#and ravage is like ‘ah that checks out’

[holographic-mars]

Rereading IDW and how Ravage and Co. found Soundwave and it’s lowkey really funny to me, she really just picked him up off the streets huh

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 nightgown

synopsis: after two wonderful years with the swordsman, you're reluctant to let him go, especially without telling him how you feel. luckily, he feels the exact same way... and more than accepts your scanty going away present.

cw: part 2/3, nsfw, fluffy fluff, comfort, reader is FIONE, reader is also real as hell, zoro is a fiend, mihawk is such dad, this was so fun to write.

a/n: tagging: @that-b-word-lol @ihatespidersdie I NEED THIS MAN UNDER MY TREE

"C'mon, (y/n), they're not gonna fight if you keep playing with 'em," Zoro sighed, removing his sword from his mouth as he crossed his arms over his chest.

You giggled, unable to fight off your smile as you danced with the humandrills, relishing in their happy snorts and yips as the leader of the gang—Chuki—picked you up and placed you on his shoulder, happily parading you around.

"Sorry," you grinned, clapping with approval as a few of the others performed back-flips and cartwheels to keep your attention. "I was coming out to check on you guys."

Just then, Chuki let out a howl of excitement, wanting to join in on the fun.

Without warning, he launched himself into a somersault, completely forgetting you were on his shoulder and sending you flying.

'Not again...'

Zoro moved like he'd done this a hundred times—which he had—effortlessly shooting himself up and catching you in mid-air, bridal style.

"Every time?" he asked, raising a brow.

"I'm gonna miss this," you chuckled, looping an arm around his neck as he landed.

"The hell are you gonna do when I'm gone?" he carefully put you down, crossing his arms over his chest once again. "I'm not gonna be here to keep you from falling on your face."

You shrugged, turning to Chuki with a wide smile as he gave you a high five, "I guess I'll just have to learn how to land on my own."

"HA!"

The swordsman scoffed, shoulders bobbing with laughter as you snapped your head over to him, less amused.

"The girl who can barely hold a sword? I'd love to see it."

"Hey!"

"Hu hu hua!" Chuki mimicked, turning to you with an incredulous look. "Ooh, ah ah ah, hua!"

"I know right," you agreed, resting a hand on your hip as you glanced at the swordsman. "And smelly, too..."

"WHAT WAS THAT?!"

Gloom Island was known all-throughout the Grand Line as an abandoned island, its kingdoms having brought themselves to utter ruin after years of war.

Your parents had even been drafted, and, of course, killed in the line of duty.

But, by fate or by fortune, you had managed to survive, living through most of your childhood as an orphan in a battle-ravaged kingdom.

Until, eventually, you were the last one standing.

Alone, you searched for any survivors, managing to stumble across a devil fruit along the way before meeting the humandrills.

The Speak-Speak fruit allowed you to become fluent in any language from the moment you heard it spoken aloud—animal language, included.

So, after meeting them on their level, the monkeys took you in, protecting you and treating you as one of their own until Mihawk came along not too long after, taking up the role as your father-figure and mentor.

Naturally, he tried to teach you some swordsmanship, but you lacked... talent, to say the least.

"I've gotten better since the last time we trained together!" you bellowed, proudly, as you picked up a sword, lowering yourself into an offensive stance. "Look!"

"Your posture's off," Zoro noticed, off-rip, "And your feet are too far apart."

Breath hitching, your face glowed with embarrassment, your body practically freezing in place.

'Shit!'

And just as you were trying to prove a point...

"Here," he instructed, getting up behind you and pressing his hand into the small of your back, straightening you up. "Like this."

Your spine shivered at his touch, the thick pads of his fingers practically burning into your flesh, despite the fabric separating them.

"Pull your feet a bit closer... it will firm up your stance... And if you're facing an enemy head on like this, you're gonna want to be upright."

"Okay!" you squeaked, doing your best to make the adjustments without physically combusting.

Carefully, you pulled your feet in shoulder width, and used his hand as a guide to straighten up your posture.

"Good," he commended, his arms suddenly coming around you grab your hands, helping you fix your grip on the sword. "Now when you swing, I want you to step into it."

You felt chills when his hands touched yours, years of work evident in his rough, calloused flesh, which held yours with the gentlest touch.

Turning to glance at him, your eyes came up to meet his once more, telling a story that made you just want to sit down and listen.

You studied his facial features up close—for about the fifty-millionth time—taking note of everything you had come to admire in the last two years.

The slight pink of his tanned lips...

The strength of his jaw...

The faint scar that rested on the tip of his shoulder, not that such a detail could be picked up unless one was really looking.

You felt like the staring going on for ages, but you didn't want to look away, and neither did he.

He, too, was studying your face.

And, deep down, he never wanted to look away.

"Dinner is ready," your father's voice cut through the air, draining all the color from your face.

Instantly, you and Zoro quickly threw yourselves off each other, heat rising to both your faces as you turned away, embarrassed—and slightly scared for the swordsman.

Mihawk fixed Zoro with a sharp glare, sizing him up as if he was some sort of delinquent.

He had been suspicious of you and the swordsman since the moment he arrived, particularly suspect as to why you felt so inclined to help him.

He knew you were a smart girl, and wouldn't disregard everything he had ever taught you about being safe without a valid reason.

A valid reason being a handsome man, in this case.

Still, what was he supposed to expect?

You were a woman now—no matter how difficult it was for him to accept—and women had... needs.

Mihawk shivered at the thought, quickly purging it from his mind as he turned on his heel, power-walking back toward the castle.

Not under his roof...

"Don't dawdle... it'll get cold."

Knock! Knock! Knock!

"Come in," Zoro called, not moving from his spot resting peacefully on his bed, his hands tucked behind his head.

"Happy Going Away/Leaving To Reunite With Your Friends Tomorrow Day!" you smiled, carefully entering his room while holding a plate with a comically large onigiri on top, a sparkler sticking out of it. "I know you don't like cake, so I brought the next best thing!"

Warmed by the display, Zoro sat up, trying and failing to fight the smile rising to his lips as you approached.

'Adorable...'

"(y/n)... you didn't have to do all his," he started, not knowing what to say as you handed him his gift.

"I know that. But I figured you deserved something special to commemorate all the hard work you've done," you nodded, sheepishly. "You put up with my dad for two years... of your own free will... that alone is its own achievement."

Letting out a small chuckle, the swordsman suddenly found his eyes drifting to you, only to be met by your pretty, (e/c) eyes staring down at him, the entire room fading around you two.

He barely believed his eyes as he drank you in—your appearance sinful enough to make the devil sweat.

Instead of your usual long, black dress, you wore a tiny, black nightgown, which accentuated your luscious, curvaceous body and exposed the enticing flesh of your thighs.

You paired the little number with some black pumps, which he bet barely made you taller than him if you were to stand up.

The moonlight pouring in from the window illuminated your skin and glossed up, plump lips at curled into a nervous smile at the sight of him.

Topped off with the sweet silkiness of your voice; the way your body sensually moved; how you smelled of cocoa butter and vanilla.

Quietly, Zoro cursed under his breath, practically reeling.

God, if the last two years were anything, they were a testament to his willpower...

He had never felt this way before.

So distracted.

So obsessed.

You plagued his mind every hour of the day, the thoughts ranging from wholesome to downright scandalous.

Seeing you around the castle, watching the movement of your hips and the graceful slide of your hands, making him feel extremely stiff.

'Christ...'

He tried not to think of you like that.

You were the daughter of his sworn enemy, and a sweetheart, at that...

You deserved a nice guy, one that had a regular life, with a regular job and regular urges.

Not a jaded pirate like himself.

But you were just so damn alluring, he couldn't help himself.

"What do you think you're doing?"

You blinked once, coming out of the trance the man had put you under with a confused raise of your brow.

"Huh?" you asked, dumbly, your mind having turned to mush in the five minutes you were staring at him.

"I said," he pointedly repeated, placing the plate down on his nightstand before standing to his full height, towering over you. "What do you think you're doing?"

Nervous, your manicured hand wrapped around your arm, the swordsman's mind immediately traveling somewhere else.

"I... don't know what you're talking about," you muttered, eyes drifting away from him.

You tried to think quick, scouring your mind for some sort of excuse as he fixed his gaze on you like a predator would his pray.

You knew you couldn't chicken out now.

Especially after all the work you put into getting ready.

"You come in here..." he started, slowly pressing forward, forcing you to step back in order to keep some air between you two. "Dressed like that... just to give me a going-away present?"

You swallowed, thickly, continuing to move backward as he continued to invade your space, his eye cutting you down to size like a cat does a mouse.

"What are you trying to do?"

You turn away slightly, pulling your soft, glossy lip into a nervous bite.

"I just... wanted to look nice... for you," you muttered, resting your hands behind your back.

"Did you, now?" he cocked a brow. "Y'know... after all this time, I think I've finally got you figured out."

With a squeak, your back met the wall, forcing you to stay put as the swordsman caged you in, his muscular body leaving no route of escape.

"I think... you're a sweet girl, who's never met a pirate before, or been allowed outside the confines of this island, that thinks that she can stick it to her father by flirting with the man who is hellbent on taking him down."

Zoro raised a brow, cockily, a teasing smirk rising to his lips.

"How's that? Am I in the ballpark?"

"Hardly," you denied, a small air of confidence returning the wind to your sails.

It caught his attention immediately.

"I may be sweet... and you may be my father's rival... but you forget that I am I woman."

His breath hitched, eye widening slightly as you pulled yourself off the wall, taking your turn to move forward and regain some ground.

"A woman who's been lonely for quite some time... a woman who enjoys your company more than she'd care to admit... a woman who's never had more fun than in the two years you've lived in her house..."

You rested your hand against his chest, the swordsman scared you would feel his heart beating against his rib-cage.

"A woman who's found herself falling in love with the idiot that crash landed on her island..."

Eye wide, Zoro flushed at your boldness, looking away from your intense, (e/c) eyes.

"You don't mean that..." he attempted to rationalize, suddenly unable to comprehend the possibility of you actually liking him.

This had to be a trick.

You were just doing this to piss off your dad...

Right?

You stared at him with hooded eyes, flashing him a bashful, crooked smile that nearly had him melting into the floor.

"If I didn't... do you think I'd be standing here right now?"

The floodgates were opened.

Wrapping an arm around your waist, Zoro roughly yanked you forward, pulling you into his chest as you let out a gasp of surprise.

"You're playing a dangerous game," he warned, holding himself back by the thinnest string of his sanity. "If we do this... there's no going back. And after tomorrow, you won't see me for who knows how long..."

He looked you up and down, giving you a stare that would make any woman weak in the knees.

"You gonna be okay with that?"

Seriously, you nodded, looking up at him with sparkling eyes that nearly set his heart on fire.

"Alright, then... no holding back."

And he took "no holding back" with the utmost seriousness, managing to make you cum three times throughout your night in his room.

The first time was on his couch, coaxing you to bend over and let him massage and spank your soft, jiggly ass, which he swore was heaven sent when he plunged his tongue into your velvety folds, relishing in your soft moans and desperate grinds into his face.

The second time was in his bed, your legs pinned down onto the mattress while he tailed you, his cock plunging in and out of you as his arms wrapped around your body, allowing you to feel safe and comfortable while he dicked you down, feeling feral at the sight of your smooth tummy and soft tits.

The third and last time—because your virgin self simply couldn't take anymore—was when he bent you over and fucked you from behind on the foot of his bed.

His hands held your hips while he leaned over, physically holding you up on your jelly-like legs.

Your hands frantically fisted the sheets as he pounded into you, his firm thighs meeting your ass cheeks as he fucked you like there was no tomorrow.

Because, to him, there wasn't.

"F-Fuck! Oh, my God! Right there!" you sobbed. "Yes, please! Right there!"

He watched your pretty face contort in pleasure, loving how soft you felt pressed against him, and how you sounded moaning from the lips he'd been kissing all night.

"Nuh-uh," he huffed in your ear, leaning down to nip at your lobe. "S'not God that's doin' this, pretty. Who's really makin' you feel good?"

"Zoro!" you moaned, a pitiful whine following after. "H-How are you so good at this?"

He grinned, becoming cocky at seeing you lose your mind on his dick.

"You tell me," he teasingly ordered. "How good am I?"

SMACK!

The sharp sound of his hand connecting with your ass cheek made you let out a harsh groan of pleasure, your pussy clenching around him.

"So good!" you gasped, the sensations too much.

Feeling you tighten around him, Zoro let out a harsh grunt, fighting off the moan ready to leave his lips.

"Christ... body's so fuckin' perfect," he groaned, kneading one of your tits in his calloused hand as he sped up, hitting that spot inside of you that made you see stars. "Look at you... so damn pretty."

"Oh, Zoro! I can't!" you moaned, bottom lip quivering at the coil in your stomach wound tighter and tighter. "I can't...Z-Zoro, m'gunna! M'gunna—!"

"You gonna, gonna what?" he chuckled. "You wanna cum for me again?"

You pathetically nodded, forcing his grin even wider.

"So greedy..."

But so was he.

He would fuck you all night if he could, but he was reaching his limit same as you.

"Cum for me, (y/n)," he ordered, huskily, as he leaned down to your ear, slamming into you harder and you frantically rubbed your clit. "I'm close, too. Rub that little pussy and fuckin' give it to me, baby!"

It doesn't take long for him to blow his load inside of you, flooding you with cum that dripped down your thighs.

His moans of pleasure triggered you, causing your pussy to quiver and flutter around him as you came.

A moan of his name and a few swears left your lips as you rode it out, coating his cock in your sticky juices.

Turning around, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into you in a tender moment of bliss.

Pressing his lips against yours, his hand came up to cup your cheek, the embrace feeling like nothing short of a goodbye.

When your highs finally subsided, Zoro gently pulled out of you, making your pussy spurt out his cum.

The sight nearly made him hard all over again.

'Fuuuuck...'

"Sorry," you groggily apologized, already half asleep as you laid down, your half-lidded, (e/c) eyes still sparkling in the moonlight.

Amused by your fucked out state, he scooped you up, effortlessly, carrying you up to the head of the bed and placing you down among the pillows.

With a yawn, he climbed in with you, stomach faintly fluttering as you rested your head on his chest, nuzzling tightly into his side.

"M'gonna miss you, Zoro," you softly said into the quiet, dimly lit room, "...A lot"

Carefully, he rested his hand on your back, his thumb drawing mindless circles into your skin.

As much as he loved this—your company, your touch, you—he knew that come morning, he would still have to leave.

He had a dream, and an obligation to the family he called his crew.

He couldn't just abandon that.

His brows furrowed, a look of determination settling on his face.

But that didn't mean he couldn't make you a promise.

"I'll come back for you," he stated, plainly, without a doubt in his mind. "When I'm the Greatest Swordsman... and when Luffy's King of the Pirates... I'll come back for you. And I'll take you out to sea, and show you all the places you read about in your books."

Looking up at him, your sleepy eyes sparkled with a glimmer of hope, nearly turning him into a puddle.

"Really?" you asked, adorably.

With a nod, he pecked a soft kiss on your hairline, before leaning back into the pillows.

"Really."

BONUS!!

"Oi, Chuki!" Zoro called as he walked through the ruins, knapsack thrown over his shoulder. "Come out here! I gotta talk to you about somethin'!"

The swordsman had left his room in the wee hours of the morning, managing to wiggle out your grasp and clean himself up before placing a tender goodbye kiss on your forehead, leaving you to sleep.

The previous night introduced some new feelings to him, and if he was going to get a lick of sleep out at sea, he needed to take care of one final thing.

