He got nailed but only in the literal sense. Come ON.#In LWJ's defense - if you wrote a love song for a man only for him to play it for someone else...yeah you'd be defensive #Wen Ning deserves to have a love song dedicated to him. Not a secondhand one.#I didn't forget about LWJ's new outfit btw he just stripped down a bit.#As one does when they are afflicted with Clingy and in need of Affection #He makes the minecraft door opening sound when he enters the room. Just wanted to throw that detail out there.

2K notes · View notes

natjennie · 13 days

Text

just got emotional imagining all the tiny ways the bad kids love each other. all of them have worn gorgug's hoodie at one point. it's basically threadbare but they trade off casting mending. kristen has tried to use fig's skateboard in the parking lot after school and ate complete shit on the concrete. they all chanted for riz to try it too and he did a bunch of sick ass tricks he didn't know he could do. they all have drawers in random rooms of seacaster manor for their stuff despite never formally agreeing on it. they sit out under the thistlespring tree on weekends and project tv shows and youtube videos onto the side of the hangvan. riz brings a stupid tea-cortado for kristen in the mornings for their campaign meetings without being asked. fabian's pool is open to them no questions asked, just shoot a crystal message so he can unlock the gate (unless it's riz, he likes to scurry over it or pick the lock, for enrichment). without speaking adaine grabs some hot sauce packets from her jacket the minute fig sits down at their lunch table. yknow what I mean.

#they are all so.#im gonna cry #they have all used gorgug's lap for a pillow on the couch #kristen steals the spray deodorant from fabian's backpack whenever she feels like she needs it #fig has little individualized songs she wrote for each of their incoming calls #can you see my vision #fantasy high #d20 #dimension 20 #fhjy

318 notes · View notes

willowser · 2 months

Text

ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴏɴ ᴀʟʟ ғᴏᴜʀs. werewolf kiri au.

you wake up under a mountain of furs.

light comes flickering from the hearth and, warm and welcoming as it is—you've no idea where you are.

you don't recognize the inside of the cabin; it's certainly not yours, nor is its layout that of any you’ve seen in the village. it's rather plain, with a singular window and table and chair and small fireplace, empty enough that you wonder how anyone could live comfortably with so little.

outside, the winter storm rages on, and there's a howl that cuts through the air that strikes bone-deep.

all at once your memories come back to you: dragged through town with bound hands and ankles, in only a thin night dress, screaming with all your might as the physician that delivered you into this world tied you to an old pine, along with the priest and the man that sold you blueberries in the spring.

people you knew and loved. had trusted.

the memories become hazy after a while, darkening with the night that crept in. you remember your body losing its feeling, but not its fear. you remember the violence of the storm, breaking trees and branches and uprooting the forest floor. you remember the horrible and hulking shape of something rising in the moonlight.

the door shoves open then, with enough force to send you scurrying back into the corner of the room. the blizzard tries to rush inside, but a man stands in its way, leaning back against the wood to keep the wind and snow out where it belongs. he's—big, as tall as the frame and just as wide, with thick hair that he's tied back, messy and low.

he's rosy in his cheeks and on the tip of his nose, as bright as the eyes that snap to you the moment you dare to breathe.

he doesn't say anything, at first. the bag of firewood he sets at his feet settles as he turns to you in interest, eyebrows raised. the clothes he's wearing look—old and worn, certainly not suitable for the storm roaring outside, with the holes and tears in the fabric. the boots he has on, however, seem heavy, have his steps echoing when he moves further into the room.

you pull your knees up to your chest and try to shrink away; beneath your thin dress, your skin has pebbled up, reminding you of just how vulnerable you still are.

your fear translates; the man stops on the other side of the little table, breathing in deeply before raising his hands up in what reads as surrender.

"hello," he finally says, and when you don't respond, he places a thick hand to his dark-haired chest and introduces himself as, "eijirou."

he nods emphatically and then repeats himself, as if to reinforce the name. you only grant him a small nod in return—and he smiles. it's wide, stretching across his face, and friendly, authentic enough that you question whether you're as damned as you thought, or perhaps saved.

how did you even get here? the question finally thaws out from the recesses of your brain and you take another look around the room as if the answer lies between the wood or nestled into the furs. this place looks too hand-crafted, you realize, all of it—and the man before you looks like he could move mountains, if he wanted to.

the chains that had bound you were iron-strong and didn't once budge in all your thrashing, before things went dark—but now you are inside by a well-maintained fire, warm and free, and all that remains of your ill fate are the indentions worn into your wrists.

he's still staring at you, the man. eijirou. he's not moved any closer, either, and when you meet his curious gaze, his lips twist and his eyes narrow. a thoughtful noise comes out of his mouth, like he's thinking of what to say or how to say it, and you're reminded that you don't recognize where you are, nor do you recognize him in the slightest.

big as he is, you don't think he could have carried you too far in a snowstorm such as the one still raging outside; are you still somewhere deep in the forest? in a cabin at the heart of the wood? saved by a man that somehow survives with so little out in the middle of nowhere?

