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coherently-screaming · 2 years

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I don’t post a ton about critical role but this episode was incredible:

Idk how Matt’s DM’ing keeps getting better, every time I think I’ve seen his best work that will ever be done he tops it, again and again. It’s remarkable. The jump scare, the sun tree map, just the way he brought the different characters to life holy shit. Delilah’s entire presence was bonechilling, Matt Mercer blew it out of the park, again!

Ashton keeping a level head and taking out that skeleton, trying to convince Imogen to change the present bc they’re not actually there to stop what happened to Laudna. Him telling Imogen to warn Laudna that everything is going to hurt bc he’s the only other one who knows what Laudna’s experience is like. Him blowing the roots of the sun tree up, giving his potion to Imogen bc he was hurting, but he knew that she was more useful in the battle long term. It was really impressive.

FCG taking out most of the skeletons in one wild blow, so ready to fight and help before Delilah took him out

Orym going at the tree with everything he has, holding on despite Delilah trying to rip him from the bows, Orym trying to break Laudna out of the tree while the tree he is currently standing him is being engulfed by flames, doing everything he can to get Laudna out before Delilah gets him out too.

Chetney using inflict wounds, it didn’t work, but he tried to sink his burning claws into Delilah after clawing himself, using his fire damage, he really did well in this fight and helped a lot more than I think Travis realized.

Laudna’s backstory and Marisha’s five second appearance in the cage. Not thinking she can fight Delilah bc it’s been decades and now she’s trapped and exhausted and you can hear that in her voice, see it on Marisha’s face. Laudna is hurting, and all of her “fun” is seemingly seeped from her, bc of what Delilahhas made her relive.

And Fearne and Mister, holy shit! Fearne and Imogen staring at the “Laudna’s parents” and Fearne’s “we made a promise, bitch.” Fearne raised Orym, and now is ready to fight Delilah in order to bring bac kLaufna because she promised that they’d find a way back for Laudna, she swore. Fearne using Mister for some extra fire damage to the tree, Fearne being like “oh is this hurting you?”, never taking a single point of damage (assuming I kept track properly) and dealing the most damage to the tree in order to set Imogen up for the final hit? Stunning.

And Imogen, holy shit. The way Imogen changed how she talked to Laudna, calling her Matilda, warning her as much as she can because she knows how much Laudna will suffer. Also her never ending persistence that they’re going to bring Laudna home. Imogen ready to kick Delilah’s ass, calling upon Rudius in order to fight the woman that has been tormenting Laudna for years, fighting and nearly getting taken down in the process, using her last desperate act to be to strike the tree and finishing it and Delilah off. Like the fact that with Delilah’s next strike, Imogen would have went down so she had to make her turn count. She split the tree that was holding Laudna captive, where Laudna died and was resurrected the first time all in an attempt to bring her back again, only under much different circumstances than the first time. Just marvellous.

Like everyone outdid themselves and it was BEAUTIFUL.

#critical role #bell’s hells #imogen temult #fearne calloway #ashton greymoore #chetney pock o'pea #fcg #orym of the air ashari #matt mercer #it was so beautiful

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lessthanimpressedlesbian · 2 years

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I know Chetney probably won't participate in the resurrection ritual, but I still hope he makes Laudna a present while they get everything prepared. Just something small so she knows he was thinking about her.

#critical role #laudna #chetney pock o'pea #i just think he's gotten over his fear of her #and was starting to see the beauty in her creepiness #hes closer to imogen but i was excited to see him grow close to laudna too

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vestigesofperversion · 1 year

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Chetney as a raged out werewolf 😍😍😍

Chetney as a gnomish caster 😍😍😍

#that is all #as you were #barely got this typed before #being blindsighted by the beauty of #aabria iyengar #yes bloodhunter is magic #cr3 spoilers #critical role #cr3 #cr3 ep52 #chetney pock o'pea

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frenchy-and-the-sea · 1 year

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FFXIV - Crossfire

This is one of those things I started writing ages ago and fiddled with for about four months before getting fully sick of it LMAO.

Once upon a time, midway through the plot of Heavensward, Tritchet came to a very sudden realization, and determined it best to keep it to herself. Unfortunately, her siblings know her too well. Featuring @urdnotgrunt’s Onion Pock and @colonelcupquake’s Wickit Pock. <3

~2400 words, set during the HW Main Scenario Quest, The Nonmind.

----

The primal hadn’t surprised Tritchet.

