#god himself could not make you understand how much of a battle it was to get tumblr to murder the quality Slightly Less

[rottiens]

contents. satoru gojō x fem reader, alcohol consumption, all the characters are adults, secret relationship au.

"How many shots would you have to take to kiss Gojo?" Nanami asks the group as his eyes are on you, you laugh against the bottle stumbling against your lips. 

The question isn't out of place since you just answered that you would kiss Principal Yaga after taking at least about five shots out of respect and how nervous he makes you feel. However everyone knows what your relationship with Satoru is like, so the question catches you off guard. 

"Zero." Shoko answers for you and Satoru looks at her over the sunglasses, clearly displeased. "There's not enough alcohol in the world to make her kiss him." 

"Oh, no, no, wait... she's really thinking about it!" Haibara points an accusing finger at you and you can't help but laugh again, you feel the skin on your cheeks stretch and burn from the silly grin you can't wipe off. Satoru's stalking gaze feels like a torch on the back of your neck. 

You pretend to think it humming out loud, though the answer is clear to you. "At least about ten," you say, tilting the bottle up to your mouth, getting the group around the campfire to laugh filling the beach with echoes. 

"Heeey." Satoru pinches your forearm which makes you look at him, a tiny pout is later replaced by a couple of wrinkles on his forehead.

"What?" you ask softly and have to force your hands to stay still and not reach out to touch him. 

"Ten shots? That's almost an alcoholic coma."

"There are actually many things that could influence an ethyl coma," Kento clarifies.

"You can't explain much about alcohol to a person who doesn't drink." Your numb brain is sure that was Hibara, too lazy to check since your eyes were still on Satoru who was still indignantly staring at you. 

"What?" you repeat almost in a whisper. 

"Nothing." His attention returns to the campfire, the heat from the fire burns his pink cheeks and the bright flame dances on his face making his eyes look much lighter mimicking the shade of the sea at midday. 

Satoru pushes his glasses up on top of the bridge of his nose, hiding his eyes completely. 

"I'm going to get more beer," you say looking at the group, then tug on Satoru's arm to help him up, who does so reluctantly. "Can you help me with the box?" 

He walks beside you without adding anything else, shaking the sand out of his red shorts and pushing his hair out of his face. 

"Are you really upset?" The answer was obvious but you had to make sure, Satoru walks silently, sinking his feet aggressively into the sand until you reach the parking lot where your toes have never felt more grateful to touch solid ground. "Hey?" you tug on his hand and stop your steps, standing still in front of him. 

"Hhm?"

"Are you really upset?" 

"No," Satoru assures, avoiding your eyes.  

"Satoru, did you really want me to tell them that I would kiss you sober? Without a drop of alcohol?" 

You see him licking his lips battling with himself on whether to stay annoyed with you or understand your point. 

"I know."  

"I thought we were going to go slow..." 

"I know!" His hands cradle your cheeks tenderly, bringing his face up to meet yours to leave a kiss on your lips. "I was dying to touch you." 

"You know we didn't go public for you." You remind him, letting him rest his forehead on top of yours. The artificial taste of the strawberry beer he drank earlier sneaks into your mouth in little gasps. 

"Let's do it when we get back to the city," Satoru murmurs, brushing his lips over yours. "I think they know anyway." Oh, you're sure they know. You're both too obvious but you didn't want to push your boyfriend when he told you he wasn't ready to admit in front of everyone to officially having a partner. "But I don't like having to hold your hand on the sly or sneak out of meetings so I can kiss you and God, I'm just addicted to that watermelon gloss you use."

You laugh giving him fleeting little kisses, taking advantage of the position to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer to you. 

"Just admit you're addicted to me, Satoru." 

"Maybe I am..." He says in that tone that indicates danger. That voice that tells you you're not going back to the group you had run away from. 

Satoru squeezes your waist possessively, his fingers trace on your sun-toasted skin and you moan between his half-opened lips the moment he asks for your tongue silently, his nose stumbling against yours. 

"We should get back..." you say in a whisper, remembering this fact more to yourself than to him.  

"We can disappear for ten minutes..." Pause. His lips move to your collarbone and his warm breath tickles you. "Fifteen minutes..." Pause. Small bites along your jaw take him to your neck. "Twenty..." His tongue dances over your salty skin, gently licking what he can reach and has to physically force himself not to suck. 

"It's never ten minutes..." you say between a choked moan, tugging at his strands sweetly until he's looking at you again. Dark sunglasses hide his eyes from you but his mouth is at your disposal, half open, red and appetizing and the tiny freckles that bathe his nose make your stomach knot. 

He grunts, as if battling with himself to understand that you are right. Satoru brings his face to the line of your neck and sighs heavily, leaving one last kiss to pull away from you against his will. 

"Let's go back then," he says resignedly. And he had never wanted the weekend to pass as quickly as he wanted it to now, being the impatient person he is, he didn't want to wait to have your hand entwined with his and fill his chest with raw pride where he could finally admit in front of everyone that you were his.

[shorthaltsjester]

doing questionable things like rewatching a bard’s lament for “fun” and scanlan and vex you will always be famous. the fact that scanlan brings up that they’ve travelled across planes to fix vex’s daddy issues but then it’s vex’s daddy issues that ground her rebuttal to scanlan when she tells him to stop treating kaylie like an object. and god. vex’s “fuck him! fuck him for not saying anything sooner. and fuck us for not asking.” in the immediate aftermath, and then once she has time to put her walls back up, vex’s “my take-away from scanlan is that we all talk too much.”

the fact that vex was the one who made that comment that without his magic scanlan is just some guy but he’s also the some guy that vex spends the campaign looking up to (even if she does it through barbs and snark), the fact that when vex was fighting against saundor hearing things like “unproven ally” scanlan was all jokes until he realized how much vex believed what was being said to her. the fact that when scanlan comes back, it’s vex who literally sees through his disguise.

what do you mean scanlan was a deadbeat father who discovered a daughter that he did love but loved only as an object until vex called him out on it? what do you mean vex was a woman who struggled to forgive in part due to her crapshoot father and she was the first to forgive scanlan when he came back?

vex and scanlan also have such interesting interactions in terms of the balance of snark, silliness, and sincerity. it’s not uncommon from any characters of sam or laura’s since they are both silly little guys who also love drama and roasting each other especially when it comes to character rp, but as always it’s so dynamic when it’s the two of them bouncing off each other, especially when they’re doing so through scanlan and vex who are already bitchy characters (affectionate) with humour as a deflection method. but it’s a silly and deeply sincere moment when vex finally puts the witch hat scanlan gave her back on with his promise that he won’t run away from the final battle. it is one of my favourite laughable moments in c1 but it also reeks of sincerity when scanlan asks vex if she prefers planetar scanlan or normal scanlan and vex tells him he is fucking hot as a planetar, but she loves him like he was and he’s her favourite when he’s just himself.