"C'mon! It's about (y/n)!"

At the sound of your name, the large humandrill immediately showed himself, jumping out from behind a stone column with a loud whoop, which sounded eerily like what's wrong.

"With me gone... and with Hawk-Eye on his trips for the Navy... (y/n)'s gonna be on this island all by herself," Zoro started, brows cinched together, seriously.

This was the only thing that was going to quell his worries.

"I don't know what's gonna happen in the next few years, but if any pirates, or even the World Government, come stickin' their noses around this place... you send them flyin', you understand?"

Using the handle of his sword, he pointed toward the castle, where you slept peacefully, safe and secure.

"No one goes near her. No one even makes it to the castle. You fight like your goddamn life depends on it, alright? 'Cause it does."

Surprised, the monkey swallowed thickly, especially when the swordsman's eye landed on him with the harshest glare he had ever seen.

Even harsher than Mihawk's.

"I come back here and find out that she got hurt on your watch... you, and all of your monkey pals, are finished... Understand?"

Frantic, and terrified, Chuki chittered in agreement, rigidly saluting the man for confirmation.

With a proud grin, Zoro nodded, continuing on his trek to the shore as he waved to the baboon, along with the hundred others fearfully watching from the trees.

"Good... I'll see you guys around."

[softaestluv]

Breaking Bread

Simon Riley who is quite the anomaly of a man, or human, rather. Your lieutenant who’s only spoken a handful of words to you.

Simon Riley who happens to be sat at the only open table in the mess hall.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Sergeant! Reader

This chapter does contain smut. 18+ content only!

Tags: Short n’ Sweet, Fluff, Pining, Slow burn if you squint, Food as a love language, Eventual romance, Military inaccuracies, Hand feeding, Smut, Vaginal fingering, Pet names, Creampie, Dirty Talk

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5 (final part!)

On ao3 here!

Usually, your leave goes by too quickly, as if you blinked and you found yourself on base again. Didn’t get enough sleep, didn’t stuff yourself full of enough expensive cuisine, didn’t see your friends long enough. Have to force yourself to drag your feet out of bed, into your car, and take the long trench back to a miserable occupation.

Except this time, it seems to drag; you can’t wait for it to come to an end. You don’t entirely know why, can’t seem to scratch the itch under your skin that only one person seems able to despite how mundane and insignificant the majority of your interactions have been.

So, you find yourself a little too eager to return, mind buzzing impatiently.

When you do finally see him, you practically swoon. Black cargo pants, black compress shirt, black balaclava makes you entirely too giddy. Feel entirely too guilty checking your lieutenant out, but you can’t help it when he’s ravaged your thoughts your entire leave. When you silently walk to his side, and he sees you after your bashful stare.

When you don’t look at him, don’t say anything; his deep voice comes. Melts over your body in warm strokes that has you biting your tongue to stop from smiling.

“Hi, dove.”

You look up at him, his eyes far too soft for a man of his reputation, “Hi, sir.”

You can tell he wants to say more, for the first time since the two of you have talked. Can tell from the way he stares at you, the way he leans a little closer to your frame.

But duty calls, sergeant’s yelling across the room, asking what they’re supposed to do next. You push on your tippy toes before he can get too distracted from you, press your lips as close as they can get to his ear.

“I have treats for you, come by my room after training?”

You smile at him sweetly when he nods eagerly. Laugh a little too loud when you hear him shout that training is over, cuts the day short just so he can follow slowly behind you to your room.

You perch the door open, wait for him to walk in. He’s been in your room countless times by now, examining your injuries with piercing eyes and soft hands, but not like this. From your own invite, the lack of a mission or injuries definitely blurs the lines of why he’s there, makes the air incredibly suffocating. Though, you continue like your throat isn’t tightening, chest beating far too loud.

“I didn’t mean end training now,” You tease, digging through the box you brought from home before displaying the Chantilly cake, “Made it for you yesterday before leaving; it’s not nearly as fresh as it should be, but I thought it would be better than the artificial food here.”

You peer up at him as he stares down at the cake in your palms. You’re not sure what the look in his eyes means, but he doesn’t say anything, makes you suck your lip between your teeth, nervously fidgeting from foot to foot.

“Do you want to try some?” You ask, embarrassed from the way your voice shakes, unsure if you made the right move to make him a fucking cake— should you just have brought him chocolate?

“Yes.”

“Okay, let me uh-“ You pause, realizing you didn’t think this entirely through, that you don’t have any utensils to cut the cake, “Ah, shit. I don’t have anything to cut it with.”

Ghost pulls a knife from a strap in his cargos, handing it to you without a second thought. It makes you chuckle softly, cutting a decadent cake with such a massive weapon, but it makes do. Quite fitting for the man you’re feeding.

Still, you feel a little stupid when you turn to him and tell him you don’t have a fork either. This doesn’t phase him; you watch him pull his gloves off in one quick move, pushing his balaclava up over his nose, and pick up the slice you cut with his bare hands. Takes a bite just like that, raspberry juice spilling over his fingers and knuckles.

You look at him wide-eyed, can’t really decipher the sight in front of you as reality. Not when he doesn’t stop until the whole piece is gone, vanilla cream frosting smeared over his lips and fingers. Stare dumbfounded as you watch him suck the cream from the pads of his fingers, moving lower to lick the raspberry juice from his knuckles.

“Do you want another piece?” You ask in shock.

He just nods, so you cut him another piece, watch the previous scene unfold in front of you a second time; the raspberries staining his fingers and lips red.

You offer him a third slice; you intended for him to have the whole cake, so you’re more than willing to give him every slice. He accepts, sits on your bed with a new slice, thighs spread wide.

“C’mere,” He says, two fingers beckoning you over to him.

You paddle over, of course, but not without hesitation, your mouth drying, nerves fluttering against your stomach. You stop in front of him, an arms length of distance between the two of you, but he tsks his tongue, not pleased with the distance. Pulls you between his thighs by your hip.

You gasp quietly in shock, your hands falling to his shoulders on instinct. Ghost acts like it’s normal, holds the cake to your lips like you’re not pressed so closely to him; your body shoved right up against the inside of his thighs. The two of you practically face to face even though he’s sitting and you’re standing.

You take a bite, try your best not to spill any of the berries between the two of you, but they land on his lap anyways. Maybe you should feel a little ashamed how he holds an item up to your mouth and you obediently swallow without a word said, but you can’t find it in yourself to really care.

The both of you take turns biting pieces of the cake until all that remains is the red juice staining his hands, white cream painted across his thumb, and raspberries in his lap. He sucks the frosting off his thumb— can’t help but feel a little remorseful that he doesn’t slip it into your mouth for you to lick clean.

You don’t offer another slice, and he doesn’t ask for one, don’t think you quite have it in you to push your way between his thighs again if you do. His palm is heavy on your hip, the air is heavy around the two of you. Seems to weigh you down, freezes the two of you in time. Though, his stare is thicker, penetrating, makes your fingers twitch on his shoulders.

“Made that just for me?” Ghost asks.

You nod, swiping your tongue over your lips like you’re trying to lick any remnants off, but really you’re just incredibly anxious. He grips your chin lightly, slowly pulls your face to his, and hovers your lips over his. Can feel his warm breath on your cheeks when he starts to whisper.

“Our little secret, dove?”

Your eyes flutter slightly at the tone of his voice, firm and rich, licks a searing warmth down your back. All you can muster is a another nod, don’t think you can do anything more with his strong grip on you.

Seals his lips over yours in one claiming swoop, fierce, possessive. Didn’t expect him to kiss you like this, breath stripped straight from your lungs over some cake. A Cake he tastes like, vanilla frosting and berries, sweet and tart. Causes you to lick into his mouth fervently, like you were trying to lick the taste clean.

It’s wet. Lewd smacking of saliva in the confines of your private quarters.

It’s hot. His mouth scorching against yours, burns the shape of his lips on your skin.

When the two of you separate you, you chase after his lips pathetically, think your knees might buckle under you. He seems to know, maybe it’s because your eyes are already half-lidded off one kiss or the way your chest is heaving, taking shallow breaths, but his large palm clutches the back of your thigh, thumb cupped under the curve of your ass.

His other hand dips under your shirt, spreads his touch on you wide and avaricious. Maybe you’re too eager, but your body is itching, stinging with a carnal desire. When it feels as if Ghost’s touch is the only thing that soothes your ache. So, even if you weren’t sure that he wanted more, you peel your shirt off hastily, drop it behind you without a care.

“No need to rush, sweeth’art,” He drawls, slowly.

“Wanted you for weeks,” You confess, struggling to unclasp your bra, “Don’t make me wait any longer.”

You’re not even ashamed of the desperation in your tone. You can’t go back now, it’s too late; you won’t continue to pretend. You let your lieutenant take without a word for months, let his talons hook into your flesh, and bury deep without recourse.

Ghost inhales deep when your bra finally drops, engulfs your breast in one hand. He’s seen almost every aspect of your body by now, traced his fingers over your injuries, but he’s never seen you like this, never touched you like this.

“Fuckin’ hell,” He breathes, closes his eyes to gather himself.

His touch is sticky on your skin from the raspberries, leaves red fruit stains on your hip and chest. Trails his fingers over the swell of your breast, brushing lightly over your nipple, pinches the bud between his thick fingers softly, eyes darting to yours when you exhale a quiet noise.

You squeeze your thighs together at the look in his eyes, dark and dilated. Makes your head spin as he consumes you whole with one look, arousal pooling thickly in your panties. Ellicit’s a squeak from your throat when he rolls the bud in his fingers, tugging at the sensitive bead. Repeats the motions on each nipple until you start to fidget impatiently, need more.

“G-Ghost,” You stammer.

“Hhm?” He hums, the hand just below the swell of your ass sliding up to finally squeeze the supple fat.

You don’t exactly know what to say, don’t want to sound too pathetic, so you start to unbuckle your pants. Hurriedly shoving the restricting material off your hips, standing in your panties in front of your lieutenant.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell, dove,” Ghost groans, low and strained.

“Already said that, lieutenant,” You tease, but it doesn’t have any real gusto behind it, not when he turns you around swiftly, and palms both of your ass cheeks.

Your panties join the pile on the floor, the first article of clothing your lieutenant has peeled off you, but it leaves you completely naked and bare. Makes you acutely aware of the fact that nothing covers your most intimate parts while he sits there fully dressed when you feel the air on your cunt. When one thumb spreads your cheek wide, your wet folds revealed.

“Look’atcha,” He hums, approvingly, “Pretty little sergeant aren’t you?”

You stutter over a moan when he slides two fingers through your swollen folds, knuckles teasingly brushed against your clit. When he draws his hand back you almost whine in protest, but he pulls you flush in his lap, back pressed to his broad chest, and spreads your thighs wide over his. You decide you like this much better despite the warmth scalding down your entire chest when he leaves your cunt bare and displayed.

Ghost’s hand snakes down your chest, presses his fingers back to your drenched pussy. Two fingers dipping through your folds to gather the slick dripping from your entrance. Your head rolls back on to his shoulder, one arm bent to grasp at the back of his neck, the other digging indents into your thigh when he strokes against your clit.

You think you might be going crazy when he starts to rasp filthy into your ear, when your lieutenant has been so restrictive of his words before this— ‘Soaked f’me, dove, eager little thing you are.’

Each syllable practically goes straight to your clit, makes you hypersensitive, clenching around nothing. His words sting with embarrassment, but you don’t want him to stop, cling to every word like you’re afraid he’ll never speak again.

“Made me a sweet little cake,” He lilts against your ear, drawing firm shapes on your clit, “Wanted an excuse t’get me in yer room?”

“J-Just wanted to make you a treat,” You explain, and you’re not necessarily lying, you hadn’t fully planned for this to happen.

“Yeah?” He muses, withdrawing his hand from your clit, “So, you want me t’stop?”

Your protest is a little too pitiful, high-pitched as you clamber your grasp to his wrists to stop his movements. You’re immediately grateful for pushing his hand back down despite how desperate it makes you look when a thick finger catches on your rim, when he puts up no resistance as you slip it in your welcoming entrance.

You instantly melt against his chest, a pleased moan ricocheting off your bedroom walls when he takes back the reigns. You’re being too greedy over your lieutenant, as you always are, but he never seems to give you enough. Always leaves you with a yearning ache in his absence, so you think you deserve to be, let yourself succumb to the pleasure.

His hand is massive, covers your entire pussy with it, palm pressed to your clit. And his fingers are deft, skilled and focus from years as a sniper. Curls and spreads two fingers in your throbbing cunt, scratches at the fire that’s been burning viciously in your core for months.

It’s almost too overwhelming, choking on your mewls after a few determined strokes. You know you shouldn’t, that it’ll make your impending orgasm spill from your control, but you can’t help it; you’ll regret it later if you don’t.

You have to look.

So, you lift your head to peer down at your body perched on his lap. One meaty palm pinching your breast, a brawny arm banded over your hip, and two beefy fingers disappearing into your pussy. Covered in your expense, glistening in the dark of the room.

You want to burn the image to the insides of your eyelids; your lieutenant pinching, gripping, claiming your flesh. White seeps into the corner of your irises at the sight, fighting the insistent coil that tightens in your womb.

You nearly double over when he ruts his hips leisurely against your ass and you feel the shape of his bulge in his cargos. It makes you pant like a dog, grinding back down eagerly against the curve. He lets out a low groan at the sensation, and you feel it in fucking your toes, curled tightly as you clench around his fingers.

“Feel that?” He purrs in your ear— yeah, yeah you fucking do.

Emphasizes his words with another rut, “All ‘cause of you.”

“Ghost, I-I,” You start, but you’re not entirely sure what you mean to say, not exactly sure what you want.

But he seems to know what you need, curls his fingers just at the right angle, has a delicious feeling washing over you. It devours you, eyes blurring as you lose control of the seal, spilling your expense in Ghost’s palm with a quick jerk of your hips.

He doesn’t stop, his motions unyielding. Fingers you steady through your orgasm, gumming your walls and mind into mush until you’re trying to scramble out of his demanding grip with floundering legs and clawing fingers, whining that it’s too much.

“Sit still, dove,” He demands, but he doesn’t have any real bite to it, not like his commands during training, removes his fingers from your over sensitive walls.

You try your best to listen to your lieutenant, but it’s nearly impossible when your climax is still thrumming under your veins. Fidgeting anxiously when you hear the metal clanking of his belt, when his cock finally springs free between your thighs. It curves long and wide over your pussy, your mouth watering when you see the fat of his cockhead poke through the tips of your thighs.

You can’t even stop yourself from grinding your puffy folds over his length. Dragging your drenched pussy from his tip to shaft.

“Fuuuck,” He grits through his teeth.

Lays his hand on your hip, but he doesn’t stop you, lets you smear your slick over his cock earnestly. Maybe your mind is muddled from your previous orgasm, everything still a little too fuzzy, but you find yourself keening and mewling into the room. Snapping your hips over his girth over and over again like you’re actually riding him, his tip tugging at your sopping entrance with each drag.

You want it more than anything, clenching and weeping for more, but you can’t stop your rutting.

“Ghost, please,” You beg, because he has to be the one to do it, “Oh, please— need it.”

“Such a sweet girl,” He lifts you slightly, lines his tip with your aching hole, and slowly lowers you over his head, “I got you, don’t worry.

Your walls pop over the curve of his swollen head, and you think you might pass out from how tightly you’re holding your breath. You almost wish you were facing him or pressed into the sheets, so you could scratch at something. Grapple onto anything to ground yourself.