She was pretty sure that it hadn’t surprised Wickit, either. The Scions of the Seventh Dawn had made long habit of digging up discontent at the roots — usually just as it sprouted a big, ugly, aether-gorged flower — and Onion and Tritchet had been around for the ride long enough to recognize the signs. They had started sharing long-suffering looks behind Alphinaud’s back when the rumors of Gnath aggression had begun to crop up in Tailfeather; now they wore them in the open, standing upwind of the Nonmind’s reeking smokestacks as their party converged on the plan that they had already known was coming.

"... unusual for a primal to be summoned for something as base as a territory dispute,” Ysayle was muttering as their party stopped to huddle in the shadow of the mountainside, her brow furrowed in equal parts disgust and pity. “Even removed from the harm it does to the land, there can be no justification for that. Certainly there must be some secondary cause to push the Gnath so.”

“A primal may appear for any reason when there is sufficient will,” Alphinaud said grimly. "The Gnath may consider a territory dispute to be much akin to open war. In that circumstance, I can scarcely imagine that they would find it difficult to call upon their god for aid.”

“Which means that it probably won’t come around to asking it to tea, either," Tritchet heard Wickit mutter under her breath. A resolute furrow had appeared in the lines of her sister’s brow; she knew just as well as the rest of them what this line of thought was leading to, and she was already preparing herself to weather it. Sighing, Tritchet swung her lance down off of her back and sank against the wall behind her, twirling it half-heartedly in her hands to give them something to do. Alphinaud caught her eye sidelong and nodded, very slightly. He, at least, recognized the signs of her waiting for the axe to fall.

“So we are in agreement, then,” he said, turning back to the others and looking between them all like he expected objections. “A primal summoned in this capacity — as nothing more than leverage to the Gnath’s disputes — cannot be suffered to exist. It must be destroyed.”

“A simple solution, when the Warrior of Light is left to parse the details.” Five heads turned as Estinien stepped forward, arms folded stiffly over his chest. Most of his face was still obscured behind the low curve of his helm, but Tritchet felt a nervous, prickling sweat suddenly break out on the back of her neck as he cocked his head and said, “Is this usually how the Scions of the Seventh Dawn make ready to engage a primal, then? By setting their great slayer of beasts after its heels and praying that she returns? By guessing?”

Alphinaud's face flushed. “What? No, of course not! I only meant —”

" — he meant that he knows that I'll be able to handle a primal," Wickit finished for him, stepping in front of the boy to glare up at Estinien's shrouded face. “And because he knows that I’m perfectly ready to face another. That, Ser Estinien, has never been in question."

To his credit, Estinien had enough good sense to offer a deferential bow of his head, which Tritchet thought was the only reason he was allowed to keep his knees.

“I meant no offense, Mistress Pock,” he said, with terse calm. “There are none among us who doubt you capable of rending the antmen’s god asunder. Certainly, by Master Alphinaud’s presumption, you have already done so many times before. Yet, do we not know painfully little of this primal’s conception? Is not every summoning different? Even with your successes, to set you against something we know a fair nothing about puts you in utmost peril — to speak nothing of those who may be inclined to follow you.”

Estinien’s eyes remained hidden behind his helm, but Tritchet still felt the slip of his gaze as it passed over the little patch of wall that she and Onion occupied. She looked away before it could catch her, stomach twisting in the strange, wrenching way that it had taken to doing when she caught herself being watched in his periphery. That Estinien was arguing was nothing new. He had already foretold the futility of their endeavor from the start, and seemed to grow more convinced of his position every day. But he was arguing for Wickit’s sake now — for her success, for her safety, with the same fervor that he usually reserved for Ysayle when their blood was up — which seemed to Tritchet like something that he wouldn’t have to do to prove his ever-present point. And he had even deigned to remember Onion in his concern, and her —

"We're also pretty good at killing primals, actually," Onion cut in from Tritchet's shoulder, mercifully dragging her attention away from the thought before her traitorous mind could run away with it. “We may not talk to big sentient crystals or get recruited by secret world-saving organizations every third day, but we still walk out of all of Wickit’s fights too. And since Tritchet has bested you at least three times now, I think you're the last person who ought to start passing out doubts.”

“Twice, actually,” Tritchet said before she could think better of it, and then winced as Onion’s head snapped around towards her. Her sister’s expression was that of someone who had almost missed a step going down a steep flight of stairs; she stared, narrow-eyed, open-mouthed, with a slow furrowing of her brow that was dragging her expression rapidly towards betrayal. Tritchet was supposed to have joined her side, after all — or, at the very least, laughed at her dressing down of the most capable warrior in Ishgard. Instead, she had defended him. Instead, she had given him credit where none was due, which her sister’s face said was the same as an open declaration of war. Even Estinien's gaze had shifted her way now, cocked again in that odd, bird-like side-eye that said that Tritchet suddenly had all of his attention. She swallowed the hard lump in her throat and shrugged.