like. they’re insane do you understand. the dawnfather asks vex to prove herself and scanlan turns her into a dragon to help her succeed, pelor asks vox machina what vex means to them and scanlan says she’s greedy and mean and the most perfect of them all. the knowing mistress asks scanlan to prove himself and vex escorts him on a broom he unlocked for her and then she picks an impossible lock for him, ioun tries to remind scanlan that his strength is the joy he provides to his friends and he makes a deflective quip that he’s really powerful and vex undercuts his deflection with a sincere assertion that he is. scanlan cast his last wish spell letting her see her brother on her wedding day. vex sent herself across the continent alone with her worry and grief while scanlan’s corpse lay awaiting resurrection to ensure that his daughter could be there to either bring him back or say goodbye.

they are the platonic chosen soulmates of all time to me. i make a post like this like once a year minimum and it’s because they Haunt me. both sam and laura said what if we made high charisma characters using their charisma as a shield and humour as a weapon and they saw through each other’s masks but they never explicitly talked about it to one another. good riddance to talks machina but i will never forget the episode post bard’s lament with laura and sam where sam revealed that vex was the only one who said anything that actually got through to scanlan and another episode where laura revealed that the reason vex was so angry and sad when scanlan left was that vex felt like her and scanlan had a unique bond where they were the only two who really saw one another’s masks for what they were. also laura providing the insight that while vex was actively working on being more forgiving, another reason she was so open and happy with scanlan when he came back was that vex didn’t want to scare him away again.

what am i supposed to do with all that? be normal about scanlan and vex? literally impossible

[puppetwoman17]

Just thinking about how important it is to Billy that Captain Marvel is the perfect hero.

For one thing, he wears his dad’s face when he fights crime, so he wants to respect him, even in death. Seeing his face in front of a news segment bad mouthing him would make him heartbroken.

And then there’s just Billy’s thoughts on what a hero should be. They should be kind, knowledgeable, selfless, powerful, etc, etc. He wants people to feel hope when they look at Cap. He wants them to feel like everything is going to be okay. He wants to be the hero he never had.

This stays the same even after he joins the League. A part of him thinks he can relax a bit now. He’s been seen by others like him, who say that he is exactly the kind of hero they want on their team. He sees other heroes, like Green Arrow and Flash, and how they feel comfortable joking around and laying back during meetings and monitor duty.

So he loosens up, just a bit. Loosens his shoulders and his smile. Lets other emotions morph onto his face. He feels bad for doing it. It makes Cap less…ideal. But they seem to like it when he talks to them more.

Still, he can’t help but feel like he’s letting everyone down. Like he’s not good enough. Not when he’s Cap, but when he’s Billy. He studies himself whenever he sees Cap on screen, writing in his head, every time he takes a hit a little too much. Every time he isn’t quick enough despite having god-like speed. Every time he makes a mistake. He has to rectify it. He has to.

What will everyone think? If the Champion of Magic can’t be the perfect diplomat, then what good is he?

Meanwhile, the Justice League is repeatedly in awe of their fellow hero. He can rally people together for the common good. Inspire hope. He has the trust of the Big Three, and two of them even call him their brother.

He’s a mediator. Whenever he’s around, he’s able to quell any of the arguments that go on during meetings. He provides a new perspective regarding magic, making the non-magic based heroes understand it more.

He’s like a comic book hero come to life. Always glowing, even in the midst of battle. There’s an aura about him, where you can’t help but put all of your trust in him. He has this big smile that immediately makes them trust him. You can always find him having heart to heart one on ones with just about any hero.

Not to mention, he so dang good with their sidekicks! They actually listen to and respect him, which is already asking for a lot.

They ask him how he does it, and he just says he gets it. Feeling like you’re never good enough. Like you aren’t seen for who you are. Like everything you do is meaningless when people keep ignoring you.

The League is flabbergasted, because how could anyone look at Cap and NOT see the perfect hero?

[edenesth]

The Way to His Heart [19]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.9k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 18 | Fic Masterlist | Part 20

"What do you mean it will take weeks for me to fully recover? I don't have that kind of time, Yunho. This war isn't over yet." Your husband frowned, his gaze fixed on the physician from his position on the bed.

You sighed, stepping closer to the doctor, your concern evident, "Seonghwa, Physician Jung is doing his best. How can you return to battle if you're not physically strong enough? What good will that do, hm? And remember, you've acknowledged Officer Song's strategic prowess. Perhaps it's time to have a little faith in him for now."

Like magic, your words softened the general's hardened expression as he nodded in defeat, "Fine, I suppose you're right," He offered you a smile before turning back to Yunho, "I trust you've at least written back to Mingi to assure him I'm fine, right?"

"It's done, my lord."

"That's good; things should be stable for now. We dealt a significant blow to the Ruhon forces in our last battle. It's unlikely they'll launch any new attacks soon, considering their diminished numbers. If things continue to go well, this war might conclude sooner than expected." Seonghwa remarked, feeling optimistic.

"I certainly hope so, for everyone's sake. I made sure to inform Officer Song that you'll need a few weeks to recover. If they need you urgently, I'm sure he'll write back promptly," The physician assured, relieved to see your husband immediately agree with him, calming down so quickly with your presence, "Yes, I'm sure he will." Yunho knew for certain that without you there, he would have had a much harder time attempting to soothe the older man's frustration.

Sensing the general's longing gaze toward you, the doctor suppressed a knowing grin. Understanding that he was interrupting your much-needed private moment, he decided it was time to leave you both alone. With a final bow, he excused himself, "Well, that's all from me for now. I'll return tomorrow for your bandage change and medication. Good day, General Park and Lady Park."

After the physician left the room, you approached Seonghwa to ensure his comfort, tucking the comforters snugly around him and adjusting the pillow behind his back. His eyes remained fixed on your face, which he had missed dearly, as you fussed over him, "Is the temperature alright? Let me know if it's too hot or cold," You inquired. He nodded, and you continued, "Are you hungry? You must be. I'll ask the kitchen staff to prepare something for you—"

Before you could step away from his bedside, he grasped your wrist, his expression displaying a small pout, "Stop, my love. I just want you to stay with me, please."

You softened, placing your hand over his and giving it a reassuring squeeze before brushing some of his hair away from his face, "I'm sorry, I was just worried about you. You've been away at war for so long. I wanted to make sure you have everything you need now that you're home before you eventually return to the battlefield."

He smiled, his hold on your wrist tightening slightly, "All I need is you." He murmured, gently pulling you closer into his arms.

Feeling your heart melt at his words, you relaxed into his embrace on the bed as he pulled the comforter over both of you. Nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck, you sighed contentedly as he kissed your temple. He felt complete with you so close again, "God, I missed you so much," He confessed, "Out of all the wars I've fought, this has to be the most dreadful one. Not because it was tough, but because I couldn't stop thinking about you throughout it all."

"I missed you too, Seonghwa," You confessed, drawing in a deep breath to savour his familiar scent, "I never thought I could yearn to be near someone this badly."

His eyes instinctively fluttered shut as you nestled closer to him, pressing his nose against your hair, wishing for this moment to last forever. After a moment of comfortable silence, he couldn't resist asking, "I've heard a lot has happened while I was gone. I'm sorry I wasn't here to help you through it. Tell me everything, my wife."