Ghost pets softly at your side, “Breathe, baby.”

And oh fuck.

You think you might’ve been able to if he hadn’t called you ‘baby’ so tenderly. You know he only means well, but the word practically sends you into a frenzy when your rugged and brute lieutenant is treating you so gently, so obscure compared to his usual stoicism.

It makes you slam your hips flush over his shaft, take him in one full swoop, pussy pressed against his pelvis. It’s not what he wanted you to do, you know that, but it rips a breath out of your lungs, makes you finally breathe like he told you to.

“Fuckin’ hell, dove,” He snarls, bruises his hold on your hips, “I didn’t mean like that.”

You really can’t say anything more, his grip so strong on you that you can’t move either, so you just lull your head against his shoulder, place your hand over his on your hip. He stays still for a few seconds, lets your pussy morph into the shape of his cock.

You’re appreciative of the fact; you get to focus on how massive he is, how full you feel. Gives you time to really feel the burn of the stretch, brings you back to reality of sorts.

But when he starts whispering sweet nothings into your ear again, your pussy starts to drip down his cock and pools on his balls. And he hasn’t even started to move yet.

“That eager, baby?” He teases, drawing shapes against your hip, “Need me t’fuck you tha’ bad?”

It almost hurts waiting for him to move, but when he finally does, grinds low and shallow against your cervix you’re utterly fucked— literally.

And his mouth just doesn’t stop.

“Oh, dove,” He grunts, “When’s the last time you fingered yourself? Grippin’ me like a lifeline.”

Each thrust is followed by a new sentence, a long drawl of his Manchester accent. You don’t say anything other than the desperate moans he fucks out of you, enjoy the cadence of his voice entirely too much to tell him to shut up even if his words are humiliating.

“Jesus, your cunts fuckin’ warm, sweeth’art.”

But when he really starts fucking you, shallow strokes become determined thrusts, firm and unwavering, his words start to slur a little, like he can’t stop babbling your praises.

“So sweet to me you know that? My sweet little sergeant,” He slurs, “Brings me little treats ‘n now you give me yer sweet little cunt, too?”

“Gh-host,” You hiccup over your words, as a second orgasm builds in your core.

“Need t’make you all mine now, huh?” He asks, but you’re sure it’s rhetorical because you already are.

You think you feel him in your cervix, splitting you and two and ripping you to shreds.

You know you can when his hand presses to your stomach, right where his cock kisses and laps at your womb, and he tells you to look.

“Oh— god. Ghost, I—I can’t,” You wail when you see your stomach bulge with his cock after each thrust.

“S’good, baby,” He praises, struggling to thrust deep when you keep clenching around him, “Feel s’good. S’pretty wrapped around me. Jesus, look at you.”

You start to try and push yourself off him when the fire in your core becomes cruel and ferocious, ruptures a stinging warmth that you can’t take anymore, but Ghost doesn’t let you get far, keeps a solid hold on your hips.

He’s telling you something, you’re sure, but you can’t quite make out what he’s saying. Not when he turns your face towards his and meet his dark irises. You lose yourself after that, your orgasm ruptures, explodes and reaches an absolute crescendo.

Ghosts follows suit shortly after, kisses your womb, and paints it a pretty picture. Fucks his cum into you with a few languid strokes, pussy squelching loudly with both of your desires drenched on each other. Makes you one.

The afterglow seems to drag, your body pulsing softly from an intense orgasm. Your limbs practically bricks, lax and molded against Ghost’s chest. Lightheaded and blissed when his large palms pet at your sides, kisses your shoulders and neck.

Turns you in his lap so you face him, blinking slowly at him like a cat before his lips stamp a soft kiss to your mouth. He noses along your jaw; it’s sweet, raw.

“Should’ve done that a long time ago,” He says, and you burst out laughing, nodding in agreement.

The two of you don’t go to dinner in the mess hall that night; instead, you bask in each other’s warmth, eat the rest of the Chantilly cake as your meal. Ghost feeds you the cake again, but this time you’re not hesitant to suck his thumb in your mouth, and lick the vanilla cream off. Though, it only results in you bent into the sheets, Ghosts chest thick and heavy against your back. The both of you stained in red smears and marks from the raspberries.

When the next day comes you feel a little bashful when a couple sergeant’s see your lieutenant leave your room. But you can’t seem to care for that matter when the two of you walk to the mess hall together. Eat breakfast together, like you do most days, and drink a cup of warm tea he made you for the first time since your leave.

Lunch and dinner go the same, except now he pulls you to the seat next to him rather than in front of him. Keeps a warm palm on you as you two eat in comfortable silence.

You don’t mind the silence, never really did, especially now that you can’t get him to shut up when he’s between your thighs.

Or when ‘Our little secret?’ becomes his way of asking for a kiss, pulls you from the hallway into a secluded room, back pressed against the wall, his large hand splayed beside your head. Nudges his knuckle under your chin before whispering it against your mouth, and stamping his lips on yours.

Shared tea time in the rec room takes place in either of your rooms now. Still share one cup of tea, still let him press it to your lips because he seems to like doing it. Though, you never really get much reading done when you end up under his larger frame because he can’t keep his hands off you for long.

Neither of you have to say goodbye after the tea or wish him a good night anymore when you stay with him, tangle yourself in his sheets instead.

Simon Riley who is quite the anomaly of a man, or human, rather, but one you understand just a little better now. Still a little rough around the edges, even with his pretty dove. A man of few words, but what he says is enough, what he does is even more.

@identity2212

[blighted-lights]

how. how fucking hard do you have to kick a cybertronian for them to get knocked out like this. ravage gets one kick from cyclonus and is down for the count. and he spits up a LOT of energon, too. like ik cyc isn't going to pull punches here with tg's life on the line, but like. surely a kick like this leaves lasting damage. surely if rav is knocked out in one hit and spits up THAT much energon, there is some serious internal damage going on

but im sure we'll get to check in on him in the next issue and see what he thinks of the whole thing, right?

,,, ah. yeah. ravage has no mention, apperance, or speaking line in the issue directly after the lopsided triangle. he's probably wrestling with that concussion. im sure he's fine tho.

uhhhh at least we get some glit panels...? in um. grindcore. what's the little guy doin there?

[quinloki]

I Got You

Eustass Kid x fem Reader - bdsm, forced orgasms, use of good girl, squirting, drool.

Apologies for any autocorrected words, knocked this out in one go on my phone at the end of my shift ^^;

Being physically sensitive and having a session with Eustass Kid.

You’re so easy to tickle, so easy to rile up. Ever gentle touch and soft kiss sends bumps over your skin and makes you gasp. There’s nothing you can do, it’s a curse in some ways, maybe you’re a little jumpy too.

Easy to scare.

Easy to tickle.

Easy to pleasure.

Kid’s tying you into a rope dress. The soft rope feels good against your body and you wriggle a little every time he runs his fingers against your skin, checking that the rope’s not too snug.

He teases you, you accept it, there’s no defense.

“Maybe I’ll tie you down and tickle you someday.” He teases.

“Nooooo,” you whine, but it’s not serious. You won’t deny the possibility.

He grins, knowing the opportunity entices you. Especially with him, certain you’d never be able to escape. Trusting him to stop when you needed it.

Kneeling in front of you he spreads your labia apart, the action eliciting a soft rush of air from you even though you knew it was coming. He nestles the wand against your clit and you tense, wiggle, and sigh.

“Seriously?” The damn teasing tone.

“I can’t help it!”

“No aphrodisiacs for you, you’ll literally explode.” He says, delighting in your squirming as he nestles the toy securely in place. “You might not survive this.”

“I bet I’d cum without being touched.” You admit, steadying yourself against the wall.

“You’d explode.” He insists, tugging the ropes and locking the toy in place. Your cry of pleasure seems to agree with his assessment.

“You’re ready to cum already.” He grins, and you cover your mouth, nodding as you look away.

Kid stands up, looming over you so easily. The golden eyes hold your gaze for a moment before he cuffs your wrists to thick leather restraints built into the wall. The ledge had a cushion, forcing your hips forward as the cuffs kept you in place.

Your feet barely touched the floor, forced open with a spreader bar. You’re on display, and someday maybe even for a full audience.

“Look at me.” He commands and you do. There’s no pause, he clicks on the powerful vibrator and you suck in a breath, trying to curl in on yourself and unable to do so because of the restraints.

“FFFFFFFFFUUUUUUCK!” The swear is ripped from your lungs as pleasure eats you alive.

“Hurt?” He asks and you shake your head, gasping harshly again before shivering and moaning. There’s no escape, it’s tied in so well and there’s nothing you can do. Your hips being pushed forward by the ledge drive your clit into the toy and all you can do is take it.

“Say thank you,” Kid demands, looking down at you as you’re already on the verge.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank- FUCK, ah, I’m-.”

“Cum for me.”

And you do. Soundlessly. Your body too taut and too ravaged to do anything but gape up at him and tremble.

As the peak subsides you gasp, whimper, moan, pant and tremble. You can breathe but your even more sensitive and the toy is still going.

Kid grabs a fistful of your hair, it’s almost all of it his hand’s so fucking big, and forces you to look at him.

“Again.” He says, turning a dial with his prosthetic thumb and bringing the toy to a fever pitch right along with you.

Held in place you can’t thrash at all, chains rattling and cuffs creaking as your body pulls taut again. You beg, but he doesn’t relent, and the pleasure is almost too much.

Kid’s knee pushes on the toy and you snap, cumming so hard you scream and squirt, swearing and apologizing and he holds you.

“That’s my good girl. One more, Mouse. One more for me like no one else can do.” His voice is velvet and coarse rocks, heat and honey and need. His eyes are light and life like the gold of the sun and all you can do is babble as the third orgasm has you drooling and breathing in heavy ragged gasps.

Your tongue hangs out of your mouth, drool dripping from it has heavy desperate breathes scratch their way in and out of your throat. Please, you rasp, one more, please, you need it, you want it, you can’t even say it.

“I got you.” He says and hot lips devour your nipple, the extra stimulation being what you needed and your pleasure splatters on the stone floor as you squirt from the rush of pleasure that turns your muscles to mush and your bones to gel.

Cutting the toy away, releasing one arm, then the other, he has you draped over his shoulder as he unhooks your ankles. Cradled in his arms he praises you, checks on you, holds you.

You’ll come back to your senses at some point, and until then, he has you.

[meteortrails]

oh I will say the funniest thing about the ‘chocobros Save Prompto from himself’ type of deal is it usually comes with a side of forgetting that ignis and Gladio are like, 2 and 3 years older than them respectively LMAO. like ah yes tell me more about how this group of teenagers saved this other teenager from the ravages of *checks notes* living on his own with no adults checking in on him, something none of them would have Ever experienced in any form! idk man I just think maybe it defeats the message you’re going for here if the person who ends up checking in on him is like. a 17 year old ignis. like there’s just no way that shakes out where ignis or gladio is in a substantially different boat from him beyond financial class LMAO

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

My brain is melty but something something “you want to bet on it?” Not exactly astarion and Tav but like. The rest of the camp talking about them?

Feel better soon!

A/N: This was actually a lot of fun! You didn't specify so I decided to go with Ace!Tav AKA Evie for this prompt. Hope that's okay.

Consider this a continuation of this headcanon.

Astarion x Ace!Tav (Evie) Masterlist

“You know what? I don’t think they’re fucking.”

Gale choked on his drink, following Karlach's eye line to a familiar corner.

Astarion and Evie had found their own little piece of no where, as was becoming habit with them at this point in the evening. Astarion had an arm wrapped about them and he whispered something in their ear, causing them to laugh. Astarion answered this with a playful nip of their neck which is right about when Gale averted his eyes. They were entitled to some privacy.

"My ears would beg to differ," he said, dryly. "I swear I didn't get a wink last night."

"Well that's just the thing innit?" Karlach pressed. "I mean, I can understand getting that riled up every now and again, but every night?"

"Astarion is a vampire," Wyll pointed out. "Even a spawn is liable to have higher than average...stamina."

Karlach let out a snort. "You read too much. Besides, even if that was true, doesn't stop E from being human."

"Why though?" Gale said. "What would be the point of pretending engage in such, ah...enthusiastic intercourse? I mean, we all know they're together. Why the extra show?"

"I would not be surprised if Astarion is putting on, as you said, an extra show," Lae'zel said. "He has boasted many times of his prowess in giving carnal pleasure. Not to mention, he likes to make clear what is his. Ravaging sex would accomplish both quite easily."

"Still doesn't explain E's half of all this," Karlach insisted. "It does take at least two, last I checked."

"Trust me, just two is enough," Gale grumbled. "If you want proof for yourself, I am more than happy to switch rooms."

"No good. I'm just below them."

"Oh for Gods' sake!"

"You've been oddly quiet, Shadowheart," Wyll interrupted, giving the cleric an assessing look. "Care you share your thoughts."

Shadowheart shrugged, carefully setting down her glass of wine. "I don't see what more I have to add to the conversation. You all seem set in your opinions."

"And I am curious to hear yours," Wyll pressed.

She rolled her eyes. "I think you all are putting a lot of thought into something that is frankly none of your business."

That got Gale's attention as he turned to her suspiciously. "Do you know something?"

"Nothing of importance. Besides, weren't you the one who said that some personal matters should remain personal?"

"Certainly," Gale said. "But when they are shared so openly, they can hardly be considered wholly personal."

"Well, that clenches it for me," Karlach said. "They're not fucking."

"I would be inclined to disagree, although now, I'm not so sure," Gale said, his brow furrowed in thought.

Lae'zel gave an exasperated huff. "Is it common in this realm to over analysis something as simple as mating?"

"It's extremely common," Wyll said, with a smile. "I take it that means you think they are, mating?"

"Obviously."

"Would you put money on that?" Karlach said.

Lae'zel raised an eyebrow. "A wager?"

"Sure. Ten gold says if we open the door on their room tonight, they're doing something stupid like moving furniture. And if I'm wrong, that's ten gold for you and spit in my eye."

The gith's eyes narrowed, before giving Karlach a stiff nod. "A fair wager. Although, I do not think spitting in your eye in necessary."

"I wouldn't go that far," Wyll said. "Depending what's on the other side of that door, it may be very necessary."

[hangeslefteye]

Fvckbuddies to lovers HCS for Eren and Porco (modern au?) nsfw apparently

Them because they are simply ✨THE TYPE TO✨Also this makes them my type too xDD Guess who studied their functions?? I'll be writing about these two a lot this week xD

Eren:

Someone blast Deftones xDDD

Look,Eren is the petty emotional type and not the automatic sensless fuckboy.

Considering his EMOTİONAL AF ass, if Eren is choosing this type of relationships,chances are he was cheated on previously.

Aside from trust issues he's possibly trying to forget his ex.

He's depressed af

Or maybe he thinks all women eventually cheat so he's being petty by being an asshole.

What I mean by this is no open expectations talk.

You won't know if your relationship with him is only sexual, or romantic too?

Heartbreaker type backbreaker too

İt's easy to imagine Eren sending you the cliche hook up texts/nudes at midnight -because he gets overwhelmed by his emotions especially at night- coming to your place and ravaging you just correctly.

Sex with him will be always a little angry and angsty :/

Hard to say he exactly cares about your pleasure soo...you better chase your own orgasm tbh xD

Which won't be hard to,he's naturally good at this.

Chances are he has learnt a lot from his ex and he does many things subconsciously.

Also he accidentally remembers his ex when he's with you

You will know when he thinks of them xDD

He's extra degradative and acts you completely like an escort,maybe even worse.