“I just mean that it’s not exactly a bad idea, is it? We’ve usually made it a point to do a bit of snooping around before throwing ourselves at a primal anyway. And if this one has been called upon for what the Gnath consider war, as Alphinaud suggested, then that’s all the more reason to know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

“A fine point,” Alphinaud cut in, as Onion opened her mouth to argue. "And one that I'm inclined to agree with. You have my apologies, Wickit; let us return to the Gnath and see what more we can glean about this errant god of theirs.”

Tritchet was only too happy to oblige.

——

They spent the better part of an afternoon scuttling around the pungent outcropping of sulfurous rock where the Gnath — or the Vath, as they were soon corrected — made their home, asking after scraps of information on the recently-risen god. Their responses were vastly unhelpful; warnings, mostly, and pleas to turn their attention elsewhere, as well as thinly-veiled attempts to bribe one last free meal of nanka flesh from the end of Wickit’s axe. The latter were nearly enough to make Wickit strike out for the primal herself, but Alphinaud convinced her to relent to their wide-eyed bids for bribery, and she gritted her teeth through enough of them to amass a sizable fortune of promised information. By the time she was stalking her way out into the Chocobo forest again, Tritchet had almost gotten around to forgetting the uncomfortable conversation that had led them all there in the first place.

A pity that Onion hadn’t.

"You're still not off the hook, you know," her sister said, the very minute out of earshot. They had elected to follow the very irritated Wickit back out to the riverbed so she could vent her frustration on some very oblivious nanka, and were staying a full cart’s length behind her to avoid catching the edges of her axe. “And don’t bother trying to tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about. I know you do.”

“Do I?” said Tritchet mildly, even as her stomach did a series of turns that would have made a circus performer jealous. “My goodness, I must be a mind reader now too. Maybe I should be the one to talk to the Vath this time. We might have better luck then —”

“You like him, don’t you?”

The flips that Tritchet's stomach was doing suddenly dropped into free-fall. She cleared her throat. “Like who?”

"Oh, shut up,” Onion groaned, rolling her eyes. “You know exactly who I'm talking about. But just so you don’t try to play dumb again; tall. Spiky. Carries around a gross dragon eyeball in his pocket like a real weirdo. He made it sound like you and I couldn’t handle that primal, and you didn’t even bat an eye. If anyone else had said that, you would have skewered them!”

“That’s not what he said,” Tritchet muttered, tightening her grip on her lance so her shaking hands wouldn’t give her away. “He just pointed out that we shouldn’t go into a fight like this blind, and that no one should keep letting Wickit do it just because it’s worked out so far. It’s a good point.”

“Sure," said Onion dryly, "but Alphinaud makes good points all the time, and they don't turn your ears red.”

Somewhere deep in Tritchet’s chest, a scream of pure, incandescent frustration began to burn, hot as a hearth fire. She locked her jaw against her teeth, stared straight into the forest ahead, and said nothing. Onion sighed.

“Okay,” she said, when it became clear that Tritchet was no longer trying to have a conversation. “I have some things to say. First of all; ew. Ew, ew, ew. Gross.”

“That’s three things.”

“Yeah, well, if we’re going by that logic, then I have a lot of things to say. But more importantly; Ysayle says that you need to be careful.”

“Ysayle?” Tritchet wheeled on her sister, voice pitching dangerously towards hysterical. “You went around talking about this with Ysayle?”

“She came to me,” Onion snapped. "Otherwise I wouldn’t have said anything to her. Obviously. But she’s not stupid, and neither am I, so she asked if I knew of anything strange going on between you two. Apparently she can tell that your weird dragoon energy was going absolutely nuts back there. You’re lucky I told her that I didn’t know what she was talking about.”

Tritchet let out a long, strangled breath through her teeth.

"Strange,” she said tightly. “I don’t feel lucky, considering I’m still having to have this conversation.”