Taking a deep breath, you started from the beginning, recounting the events that unfolded after the general had departed for war. You described encountering Jinjoo during your visit to the fabric factory with Hongjoong, the surprise visit from the prince to the estate, and his unexpected invitation to the birthday banquet. You explained how he lied about you representing Seonghwa at the event and your gratitude for Wooyoung and San's help in preparing for it.

As you narrated every little detail that occurred at the supposed royal birthday celebration, your husband's heart swelled with pride and admiration. He listened intently, feeling his love for you grow with each word. Your courage in standing up for yourself and defending him in front of Prince Yeosang filled him with immense gratitude. He realised how fortunate he was to have you by his side.

"I'm so proud of you, my darling Lady Park."

With a light scoff, you teasingly pushed him in the chest, "Are you now, my dearest General Park? I still can't believe the first thing you chose to do after coming back was hurt me and push me away."

Guilt immediately clouded his expression as he drew closer to you, emitting a small whine, "I'm sorry, my love. Truly, I am. Speaking those cruel words hurt me more than this damn wound. I promise I didn't mean any of it. You're not troublesome at all, and I do want you with me for the rest of my days. If anything, you're all I need from now until the end of time."

At that, you could no longer bear to continue making him feel bad. Turning serious, you gently caressed the bandaged area on his abdomen before speaking, "I understand, Hwa. I really do. But I swear, if you ever pull something like that again, I won't hesitate to let Hongjoong loose on you."

His heart skipped a beat at the nickname you used for him, one you had never used before, "What did you just call me? Say it again."

Embarrassed, you blinked rapidly and cleared your throat before repeating softly, "I called you Hwa. It's your name, isn't it?"

He nodded with a cheeky grin, covering your hand with his, "Indeed it is. I love how bold you've become, my love. Now, along with that nickname, tell me you love me again."

You blushed at his request, feeling he deserved to hear it as many times as he wanted now that he'd returned to your side safely. Relenting, you bit your lip and murmured, "I love you, Hwa."

"Again." He demanded, resting his forehead gently against yours.

"I love you, Hwa."

"Again, my love." He whispered, leaning in closer with hooded eyes.

"I love you, Hwa."

"Say it for me just one more time."

"I love you so much, Park Seonghwa."

Intoxicated by your presence, he could no longer resist cupping your face and pressing his lips firmly against yours. You kissed him back fervently, eyes fluttering shut as you relished the sensation of his lips on yours. Both your hearts raced as you made up for lost time, pressing close to one another under the sheets. Your cheeks burned up, realising this was the most intimate moment you'd shared with your husband so far.

Gently pushing him away by the chest, you looked up at him, worry evident in your eyes, "That's enough, Hwa. You're still injured—"

But before you could finish your sentence, he leaned in, capturing your lips in another loving kiss. You gasped in surprise, but your resistance crumbled quickly as he deepened the kiss. Maybe just for a little longer, you thought to yourself, giving in to the moment.

As he savoured the feeling of having you so close, Seonghwa's emotions swirled within him like a tempest. He needed this closeness desperately, especially after the fear he'd felt earlier, thinking he might be close to death. The regret for hurting you with his words gnawed endlessly at him, and he despised the idea of being separated from you again. How could he have ever entertained the thought of you being with another man? The mere thought of Prince Yeosang in his place, holding you, touching you, kissing you, filled him with an uncontrollable jealousy that bordered on madness.

These thoughts fueled a surge of aggression within him as he flipped you around on the bed, trapping you beneath him. He loomed over you, his gaze intense as he whispered, "Mine. You're all mine."

As much as the sudden action flustered you and caused your heart to skip a beat, you frowned at his stubbornness, realising he wouldn't know when to stop unless sternly told off, "Are you out of your mind, Park Seonghwa? Such big movements could affect the wound, you idiot." You scolded, disrupting the intimate moment.

He blinked, momentarily speechless at the abrupt change in tone, protesting, "I'm fine, my wife—"

Before he could continue, the dressmaker barged in with raised brows, "Oh, we're all fine now, aren't we? I guess you're well enough to take a beating then."

The general panicked, hastily laying back in his spot, "Hongjoong, please, it's rude to enter without knocking." He chided.

You snickered when his friend rolled his eyes, "Well, it's also rude to disrespect your wife, but here we are."

"Oh my god, stop reminding me—"

"I'll stop when you learn to grow the hell up."

"Says you?!"

With a deep sigh, you stood up from your husband's bed, "You two fight to your heart's content; I'm going to prepare something to eat for this one." You said, gesturing to Seonghwa, ignoring his silent pleas not to leave him alone with his friend.

Hongjoong grinned at you, "Don't you worry, I'll take good care of him in the meantime."

Oh, I know you will.

"Have we heard from Physician Jung yet?" Mingi inquired as he was being suited up in preparation for the impending attack by the approaching Ruhon men.

"No, sir. It appears we're facing this battle on our own. But with your exceptional strategies, we should manage well even without General Park." One of the soldiers replied, striving to maintain optimism despite the military commander's absence.

"Let us hope so." The strategist muttered, unable to bring himself to reveal that his strategies had been devised with the assumption of having the best warrior in all of Joseon leading the army. Officer Song hadn't seen battlefield action since his promotion, and his combat skills were far from polished. Just why did this have to happen in the general's absence? Mingi feared the responsibility; if they failed in this battle, it would fall on him. The prospect of leading these men to their deaths was enough to make him feel nauseous.

He still couldn't grasp how Ruhon had made such a swift comeback. It seemed implausible given the significant losses they had suffered in the last battle. After all, the enemy nation wasn't known for its strategic prowess; they were often predictable in their actions. Unless... they were intentionally misleading Joseon into underestimating them? If so, the strategist might have played right into their hands as part of their plan.

Oh god, what do I do?

As General Officer Song meticulously went through his preparations for the impending battle, a sense of unease settled over him like a heavy cloak. Even with his efforts to focus solely on the task at hand, his thoughts kept drifting back to Seonghwa. The absence of their commander, his superior, and one of his closest friends weighed heavily on his mind.

With each passing moment, his worry for the general intensified. He couldn't shake the feeling of dread that enveloped him, wondering if his friend was safe and well. Had the older man managed to make it home? Had Yunho received his letter, informing him of General Park's condition?

These questions nagged endlessly at him, gnawing at his insides as he grappled with the uncertainty of the situation. Despite his attempts to maintain a facade of confidence for the sake of his fellow soldiers, Mingi couldn't shake the underlying fear that something terrible might have happened to Seonghwa. All he could do now was hope and pray for his friend's safety, even as the spectre of war loomed ever closer.

A sudden wave of fear washed over him, unlike anything he had experienced in a long time. The general's absence felt more profound and impactful than ever before. It was as if the very foundation of his confidence had been shaken, revealing the stark reality that his sense of assurance had always been rooted in the presence and trust of his commanding officer.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the strategist found himself questioning his own abilities and worthiness. Without General Park by his side, his confidence wavered, leaving him feeling unsteady and uncertain. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt such panic in war.