İnteresingly his emotional ass is the type to NEVER do some certain things with his ✨GİRLFRİEND✨

But you are not that.

You are just a simple slut for him.

Facials?Anal?Slapping?Breath choking?Threesome?Degration?

Np

You are not his girlfriend afterall.

Ah,also he's the head-pusher type.You better take it all or none.İt doesn't matter if you puke on it,better even.

And you'll get no aftercare either.

Not that he doesn't care,he does care.

But he should run back to his place before you can see him crying.Because he's emotionally WRECKED.

He's the tears after cum type :/

However his emotional ass was not designed to mindlessly fuck around.

Simply not that.

So even if he escapes from small talk and affectionate kissing,caressing,aftercare etc. he'll fall for you anyways.

İf he realises he has a thing for you,he'll go around trying to find himself an another partner(s)

He might try to avoid you in the process but he could never xD

*insert sudden emotional breakdown out of nowhere*

Congrats

You guys are officially dating now xD

He has a lot of love to give <3 Suddenly he is very thoughtful and loving.A great bf for real.

However (his) trust issues are not easy to get rid of.

He'll constantly check your phone secretly/not so secretly

He'll call/text very often when you are with your friends.

I hope you don't have a close guy friend(s) because...umm you won't have one after dating with him anyways xD

On the good side 7/24 around you

İt can take him months maybe years to trust you so you must put work into that.

Which he surely does worth the effort.

Last thing is...remember the list above?İt doesn't matter how much you want any of those he simply won't ✨disrespect✨you like that.(not that those are disrespectful he's just crazy xD)

Also he'll feel kinda guilty because he wanted some things to be more special and romantic and not random.He'll never admit tho

Adding his sexual guilt into this one,he kinda regrets the way things escalated.

But he surely knows how to make it up to you.

You guys will go to lots of random but cute dates,you get to pick wherever you want and it's done.

He does photo albums <3

He doesn't have to make EVERY MEMORY immortal but...he'll do just because he can xD

Clingy.clingy.clingyyyyy

✨Touch addiction✨

Porco:

You can blast chase atlantic with this one xD

Porco is the automatic fuckboy

Why? Because it takes him A LOT to fall in love.

He simply does not get carried away.

And of course he's in for the thrill of meaningless sex and not the boredom of relationships.

Open talk type of guy <3

He doesn't want to upset you by giving you the false signals and VERY upfront with it.

Doesn't like kissing,touching while on it but he can do it for you anyways.

He actually understands this goes 50/50 so he'll put effort into you.

Aftercare does.not.exist.

do.not.touch.him. when you are done.

Either dress up or leave or he is out of door anyways.

Also he won't see you out of bedroom and very strict with it.

İf you guys have to co-exist,he'll unsee you like you never existed in the first place.

And he's not the type to fall in love instantly after sex.

To him,sex is one thing;love is something much else.

He must know you very well for that.

Shortcut to that is:✨FUN✨

İf he can have fun with you without getting bored or feeling suffocated,eventually he'll want to know more about you.

Just ask him for a concert/party and say you want public sex xD

He looooves public for sure.

Anything risky?He's in.

1-2 maybe 3 hangouts and suddenly he just wants to dance/listen the music.He just wants to have fun and he'll accidentally forget about sex.

He knows he's fucked up when this happens xD

He wants to ghost you so bad xD

Out of nowhere his kisses last longer,he begins to touch you more,he prefers face to face positions.

I think we can all say he's either a doggy or reverse cowgirl man.

Why?

:✨ASS✨

He surely hates long eye contact too xD

And if the awkward pillowtalk hits...he's whipped

He's the type to have occasional jealousy breakdowns, in secret.

He's too prideful to admit any feelings or whatsoever.

İnstead he marks you.

Anywhere visible is just fine.

COLLARBONES!!!!Neck,thighs,chest,back...anywhere.

Outside he either lays an arm over you or gives you his jacket,hat,scarf etc.

His ✨secret✨ plan is to fall in a natural relationship pattern with you without talking about his feelings xD

From outside,he actually looks like your bf but he's too jealous to keep this going.

Eventually he'll blow up.

He'll have a tantrum about how many more men you see.

*insert feelings and the tsundere blush*

Congrats

You guys are officially dating xD

Seems distant and greatly weirded out but...

He's a kitten for sure :D

He was prolly never romantically loved/cared by someone before so...

H-hugging??

That thing is weird to him but, addicting? Like...do it again? xD

He's a kinda attention whore for you but still prideful af

He recently discovered that thing called,umm...cuddling?

Yeah that thing is not very bad xD He doesn't mind when you spoon him or lay his head to your chest etc.

Lap kitten xD *İnsert simp label*

180 degrees of turn about relationships.

Those things are actually cool?

Like,loser you don't have a gf?

But that would only last as long as he's happy/content

He's the 0 bullshit type and he wouldn't stand arguments to protect his own happiness/heart.

Also he'd want lots of space and freedom.

You can be his best friend,but he'll have other friends too.

İf he feels upset/suffocated/cornered etc. you can lose him overnight.

İf things get too routine or boring,you can lose him again.

But he won't let it get there himself.He's naturally good at creating tension anyways.

İf handled correctly he can be the best of everything <3

Enough internet for tonight I'll fix my grammer.... in the morning? xD I hope you enjoyed it <3

[ghost-proofbaby]

She knows him. She doesn’t know how or why. But she swears it on her life, she knows this pale elf.  She can’t explain the echoing hollow ache that rings out at the up-close sight of him any other way. She knows him, knew him, and had somehow lost him.

summary: aruna meets gale. aruna meets shadowheart. but, somehow, none it matters - they're not astarion, and she's beginning to think this astarion doesn't exist.

wc: 5.3k+

warnings: continued memory loss, more canon violence/gore. a lot of gameplay recount. spoilers for the game below (act 1, ravaged beach).

a/n: anyone else fail that perception check when meeting astarion? just me? that's cool. i can't even be mad when a pretty boy holds a knife to my throat. also, if some of this isn't 100% game accurate/lore accurate, do not come for me. we're here for a good time! not an accurate time!

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Aruna and Astarion. Astarion and Aruna. Aruna – Astarion. 

She echoes the two names in her mind an impossible amount of times. The one name, her name, clicks right into place for her. It makes sense. Her name is Aruna, there’s not a single doubt within her regarding that. And even if there had been, she’s already laid claim to it – she’s already introduced herself to the two strangers she’d managed to stumble upon on the beach as such. 

Shadowheart and Gale. Kind souls, a bit guarded but fair given the circumstances. They share a common affliction, one that Aruna hadn’t even noticed in the daze of her awakening on the beach – a worm in their heads. Literally. 

And she should be pondering more about how odd that is, all the squirming in her brain that she can feel, the way that she managed to connect telepathically with both of these strangers upon running into them, but she isn’t. 

Because, apparently, according to this mysterious letter addressed to her, she’s supposed to save Astarion. And neither of them are Astarion. 

Who the hell is Astarion? 

Maybe it could be one of her new companions; either of them could have lied regarding their name easily. But she had seen into their minds, and they had proven trustworthy so far. Hell, Gale was even offering to cook some sort of dinner for all of them in their current makeshift campsite they had chosen. A clearing in the edge of the woods, not too far from the beach, but certainly not wandering any further than necessary into the unfamiliar grounds they’ve found themselves crashed onto. They’d snagged some bedrolls out of random chests discarded by the crash (they had all doubted the previous owners were even still alive), made a makeshift fire pit in the center of the clearing, and declared it home – for now. 

It didn’t feel like home. Felt the furthest from home Aruna could have possibly been, and she didn’t even remember where her home was. Or if she had one before all of this. 

“What have you got there?” Gale asks casually from where he stands over the dinner he was scrounging together, pulling Aruna away from all her stubborn thoughts.

They had turned one of the fallen trees into a bench of sorts. Waist level and the perfect place for him to carefully cut up mushrooms they had found along their way with a stolen knife they’d secured. It was the beginnings of a home, gut feelings aside. 

“Hm?” Aruna hums, looking up from her palm, closing it on instinct, “What?” 

Gale stops all movement, eyes narrowing in her further at her closed fist, “The stone you’re holding. Did you find it during our travels?” 

Ah. The stone. One of two items she had found in the mysterious pouch on her body. She’d been mindlessly flipping it between her hands, fingers sliding over the smooth surface as she had studied it. Her investigation had proven half useful when she’d realized there was a carving on the flattest surface of the stone – a  crescent moon, just like one of her daggers. 

She could be honest. But for some reason, she feels protective over the stone. Especially after noticing that carving, “Oh, yeah. Saw it on the side of the road and it looked pretty unique. I’ll probably toss it away when we start back up on the road tomorrow.” 

Like Hells will I be letting it out of my sight. 

She doesn’t know much, frustratingly so, but she knows that this unusual stone is not the kind you would stumble upon on the road. Gale clearly knows as much as well, looking entirely unconvinced as they suddenly stare each other down in silence. 

He’s giving her an opportunity to be honest. As if she owes him the truth. 

“It’d be a shame to get rid of such an… unique stone.”

It would be. And he clearly believes it’s far more than a stone. But it only makes her fingers curl far more tightly around the opal, feeling the rough edge of the moon pressing into her skin. 

“Maybe I’ll sell it,” she shrugs, trying to put up an act of indifference, “It looks pretty enough to earn a decent amount of gold, right?” 

As if to prove her point, to further sell this careless act, she lets her hand fall back open. The moon carving is safe against her palm and out of sight, and the stone glimmers in the moonlight. 

“Looks like it would be worth more than just a bit of gold,” Gale says, taking a few steps closer to get a better look. On instinct, Aruna nearly bristles. “That- Are you aware of what that is-”

“Is dinner done?” Shadowheart interrupts with perfect timing. Her distraction lets Aruna quickly move to shove the stone away back into her pouch, having no interest in some sort of lecture from Gale. 

She doesn’t know what it is. But it’s hers, and his hungry eyes on the small artifact are enough to tell her to keep it far away from him. 

“Pardon me?” Gale blinks a few times, taking longer than a normal person might to register Shadowheart’s questions. He’s still focused on Aruna’s hand that now rests emptily against her lap. “Oh! Oh, no. Not quite. Sorry, my hungry friends. Just a few more minutes. It won’t be much but, it’ll be something. Excellent fuel to continue our search for a healer tomorrow, I assure you.”

Shadowheart says something more as she takes a seat on another makeshift bench they’d set up, and Gale responds with ease this time, but Aruna has tuned them both out. 

He’s probably right. Tomorrow, they need to find a healer. She needs to worry more about the worm in her head. She needs to reassess her priorities.

But it’s awfully hard when not only that stone, but that letter burns a hole in her pack, and she’s dreadfully aware that as kind and oddly trusting these people have been given their current situation, neither of them are Astarion.

And the letter said to save Astarion. Not Shadowheart, not Gale, not even herself. But Astarion. 

—

“So, what were your lives like before this entire mess and impending doom of ceremorphosis?”

Gale is a chatty traveling companion. Aruna learns this quickly when they wake the next morning and gather their packs, and she’d even had half the mind to begin a map of sorts so she can mark their camp and the surrounding areas they’ve already explored on it. All her sketches, trees and scribbles to depict the Nautiloid crash, are abysmal at best. But it’s something. If they can just be smart, if they can just be aware of their surroundings, they might be able to continue to call their perfect clearing home. 

Besides, none of them really wanted to continue to carry every single thing they had gathered thus far in their packs. 

Whatever they left surely is at risk of being found by others wandering, and they could be robbed blind of any supplies left behind, but Aruna is just glad for the lack of an ache in her back as she adjusts her pack. 

Shadowheart nearly trips over her steps, as if not expecting the question and clearly panicking over what to say, but Aruna decides to speak up first.

“I can’t remember,” she says plainly, monotonous as she continues to confidently stride forward. They’re nearly back to the main path they had discovered, and something is tugging her back in the direction of that damned beach. 

Shadowheart trips again, and this time, Aruna truly can’t tell if it’s due to shock or simply not watching where she was going in her effort to keep up. 

“What?” Gale chuckles under his breath, as though Aruna’s told a joke. He’s keeping pace with her fairly impressively, “I know this entire journey thus far has been fairly startling, but a symptom of ceremorphosis is not memory loss. Surely, you remember at least where you’re from.” 

“I don’t,” Aruna finally slows, letting Shadowheart fall into place on her right as she faces Gale, “I… I have no memories from before the ship. I must have just hit my head exceptionally hard, or maybe that worm is digging around in places in my brain that it isn’t in yours.” 

It’s a bold show of trust. She should feel more resistance towards laying out her troublesome internal quarrel so plainly to Gale, but she doesn’t. It’s almost as easy as fiddling with her daggers by the campfire, or mindlessly flipping around that stone in her pack. 

She should trust him, shouldn’t she?

Yes, something screams inside of her. The thing she felt locked up inside of her finally finds its voice, it seems, as it calls to her, you should trust him. Trust him with all that you have. 

The issue, of course, is that Aruna doesn’t have much. Material-wise nor of internal self. 

She has daggers. She has a pretty stone. She has a tarnished ring. She has a name. She has instructions to save Astarion, whoever that elusive bastard may be.

She doesn’t have much to offer. To trust with. 

“How very interesting,” Gale murmurs as he looks at her with nothing but unbridled curiosity, “Well, as I said, it’s not a symptom of ceremorphosis. As far as I’ve read, at least.”

Aruna eyes him wearily, instinct to trust be damned, “Yes, you seem to do a lot of that.” 

He throws his head back in a laugh and- why does it pull on her heartstrings like something of recognition? Why does something about this very moment all feel so familiar? 

The deja vu nearly makes Aruna sick, Gale completely unaware as he says, “Reading? Why, yes, I do. A hungry mind is crucial to surviving this world, I’ve found.” 

Why is his laughter so familiar? Why does it spark a flicker of warmth in her chest, as though he’s some old friend she’s shared endless laughs with while gathered around a fire? 

It terrifies her. 

It was different, inanimate objects holding that flame of warmth and unlocking pieces of her. Daggers carved with nighttime symbols and a stone to match don’t scare Aruna; real people that she might have real history with do. 

“I’m sure your hungry mind is very happy, then, having been fed a worm worthy of a feast,” she tries to say it snappily, but it still all comes out a bit flat. 

And Gale only laughs more – Gods, she wishes he would stop, so that the waves of a memory she can’t catch will finally recede – and it’s clear he’s not affected by her defenses. 

He finally tilts his eyes back forward, trained on her, a ghost of a smile still lingering, “Ah, well, not quite. I prefer feasts of words, of knowled-”

“You know what else is crucial to surviving this world?” Shadowheart interrupts, shifting her weight from one foot to the other in a clear sign of her losing patience, “Finding a healer, and getting rid of the worm. Shall we carry on?” 

Aruna shares a final glance with Gale, and can’t help but also find the corners of her mouth twitching up, a mirror to his own. For the first time in several days, it almost feels as though she might have a friend. The exact opposite result of what she had intended by trying to be particularly sharp and even a bit sarcastic, but she doesn’t fight it. 

Instead, she nods to Shadowheart, and Gale motions for her to take the front as he bows, “Lead on, as you were.” 

Gale is not Astarion. She has no instructions to save him. And yet, she can’t help but feel her defenses are too weak, given the way he’s beginning to crack them with so few prods. Maybe his inquiry regarding her stone had been in genuine curiosity, a hungry mind as he had put it. Maybe he’s just trying to be friendly. Maybe he has good intentions after all. 