“This isn’t a joke, Tritchet.” For the first time, Onion’s voice hardened into something almost like real anger. She snatched Tritchet’s arm and dragged her to a stop, green eyes hard and bright as welded steel. "However you feel about him — which, again, ew — you know he’s about as stable as a rocking chair when that Eye’s around. Ysayle’s right to be worried. He’s prancing around holding onto a bomb, and the only thing standing between us and it going off is how hard he can pretend that he’s okay. And given how quick he is to start arguing with, oh, everyone who dares to have an opinion, I don’t like those odds! I don’t! And I don’t want you to get caught in the crossfire if —”

“There is no crossfire!” Tritchet hissed, the fire in her chest finally bleeding over as she yanked her arm from her sister's grip. “There’s not anything, okay? I get that you’re worried. Don’t be. If, Twelve forbid, the Eye does actually get the better of him, it’ll be the same problem for me as it is for everyone else. There’s nothing — ” She gestured viciously to herself. “ — nothing here, okay? So stop worrying. It’s just…. fine.”

She huffed and turned back to the path in front of them, trying to look everywhere but her sister’s direction. Her face felt like she had pressed it to a cookfire, bright and red and stinging with something halfway between shame and fury. She should have stayed back at camp; she should have stayed back in Ishgard. Better yet, she should have insisted that her role as Azure Dragoon the Secondary was enough to support their trek across Dravania, and made her sisters stay behind…

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Onion’s diamond-hard expression crack at the corners, just a little.

“I’m sure it’s not nothing,” her sister said after a moment, fiercely, like she couldn’t quite shake the last of her irritation away from her concern. Tritchet let out a sigh through clenched teeth. Definitely should have stayed in Ishgard.

“I don’t know,” she said tightly. “Maybe. Maybe not. What I’m not trying to do is make a big thing of it. So just…would you tell Ysayle that I’m not stupid? That I know how bad things could get and I’m not going to throw myself on that pyre? And then could you never, ever talk about this with her or anyone else ever again? It’s bad enough to think that now you will start having some weird ideas every time I so much as speak to him —”

“You could stop speaking to him,” said Onion sweetly. And then, when Tritchet’s glare almost lit her on fire, “Fine! Fine. I won’t say anything. But understand this; if he so much as puts one stupid spiky finger over the line —”

“I’m sure he’s got other problems,” Tritchet said, rolling her eyes. “The endless horde of incensed dragons descending on his homeland, maybe. Or the war-fed primal standing in our way! Or maybe just a really long hike in those awful greaves of his. There’s a laundry list of things for all of us to concern ourselves with instead, and I’d really, really rather focus on those.”

“Would you?” A third voice suddenly rang out from ahead of them, and Tritchet turned just in time to catch the reeking, river-gorged sack that was flung her way. When she looked up, Wickit was glaring at them from the middle of the river, soaked from the waist down and burning with a dull red glow of frenzied aether. “Boy, am I glad to hear it. Now maybe I can finally get a little help with this!”

Tritchet scowled and slung the dripping sack over her shoulder with a wet slap. Next time, she thought. Next time, she was saving the world alone.

#my writing #ffxiv #ffxiv writing #tritchet pock #begging gabby's utmost pardon for always stealing onion like this #i just like how fraught her relationship with tritchet is regarding one singular elf man #but she does it out of love! out of care! out of the want to kick estinien in the kneecaps!#and i think that's beautiful #oc crap

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filthybodycouture · 1 year

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Going on a trip for college this summer (este verano)

llegó la época de las preguntas, pero no se quieren incertidumbres, pues llegaré como quiero y con el control ante mi visión corpórea.

NO MAS ATRACONES Y COMIDAS DAÑINAS, SI NO HAY NADA QUE PUEDES COMER, LO DEJAS

Ahora más que nada, no atragantarte solo porque sí, parar con esa ansiedad de mierda. u'll get wer u wanna be princess.

TAKE A HUG FROM ME AND GO FEEL AMAZING WITH AN EMPTY STOMACH <3

#thinspo #ana questions #ana tips #mia tips #atracones #bebe tu puedes <3 #tw ed rant #beauty in starving #if my ribs aren't pocking out #then im not good enoug #im not sorry

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wisz9e6j7c0z3 · 1 year

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Finally i fucked my hot stepmom Jasmin Jae Carol Portaluppi Gostosa Teen Kendall Woods Gets Boned By Dads Employee VIDEO DE MI ESPOSA CON MI HERMANO MENOR Boku No Hero Academia Hentai - Uraraka Fucked Redhead lesbian slut in nylons masturbates and toys in bath with hot milf EDGING JOI WITH KEGEL EXERCISES - DAY #3 BBW Granny Skinny teen pumped pussy and sexy brunette first porn Whenever I see Mistress cuckolds for cum

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orderforbrian · 2 months

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@jonmartinweek Day 3 - nightmare | hair care

my hc is that jon kept his long hair during s4 (then cut is off before they set off in s5) so you know martin was giving him every hairstyle imaginable when they were staying at the safehouse -- jon attempts to return the favor but alas..........