With a heavy heart, he squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, attempting to steady his nerves. Doing his best to ignore the doubts that plagued him, he knew he had a duty to fulfil. With trembling hands, he reviewed his strategies once more, desperately seeking reassurance in the plans he had meticulously crafted.

As he waited for the cue to head out and face the enemy, Officer Song resolved to push aside his fears and doubts. He may not have Seonghwa's guidance and leadership at this moment, but he knew he had to stand firm and lead the troops to the best of his abilities. With determination set in his heart, Mingi braced himself, ready to face whatever may come in the battle that awaited him.

Just as he was hoping to receive any updates about the general or word from Physician Jung, a soldier burst into the main tent, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. The strategist's heart skipped a beat, looking forward to some semblance of reassurance amid his mounting anxiety. However, instead of providing the updates he had been desperately seeking, the soldier stammered out his words.

"S-sir, I'm afraid it's time we head out and be on standby," The soldier managed to say between breaths, "The Ruhon army should be arriving anytime soon."

Mingi's hands clenched involuntarily, his mind racing with a mix of apprehension and determination. Despite the lack of information about Seonghwa's condition, he knew that duty called and he had to lead his troops into battle. With a firm nod, he suppressed the trembling in his hands and resolved to face the conflict head-on.

"Let's go out and make General Park proud." He declared, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him. With resolve burning in his eyes, he led his men out of the tent.

Moments later, Officer Song found himself mounted on a horse, the weight of his armour pressing against his shoulders as he surveyed the Joseon army lined up behind him. They stood at attention, ready for his orders, their anticipation palpable in the air.

As he gazed out at the empty land ahead, where the enemy forces would soon emerge, Mingi could hear nothing but the thundering of his own heart in his ears. His hands tightened around the hilt of his sword, a familiar weight that offered some measure of comfort in the face of uncertainty.

With a deep breath, he forced himself to focus, pushing aside the uncertainties that threatened to overwhelm him. He may not be Park Seonghwa, but he had undergone rigorous training and was a capable fighter in his own right. Reminding himself of his own combat skills, he squared his shoulders and steeled his resolve.

"We stand ready." He declared, his voice carrying across the ranks of soldiers behind him. Despite the nerves gnawing at his insides, he projected an air of confidence, determined to lead his troops with strength and determination.

I hope you're proud of me, hyung-nim.

His breath hitched in his throat as he finally spotted a tiny speck on the horizon, growing larger and more distinct with each passing moment. His heart raced as he realised that these were the enemy soldiers they had been waiting for. With a loud voice, he yelled the order for all soldiers to get into position.

Tensions were high as everyone readied themselves, their nerves stretched taut with fear at the absence of their strongest warrior to lead them. But as the figures drew closer, Officer Song's brow furrowed in confusion.

Something was not right.

Instead of a formidable army, only a few Ruhon soldiers were riding toward them, their arms raised in what appeared to be a gesture of surrender. Mingi's eyes widened in disbelief as he heard their cries.

"Soldiers of Joseon! Please don't attack! We have come to surrender!"

A sense of astonishment rippled through the ranks of the Joseon army as they processed the unexpected turn of events. One of the Ruhon men even went so far as to pull out a white flag, waving it frantically to signal their willingness to concede defeat.

The strategist's grip tightened on his sword as he studied the Ruhon soldiers before him, their faces worn with exhaustion and defeat. Despite their assurances, he couldn't afford to let his guard down yet, not after the treacherous tactics they had previously employed against Seonghwa.

"Hold it right there! How can we believe you're telling the truth?" He demanded, his voice firm and unwavering.

The Ruhon soldiers let out heavy sighs, their arms still raised in a gesture of surrender, "Please, we're telling the truth. Most of our troops have been depleted from the last battle," One of them explained, his voice tinged with desperation, "Our ruler has sent word just this morning to put this war to an immediate stop. A messenger is on the way to your royal palace to convey the message to your King as we speak. We come in peace to relay this message, and that is all. All remaining Ruhon troops will be retreating from our camp after this."

Mingi remained silent for a moment, weighing their words carefully. Finally, he lowered his sword, signalling for his own troops to stand down, "Very well," He said, his voice tinged with caution, "But know that we will be watching closely. Any sign of treachery from you, and we will not hesitate to defend ourselves."

The Ruhon soldiers visibly relaxed at his words, nodding quickly, "You have my word." One of them assured before they turned around and began riding away. The tension dissolved as they disappeared from sight, leaving Officer Song and his men standing in disbelief. Relief washed over them, dispelling the earlier fears. The strategist's expression mirrored the collective sentiment of his troops—a mix of relief and disbelief.

"Well, I guess we should head back to camp and await confirmation then," Mingi said, his voice filled with a hint of exhaustion. His soldiers nodded eagerly, grateful that the tense situation had been resolved peacefully. They began to disperse, their spirits lifted by the unexpected turn of events.

Now, everything fell into place, and the pieces of the puzzle aligned once again. His earlier suspicions about Ruhon's swift recruitment of soldiers now made perfect sense. It was clear that they no longer possessed enough manpower to continue fighting this war.

Returning to the main tent, Mingi was relieved to find a messenger waiting for him, "Officer Song, there you are! You have a letter from Physician Jung Yunho," The messenger announced eagerly. He hurried over to receive the paper, unfolding it with urgency. His eyes scanned the neatly written words at lightning speed, absorbing the contents. Once finished, he released the breath he had been holding, sinking into the seat behind him, "Oh, thank heavens the general is alright." He breathed out, a weight lifted from his shoulders.

The messenger's face immediately brightened at his words, and he quickly left to share the good news with the others. Mingi couldn't help but smile; everything was finally falling into place.

Peace, at last.

But his moment of relief was short-lived as a commotion erupted outside. The strategist frowned and left the tent to see what was happening. He found his soldiers blocking the entry of a woman, which puzzled him. Women weren't allowed in this area.

"Forgive us, ma'am. Women are not permitted here," One of the soldiers explained. Mingi pushed through to hear her response, "Yes, I know that, but you don't understand. I'm here on His Majesty's orders. We received word that General Park has been poisoned, and I've been sent specifically to treat him."

As he caught sight of her petite figure, his eyes widened in recognition. Not because of her uniform, which indicated she was a female royal physician, renowned for their medical expertise, but because she was the one he had been searching for all this time.

I finally found you, my one.

« Preview of Part 20 »

"The audacity of those Ruhon bastards, attempting to poison my strongest warrior. That's nothing short of treachery, isn't it, my Queen?" The King grumbled, his concern for Seonghwa evident in his furrowed brow. He had even dispatched their most skilled female royal physician to the war zone, trusting her to heal him.

Anxiety filled his being as his wife sighed beside him, offering a comforting hand on his back. She had yet to muster any courage to mention the trouble caused by their fourth son during the general's absence, not wanting to add to her husband's worries, "I wish I had an answer for that, Your Majesty." She murmured sympathetically.

Before the royal couple could further drown in their pool of misery, the royal secretary rushed in with a few letters. He hastily performed the formal bow, only to have the King wave it away.

"Forget the formalities, Secretary Choi! Tell us what updates you have this instant!" His Majesty's voice was urgent.