Maybe she does know him, and maybe her letter had just forgotten to add another crucial reminder.

Maybe she’ll add it when she gets back to camp. 

She can see it now, as if the words have already been solidified by pen to paper: P.S.S DO NOT FORGET TO FIND A FRIEND IN GALE. 

—

Shadowheart is far from amused when Aruna leads them back to the beach. Yet, to be fair, it’s hers and Gale’s fault for following her so blindly.

She knows there’s no healer on the beach. But something is calling her back to it. 

“The-” Shadowheart starts the moment the sand comes back into view. Trailings of sand mingle with the dirt below their feet, “We’re back on the beach? Haven’t we already established that there’s no healer on this ravished thing?” 

“Good name for it,” Aruna whispers more for herself than her companions, considering adding that to her map when they retire for the night. She turns to face Shadowheart and forces a smile. A kind, disarming type of look in hopes that the girl will just trust her, “Call it a gut feeling. I just feel like we missed something here.” 

“A gut feeling? We’ve already looted all the corpses. What more could there possibly be?”

“We only checked one side of the beach.”

“Yes, because to get to the other side, we’ll have to go through the damn crash rubble. Filled with those- those brain things.” 

“There’s three of us. I have faith.”

“I-”

Gale’s head turns back and forth, bouncing between the arguing girls. He seems perfectly content to add any commentary, almost at ease with the current argument, until Aruna’s hand moves to her hip.

Aruna is quick to pull a dagger from one of her sheaths. Immediately, all relaxed state of being drains from Gale, him paling and stepping forward to finally insert himself between them, “Woah, now! I don’t think there’s any need to-”

“I’m not going to stab her, Gale,” Aruna huffs. Shadowheart doesn’t look very convinced as Aruna focuses on her once more, dagger still hovering up in their line of sight, “I was trying to make a point – we have weapons. Gale has magic. And you’ve said you’re a cleric, which means you can heal. I doubt those ‘brain things’ – devourers, by the way, is the correct term – will even lay a claw on us between all our varying skill sets. If you don’t want to go to the other side of the beach, then don’t. I can’t force you. But you’ve both put your faith in me this far, what harm can a little more do?” 

The speech works. She doesn’t expect it to. She expects them to laugh at her, or walk away from her, or for Shadowheart to even start a proper fight. 

They don’t. 

They follow her right into danger, no hesitation. The wizard she’d saved from a portal in some cliff-side rock and the cleric she’d awoken on the beach when she’d stumbled upon her, faithful to her to a damaging fault. Even when the intellect devourers do attack, just as Shadowheart had worried they would, neither utter a single word so much as sounding like the well-deserved ‘I told you so’. 

They just use their skill sets. The very ones Aruna had pointed out. Her daggers, Shadowheart’s cleric artillery, Gale’s infallible spells – they use them for all they’re worth, until each of those brains are unrecognizable on the ground. 

And best (or possibly worst) of all, Aruna discovers something new about herself.

Her magic. 

She hadn’t even been sure if she held any useful skills beyond being decently good with her daggers thus far, but as one of those brains had trampled towards her, she had felt it. A warm hum beneath her skin, erratic and wild as can be, begging for release. 

Release it, she did. The final brain falls from the power of the fire bolt that flies from her fingertips, not even leaving her so much as marked. 

Gale notices immediately, Shadowheart still scoping out the area for any more enemies. 

“A fellow magic wielder, it seems,” he grins, motioning vaguely to her hands, “Now, if only we knew what kind.” 

What kind? 

“If you have no memory of your life before the ship, I’m correct to assume you aren’t very knowledgeable in the boundaries of your magic, yes?” She hadn’t even realized she had said the thought out loud until Gale is in front of her, still rambling, a light of intrigue in his eyes, “There’s wizards such as yours truly,” he pauses, and motions over himself in flourish, “As well as warlocks. Those, however, usually answer to a patron. So unless you’ve had any strange callings to any great deities over the last few nights… well, it’s off the table, I suppose.” 

“I haven’t,” she croaks, still looking down at her fingertips in shock. Magic. She still feels it now. Probably could have felt it this entire time, had she not been so distracted by the tadpole, the headaches, the memory loss. It’s fluid and tangible, something bursting through her veins for her taking, “I- What would that even feel like?”

“You’d know,” Gale says most assuredly, “Trust me. Besides, your patron probably would have already found you by now.”

“So, I’m a wizard?” 

Gale is quick to shake his head as Shadowheart walks back over to them, “Not necessarily. It’s certainly an option, and would make you a magic wielder who learned their knowledge of the Weave through studies. But there’s also other possibilities – sorcerers, paladins, clerics. They all have the ability to wield some magic. Druids, too, although theirs are usually more of the healing nature. And, well… the nature variety in general.” 

All words that make little sense to Aruna. She gives it a moment, waits to see if her muddled brain might catch up and offer her a little help in understanding, but it’s all in vain. 

“I should know these things,” she whispers, so quietly that both Gale and Shadowheart have to lean in to hear her small tone. It’s the first time she’s openly shown such emotion with them – something like devastation, laced with frustration. The inability to remember, to know, as they do. “Even if my memories of my life before this evade me, I should know these things.” 

Shadowheart speaks up in a tone unlike any other she had used on their journey, “They might still return to you yet, or there might be a greater reason for it all. Don’t give up hope.”

“And if they don’t return to you,” Gale interjects, the air of casualty returning to him as he gives a lopsided grin, “Well, I can always teach you about it all. I have books back at camp.” 

“You have books?” Out of all the things just said, it was probably the most odd for Aruna to latch onto, but she still looks at him befuddled, “Where in the Hells did you just get… books on all this? Did you loot them off of-”

“Bag of holding,” he answers as though it was obvious. 

Great. Awesome. A bag of holding. Because Aruna totally knew what that was. 

“Let’s just keep moving,” she moves on, letting it go. Maybe she’ll take him up on his offer, maybe she won’t. If anything else, she’ll just inquire more about whatever the Hells a bag of holding is later on, back at camp, “I can see the other side of the beach over there.” 

It’s Shadowheart and Gale’s turn to exchange a look, and slowly but surely, it’s feeling as though more than just the tadpoles in their mind are connecting them. Threads are being spun, small connections that are painfully mundane yet easily connecting these three strangers. They could all be friends, if they really wanted to. It might even make their survival a little bit easier. It might make their travels a little lighter.

Aruna can worry about friendship once she’s found Astarion, though. The faceless stranger mentioned in passing on a letter, the one person she’s been tasked with saving.

She doesn’t even know who he, or she, or they are. This mysterious name – it really means nothing to her. All she has to reasonably cling to it is that ridiculous letter. If she were to confide in her two companions about it, she’d probably get an earful, and truly be abandoned. They wanted to seek out a cure to the imminent danger within their heads, and she was sending them on a wild goose chase for Astarion. 

Does this Astarion even have a tadpole as well? Is that how she’s meant to save them? And if they don’t, does that mean that they’ll help her with her issue first, and then she saves them? 

Does she have to save them in order to rid herself of the tadpole? 

It’s all giving her a headache by the time their group of three is slowly walking up the slope of the sliver of beach they’ve discovered, taking small yet sturdy steps along the side of the crashed ship. Gale, thankfully, has stopped his nervous rambling (because, Aruna realized, that’s what it was. His nerves, controlling his tongue endlessly, trying to fill the dreadful silence for even the smallest bit of comfort. It almost makes her feel bad for being grateful for the quiet).

She must have been thinking about her questions hard enough for some mysterious power out in the Universe to hear her, however. Because they’d hardly been walking for a few minutes, she’d hardly been left to all her confusion and cursing of the damn name for such little time, when she sees him. 

Him. Decent height, pure white hair, pale skin that is nearly blinding in the harsh sunlight. 

Him. With eyes so red, she can see them from this distance. They almost match the shades of crimson that haunt her nightmares. 

Him. Who is currently, pathetically, calling out for help. 

“What the-” Shadowheart begins. And Aruna doesn’t notice it, but she starts to reach out to grab the elf by her elbow before she’s beginning to dart up the hill, falling right into the trap. 

Both of her companions, Shadowheart in her guarded glory and Gale in his perpetual state of anxiety, can’t even stop her. Neither dare to breathe out a word as she approaches the pale elf, but she can feel their disapproval as she comes up beside him. 

“You,” he breathes out, half crouched, eyes darting towards the bushes, “Hurry. I’ve got one of those brain things cornered,” he turns and points towards the bushes, assuming where the said brain thing has been lured, “There, in the grass. You can kill it, can’t you? Like you killed the others.” 

She should have been smarter. She should have been more perceptive. She should have heard Gale’s deep breath as he prepared to warn her against getting any closer. 

But she wasn’t. 

She’s a damned fool, a lamb to the slaughter, as she nods and whispers out an immediate, “Of course.” 

There’s no brain thing that has been cornered. The only thing that has been lured is Aruna; one moment, she’s leaning in to get a closer look into the bushes, and the next, a wild boar is skittering out. 

That’s not what catches her off guard.

The blade to her throat is what does it. Quickly, with unsettling ease, before she feels the elf’s arms wrapping around her and bringing them both down to the ground. 

Oh, fuck me. 

He has her trapped. She knows it, he knows it, and both her companions know it. She was an idiot and got exactly what was coming for her. 

All her survival instincts kick in immediately, causing her to trash in his arms, a painful whine coming out as she can feel the cold metal digging deeper into the delicate skin of her neck. 

And all the pale elf does is shush her gently, “Sh, sh, sh, sh. Not a sound. Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours.” 

His words do little to deter her. He starts to argue with her companions who have finally come to their senses, keeping a safe distance all while spilling out carefully calculated threats to the stranger, but she can’t hear them over the blood rushing in her ears. One hand feebly grabs onto his that is wrapped around the hilt of the dagger, the other reaching for his elbow. She tries to tug the weapon away from her, but he’s strong. It’s a fruitless battle. 

Aruna swears she hears Shadowheart insist she needs her alive. Gale saying something regarding the way he’ll make the elf regret it if he brings Aruna any harm. She can’t be sure. 

The longer his steady grip on her shoulder lingers, the more familiar it begins to become. His leg, trapping both of hers so that she can’t kick out of his grasp, is also familiar. Familiar, familiar, familiar. 

His lips are moving as he stares up at her companions, but it’s only once his eyes narrow back on Aruna that her heart slows and she can hear him properly once more. 

“Now,” he nearly purrs, voice low, dangerous, “I saw you on the ship, didn’t I?” 

She presses her lips together tightly, still trying to maintain her struggle to get out of his grasp. Her teeth grit from the effort, arms shaking violently. 

“Nod,” he commands, nearly condescendingly, and synapses fire off in the darkest corners of her brain. 

I know that voice. 

She almost feels as though she has no control over her body as her head nods on instinct, blade dropping from her neck to her chest now. 

“Splendid. And now, you’re going to tell me what you and those tentacled freaks did to me.” 

I know that voice. 

The same thing deep within her chest that had unfurled at the sight of Gale’s laughter, that had called her to the beach, that had lit up with recognition at the sight of her daggers – it’s wide awake now. Staring through her eyes at his own rubies, tracing every outline of every wrinkle, every curve, every imperfection. She knows his voice. She knows him. 

It weeps at the sight of him, and she has no idea why. The same strings that clench when she reads over her letter, when she let her eyes trace over the words ‘My dearest Aruna’ and the heavily underlined name of Astarion, are now pulled taut. 

She knows him. She doesn’t know how or why. But she swears it on her life, she knows this pale elf. 

She can’t explain the echoing hollow ache that rings out at the up-close sight of him any other way. She knows him, knew him, and had somehow lost him.

Her lack of an answer clearly irritates him, but he’s cut off by whatever quip he had perched on his tongue by the sudden connection. She doesn’t understand it, whether it be due to the new rolling thunder of the most intense deja vu she’s experienced yet or if it were a simple side effect of the tadpole, but each connection via the tadpole has become more painful. More intense. 

She’d first noticed the difference between it happening with Shadowheart versus Gale. 

And now, she notices it an impossible amount with this stranger. 

It’s nauseating as their minds connect, sharp and quick as if their two brains had been laying in wait for this very moment. It feels as though it goes beyond the tadpoles, beyond their shared affliction and terrible predicament. 

She sees bustling taverns and lively night streets, yes, but there’s something more there. Something missing. She’d felt it with Gale as well, an emptiness neither of them could seemingly unlock. But with this one, it’s far more intense than it had been previously. Like gaping wounds being presented to her, interspersed with the exchange of both his memories and… well, the lack of hers beyond the Nautiloid ship, she sees gaps. Spaces to be filled. Questions to be answered. 

I know that voice, the thing in her whimpers, I know this man. 

She doesn’t even care to hold onto the memory. She lets it slip away, wishing the pain would, too. 

But it lingers. 

Not just for her, but for him as well. His grip entirely loosens on her as he winces, a soft gasp falling from his lips as he begins to question, “What was that-”

She doesn’t care to listen to his question. In an instant, she’s pulled away, rolling out of his reach before standing steady on both feet. The pain leftover from the connection fuels her as she holds a hand out, and her magic thrums steadily with her heart as electricity crackles in the palm. 

Neither Gale nor Shadowheart make a single move as she holds out that palm, watching the elf’s every moment as he also rises to meet her. But he’s no longer hostile, hand holding his dagger now limp as he lets it rest at his side. 

“You’re… not one of them,” he says slowly, shame briefly flickering over his features before being replaced with something more despairing, “They took you. Just the same as me.” 

Her fingers shake in front of her as blue bolts continue to flicker amongst them, forming spasming webs between her knuckles. She could obliterate him, if she wanted. Right here, right now, she finally has the upper-hand. 

But she doesn’t. And in her hesitation, she can see him still reeling just as she was from their connection. She swears she can hear the pounding in his head syncing to hers, perfectly in time with one another.

The thing inside her claims to know him, but she doesn’t even know his name. 

I know him. Don’t hurt him. 

She sort of hates that internal dialogue. That true monster inside of her that had been the reason she hadn’t hesitated in her running to his rescue. It was the reason that she’d ended up with a knife against her throat, and she’s praying it’s not the reason for her death as she listens and closes her hand into a soft fist, releasing the hold on her magic momentarily. 

He watches her do it. His face relaxes, a charming smile gracing it now instead. 

“And to think, I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards. My sincerest apologies.” 

She highly doubts just how sincere that apology is, but she’s unphased all the same. 

“Apology accepted,” she sighs, swiping her palm on the side of her now dirty pants. Somewhere beneath the dust she’s now covered in, there’s blood from the intellect devourers, but that’s a problem for tonight. Not now, “I would have done the same thing.”

No, I wouldn’t have. From the very first moment I saw you, all I wanted to do was help. Every instinct in me screamed to help you. 

She’s lying, but she really doesn’t care that she’s lying. He has a tadpole. He can join them. She doesn’t care.

Back in the forefront of her mind, even ahead of the damned tadpole and the need for a healer, the need to keep them all alive, her brain is back to whispering of this Astarion. The quicker she carries out this predictable conversation, the quicker they can get back on the road. And the quicker she can find whoever Astarion is-

“I’m out of wine and flowers, so I hope an introduction will suffice,” his blood-red eyes meet hers, and something in her gut twists. As if she already knows. As if she’s just realized that she’s missed the obvious. “My name is Astarion. I was in Balder’s Gate when-”

Astarion. Save Astarion. Astarion. 

All the breath leaves her lungs as she interrupts, “You’re Astarion?”