[Start ID: Two drawings of Jon and Martin from The Magnus Archives in green hues. Jon is a thin Persian man with long, dark curly hair (interspersed with greys) and a beard. He has multiple pock mark scars on his body, a burn mark on his right hand, and a scar on his neck. He wears a simple sweater, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Martin is a fat mixed Korean/Polish man with shaggy, dark hair (one streak of white), several beauty marks, and a patchy beard. He wears brow-line glasses and a short sleeve t-shirt. 1st image: Martin stands behind Jon with casual focus, braiding his hair while Jon washes dishes. The background is the safehouse kitchen with a tile backsplash, cabinets, kitchen sink, paper towel holder, drying rack, and kettle. Jon smiles calmly and asks, "Where did you learn to do this again?". Martin replies, "Grandad's farm. Had two horses, Ginger and Clyde. Would get to style their hair after combing." Jon smirks, "So, I'm like a horse to you right now?". Martin says, "Dunno, why the long face?". 2nd image: Jon stands behind Martin with both hands splayed out in a "ta-da" pose. With an unconfident smile, he shakily chimes, "t-ta....da...". Martin sits in front of him looking in the mirror at his hair, which has been terribly put into three pigtails, and reacts with an awkward smile, very aware it looks terrible but also doesn't blame Jon because his hair is much shorter. Maybe it was revenge for the horse joke. End ID.]

#jonmartinweek2024 #jmart #jonmartin #teaholding #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #martin combing jon's hair like 'you have so many looks....'#order up! art tag #the magnus archives #tma #magnuspod

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legbootlegit · 8 months

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let's be honest, Middle-Earth is usually portrayed as a disgusting monster-pocked mess that appeals only to boys.

it's refreshing to see a softer, more beautiful take on Tolkien's work. we need to revisit and revise more classics in my opinion and the toy market is a great place to start.

i can't wait to have a daughter so she can lovingly groom gollum's hair with a fish carcass and truly make him Precious.

#lotr #lord of the rings #gollum #toys #funny #humor

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undead-knick-knack · 1 year

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Their color palettes even match

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sincerlycas · 1 year

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pretty lady.

summary: a connie drabble where he has to deal with dating the most prettiest girl.

warnings: mature scenes, slight smut, etc.

commission for: @tojisblondebimbo

don’t forget to dm me for commissions <3

connie loved you with his hearts content, he loved when you would come up to him squealing because you got a new dress, he loved the way how tight the dress clunged to your body leaving no where for imagination. your ass pocking out the bottom of the dress when you would bend over showing your lacy thong clinging to your mound so tightly.

connie loved the fact you were so damn pretty, you were hard headed and stubborn, but soft and poise. he loved how sometimes your beauty could get you anything. for example, you forgot your purse in the house so you turn to look at connie while pointing at the Chanel bag “pa pleaseee I’ll pay you back!!” shaking his head he agreed to buy it knowing damn well you won’t pay him back. but he knew something was up when you seemed to forget your wallet multiple times. what can you say, why would you spend your own money when your man is right there?

but you being pretty can also cause problems. the amount of times he had to beat niggas asses left and right because they couldn’t keep their hands off you. sometimes he wished you wore a plastic bag over your head when going out. he wished your dresses weren’t so mesh and tight on you showing everyone a preview of what’s up under there. but it’s not really his baby’s fault that she’s so pretty so all he can do is grunt about it and move along while rubbing onto your ass any chance he can.

the times he really loved though was being between your legs sucking with his hearts content. looking up momentarily seeing your bambi watery eyes staring right back at him, your plump lips letting out the softest whines possible. slurping sounds filling the room as you rock back against his face trying to catch your nut. connie’s tongue did wonders that sometimes you had to deprive him from the pussy. like one time he wanted to fuck while you guys were at a family gathering and cupped your pussy with his hand after slipping it through the slit of the skirt “connie !!” “whatt? let’s go in my old room hm?”

your hair messy and all over the place, makeup and lip combo smeared, legs kicking around everywhere, toes curling, back arching off the bed “you taste so good mama~ how come you won’t sit on my face forever huh~? don’t that sound like a good idea pretty lady~?” slapping the side of your thighs with pinching your overstimulated clit. “what you think mama~? tell ‘pa’ what you thinking in the pretty little head of yours~” biting your lip you grabbed his hand making him hover over you. watching your plum lips connie heard “you won’t be able to handle it pa~” did I forget to tell you he loved that slick mouth?