San nodded, swiftly unfolding the papers and reading each one aloud. With each letter, a weight seemed to lift from the room.

"The first letter is from General Park," He began, "He reports he's safely home and receiving treatment from his own doctor."

Relief washed over the King's face.

"And the second?" Her Majesty pressed, her tone hopeful.

San's voice steadied as he continued, "The second is from the ruler of Ruhon. He acknowledges defeat and officially surrenders. He is also requesting an audience to discuss a peace treaty. It would seem the war is over, Your Majesties."

"Oh, thank goodness it's over."

After a moment of everyone digesting the news, His Majesty furrowed his brows in slight confusion, "Wait, General Park is home already, you say?" His voice carried a note of incredulity, "How odd. That would mean he began travelling back before there was even news of the enemy's surrender. Why would he return home all of a sudden? Did something else happen?"

The Queen's heart sank at that. For weeks, she had harboured the hope of shielding Yeosang from his father's potential wrath, but now it seemed fate had other plans.

I'm sorry, my son.

Woohoo, only the final part is left, and we're done with the main story! Psst, try going over to the Spinoff Masterlist to see if you can spot anything new HEHE🙈

As always, thank you so much for reading, and please let me know your thoughts! <3

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[drenched-in-sunlight]

i don’t think it’s talked about enough that the reason there’s a Godwyn ending where he becomes a Lord (not a God) is because symbolically, he was mirroring Godfrey in more than just name.

Godwyn’s alive body sprouting fish tail and scales isn’t just a random design choice, it’s a reference to Confucius' The Book of Rites, where it’s stated that the subjugation of the Four Divine Beasts will grant the person who tamed them different kind of control:

- Dragon -> control over animals with scales (specifically, FISH. See?)

- Qilin (Lion) -> control over beasts (think of how the Hornsent coveting the power of the Crucibles via the lion dance ritual. The “lion” in lion dance is Qilin in the native language of Asian countries that celebrate that tradition. And it’s why Godfrey’s symbol is a lion, why lion imagery plays such important role in Elden Ring world)

- Phoenix -> control over birds

- Turtle -> control over the heart of men (this might be a reach but Miquella’s connection to the Carian family and thus, the Turtle Pope could be a nice parallel to this)

in Godfrey’s cut dialogues, he said “Dearest Marika is precisely what I must take back” and “Dear Marika, do not fear. I am returned.”, and even without all that, The Talisman of Lord’s Bestowal stated that Godfrey accepted his duty without any sign of wavering, even taking Serosh upon his back so he could conduct himself as a Lord worthy of her. Bro, he loves that girl, he passed Messmer’s vibe check with flying colors.

For Godwyn to be a fruit of such a loving union, i do think Godfrey instilled in him a sense of duty to protect his Mother, and there’s his own love and devotion to her as well. Leyndell Knights all use Dragon Cult incantations and buffs - the kind of power that is only available to them because Godwyn befriended Fortissax (which is why i said that move has an ulterior motive to it).

All of that brings me to this main point I’m trying to make: does Godwyn really that devoid of agency?

I see it’s a popular interpretation in the fandom that oh Godwyn was just a symbol, he had no voice, we never knew what he wanted, etc etc… Do we really not know though?

Sorry for slapping another fandom on this, but this is really relevant to my understanding of Elden Ring as a story, even with the base written by a Western author, was developed by a Japanese team of storytellers and designers:

The concept of soul - body and body snatching etc etc exists a lot in Asian media, and there’s always a general consensus that the body remembers even as the soul perishes. What is Godwyn’s body is doing? The game specifically states that his body is alive. He only perishes in soul.

He was infesting the Erdtree’s roots, spreading Death around like free real estate. If he wanted to let go of life, of his Mother, his body should have just let go on its own. But no, he was tenaciously clinging to the Erdtree, to Marika.

Even Fortissax remembrance stated that despite its best effort, it could not fight back the Death within its friend. If Godwyn really, truly wanted to embrace a true death, would his body just let Fortissax fight alone in an uphill battle like that?

Then there is the DLC revealed that Godwyn’s personal knights were in LoS to find and guard his cadaver surrogate, specifically for the Age of the Duskborn. Their helm stated that their loyalty to him is unbroken. So will they just go and do something that their Master would not want?

These Knights are literally an elite circle that was bestowed the most precious of jewels in Godfrey’s time (the +3 medallions), they aren’t merely good, they are the very best. They are Godwyn’s inner circle the same way the Fire Knights are said to be the ones who know Messmer best.

Even if you think Fia and Those Who Lived in Death were just taking advantage of Godwyn’s death… her endgame goal technically did not even succeed. She wanted to be Mother to TWLiD, but the ending very much shows that the Mending Rune was returned to Marika’s womb. It’s her who would birth Godwyn a second life, so the True Mother™ to TWLiD… would actually be Marika 💀

Like, am i the only one who saw this as some real crazy 4D chess Uno reverse move from Godwyn? Oh these ppl wanted to get rid of him then took advantage of his body? Fine, he would take that challenge and run a mile with it. If Age of Duskborn came, it meant Ranni didn’t succeed, Fia didn’t actually get to be Mother of TWLiD, Death - the very thing that Marika tried to seal, would now be something within her control, because Godwyn is its Lord now. Exactly like how the Dragons’ power became something wielded in Marika’s favor in the end. Thanks to him.

In the Duskborn ending, bro, the God would still be Marika. It’s the only possible new Age involving a demigod that doesn’t get rid of her. Even if it utilize heretical powers to get there.

And the crazier thing? This is not the first time Fromsoft did this, btw.

[lovelybucky1]

Nectar- Tommy Shelby x Reader

warnings: AFAB!reader, f receiving oral sex, fingering, mentions of masturbation, blasphemy kink, church sex, heavy religious themes, corruption kink, dirty talk, canon typical violence

masterlist

The church is quiet like it always is at this hour. The pews empty of parishioners, the confessionals vacant, and the lights dim. The priest and almost everyone in the neighborhood have long been in bed. You, however, were wide awake.

You’ve been working in the church since you were a girl, per your family’s wishes. It’s mostly charity work: caring for the sick, poor, orphans, and others in need. You also spend a fair amount of time working inside the church, cleaning and whatnot. It is fulfilling work, but it doesn’t offer much in terms of pay, so you don’t have much of a space to call your own. That is why you spend your nights in the empty church, alone save for the conversations you have with God.

Since you spend so much time in the church, you’re pretty familiar with the congregation. It’s not often you see a new face unless a new family moves to the city. When you heard the heavy oak doors open, you were expecting a devout Catholic in crisis, not the notorious crime boss, Tommy Shelby.

You watch from the first pew near the altar as he walks down the aisle toward you. His hat and coat are wet from the rain, and once he takes a seat a few rows behind you, he takes them off. You’re confused, wondering what he could be doing in your church in the middle of the night. Part of you feels nervous, knowing that danger never follows far behind a Peaky Blinder.

“Good evening, Mr. Shelby,” you decide to speak up, voice kind and sweet as always.

Tommy’s eyes flick to you, but his expression is unreadable. “I’m not dead yet, eh?” he says. You look closer at him and in the dim light, you can just make out the dried blood splattered on his face.