[pixie-felix]

Oh, Innie is ABSOLUTELY GLOWING inside and out from the fact that you're solely focusing on him! Probably moans a little louder and whimpers and rolls his hips so prettily if he's not already in that fuzzy headspace. (He's so going to tease his hyungs later about them being stuck just watching) Call it poetic justice for all their teasing and chasing him down to give him affection🤣

I didn't see that post but I'll check it out after this. Tee hee, when I tell you Hannie is going away over the top with all of this. The extra special posts of him doing things like humping your pillow or favorite plushie that he got for you while wearing some of your favorite things to see him in on his private accounts>>>

When Channie gets involved you know you might be in deep shit because he's actually on the verge of begging you to come grab your man. "STAY can't handle this. Fix it!" It's simultaneously the most focused and distracted JiJi has ever been. If they're on schedule during one of those days I'm sure Chris is going to send him home because he CANNOT. It's a rare, monthly occurrence. 2-3 times maybe during September, but it's worth the price unless it happens right before tour.

And if there's poly stuff going on at the same time? Best BELIEVE if Jinnie is feeling even slightly bratty, he's helping Han with teasing you. The two pabos are must definitely accidentally going to slip up and post the wrong audio on Bubble. STAY will have a field day and poor Chan is just stressed tf out.

Yeah, if you thought Han was bad with Hyunjinnie he's worse. Sure, if Han is by himself in his room when you have plans to ravage him, in 45 seconds he's already scrambled to the door with a faint thud to open it. If brat!Jinnie is present you'll be waiting for up to 3 hours. Just depends on when they got started. And he'll video call you showing you exactly what they're doing as you wait outside the locked door.

When the door is finally unlocked, of course balance and order has to be restored. After the day you have planned for them they'll both go back to being your good sweet still easily worked up boys like this never happened

--🍭

Ah yes, hornypaboracha. But who is the third member? 🤔

Have you had a bad day? Is your sub misbehaving? Are they trying to make you jealous by locking themselves in your bedroom without you? Don't worry, pixie has the solution for you: make them jealous right back.

You've had a terrible day at work, and all you want is to work of some steam with your sweet subby boyfriends. But Han is sulking because you had the audacity to go to work (the rent doesn't pay itself), and now Brat!Hyunjin doesn't want to open the door? That's fine.

Because sweet boy Innie is always avaliable for you.

So rather than wait outside the door like some lovesick puppy (or Han), you just dial up the maknae and ten minutes later you have parts of him in the palm of your hand.

Imagine the look on Jinnie's face when he video calls you, all sassy and smug with a whiney Han tied up in the background, only to have a breathless, glowy Innie answer it. Hyunjin asks where you are, Innie flips the camera so the brat gets an OF worthy view of you working Innie with two hands and possibly your mouth.

Really, it would be rude not to sleep over at Jeongin's after he was so sweet to let you work out your frustrations. It's hard for him to relax with Han and Hyunjin blowing up both your phones, so you should probably turn them off to make sure you get a good night's sleep.

OH LOOK WE'VE COME FULL CIRCLE BACK TO I.N AGAIN 🥳

[sunset-peril]

The Wolfbred Chronicles - The "Lost" Tribe - Part One - Moonlight, Markings and Musings

“You're… Wolfbred?” Zelda couldn't help herself but laugh. 

Her bodyguard looked up at her. His face looked like he wasn't sure whether he was offended or very, very confused by her laughter. 

“No, no… Father hates Wolfbred. He said he'd never knight another one. You're a personal bodyguard knight, Link. Father would never.” 

Urbosa watched as the small, previously-assumed-to-be-Hylian man just looked at Zelda with a completely blank stare. The moon was on his head, painting his eyebrows white along with the mythical swirl of a wolf long gone that was shimmering on his forehead. She pressed on her temple as she tried to recall how her dearest friend interacted with these creatures, and how she determined that they were Wolfbred. Eventually, she bent down to his level and pointed firmly at his hand. “Give, Link, give.” 

Almost instantly, Link offered up his hand. 

“Wow! How did you do that? I've never seen the Tiny Princess get more than a black stare.” 

“Wolfbred were a passion project of my dearest friend. I remember she gave them orders in a particular format. Simple orders in a simple format. I also remember something that could prove… particularly challenging in our future here with Link.”

“But what's with the hand, Urbosa?” Revali tipped his beak from her. “Did you just want to order the guy around?”

“The Queen told me a Wolfbred could be identified by the wrist. I needed his hand to check his wrist to see if he is truly Wolfbred, like I believe he is.” Urbosa retrieved her scimitar. “Catch, Link, catch.” She gently tossed the blade, handle outwards, to Link. A soldier like himself should catch it no problem. 

And he did catch it… at first. His hand grasped the handle, but he dropped the blade when he turned it over. 

Urbosa snatched his hand back, he leaned away from her.

“Okay, so the so-called hero is clumsy, what does that tell us?”

“He's not clumsy. He's Wolfbred.” She held up his hand. “See?” 

“What in the-?” Revali muttered. “Those are some messed up thumbs. No wonder he couldn't hold onto your dumb sword.”

Urbosa bit her tongue. “His thumb is set back, partially on the wrist here.” Link yanked on his hand, she spoke soft. “Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you, Link.”

“Is that all, Urbosa? I fail to see how a simple mutation of the wrist was enough for exile.”

“No, of course. That's just a unique trait of the Wolfbred. He's got the marks on his face too.”

“But… he looks so much like a Hylian.” Zelda wanted to touch his markings, but Link kept pulling his head away when she reached out. “I'd expect him to have fur, or a tail at least.” 

“But of course! They're supposed to be super soldiers. Part of their charm was that you couldn't identify them from afar, which meant enemy armies couldn't target them as easily. Once upon a time, the Hyruliean army was primarily Wolfbred.” She sighed. “We Gerudo were nearly ravaged by the Wolfbred of those days.”

“Oh boy, wolf in the name and descended from war crimes? Wouldn't be surprised if he was Rinkū's son.” 

Link turned his head to Revali after hearing that name. 

“R-Rinkū's… son? His father is named Ordon!”

Link whipped his head back to Zelda. 

“Ah, Tiny Princess. Revali's not talking about a literal son. More like a descendant. A great warhound from ancient times. He was basically the pet of an ancient queen. When she was killed in battle, he… kinda went on a rampage. Goron, Rito, Zora, Hylian… but especially the Gerudo. He and his pack of warhounds slaughtered without mercy… much like this Calamity Ganon is planning to do now.” 

“We… Gerudo have since come to forgive. His queen is believed to have been slaughtered by Ganon, who is believed to have once been Gerudo. If we will not stand to have Ganon's actions associated with our people… then we should not do the same to the descendants of Rinkū. However, I know not all of Hyrule feels the same way. My dearest friend risked her reputation to free the Wolfbred from exile…” 

“It is said that the queen's sole female relative was the only one who could command them to stop. The king himself found his orders on deaf ears. Probably why your father dumped him off on you. He has the Sword, so we have to keep him around, but hey, the female Royal will keep him in line.”

Zelda's face exuded fear, disgust and anger. 

Urbosa bent down to her. “Don't listen to Revali. Hyrule is known for its bloody history. This is simply his. But of course, if Gerudo and Hylia's own can commit atrocities and not be remembered by them, then Link here shouldn't either. He's a sweet boy. I assure you, his fear of you greatly outweighs your fear of him.” 

“You… said there was a complication with him?”

“Ah, yes. You see, because the Wolfbred were exiled for so long… ah, this might be easier to show you.” Urbosa looked towards Link. “Link, there's a carriage with horses near the stable. It will hurt if you get hit.” 

Link turned his head at his name, but didn't respond to the rest of the sentence. 

“Urbosa, where are you going with this nonsense?”

Urbosa held her hand up to silence the bird. “Link,  there's a hit with stable near the hurt. It will horses if you get carriage.”

Link continued to stare at her, staying perfectly still and emotionless. 