he couldn’t leave you alone even if he tried. you were a little bit toxic. everytime he went to do a deal you would latch onto him telling him if he left you in the house alone for an hour max you would leave. of course knew you were bluffing but he still sighed a stayed with you a while longer knowing if he you guys broke up, you’d find a nigga the same day. ouuu he was just like the song area codes by kali, that one line that said “matter of fact, scratch that imma send you a stack just cuz you fine as hell” and bitch that nigga hand you two racks!! while saying “give me a show and I’ll add an extra hermosa” who were you to decline the offer?

overall being connie’s pretty girl had many perks it’s a 10/10 experience <3

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bubblebaththoughts · 5 months

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Temperature Play

Ao’nung x Fem!Na’vi!Reader

kinkmas masterlist

warnings: 18+ MDNI, oral!fem receiving, sex in a hot spring, little bit of anal play…

translations:

Tanhi - little star

Ao’nung asked you to meet him after dark, after the clan had begun to settle down.

Told you that he had something to show you.

So here you were, meeting him at your usual spot, a reserved cove.

“Mm, Tanhi…” He surprised you, his hands snaking around your waist

“Ao’nung…” You gasped, spinning around in his arms

“Hey pretty girl…” He smiled, leaning in and softy kissing your lips

“Mm…” You pull away “What did you want to show me?”

“So eager.” He teased, placing another gentle kiss to your lips

He turns you around, pointing to an opening in the rocks.

“C’mon.” He takes you by the hand

You both squeeze into the opening. It was a beautiful cave with bioluminescent crystals lining it.

“Oh wow…” You look around, amazed.

“You haven’t even seen the best part.” He pointed over again at the corner, where a small pool of steaming water quietly sloshed.

“What is it?” You looked back to him, confused

“Go touch it.” He urged you, his hand gently placed on your back as he eased forward with you

You bend down and dip your hand in the water, immediately pulling tour hand back with a hiss.

“It’s hot!” You yelped

“You just need to get used to it.” He chucked

Behind you, he soundlessly sunk into the hot water.

“Don’t you wanna play with me?” He tilted his head up at you

The water was waist deep, so Ao’nung had to crane his head to look up at you.

You sink down to your knees on the rocky ground, still looking down at him a little bit.

“You’re crazy.” You hold his cheek

He rolls his eyes, splashing the hot water on you. Then wraps his wet arms around your waist, pulling you close against him.

As he holds you, you feel him begin to press little kisses between your breasts and collarbone.

“Ao’nung…” You pull him back by his head

“What is it baby?” He looks up at you, his hands wandering down to your hips, leaving gentle squeezes on them.

“I want you.” You whine

“Then get in the water.” He whispered

You roll your eyes, pushing him back so you could sink in.

Your body presses against his as you step into the hot spring. You feel his muscles tense and relax as the warm water envelops you both.

He pulls you close, his hands exploring your body as the steam rises around you. His fingertips send shivers through you as they trace circles around your hips.

You can feel his cock as he presses closer, his hardness against your soft thighs. You gasp as he kisses you, his lips tasting of sweet desire.

Suddenly you’re being spun and pressed to the hot rocks.

“Be a good girl.” He warns you, slapping your ass lightly as he bent you over the edge

The smooth rock was hot against the sensitive skin of your thighs.

He pulls your ass against his hips in a slow, sensual motion.

“Haven’t been able to see you at all.” He groaned, his hard cock now very apparent against you

“Missed you too.” You sigh

Ao’nung undoes the ties of your loincloth and sinks deeper into the water, so he’s faced with your bare pussy. Once again, your thighs are pushed against the warmer rock. You try to push away from the hot surface but you’re met with resistance.

Ao’nung shoves you forward, “Why can’t you be the good girl I know you can be?” He grumbled as he squeezed your hips

You whine at the burning sensation, “It hurts…”

“Because you keep moving. Relax.” He relaxed his hands on your hips, leaning over you

His nose pressed up against your pussy, deeply inhaling you.

He has you completely at his mercy, splayed out on hot pock as he began to lap his tongue at your little clit.

You moan in surprise, your fists clenched. “Ao’nung!”

“Mm.” He groaned against you, making your eyes screw shut from the vibrations of his voice.

His hands has your ass spread for him, one of them gripped your tail tightly, causing you to gasp.

He pulls away after a moment, looking down at your clenching hole.

“Lemme see your hands baby.” He demanded, taking them and placing them on your own ass. “Keep it spread.”

“Okay.” You pathetically whimpered

“Mmm.” He growled, his fingers sinking into your tight heat

His tongue found your clit once again, making your brain completely shut down.