So maybe it isn’t a good evening. Nevertheless, he has come to a church and he is allowed sanctuary here. You make your way over to where he sits and you stand at the end of the row, obviously looking hesitant if his glance is anything to go by.

“Do you mind if I sit?” you ask. Instead of a response, he cocks his head to the side in a way that you’re interpreting as go ahead. You sit down, pressing your knees together to make yourself as small as possible. There is about a foot of space between the two of you, but even still, the proximity to him is overwhelming.

As the two of you sit in silence, your mind starts to wander. You know his Aunt Polly is Catholic; she frequents the church, though she never attends the services. You’ve overheard her prayers before, and you understand why she prefers to pray in private.

“Are you Catholic, Mr. Shelby?”

Your desire for conversation seems to surprise him. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye before he goes back to looking straight ahead at the altar. It takes him a few moments to respond, and you can see the inner battle on his face as he decides how to answer.

“No,” he says.

“I see. Your Aunt is, though. I see her nearly every day.”

“And she’s a fool for it.” The bitter tone he takes only gives you more questions.

“I take it you don’t believe in God?”

“You’re quite inquisitive,” he says, shooting you a look. “God abandoned me long ago.”

You sigh. Many of the men held the same sentiment after they came back from the war. The horrors they experienced in France, the death and destruction took the fear of God away from these men. Now, all they fear is each other.

“It’s never too late to find him again,” you offer. Tommy lets out a dry, humorless chuckle in response. “You can still be saved.”

“I’m past the point of saving. I’ve got a spot in hell waiting for me.”

You frown at that. “God is all about forgiveness. God will even forgive men like you as long as you accept him.”

“What’s the point in asking forgiveness if I don’t indent on stopping?” he asks, leaning back in his seat, making himself look more intimidating. “And what do you mean, men like me?”

As if someone dumped a bucket of ice water on you, you immediately realize your mistake.

“I didn’t mean to offend you, sir. I just meant men in your… line of work,” you say, trying to backtrack.

“And what line of work is that?”

Tommy is sitting up now, leaning just slightly closer to you. Now that he is fully facing you, you can see the blood on his face, but by the lack of injuries he has, you’re suspecting it’s not his. His gaze is piercing as he stares into your eyes, smirking as he waits for you to respond.

“I-I don’t know.” With a small, satisfied smirk, Tommy leans back again. “I’m just saying, sir, you haven’t strayed too far from God’s light.”

That makes him chuckle again. “I see. So all I have to do is absolve myself, right? Confess my sins and I’ll be God’s child once again?”

He’s toying with you now. He wants to see if you are devoted enough to your God that you’d try to convince the biggest sinner in the city to become a religious man.

“That’s right,” you smile softly, still hesitant from your previous slip-up.

“Can I confess to you?” he asks.

“I’m not the priest-”

“I want to do this now. I want to find God.” His voice is so earnest that you believe him.

“Okay,” you agree. It’s about confessing to God, the person doesn’t matter. “We can go to the confessionals.” You begin to stand, but he stops you by grabbing your wrist.

“That’s far too formal, don’t you think? We can do it right here,” he says, the faintest look of mischief in his eyes.

You nod and sit back down, folding your hands onto your lap. Tommy slides off the bench and sinks to his knees on the floor, hands clasped in front of him.

“Bless me, for I have sinned,” he begins, looking into your eyes. “It’s been many years since my last confession. In my time away I’ve done many bad things, terrible things, that make me ashamed to look in the mirror. I’ve lied, stolen, scammed, and gambled. I live a life of deceit and greed, and I’ve found great success in doing so, but those are not the sins that weigh heaviest on me.”

You watch him intently as he speaks, your eyes tracing every word his mouth forms. Your heart begins to beat quicker in your chest; the idea that you’re getting access to information only meant for God makes you feel guilty, but it’s also exciting in a strange way.

“I’ve taken many lives. During the war, I was ordered to, but I continued once I came home. I’ve killed in every way imaginable. Shot in the head, slitting their throat, hanging, drowning, burning, suffocating. I’ve had men ripped apart for betraying me, and I did not feel remorse. I watched these men suffer as my men tortured them. I laughed as they pleaded for God to save them.”

Tommy doesn’t look as remorseful as most do when they’re confessing their terrible sins. He almost looks proud, like he’s bragging about them to you as you squirm under his gaze. The graphic descriptions he’s offering make you uncomfortable like your skin is too tight on your bones. Like he’s corrupting you just by having you listen to his tales.

There is a blaze behind his light blue eyes that captivate as much as they scare you. They bore into your soul and peel back the layers, revealing all of your inner thoughts. It makes you want to run away screaming, to pray for God to rid this world of the devil in front of you but you’re stuck, frozen in front of him as he confesses.

Tommy takes a breath as if what he is going to say next brings him great shame. As if he hasn’t already confessed the worst sins man could commit.

“Perhaps worst of all, I lust. I lust after women and I envy men with beautiful wives to the point I take them for myself. I’ve had many married women in my bed, as well as hers. I fuck whores too, but only the pretty ones. And they can’t be cheap, because those women can’t keep a secret. I don’t only fuck them in the bed. I’ve fucked in my office, my car, and my pub. It doesn’t matter who these women are, but once I have my sights set on them, I am determined to get what I want.”

The confessions about his sex life shock you. Of course, you know people have pre-marital sex and affairs are common, but you’ve spent your life in the church. You don’t hear of these things frequently, and you feel bashful because of his vulgar words. Tommy holds eye contact with you as he speaks, though you find it difficult to meet his eyes.

Your body betrays you now; you’re unsure how to react. You should be scared, you are scared. There is a murderer less than two feet from you, splattered with someone else’s blood. However, he has a soothing, gentle voice, kind eyes, and a soft smile. It’s hard to believe that the man on his knees praying to God is a monster, but you find it harder to believe that there is a heat growing between your thighs from his confessions.

The vivid images of Tommy with some faceless woman play in your mind. You imagine the way he’d look lost in pleasure, carefree and blissful. You imagine how his rough hands, which are currently clasped together, would feel on your skin. You imagine how his voice would sound in your ear, how his lips would feel as he whispers.

Your heartbeat picks up in your chest, a physical reaction from the fantasies. Your skin feels hot, burning with shame as you pray that Tommy doesn’t notice your current state.

“And finally, I’d like forgiveness for lusting after the church girl who was stupid enough to think she could show me the light,” he says, hands now dropped at his side and gaze predatory.

Entranced by his words, you didn’t notice how close he had leaned in, now only inches from your face. Your breath hitches in your throat and for a split-second, you think you see Tommy’s eyes on your lips.

“Sir?” you ask, voice no more than a squeak.

“I appreciate your efforts, dear, but I sold my soul many years ago.”

Tommy’s eyes are sharp and his grin is wide as he leans closer to you. He has lured you into his trap and you fell for it like a fool. Now, helpless and trapped, he is going to swallow you whole. Your heartbeat throbs in your ears, almost downing out his sweet, deep voice.