“As you can see, little bird, Revali, Daruk… plain and simple, it doesn't matter if I speak coherently to him. Link can't speak Hylian.” 

~~~~

Hyrule's Final Stand Masterlist

[undermounts]

bite the hand - chapter 1: slow knife

pairing: Astarion/The Dark Urge

summary: Astarion helps her hide the body. Romance ensues.

“Power,” Irileth says softly, and she is surprised by the silkenness of her own voice. It sounds like it comes from another person, another life. “Is that all you like about me?”

Astarion’s laugh is a sultry and wicked thing. “Darling,” he croons, and with his free hand, he reaches out to twirl a lock of her white hair around his slender finger. “There are a great many things I like about you.”

Ah. She wonders just how much he would like it if she told him what a pretty corpse he would make.

check it out on AO3

It seemed fitting that Irileth should return to the world surrounded by violence and smoke. Her rebirth went much like she assumes it had before: with her kicking, screaming, and covered in blood.

The nautiloid, the mind flayers, the cambions—all of it felt like a too-vivid nightmare. When Irileth first surged back into consciousness, sodden on the shore of the ravaged beach, she’d nearly mistaken her time aboard the illithid ship for a vicious hallucination.

But sure enough, the wreckage is there, spread out on the beach below her, a heaping mass of smoke and cinder. The rubbery material that made up the entire structure of the ship juts out in jagged ends. It is the vivid purple of a fresh and perfect bruise, but as Irileth stares down at the ship, a different memory comes to mind: glossy white peaking through shimmering red, like a pearl embedded in sumptuous, briny flesh. Cartilage.

The nautiloid is a beast, some organic monstrosity, that carried her, screeching through the Hells. It has been two days since the crash, and still, it moves below, massive tentacles twitching in the shallow sea. Irileth will be glad when it’s finally dead, if such things can die, although it fills her with an almost glib satisfaction to see it slowly burn. 

Perhaps death can take its time.

Irileth reflects on the chaos, the catastrophic event that marked the beginning of her new, wretched life. Somewhere below is the pod that held her captive—for how long, even now she cannot say. When she roused to wakefulness sometime after the tadpole insertion, she threw herself against the pod door until it gave way and, all flailing limbs and atrophied muscles, she struck the floor of the nautiloid with a pathetic thud. 

The scent she remembers well: the acrid tang of smoke in her throat, the sulfur-stink of burnt hair filling her nose. The memory alone nearly makes her gag, the sense of revulsion at odds with the almost pleasurable shiver that runs down her spine.

How her head had pounded! Blood loud in her ears, it drowned out the din of a nautiloid under siege. In it, she heard the only scrap of self that remained in this strange, empty body.

Irileth. My name is Irileth.

By comparison, camp tonight is quiet, although not quite at peace. They are camped in the mouth of the overgrown ruins they cleared out that afternoon, not far from the Druid’s Grove they plan to enter come morning. Nearby, Gale broods by the fire, studying the scrolls he found in an ancient study in the depths of the temple below. Shadowheart has retreated to the furthest corner of the pavilion, her makeshift tent conveniently planted on the exact opposite side of the site from Lae’zel, who is silently polishing her armor with a near religious zeal.

And Astarion—well, Irileth tries not to look at him too much.

She can sense him though. The tadpole has made them all too aware of each other’s presence these past few days. Irileth knows the elf is sprawled out by the fire on the only decent bedroll they’d managed to recover today. And of course, he’s reading—of all things—one of the books they’d found in Withers’ chamber. 

As if this were some sort of vacation, not an abduction. Absurd.

Although, he hasn’t turned a page in quite some time. Either it’s dense reading, or, Irileth has the uncanny feeling that he is watching her too.

Astarion is clever. And obviously, a performer. From the very start, he tried to deceive her, claiming he had “one of those brain things” cornered, before pointing a dagger at her throat. Yes, clever indeed. Nevermind the fact that she’s fairly certain her own blade would have found his sternum first.

Irileth holds one of her daggers now as she thinks, cradling it with one hand while its point presses into a fingertip of the other, the pressure just shy of breaking skin. 

She quickly discovered that she is remarkably skilled with a blade. It was an easy thing, to sever the wings of an imp, to sink the blade into the gelatinous bodies of the intellect devourers that scuttled among the wreckage. Pale pink cerebrums quivering, the foul little beasts died shrieking—one, two, three, went the simple beat. What her mind forgets, the body remembers.

Even Shadowheart seemed impressed.

“You fight well,” the cleric had said approvingly, tossing her head back, black braid swaying like a pendulum. She held herself with pride, chin tilted up, and motes of golden light still fluttered around her fingertips. Behind her, ribbons of smoke curled up from the lumpy body of a charred devourer. “Perhaps our survival isn’t such a distant prospect.”

But the intellect devourers were one thing. The bodies in the temple behind her… Irileth shivers in remembrance of the way they fell beneath her blade, how each little death spurred her on, left her craving more.

Where did she garner such an affinity for weapons? (For death?) Any will do, but daggers, she thinks now, must have always been her favorite. Why else do her senses jump to attention with such fervor? The weight of them are familiar in her hands and Irileth feels that this knowledge is intimate: the sting of a slice, the pressure under which skin will give, part, and burst.

When she reaches out for the how and why she knows these things, there is only blankness. A void where the whole of her used to be. It makes her shudder with apprehension when she thinks of how little she knows of herself.

A breeze flutters up the cliff face where Irileth stands vigil, bringing with it the still glowing embers of the wreck. From this distance, the stench of the illithid ship is nearly diminished, mostly smothered by the freshwater earthiness of the River Chionthar and the surrounding flora.

“It won’t be long now,” a voice croons to Irileth’s right and she startles, suppressing the urge to glare at Astarion as he sidles up beside her, his gaze fixed on the wreckage. 

“For it to die, I mean,” he adds, glancing sidelong at her. “That’s what you’re waiting for, isn’t it?”

Quiet, too, Irileth thinks with an almost bitter admiration, adding onto the list of things she needs to be wary of around him. When he wants to be, at least.

There’s a certain curl to his lips, just visible in some turns of the firelight, and she knows he enjoys having the jump on her.

“Do you think it can?” she asks, lifting a brow. “I’ve been wondering.”

“All things do,” Astarion replies lightly. “Or at least that is my hope.”

“I think I’ll rest easier when it does,” Irileth admits carefully, well aware of how his crimson eyes, just a shade darker than her own, seem to pierce right through her. As much as he likes to feign indifference toward her and the others, Astarion is searching for something, always. Information, perhaps, to use or to be wary of.

“I agree with you wholeheartedly on that front, my dear.” He sounds almost somber, Irileth thinks, as his attention lingers on her for a moment more. But then Astarion shifts back to the nautiloid, where his edge whets once more. “But I certainly won’t mind if it suffers a little while longer.” 

It unnerves Irileth, how open Astarion is with his casual displays of cruelty and violence. It feels perverse, like he is, albeit unknowingly, making a mockery of the restraint she so desperately clings to. Just last night, he’d asked her how she’d like to be killed, should ceremorphosis finally take place. 

Knives, poison, strangulation—whatever you’d prefer.

She’d nearly laughed at his question, ruled by her giddy madness. As if she could really pick just one.

But in some part, Irilieth is relieved and grateful to know that this well of violence she seems to carry within her is not so singular. How odd, the things that bring people together.

“Then we are in agreement on that as well,” she confesses and Astarion barks out a laugh. His laugh is harsh and startling, and it might just be the realest thing about him so far.

“You know, you’re quite fun when you want to be.” He hums, amused, and returns her stare with a look of appraisal. “That is, when you aren’t playing the hero, I mean. Watching you fuss over our friends is so sweet, it’s sickening.”

“I try,” Irileth replies dryly and Astarion’s mouth curves in amusement as he steps forward, pressing into her space. Stubbornly, Irileth forces herself to stay put, which only seems to add to his interest. She is starting to understand his game—how he likes to pick her brain, make her react to him. Like he’s testing how far he can push.

“I mean it. It was a spectacle, darling,” Astarion continues, his voice dropping to a near-conspiratorial purr. The tone of it sends a sweet trill through Irileth’s bones. “Watching you dispatch those bandits today with such a flourish! It really makes me wonder who exactly you were before all of this.”

The laugh Irileth releases is rueful. 

“You and me both,” she mutters and Astarion rewards her with one of his coy little smiles. (How many men and women have fawned over that smile? He offers it like a gift, like a treat, like a trap. She wants to take it.)

“You must admit, it’s a fascinating little mystery,” Astarion drawls, tilting his head as his eyes roam over her. “Very intriguing, your memory loss. Perhaps you were a bard? No. A thief? An assassin? Hm, yes, that would track.”

Irileth’s stomach twists at that and she fixes him with a look. “You’re teasing.”

“I am,” he admits, white teeth shining in the firelight. His smirk is in full bloom now, and those red eyes, so magnetic, narrow. “It’s too much fun with you. But I might be right. You’re quite the punisher, after all.”

Irileth’s mouth dries, even as her grip on the dagger firms and the tip presses harder into the pad of her forefinger. Any more force and it will burst skin. “It was just battle, Astarion. They would have killed us if we didn’t fight back. Nothing more.”

Astarion grins like they both know she’s lying.

“Of course, darling, of course. It all worked out in the end. We got into the temple and picked up our very own magical skeleton as well,” he says flippantly, brandishing his book through the air toward Withers. His expression turns sly as he thumbs his chin innocently. “But there’s nothing wrong with a bit of pain for those who deserve it.”

A shudder passes through Irileth, and the sensation is not entirely unpleasant. She wants to agree, wholeheartedly. It almost feels as if her very marrow calls for it.

But Irileth reins in the impulse. There is a feeling in her gut that makes her hesitate. Perhaps it is the phrasing she takes issue with, or the intent, but she is… conflicted. That familiar headache is starting again, a throbbing at the base of her neck that sparks through her temples.

“And who,” she asks, rolling the hilt of her dagger in one slow circle, “decides who deserves it?”

She has surprised him with this question. Astarion’s brows lift and his eyes dart across her face, searching. He has the same look about him, Irileth thinks, when he’s scouting an area and checking for traps. 

(What a cautious life one must lead, to be constantly anticipating that which would hurt you.)

“You really are asking, aren’t you?” Astarion huffs, drawing back. “It is up to the powerful, my sweet,” he answers as if it is obvious. “He who holds the cards decides how they are dealt. Today, that was you.”

A thrill runs through Irileth at that, one she quickly tries to tamp down.

“Don’t look so scandalized,” Astarion tuts and he grazes the back of his hand down her arm. His fingers are cold and dry. 

Like death, Irileth thinks, suppressing the urge to shiver in delight.  

“I quite like a bit of power,” he says softly, and gods above, he is laying it on thick tonight, this seduction. “It’s… alluring, especially on you.”

Hells. Astarion truly is quite a vision, even when he’s looking at her like she’s something to be toyed with. Perhaps especially then. 

Irileth is overcome with the sudden desire to smile back at him. It’s adorable, she thinks, brazenly, madly—the notion that he could pose a real threat to her (Hah!). Astarion could never truly harm her, but maybe… Irileth’s blood burns hot. Oh, maybe he might bite back.

Wretched thing , Irileth admonishes herself, for that idea should not appeal to her so. But she has lost the run of herself, now. Emboldened and a little incensed, Irileth finds that she wants to indulge him in his little game.

“Power,” Irileth says softly, and she is surprised by the silkenness of her own voice. It sounds like it comes from another person, another life. “Is that all you like about me?”

Astarion’s laugh is a sultry and wicked thing. “Darling,” he croons, and with his free hand, he reaches out to twirl a lock of her white hair around his slender finger. “There are a great many things I like about you.”

Ah. She wonders just how much he would like it if she told him what a pretty corpse he would make.

Irileth jerks away, her heartbeat suddenly thunderous in her ears as her hair snags around Astarion’s finger, then gives and uncoils. Revulsion and shame roll through her at such a depraved thought— where had it come from? (Inside, inside!)

Hastily, she shoves her dagger into her waistband, struck with the irrational fear that her own hands might act on their own accord. Something stings, badly, though she’s not sure what it is, nor does she care.

“Are you alright, dear?” Astarion’s voice is still a sugary drawl, but there is alarm, no doubt on his face. Irileth can tell he is suspicious of her behavior; his gaze was magnetic before, but now it pierces, as if he’s found a gap in her defenses and plans to twist the knife in. “You’ve gone rather pale.”

“I’m fine,” Irileth says hastily, taking an unsteady step back as she feels her head pulse and a cold sweat break out across her skin. “I’m just—tired. I think I need to rest.”

“Yes, of course you are. It’s been a long day,” Astarion replies mildly, although there is a sudden rigidity about him as he looks her over. He swallows, flickering shadows contorting across the long pale column of his neck. “You go rest, I’ll keep watch tonight.”

Irileth nods gratefully, desperate to get away from him, to put space in between him and her depravity.

Though she doesn’t get far. With a sharp yank, Astarion pulls her to a halt. Those crafty fingers—the same that delicately twisted her hair only moments ago—are now wrapped around her wrist like a vise. Irileth is surprised to find that it hurts.

Then gently, as if to make up for startling her, Astarion lifts her hand up between them.

Her finger, the same one she’d held against her dagger’s point, is a bloody mess. Crimson slides down the length of her forearm and drips off the end of her elbow. The droplets strike the earth with a soft pat, pat, pat.

“I think,” Astarion says slowly, his voice thick as he stares steadily at her face, unwavering, “you should get that patched up.”

And then he releases her. 

Irileth merely nods, thinking nothing of the ache she feels in her wrist, or how her wicked heart races at the sight of blood, even her own. She stumbles toward Shadowheart and thinks nothing of the way Astarion’s pupils have dilated, nearly dwarfing the red of his irises, until much later, in the dead of another night.

Shadowheart is not amused.

“You should reserve your knifeplay for the battlefield,” the cleric chastises with a disappointed sneer. “Next time, I might not be so gracious.”

Irileth sits quietly, watching as Shadowheart drags a wet rag across her forearm and all around her hand, wiping away the blood that spilled from her newly healed finger. The remnants of Shadowheart’s magic still linger, a pleasant coolness that has washed over Irileth, soothing all of the aches she’s collected throughout the day, save for the incessant beating against her skull. 

It feels… familiar almost. Like she’s been in this position before, pliant beneath a healer’s hand. But when Irileth reaches out to grasp it, the memory slips away.

“I’m sorry,” Irileth mumbles, curling and straightening her finger. “My hand slipped. I’ll take care of it next time.”

“Will you now?” Shadowheart scoffs, affronted, as her grip on Irileth’s arm tightens. “And do you know how to stitch a wound?”

Irileth bites the inside of her cheek and thinks that she just might. She doesn’t say this though, simply shrugs.

“Just as I thought,” Shadowheart huffs, shaking her head. “‘Next time’… Spare me.”

But despite her chuffing, Shadowheart’s hold eases and her last few strokes of the rag are nearly gentle. She likes this, Irileth realizes. Not just being the healer, but taking care of people.

Not that she would ever tell Shadowheart that.

Irileth gnaws on her cheek a little while longer, feeling the flesh turn raw and metallic before she asks, tentatively, “What do you think I was? Before all of this?”

Shadowheart’s green eyes flick up to meet her. Usually so guarded and flinty, they search Irileth’s face, slowly scrutinizing, and come away with something akin to… pity. She sighs and sits back on her knees, laying the rag in her lap. 

“It still bothers you, your memory loss. Well,” Shadowheart sighs, moving her gaze over the campsite in a long drag. “I suppose I understand that. Though it’s not as uncommon as you think.”

Irileth raises her brows, but the cleric doesn’t elaborate. 

“I don’t quite know who you were,” Shadowheart admits after a few moments have gone by. She plucks at the rag as she considers, the perfect white crescents of her nails pulling reddish brown threads free. “You remind me of—” 

Her voice breaks off suddenly, and Shadowheart’s expression turns stricken with alarm, then confusion. 

Irileth frowns. “Shadowheart?”

The cleric blinks, then shakes her head, pursing her lips. “I’m—sorry. I thought you reminded me of someone, but the name escapes me.” Her smile is tense and bitter. “You might take comfort in knowing that you are not the only one who is missing memories. Though, before you start to wonder: our afflictions are not the same. Mine was… voluntary. For my mission. I can say no more than that.”

“That sounds…extreme,” Irileth observes. It seems unfathomable, to choose the endless void that sits at the center of her. The yawning emptiness of self.

“It is.” A certain steeliness returns to Shadowheart. “It is not a sacrifice undertaken lightly for—for my Lady.”

Irileth, unsurprisingly, does not know much about the gods that govern Faerûn beyond what she has recovered from one of the books they found in Withers’ tomb. Right now, all she has is guesswork regarding which altar Shadowheart worships at.

“The gods seem to demand a lot,” Irileth muses and Shadowheart laughs, a soft little sound that dies quickly in the air.

“You’ve no idea,” Shadowheart replies with a surprising weariness. Then she straightens up, eyes narrowing, and tosses the rag aside. “But back to your original question. There’s something about you that I recognized. When you killed that mind flayer in the wreckage.”

Irileth remembers the event well, the creature pinned beneath the rubble, purple flesh shining. Glittering orange pearls of malice. They’d found it on the first day, she, Shadowheart, and Astarion.

“It was going to die anyway,” the cleric continues, and although her hands twist about, fingers running over the plaits of her hair, her gaze is steady. “But you still killed it. You were so… gentle. Like a lover.”

Irileth swallows, dread unspooling in her stomach even as her heart thumps with glee.

“You cradled its head as you pushed your knife through its skull.” Shadowheart’s voice was flat and almost ponderous, but here, it inflects with unease, “You were slow about it. You needn’t have been.”

Irileth’s mouth feels dry. She hadn’t realized it looked quite like that. She remembers only that she’d wanted it to suffer, for what it had done, for what it tried to do to her.

It tried to command her to love it.

“It captured us. It wanted to control us,” Irileth replies, defensive.

“Yes. And I am glad it’s dead.” Shadowheart is unwavering. “And still, you were unnecessary.”

“What did it remind you of?” she asks, nails biting into her knees as she presses her hands into the tops of her thighs to hide how they shake. “You said you recognized something.”

“Yes.” Shadowheart frowns. Looks away. “You reminded me of myself. When I pray.”

Oh.

Irileth pushes herself to her feet. That is… She doesn’t know what it is. She doesn’t know what it means, but whatever it is, she doesn’t like it.

“Thank you,” she says, and if she sounds a little winded, Shadowheart doesn’t comment on it. “For the healing.”

Shadowheart merely nods. “Just don’t expect me to heal you every time you prick your finger. Next time, try asking Astarion to stitch you up. He seems to know how to use a needle.”

Irileth huffs out a breath that she thinks might be a laugh. She remembers the squawk Astarion let out when his clothes snagged on a bramble, how he mended them the moment they set up camp last night. 

So careful with himself and his things, Astarion is. Like he has lost both before.

“Speaking of,” Shadowheart adds before Irileth turns away. Her voice drops, just loud enough to pass between the two of them. “You should be careful around Astarion. I saw the two of you, standing by the cliffside. Don’t be fooled by his pretty looks.”

“You don’t trust him?”

“I don’t trust anyone,” Shadowheart corrects, as if this is an important distinction. “But especially not him. He wants something. I just haven’t figured out what.”