You didn’t know what to focus on, the hot rock burned against your skin while your clit burned for Ao’nungs tongue.

Without warning, one of his fingers began to edge at your other hole, making you whine. He eases it in, causing you to really be overwhelmed now, too many things going on.

“Want you to cum.” He mumbled against you

You were very close, practically being dragged to the edge by him.

“I-I’m cumming!” You cry, your nails digging into your skin

Suddenly, both burning sensations are gone, because all you can feel is the ripples of pleasure coursing through your body.

Ao’nung has completely pulled away now, watching you spasm with a smirk on his lips.

Once you seem to be done, he gently slaps your ass, “Wasn’t that fun, hm?”

You hum in response.

taglist: @danniackerman @loaksslut

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steviewashere · 4 months

Text

In Sickness and Health

Rating: General CW: Discussions of Medical Issues, Referenced/Past Seizures Tags: Established Relationship, Married Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Future Fic, Older Steddie, Canon Divergent, Steve Harrington has Seizures, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Breakdowns, Hurt/Comfort, Angst & Fluff, Eddie Munson Calls Steve Harrington Pet Names

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is giving them space when they need it."

💕—————💕

Eddie has learned to revel in quiet afternoons, even when he’s alone. The way the sunshine bathes the apartment’s living room carpet—his and Steve’s apartment. Their cat, Poncho, settled heavy and warm in his lap. A chilled glass of southern iced tea and a plate of crackers and sliced cheese. The television volume on low. Book open and set on the arm of the couch. It’s good, the quiet.

Yet, it breaks the moment the front door opens. He didn’t hear Steve stick his key in the lock. But he definitely hears his annoyed groans and huffs. The slam of the door, most likely shut with his hip. A muffled, “Damnit”, when he drops his keyring on the floor.

He peeks from the edge of the couch, eyes set and attentive at their front door. And Steve is there, wrestling with his puffer jacket, grumbling under his breath, kicking his legs and stepping on the backs of his sneakers—something he never does, he cares too much for those things. But here he is. One t-shirt stuck on a doorknob away from a breakdown.

Though, Eddie doesn’t chastise him for the way his emotions express. No matter how explosive they are. Steve just gets like this some days. Too angry to talk. Too begrudged to take care of his things.

What’s new, however, is Steve’s slightly splotchy, puffy face. Red and pink and white. The tears brimming in his eyes. Ever apparent even behind his glasses. A paper with professional scribbling on it—a doctor’s note. He had an appointment this morning. Made last night after an emergency room trip. A seizure is what put him there. Scared them both, Eddie too eager to make him take an appointment, to call in sick to work. He should’ve gone with, if this is how Steve’s coming home.

He plops Poncho on the couch, letting him stretch skywards and curl back into a little ball. Tea abandoned on the coffee table. And Eddie gently comes around the corner, hands hooked in front of himself, still dressed down in pajamas, eyes wide and expecting at Steve.

“St—“

Steve shakes his head. A hand held out in front of him. Jacket and shoes abandoned by the front door. And he sidesteps Eddie completely, barreling down the hallway, slamming the bedroom door behind him, and locking it.

Eddie lumbers after him, slowly, cautiously. Face to the wood of the door. And through it, what breaks his heart, he can hear Steve’s soft cries. He resigns himself to some time on the couch. Steve always needs his space after breakdowns like these.

Needed it after Max woke up in the hospital, half-blind, limbs mostly healed. Needed it after Eddie came out of surgery, pock-marked and head shaved, half a grimace on his face. Needed it when Robin moved out of state for college. After Dustin and Lucas and Mike and Will and Eleven and Max all graduated high school, when they went their separate ways across the country, when they called once or twice a month. When his dad died, the grief a heavy blanket on his shoulders, his chest lighter, his brain angry at being relieved.

Steve needed his space when Eddie brought home their cat (though he came out merely ten minutes later, an excited smile on his face, name on the tip of his tongue). Nightmares and dissociation episodes. At the grocery store, because he has to stick to a list, knowing that Eddie never does that. The first grey hair, which he then took in stride when Eddie called him a “Beautiful baby silver fox.”

Even after they moved to Massachusetts in 2008 and got married. His emotions were so strong, so palpable, so rapid—he just needed a moment to debrief, take a hot shower, and then cuddle into Eddie’s side on their honeymoon bed.

Point is, Eddie knows when Steve needs his space. Knows that he cherishes that time to himself, to break down in contemplative silence, to let himself digest new information or old information or just get himself restrung.