Tommy places his hands on your knees, and even through the fabric of your skirt, you can feel the coolness of his skin. The touch, although not sexual in nature, electrifies you. A shiver runs down your spine and Tommy must notice if the slight smirk is anything to go by.

“Are you alright?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Yes,” you choke out.

“Would you mind helping me?”

You furrow your brow, now much more hesitant to do anything for him. Your heart is still hammering in your chest and you’re certain you are trembling slightly.

“With what?” you manage to ask. Somehow, even on his knees below you, Tommy makes you feel small.

“I need something new to worship,” he says.

Tommy slides his hands down your claves until he reaches the hem of your dress, which he then pushes up to reveal your stockinged legs. He gently guides your knees apart and you allow him until you feel too exposed. You resist against him and he looks up at you with a questioning look.

“I-I can’t,” you say.

“You can lie to yourself, you can lie to God, but you can’t lie to me,” Tommy says, grasp still from on your knees but no longer pushing. “You want this.”

You look away, over your left shoulder as you try to hold onto any of the values you held before Tommy entered the church. You’re saving yourself for marriage, and even worse, you hadn’t formally met Tommy before tonight. There’s no love, no future, between the two of you. It goes against everything you have been taught since you were a girl, but he is appealing to the primal side of you. The side of you that slips your fingers underneath your nightgown after you say your nightly prayers. The side of you that allows your eyes to linger on the men in the chuch during service, even as their wives and children sit beside them.

Tommy is not putting the thoughts of sin in your head, he is simply tempting you to act upon the urges you have felt for years.

“You’re the devil,” you whisper.

“And you’re the fuckin’ Virgin Mary,” he counters. “You spend all your life worrying about what’s going to happen when you die. How about I show you what it’s like to live, eh?”

You set your jaw, trying to save a bit of your dignity before you give the man on the floor permission to debase you. You squeeze your eyes shut and nod your head, but that is not enough for Tommy.

“I need to hear you say it.”

You wonder if he is really concerned with how much you want this, or if this is just another power move. You swallow thickly and resolve yourself to the reality of the situation: if you want anything from the devil with the silver tongue, you’ll have to play his game.

“I want it.”

You’re Eve, and you have just been tempted to take a bite out of the apple by the snake.

With a wicked grin, Tommy presses a kiss to the inside of your knee and, embarrassingly, the contact makes you jolt. He removes your shoes, unbuckling them quickly and with ease, then placing them underneath the pew. His hands reach up your skirt to grab ahold of the top of your stocking. He gently rolls them down your smooth leg and pulls it off your foot before turning his attention to the other one.

It is unnecessary for him to undress you like this, especially when your stockings wouldn’t be an obstacle. There is something about being unusually bare in a church that makes you ache with guilt, and Tommy must know that. He seems like he knows everything.

He bunches the skirt around your upper thighs and he spreads your legs farther. This time, you don’t resist. You swear you see his mouth water when he catches a glimpse of your white knickers, pristine and perfect like a good girl should wear.

“What a precious little thing you are,” he grins.

Tommy ducks his head and drags his nose along your inner thigh until he reaches your clothed mound. He presses his face between your legs and takes a long, slow inhale like he’s smoking a cigarette. His fingers press firmly into your legs and you’re certain you will have bruises left behind. You should be upset about that but truthfully, you’ve longed for something like this.

Tommy’s fingers find the edge of your panties and gently push them to the side, exposing your pussy to the church air. Your breath hitches in your throat and you watch as he stares shamelessly at you. He swipes his finger through your folds to gather your wetness on his fingertip. He brings his hand back to show your desire glistening in the dim light.

“What’s all this?” he asks smugly.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you huff.

“Oh love, I’m not making fun. I think it’s sweet how worked up you got over nothin’.”

Tommy leans in again and his hot breath fans over your cunt, which now feels cool from being in the open. You shiver with anticipation as he nears, and your body jolts when his tongue makes contact with you. It’s a light, barely there touch but it sends an electric shock through you and elicits an embarrassing moan.

You hear him chuckle, but he doesn’t stop or say anything else. He licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit, then back down. Your hands twitch at your sides, fighting back the urge to grab him, not wanting to show how much you’re enjoying his torture. He knows, of course.

He works you up slowly, not giving too much attention to one spot, not making you too sensitive. You keep your attention focused on him, watching intently as he pleasures you. You don’t even feel the sting of his nails digging into your thighs when he sucks on your clit.

“Sir, please, this is wrong,” you try to reason, but your broken, airy voice sends a different message. You don’t want him to stop, you’d probably cry if he did, but it’s still wrong. It’s still a sin.

You hold on tightly to the edge of the wooden bench to ground yourself so you don’t get lost in the pleasure. Part of you realizes how ridiculous this situation is: a notorious gangster eating out an innocent little church girl. Another part of you couldn’t give less of a shit and just wants to cum.

“Mr. Shelby, please,” you whine. It’s unclear if you’re begging for more or to stop, but Tommy doesn’t seem to care either way. He’s going to give you what he wants and nothing more, nothing less.

He slides two fingers into your soaking cunt and curls them against that spot deep inside of you that makes your toes curl. He fucks you with his fingers and works your clit with his tongue, and you feel yourself nearing the edge faster than you ever have before.

You build up to your peak, and after a particularly harsh suck to your clit, you begin to cum. Your orgasm shutters through you, making your legs twitch on his shoulders. You let out an unintelligible whine as you grip the bench. Despite having cum, Tommy doesn’t let up on his assault. He continues to suck on your over sensitive clit until you’re shrieking and pushing his head away.

He chuckles and sits back on his heels, looking at you with a glistening face. He makes a show of pushing up his sleeve and wiping his face with the back of his hand. You want to close your legs to stop the cool air from hitting your sensitive cunt, but he is still in the way, keeping you exposed.

“Nectar of the gods in there,” he smirks, glancing down at your soaked pussy.

Without another word, he stands up. He picks up his hat and coat, and begins to walk down the aisle, leaving you alone.

“Wait,” you say, voice echoing in the church. He stops and turns around, eyebrow raised. “That’s it?”

“What more do you want?” he asks.

“What about you?”

Tommy chuckles. “Such a generous soul. I’ll take care of it myself, love. You just get to prayin’. We did a lot of sinning you have to repent for.”

You sigh and nod. “Will I see you again?”

“If I decide to become a priest,” he says with a smirk before turning on his heel and continuing out the door.

You know Tommy Shelby will never turn to priesthood, but you do have a feeling he’s found something in the church worth coming back for.

my inbox is open for requests!

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Ok I know you said time won't make them nicer to each other.

But I need her reaction to Carlos being diagnosed with appendicitis. Maybe she's the one that takes him to the hospital?!

The Uphill Battle {2} || CS55

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut, name calling, angst

WC: 2.9k

Part One

Carlos was grumpier than usual. And that was saying something since he had been in a mood since the news broke about Lewis taking his seat. You could understand that after losing seats to guys all the time before getting a spot in the Academy. Carlos, however, was not used to that feeling and it showed as he pushed himself harder at each training.

“You’re too weak,” he taunted as you wiped the sweat from your brow and started another set of reps with trembling arms. “It’s like you don’t even want to be in F1.”