Astarion has returned to his spot by the fire, his book spread out in his lap. Irileth watches as he slowly moves the page with a perfect, practiced grace—a performer through and through—and thinks that Shadowheart might be right.

The next morning, the nautiloid dies.

Once more, Irileth watches from the cliffside as the massive tentacles undergo their final death twitches, then fall still amongst the waves. Behind her, the rest of her companions pack up their tents. Today, they will enter the Grove to finally find a healer and hopefully get their cure.

Last night’s sleep found Irileth in fits and starts. No dreams, thankfully, just red smoke and metal. Her perpetual headache has subsided, or she has grown to tolerate it, and it has resolved itself to a dull pulse at the base of her cranium. Overall, she feels… better. More in control of herself. She just prays that her clarity of mind will persist.

It has to, Irileth vows to herself. It will. There will be no repeat of what happened last night. She can master her perversions. If her companions knew what rot festers in her jellied brain, they would surely cast her out.

 “Hm. Pity.” Astarion appears by her side once more, the scent of bergamot fresh in the air. There is a whine in his voice as he hums in displeasure. 

Speak of the devil. Irileth raises her brow at his dramatics and Astarion glances at her out of the corner of his eye, putting his palm to his cheek as his bottom lip juts out in a perfect pout.

He sighs with all of the grandiosity that only he can master. “I just hope it hurt.”

Then he walks off, swaggering and elegant. Irileth’s eyes catch on the back of his doublet as he goes, where a row of fine stitches crawl up the hem, just along his ribs.

Irileth presses her thumb into the pad of the forefinger she pierced last night. She won’t hurt him—she can’t. Nor any of her other companions. They are her only chance of survival; there will be no tadpole cure without their help.

But anyone else—their enemies? Irileth glances back at the ruined mind flayer ship one final time before grabbing her pack and checking the daggers hilted at her hips. 

For them, she can make no promises.

[thessalian]

Thess vs Rollerbacks

I mean, @true0neutral warned me about those fuckers...

Right. First lemme get close enough to the ruins so I can fast travel there. Might be useful later. Much later, given metal flower.

Got it. Back to campfire and-- Ravager site.

RAVAGER. SITE. Hiding.

Does ... does that say Apex?

Yep. Cannon dies first.

Aim wasn't so great on Ravager the Second. Oh well, it died with minimal issues for me, so that's fine.

Okay, I wanted to check out that question mark--

Metal. Flower. AGAIN. Mrrrrrrr.

To a shelter. To a shelter so I can see if I can finally upgrade my quivers--

YEEEEEEEEES! Aaaaaaaaaand ... now I need more things' skin. More hoofing it, I guess.

(If it wants me to get salmon bones, does that mean it'll finally let me shoot at things in the water? I really miss shooting fish out of streams...)

Lemme check out north a bit first. A bit of exploration never hurt anyone--

PLOWHORNS. Spreading blight everywhere. Great. But I need Plowhorn horns, so...

Ah. Right. They have Burrowers playing guardian, so lemme just...

Wait. Everything seems to be dead but it still says machines are alerted--

Clawstrider. Right. Go away.

Ooh, drone! Lemme find a good launch point to jump on the drone--

Ah. Rebel scouting party. Bye, Tenakth rebel--

"Is the Nora hiding out there somewhere?" ...Oh, that's hysterical. Someone dies to arrow fire and the first thing they think of is, "OH SHIT, SHE'S HERE!" I mean, they're not wrong, but...

Right. They're gone with a minimum of issues. Now it looks like that platform over there is where I jump for the drone.

This platform is way too narrow for sprinting to make any difference. Right?

WRONG. Climbing up again, trying sprinting for all of ... two and a half feet. Sheesh.

Got the data, aaaaaaaaaand ... the Plowhorns are back. Again. Well, parts are a good thing. And that's ... a ... Rollerback. I've been warned about these. I will stay clear. Tail is... POONK. Gone.

Right. Keep going north for a bit aaaaaaaaand... SCAVENGER CONTRACTS! WOO!

Plowhorns. You want me to go ... and kill Plowhorns. Again. But you also want me to collect the flowers that-- Oh, this is getting weird, but fine...

So here I am, quietly stalking along in the path of a blight-spreading Plowhorn, collecting flowers. Well, I guess I get to put my stealth armour to use.

Flowers done. And, since I'm so wonderfully placed, I'll hit this sucker in the spot behind his neck ridge-thing.

Aaaaand THAT'S a one-shot kill. Except this has gained some attention and here comes a Rollerback. I should take the time to properly scan--

Wait. DOES THAT SAY APEX?!?

WILL YOU STAND THE FUCK STILL, YOU UPPITY AI-DRIVEN PILLBUG?!?

Getting better at dodge-rolling, I can tell you that much. Shame that it's driving me right into the damn blight all the time!

And I have gone flying. At least it's out of the blight...

OKAY, OKAY, I WILL UNLOCK SOME SHIT ON THE WARRIOR TREE, FINE, WHATEVER, NOW LET ME GET THIS THING'S FACE!

...There is nothing better in the world than getting off a point-blank shot at something's undercarriage while it's in the middle of attacking you and having that be the kill shot. Hooboy.

Right. Now can I go kill the other Plowhorn?

THANK you.

I should gather some other bits and pieces on my way back. There's an Unknown Shelter over there--

Flooded Tenakth village. Yes, I will go check that out, but I want to get this shit to Handa first.

Handa, you are ... enthusiastic, I'll give you that. But really, dial the ... I dunno, the "artiste" thing down a couple of notches? I honestly want that poor jerk from No Man's Land to win this one, of the scavenger people I've met so far.

Now, brief detour to base to drop off data module stuff and unlock how to properly override Plowhorns. Then off to someplace that's not ... y'know, Up In The Mountains.

Right. I do have work tomorrow, more's the pity, so I'll call it a night for now and tomorrow ... depends when I wake up, but depending on timings, it's either investigate the flooded settlement or ... whatever other scavenger contract is closest to my current position or can be easily fast-travelled to in the morning and the evening ... depends on how I feel. Just ... gods, I only had time off a few weeks ago; how do I need more already?

(Right, yes, I know, fibromyalgia, one of the symptoms is fatigue, I get it, but it's still a pain in the arse.)

[troubledaddict-backups]

It has been too long since I’ve gotten to feel you. All this time indoors has had both of us squirming and feening to be touched. But finally the time we’ve been waiting for has come. “Come over. And wear that outfit you know I love so much. You got 30 minutes” quickly you respond with “on my way 😈”. I could tell just by that short exchange we were going to make complete messes of each other. I freshen up, and get dressed. I know you always liked to see me dressed up, and how much it turned you on. I check to the time, and immediately hear three knocks at the door. “30 minutes on the dot. Just like clockwork” I walk to the door, and open it to see you standing in tall black heels, a large trench coat, and your hair down and swept to the side just how I like it. I go in for a kiss. “Ah ah ah” you plant a finger to my lips “we’ll get to that in a moment” as you slide your finger down my chest. You walk past me and head down the hallway toward the bedroom. I follow, being mesmerized by the sway of your hips. “You’re going to want to sit down” you say to me with a mischievous smile on your face. I gladly obey, slowly sitting on the bed. You drop the jacket revealing your black lace lingerie. So sheer and thin, I was tempted to rip it off you right then and there. You walk toward me, and join me on the bed, slowly pressing your lips to mine. I had almost forgotten the taste of your kiss. You let my hands explore all over you, as if it were my first time. You felt so good, so soft. “You ready to be a good girl for daddy?” You smile once again, putting your hand to my chest. “I actually...” shoving me down to the bed “... don’t think so. I’m taking you how I want to” you climb on top of me, tightly straddling my torso. “Don’t try to act like you don’t love it when I take charge. You fucking love it” your hand gripping my throat. “I can feel it” you say as you grind back and forth on my dick through my pants. “I’m going to drain every. Last. Drop out of you. Do you understand me?” I nod my head. You still gripping my throat. “This is mine, and I want it now.”

Feeling how hard I’ve become in between your legs, you climb off of me. You slide your hand up from between my legs and grab onto the buckle of belt. “Stand up and take these off. Now!” You then walk across the room, swaying your hips nice and slow in your lace panties with each step, and turn to face me, lowering down to the ground on your knees. I unbutton my shirt, and take my pants off. My dick completely hard, and precum dripping from the tip. On your knees, you just gaze at it, admiring each vein. Your focus lifts from my dick, looking up to my face, and you lift your finger and wave it. “Come here daddy” I steadily walk in your direction. The more I drew near, the more I can see your mouth salivating. You wanted it so badly, and you were gonna take it by any means necessary. I stand in front of you.

My dick hovering over your face. You bring your lips closer and closer. Grazing your lips across the shaft slowly, remembering how good it felt on your face. Letting your tongue out, you slide it all the way from the bottom to the tip. You were so infatuated, you didn’t even notice my legs tremor. It felt so good. You were teasing yourself, and I could tell. You give the tip one last lick and you see a drop of precum start to fall before whispering to yourself “I missed you”. I feel your hands start to glide up my thighs. Your touch felt so good, I couldn’t stop my dick from jumping. You mouth slowly covers the tip, and you let out a little whimper. Back and forth, your head sways. Faster and faster you start to go. Hands still on my thighs. You reach them around and tightly grab onto my ass, as you force yourself to swallow the whole thing, throat fucking yourself with my dick, using me as your toy. I watch you ravage it, feel your warm wet mouth, seeing you drool all over yourself. It was so fucking hot. You were making such a mess and you didn’t care for a second. After one last swallow, you shove me away, pulling the dick out of your mouth. You come to your feet and immediately grab me by the throat tight. Your lips meet mine and our tongues explore each other’s mouths. Still holding my throat you pull me away. “You gonna be a good boy and do whatever I say right?” I nod. “That’s good. Now bend me over that bed and fuck me. Do I make myself clear?” I nod again. You release your grasp, and walk over to the bed. I watch you pull your panties to ground, and you sway your ass side to side. I walk over and give your ass a big slap. You jolt. “Harder” I do it again. “Ugh yes! Now come fuck me daddy.” I kick your legs apart, and just rub my dick across your lips. You were so wet. “Don’t fucking tease me. I said fuck me!” As I slide in, you let out a big gasp, you were so tight, but I loved the thought of stretching you out. I tried to start slow, but my primal instincts got the best of me. I grab your hair tight, bringing your head up from the bed, then wrap my hand around your neck and squeeze as I fucked you.

You loved every second of it. “Daddy please don’t stop. Daddy please. Please. Don’t stop” I was your toy, but you became my little fuck doll. All that ran through your head was wanting my cum. As I pound you harder and harder, you go further into total ecstasy. You’re losing all control. Your mouth salivating, and I feel you drooling all over me. “I want your cum daddy. I want it so bad. Can I have it?” I could feel myself about to cum, your pussy muscles were clenching onto me so tight. “You want it?” “I do! Please! Please!” “Come here!” I grab you by the hair, like my fuck doll, and bring you to your knees once again. “I want all of it!” “Open that pretty little mouth...Fuck!!!” Cum explodes out all over you, covering your lips, down to your chin, and all over your tits. “Keep that mouth open” still hard, I shove my dick back in your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. You grab my ass again to make me go deeper. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!!!” I cum again, coating the inside of your mouth. Pulling out, you look up to me with a gleam in your eye, and I watch you smile as you swallow the load that was just inside. “Thank you daddy” I lick you from your tits up, grab you by the face and kiss you, giving you a taste of my cum one more time. “You’re very welcome 😏” I go to the bathroom to shower and clean up, and you just lay on the bed enjoying being covered in your cum filled mess.

[devoutpriest]

cas-ti-fell:

“ no. circumstance. divine intervention, never upon god’s behalf. ABSENT, he’s left his energy upon this world, and he breathes life into all of us, but he noted our destruction. our chaos, our WAR. he left us to our own devices, to resolve our sin. “ it is not HUMANS castiel refers to, but angels, but children with weeping limbs and ravaged pits wh- ere souls–GRACE–should be. anna was one such angel, she rebelled like lucifer, and she fell to earth, her grace ripped out ( she saying the pain was white hot ; worse than any poker burning ) but humans have caused their own pain, their OWN hate. castiel offers out a hand, splays hard bones on the man’s shoulder. light thrums on porous flesh, ingra- ined pads seated soft on the bone. human bones were intriguing to him, he could feel the softness of the skin, the sinew and muscled meat where blood and veins rushed within the river, and the stick structure of course ; life pouring through a matchbook house. it is supposed to be comfort, though he does not know how to muster it, stiff and odd as he is. a just man, a RIGHTEOUS man, suffering from the knowledge his creator has left him … an orphaned child, a floundering babe .. “ i am an angel of the lord. “

his brows furrow downwards, in confusion, at the stranger’s next words. part of what he was saying matched what athelstan was brought up to believe in, god breathing life in clay and humans, animals sprang alive in the garden, yet the rest betrayed such. he wanted to seek guidance from him.

“ you think it is not even the SLIGHTEST bit possible for the divine intervention to be the lord’s work, or carried out with his orders? ”

“i thought I felt his FAMILIAR holy presence guide me out of darkness, many a time, once. ”

he carries his bible everywhere, is surrounded by holy hymns, singing latin as one of his prayers. gregorian ; he sung too, of boulevard of broken dreams. haunting lilt of many voices in chorused unison ; my shadow's the only one that walks beside me, my shadow's the only thing that's beating, check my vital signs to know i'm still alive ( he thumps his chest as he walks slight unsteady in the train tracks, gravel crunching beneath his feet ) ah-ah-ah-ah, i walk alone. they sung, with fellow monks tapping their pens and banging softly on their desks to the beat. they liked singing during their pilgrimages, they walking on foot as cleansing simplicity.

upon feeling the man’s hand touch his shoulder, the trembling in both his bones and soul ebbs slightly. it is a brief comfort from a man, whom decided to spare even a FRACTION of concern for him.

“ …an angel of the lord? h-HOW?”

he studies the man more carefully, disbelief washing over his tone. he seemed human, of tangible flesh and blood, contradicting athelstan’s image of angels. no wings or halo seemed to adorn his back nor head, as far as athelstan could see.

[the-firebird69]

i am out. yes. let it laps no. tried to get there could not. told them no called me you have not occupied do you plan to? and i said i cannot get there and he said he cannot leave it vacant. and it is the law have to move in and i cant. so he said we give it a couple days and i saiid no i cant ok the place smells and it does and of birdshit. and he said we cancel the ccnract and he sent me my check back did not deposit it. knew i did not like it. and that is that

emily b

good. true partially mstly cannot get there had the disenfectant but cant. wont too. does not like the game is out. too dangerous. and they held her to it a bit yes but tehn yur a paain and out now and good. so we see it. coming up the same wiht dan. he is a moron will fall soon. and eys the upsoted the apartment on the yard. and it is nto selling. nope tons hate it here. done wat it no fight. infight too. tons of them. she wants to come in a different form ok and fights.

this started a huge fight the sign. jason and ilily in it too. stan is too. tons fight now over it. lol. and yes causes death lots of it. and the word went out and tons gathered to come herre and infiltrate adn firht to get to it. tons now. and opened and see it and it is on. crowds move to get here and hit john r and co and others

Thor Freya

it is a big deal to me. she a bitch they worse and dangerous to my husband. not out fully is behind him and lal three and dan next door. and sarah houses them at teh blue houe and the house bg lost ahs dan and the girls. heehe and we see. now they fight. ok. hard.

soon out. and we think this month. the first. and cming up too. two weeks. and then sarahs place. and daves. same month yes. and behind is a different month but evictinos are up and started and soon tons. they evacuate and come here need them out today in court theywon and oust tons but are at 5% and tommorrow more court. morlcok say you have not moved any one and lose your bunkers and tons of ppl nad stuff and not so is only a fraction of our size. and we shall see i say how this goes. they say it.

Hera

true too we and she fight over it lol. true though the psuideo empire has about ten percent in the bunkers. and five in the ships. their areas ravaged no but someare and are at seventy percent and the morlockare at 35% though smaller can hold alot. and now they war on the blcokade and shield and psuedo empire reaids hourly to fuel and resupply weapons tc. tons of it. huge loads of ordinance and fuel rubys etc. its on they say we u se it take it now and do. all over earth and morlock dwindle now.

Thor Freya

so i see. percentages and i am right though. yes. HE THANKS ME YES. and good. does. the bunkers are down to about 36% by quantity. and 30% by function. and i t is low. a few mo re days and out. gone. and the morlock are rancid. and say stuff yell and are horrid. thier fleet is under 1B shrinks shortly heats up and is small now only that number in large ships and smaller stil.....800M one mile plus tons out shortly.

they said so mich today i tiink i lost wieght due to it. nope. but did. and we send in units now they are. but what a day. they let loose. we win and are out thee.

since last night we gained five more spain sized areaas and three portugal.

we install the following shortly and globally no western hemisphere:

-3 MegaBases and fully equiped too.

-2 Very Large base. and fully equiped too.

-15 small bases with assoceated

-thosuand of tiny and in the new areas.

-ten obelesque

five standard laser bases.

200 1 block

10 4 block

and a whole lot of regular buildings

2 cones

and more. we advance tonight clam mrore

ew use thie thy make him fidd

Pluto Phase I complete

Mars phase I is in decent shap is 10 percent away. and we push it. yes.Thor Freya said that last part.

-we have a consensus we are working but is it working

Jen Equiz i work on my case and send in some info no. take it out yes. we saw them cringe today out of all that. out.

Hera

and she did great always does. makes us work yes Hera's court case is in transition from companies she would be the one to ask yes but ok. she is half way through and needs to push. we do have it. her status an knew but here it is. half way. fifty percent. and we remove the name case by case and slowly. and soon out of all docs. and we retrieve personal belongings to along the way. and we do take his back too. an more. slowly..and now we approach teh 60% mark shorltly this week and monday we will be at 70% within a couple weeks she will be clear and we start the law suit. our son is not named. no is. and in a couple companies and i thought this first. he thinks it iwill be easier nad will light him up. and also will burn the shit. and we do that shortly. and tehre are some others doing it. and he wants his name expunged. and we shall and criminal charges if they refuse well we do it. and no not yet lol. now we do this. sue for it. and take his stuff back before it is too late and tons of love went into getting him stuff and for him and her and us. we needed this needsa llthose who got it to sign on to this duty and they are. and who helped start up the companies they abuse and have thier names on and they step up and we clean it up now. and start on his. hers wil slow yes. but makes it safe forher characters and him too and more. and good she agrees h e asked. an wonderul too and great idea. and cheeseman did not respond well at all. she he is non rsposnive and says no it is for our pruposes. they list them and in an inappropriat way they say they gave ideas no. owe them yes. and tons of money for their part in the company and usually a debtor. so we take them off it. and have them pay them and shall. they areuseless.. not many do it and usually ohters would eat them alive for it but macs had them. an we are going after it and shall take his name off it....we shall put a debt they have to our son up and threaten them wiht it and defame him and his tie him to real terrorists expose his murders and to ge our son his funds and name off their debtor list and to get monies they hold yeh we take a lot more due to it it is illegal and exortion we move in on them too and we expose their sscams on the public if need be too. starting now. the gloves are off.

Bitol and Goddess Wife

Olympus