"eijirou," you test the name on your lips and he perks up at the sound, attention snapping back to you instantly. you don't know if it's winter seeping through the floor, or if it's in the way that he watches you, that makes you shiver.

finally, he asks, "cold?" and when you nod, he slowly makes his way over to you, carefully, as if approaching a deer ready to run.

—and then he sheds his shirt with a quick shrug and holds it out to you.

you should want to look away, for decency sake, but you're—stunned by it, by him. there's a litany of scars that paint him in odd and worrisome places, but he stands tall and strong before you, unbothered by his own state. unbothered by the eyes that run over the expanse of his bare shoulders, the dark, thick trail of hair running down from his belly button, the ripples of muscle his loose shirt did well to hide.

you take it from him carefully and it's so warm, almost hot, that you press it to your face immediately to chase away the chatter of your jaw. the material itself, however ragged, is big enough to drape over your curled form like a blanket, and so you do just that. it carries the earthy smell of the woods, deeply woven into the fabric; pine and musk and something smoky.

with your cheek still pressed to his shirt, you look up to thank him, at last, but the words still in your throat at the minute changes of his face: still smiling, though sharper now, somehow, and his eyes are still wide with that keen, rapt interest—but the crimson to them has set like the sun and they've grown just as dark as the night outside.

#i wrote this like a madman pls excuse the first draft quality hehe #PLEASEEEE he's so akfhahfkah isn't socialized LOL #doesn't talk to anyone really 🥺has no reason to 🥺#he's new to all this 🥺#doesn't mean to put you in his lil nest and cover you in the smell of him 👀#okay well he DOES but he didn't know it would AFFECT HIM THAT WAY PLEASE #ugh this has been living in my head for so long i'll write more of this when it isn't 1 am LOL #✿ thoughts: kirishima #✿ willow writes #song is wolf like me by tv on the radio !!!

378 notes · View notes

pencildragons · 2 years

Text

still insanely funny to me that ortus nigenad has canonically written 18 volumes of epic poetry about a bodyguard who was, in fact, Just Some Guy, and regularly quotes himself out loud in conversations on the regular. man had to die at the start of gtn because he was too fucking powerful to live

#ive been sitting here for like. a solid five fucking minutes trying to come up with a good comparison irl and i Cannot #like imagine if your bodyguard wrote what is basically a huge love song to your great great x10 grandparent's bodyguard and then #he just kept quoting himself in conversations #and then in the weird heaven afterlife you're using as the backdrop of a hallucinated memory sequence to justify the brain surgery you gave #yourself so you could forget the most important person in your life bc she killed herself for you #and you Cannot Conceive Of A Universe Without Her In It #and the dude the bodyguard wrote love songs about in question turns up and is like 'well i was kinda average actually #but thanks to the power of YOUR love songs i can now bend the rules of this liminal space to my will and beat this eldritch monster'#like dude what the fuck #ortus nigenad #harrowhark nonagesimus #tlt #tlt spoilers #htn spoilers #the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #griddlehark #it wasnt in the post but i had griddlehark Feelings in the tags so #words of wyrm

4K notes · View notes

ghostdrinkssoup · 2 years

Text

why do all the killers in s1 want to date hannibal so bad. he’s the hottest girl in school and they’re all down horrendously bad but he’s obsessed with will, the sad loser in the corner who doesn’t even notice him… what in the high school romcom is this

#there is so much dating imagery in this show #‘the killer is peacocking for the ripper’ okay ??? damn they all want him #tobias literally serenaded him. wrote him a love song and a visual poem #and what does will do? he just sits there and says the most deranged shit you ever heard #whispers the edgiest lines under his breath and darts his eyes #and hannibal is pulling his hair and giggling and rolling around in his bed like get a GRIP #hannibal is not god’s strongest soldier that’s the message of the show #for a cannibal he has horrifically poor taste in men #hannibal #nbc hannibal #will graham #hannigram #ghost speaks

8K notes · View notes

bakudekublogblog · 15 days

Text

i'm sorry i dont think we're talking enough about the bkdk music video. they wrote a whole song full of yearning lyrics and holding hands and longing to be at each other's sides and miscommunicating but still wanting to be together, and then they put child actors in bkdk colors and hand them playing super heroes and holding hands. like bkdks were just given that. an official bkdk song and music video. hello????