He wishes that Steve had been taught that it’s okay to breakdown in front of his loved ones. That it’s okay to ask for help and for comfort. But it doesn’t come easy. It makes him guilty. It makes him scattered like a headless chicken.

For the mean time, Eddie sets himself down on the couch, iced tea in his grip, volume turned up slightly on the television. Steve doesn’t like it when people hear him cry. Eddie doesn’t acknowledge it either, for the sake of saving Steve from another impending breakdown. He loves Steve with all his might, he just wishes things were slightly different. He’ll do this, ever reluctant he may be.

——— Around thirty minutes later, an average amount of time for Steve, the bedroom door creaks open. Eddie quickly turns down the TV and gently places his now empty glass on the coffee table.

Small, floating from the hallway, Steve calls out, “Eddie? Can you—“ He sniffles, voice still choked up. “Can you come in here, please?”

The sight that Eddie wanders in on breaks his heart a little further. Steve’s face is still a splotchy mess, his eyes downcast and teary, waterlines pink. His hair, grayer now, is askew. There’s a definite slump to his body, where it rests on the edge of the mattress. Hands intertwined between his legs, fingers locking and pulling one another, socked feet shuffling on the rug. He got out of his day clothes, now back in his pajamas from the night before—sleep shorts, grey t-shirt.

Eddie closes the bedroom door behind him. He scoots over and kneels down on the floor. Hesitantly, he sets his palms on Steve’s knees. He rubs the inner skin, warm and soft, with his thumbs. “Whatcha need from me, baby? Ask me to do anything, I’ll do it.”

Steve sighs, breath shuddering as it leaves him. His exhale ends on a little whimpered hiccup. Instead of answering, he grabs the paper he was holding earlier and passes it over. It’s edges are wrinkled, probably from being handled roughly, maybe even scrunched. And Eddie was right, it’s something from a doctor’s tablet. Signed off with a messy scrawl:

— Instructions for handling seizures. — What to do if a seizure lasts longer than five minutes. — Steps on how to start the process of getting a service animal. — Firm directions telling the patient to not drive. — Prescription for Tegretol CR 200mg

And the diagnosis in thick, blocky, bold black text:

Epilepsy

Eddie sighs through his nose. He swallows thickly and looks back up to Steve’s defeated face. He murmurs, “I should’ve gone with you. I’m sorry, love bug.”

Shrugging, Steve mutters, “Thought I was done with the after effects of the shit back in Hawkins. I’m so—Angry? Disappointed? I don’t know how to feel.”

The paper is set back on the mattress and Eddie pulls Steve into his chest. He rubs a hand down the length of his spine, the other squeezing around his waist. “You’re allowed to feel however you want. And it’s okay to take the time to figure that out, too. This is hard stuff, baby.” He sways them from side to side. Closing his eyes in relief as Steve’s arms wrap around his back. Something that, unfortunately, doesn’t happen enough when he’s in need of comfort. His hands grip tightly to the back of Eddie’s t-shirt. Eddie gently turns his head and kisses Steve’s cooling, still ruddy cheek. “We’ll start figuring this out. Like we always do. I’ll be right here for you, alright?”

Steve nods against his shoulder. Muffled into Eddie’s neck, he asks quietly, “Can I have some more space and alone time?” He shifts to slowly release Eddie. “Just for a little while. I promise I’ll hang out. I just needed to tell you, so that it’s not harder later.”

He pries them apart gently. Arms still encasing Steve, he holds soft eye contact. “You take all the time in the world. I won’t be offended, sweetheart.” He kisses Steve’s forehead now. When he sits back on his heels, Eddie brings up a hand and runs it through Steve’s hair, fingernails dully scratching at his scalp. His smile is lopsided, the youngest it’s been since the first confession. It comes easier now, “I love you, you know that? I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Steve murmurs, barely returning the smile, and yet it’s there. Eddie revels in that, too.

And when Eddie goes to exit the bedroom, door almost shut behind him, Steve calls out his name one more time. Looking back, Steve swamped in their comforter, glasses folded on the bedside table, wrapped up and warm, Eddie tilts his head in careful implore. He hums in question.

“Thank you for understanding,” Steve whispers.

“Thank you for telling me, I know it was hard. If you need anything, I’ll be in the living room, okay? I’ll keep the TV low, but tell me if it’s too loud.” Steve nods, shifting under the blanket further, fully supine on the mattress. He looks more relaxed. He looks a little easier. “Have a good nap, love bug. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

#stranger things #steddie #fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #day 6 #heed the tags #I promise it'll be okay

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