#bakudeku #bkdk #i can't stop watching it they wrote a whole yearning bkdk song #EVERY LYRIC IS SO DEVESTATING #WE WILL NEVER BE ONE BUT CAN I STILL STAND BY YOUR SIDE #THESE FLOWERS CANT BLOOM WITHOUT YOU #we misunderstood each other but my wish cries out STILL #the little color coded bakudeku playing as children #WITH A TREMBLING VOICE #I"M REACHING OUT TO YOU WILL YOU HOLD MY HAND #cool #your face is the source of my energy #COOL COOL COOL #normal rival things hashtag so my heart is crying with your pain #can i at least be by your side even if we cannot understand each other #THE CAPITAL Y YEARNING IS FUCKING INSANE #LIKE SO MUCH YEARNING I AM LIKE GONNA BE SHAKING FOR DAYS

367 notes · View notes

nonranghaes · 1 year

Text

“well? do you like it...?”

felix sits next to you, wired earbuds shared between the two of you (sometimes you think he only brings them out when you’re around--just for the proximity) as he smiles. his fingers entangle with your own easily, slotting into place like he’s the matching piece of your puzzle. he acts as if he hadn’t been mouthing along to the chorus (i need somebody who can love me at my worst/no, i’m not perfect, but i hope you see my worth...), voice barely above a whisper at other parts, but his enthusiasm is cuter than that fact.

“you know i always like your song suggestions,” you turn your face away from him, heat rushing to your cheeks. “i liked this one, too.”

“is that all?” his other hand grazes his neck for a moment. he’s checking his pulse. you know what he wants to say, those three little words unspoken but known between the two of you this early into your relationship.

and if you have to be the one to say them out loud, then you will. you squeeze his hand a little tighter. face still warm. “... i love you, too.”

his thumb traces along the back of your hand, and he slides a little closer. he says nothing, but the kiss he plants on your cheek says all he needs to say: thank you for loving me. i’ll say it soon.

#nonranghaes.thoughts #nonranghaes.skz #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #felix fluff #felix x reader #lee felix x reader #felix x you #lee felix x you #he shared a song on bubble and it cheered me up so i wrote a lil. something.#just to remind myself that i can still write something #all my other attempts to write over the past few days have... failed tbh

1K notes · View notes

vampykween · 7 months

Text

you don't own me

wrote this purely because nic @ghostlywhiskey was fueling my delusions tonight cw: simon is literally the definition of toxic, humiliation (kinda?) literally just toxic love-hate sex so mdni!

You always end up like this – face down, ass up, dress bunched around your waist, with tear stains ruining all the effort you put into your makeup.

Your face burns slightly as the force of your boyfriend’s thrust jolt you unwaveringly. He’s fucking you like he’s punishing you - which he is, and your crime this time is wearing what he called ‘an attention seeking whore’ dress. It’s always something with him; at first you loved the fact that he was possessive, it was incredibly hot. He was a well-built older man who swore up and down he could spoil you and treat you right – and he did for the most part, or at least he used to.

He'd buy you anything your heart desired and fucked you like no one had ever before. Maybe that’s why you stick around, because even though you shouldn’t love it the way he fucks you like you’re his and his alone does something sick to your brain.

Simon roughly pulls you up by your hair and grunts in your ear, “I wouldn’t have to do this if you would just behave, love. But no, you’re obsessed with showing off everything like a fuckin little slut. How many times do I have to remind you, you belong to me.”

He punctuates his last words by thrusting even harder and you’re momentarily seeing stars. You’re choking on sobs at this point – and you can’t decide if you want him to slow down or keep going. He wraps his other large hand around your throat effectively restricting your breathing.

“Fuck you,” you spit out as best you can, and all Simon does is laugh at you. He knows you don’t mean it. You’re so wet, it’s leaking around his cock and making a mess of both of your thighs.

His thrusts never faltering as he slaps your ass harshly and barks at you to shut up. Simon’s hands now make their way to your waist, and he slams you back onto his cock so roughly that the breath is punched out of your lungs. When your boyfriend punishes you like this, it’s all about him and his needs. It’s his way of staking claim over you, you can feel it through his menacing thrusts and from the bruises where he’s marked you all over with his mouth and hands.

You can tell he’s getting close by the way his rhythm is stuttering and the deep groans he’s emitting. He tugs at your hair again and drags you down until you’re on your knees right next to the couch. You know what’s about to happen; he works his hand over his cock so close to your face, if you stuck out your tongue, you’d be able to taste the beads of precum bubbling at his angry tip. He lets out a growl as his orgasm washes over him and spurts of cum are painting your face.

“There ya go, now you look like the whore you act like you are,” he says as he uses his fingers to spread the evidence of his release messily all over your face.

#mic writes #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost x reader #ghost smut #i literally wrote this in like twenty minutes so sorry if its shit oops #also this was inspired by the song you don't own me hehe

379 notes · View notes