You let the weight bar fall into the shelf and sat up. “Go project yourself onto someone else, you miserable shit.”

After taking second place at the feature race in Bahrain you had shown you had the drive for F1, but it didn’t seem to change his training approach. He was still firmly on the path of insult until you explode and prove him wrong. To be fair, it had worked so far.

A muscled arm, followed by a bare chest, blocked your way when you stood up, a sneer pulling at his lips. “You’re not funny.”

“I wasn’t joking. Now get out of my way, you have free practice to get ready for.”

He looked at the clock on the wall and sighed. He hadn’t meant to let time get away from him but when he found you in the gym he decided to finish his warm up routine alongside you. It had been a mistake because he couldn’t help but pester and critique you until he completely forgot what he was meant to be doing.

“Fine, but you need to stay and finish your set. That was just embarrassing to watch.”

“I’m done. With you. And with your training. Go fuck yourself, Junior.” You shoved past him, your elbow connecting with his gut, before you made your way to the stack of towels. You felt his presence follow you to the changing rooms and he closed the door to the shower cubicle.

“You’re done when I say you are done,” Carlos growled, turning you to face him before he pressed your back to the cold tile wall.

You tipped your head back and laughed darkly. “Only for the next nine months, then I’m Lewis’ problem. Or, maybe I’ll get the golden boy as my PT. Charles seems sweet and kind, I wouldn’t mind testing his patience.”

“Listen here, you little-” Whatever threat you would have ignored was lost as you flipped the handle of the cold tap and washed it gush out of the showerhead and straight into Carlos’ face.

“You were saying?”

“Brat.” The timber in his voice had the desired effect as his hand enveloped your throat and pulled you under the cold spray. His lips crashed against yours and his thigh nudged your legs apart, your hips riding the thick muscle as you kissed him back just as passionately. “I really hate you.”

You grinned, but it was more a baring of teeth ready to sink into his skin. “I don’t even hate you, that’s how little I feel about you.”

His palm glided over your ribs, touching the flesh bared by the sports bra you trained in, and slipped between the waistband of your shorts. His fingers spread your folds and curled into your core as your head fell back against the tiles.

“You feel something,” Carlos chuckled, dipping his head down to leave his mark on the swell of your breast. “Or you wouldn’t feel so fucking wet.”

“God I hate it when you open your mouth, just fuck me already.”

Carlos pulled the elastic waistband and let it snap back against your skin. The twanging pain was instant but then it was gone as he dragged the material down your legs. Another ache flared as he sunk his teeth into the soft supple skin on your thigh and you cried out at the heat that radiated from the indents he left behind.

“Fucking savage,” you growled, but you both knew how much you liked it that way.

“Sticks and stones, malcriada.”

You were needy, impatient, and well aware someone would come looking for Carlos as the countdown to free practice began. The lure of a verbal repartee would have to wait if you wanted some pleasure to balance out the pain in the arse that was Carlos. You pushed Carlos onto the bench where your dry towel had been abandoned and he lifted his hips for you to drag his shorts off.

“You gonna ride this di-“ You slapped your hand over his mouth to silence him and straddled his hips, sinking down on his cock with a moan that echoed around the changing room.

“Be a good boy and keep the commentary to yourself if you want a happy ending,” you warned as you let your hand fall to his shoulder and started to roll your hips. He heeded your words and bit his bottom lip to keep from saying something that would leave him with blue balls.

His hands gripped your waist and guided you up and down, setting rhythm that had you bouncing on his dick and an orgasm quickly building. The heat flashing across your body was the perfect contrast to the droplets of cold water collecting on your back and shivering down your spine.

“Fuck, harder,” you begged as your head fell back and he grazed his teeth over your throat. Your gasp filled the small cubicle as he nipped sharply at your skin and you raked your nails down his chest, earning a deep groan from his parted lips. The pained sound made your cunt clench and flutter before he suddenly stood up and turned you to face the wall. The emptiness within your body was quickly filled with the snap of his hips and his hand slapped over your mouth to muffle the cry at the sudden fullness.

“Shut up and take it,” he ordered quietly in your ear. “This is what you asked for.”

Carlos’ hands fell to your hips, bruising your skin with their harsh grip as he pounded into you. The slap of your bodies colliding filled the small space and your eyes rolled back into your head as your legs began to tremble. Your breathing deepened and you forgot where you were as your mind emptied and your body exploded.

“Fuck, that feels good,” Carlos moaned, your walls tightening around him with your orgasm. A wordless grunt warmed your ear before he sealed his lips over your racing pulse and left his mark while he filled your cunt.

Your forehead pressed to the cool tile as you regained your breath and Carlos pulled out, chuckling as he watched his cum leak down your still trembling thighs. “God, you’re a whore.”

“That’s more of an insult to you, desperado,” you teased. “Should I send the invoice to you or Sainz Senior?”

You forced yourself upright and stepped under the cold spray to see his smirk fade as you washed his seed away. You both jumped at the loud knock on the bathroom door and a voice called out, “Carlos, are you in there? You’re going to be late.”

“Just a sec,” Carlos shouted back before attempting to step under the now warm spray. You cast your hands out, splaying your fingers across his torso, catching the pained wince that crossed his face.

“Tsk, tsk, Daddy’s calling,” you said with a shake of your head.

He looked down at himself, the evidence of what transpired glistening on his cock. “Seriously?”

It was your turn to smirk and push him back further before waving him off. “Good luck.”

Free practice was already underway by the time you finished showering and changing into fresh Ferrari merch. No one really paid you any mind as you found a good spot on the balcony above the pit lane and watched the final 30 minutes of track time.

Despite there being better performers, your eyes kept being drawn back to your PT and the lowly 7th place he finished. You had catalogued a list of insults for him and went down to the debrief room ready to rule him up when you found him leaning against the corridor wall. Lines from his balaclava creased his cheeks and his eyes screwed shut as he clutched a hand to his stomach.

“Don’t think playing sick will let you off the hook for that performance,” you said as you crossed your arms.

There was no humour in his face, no wry amusement that usually came with your insults. Instead, he silently pushed off from the wall and made his way on towards the briefing room.

You kind of felt bad as you left the track and returned to the hotel. There had been a misstep in the turbulent dance that had been going on for months and you were left unsettled by it. Nothing on the tv could distract you enough that you finally gave up and took the elevator to Carlos’ floor. It was late but you figured he would still be awake as you knocked on his door.

“You look like shit,” you greeted, but your voice was thick with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Sweat beaded on his forehead and the sickly sheen covered his bare chest too. Reaching out, you felt his skin burning like a furnace and he swayed on his feet before leaning on the doorway.

“You don’t care, so just go,” he rasped, his voice pained and weak.

You rolled your eyes and stepped around him to see a sick bowl on the coffee table with some painkillers beside it and a rumpled blanket spread over the couch. He made to follow but he could barely hold himself up and it was only your arms that kept him collapsing. “Fuck sake, Carlos, you need a hospital.”

“Just need sleep,” he argued. His body shivered and his throat worked to swallow but you had been through enough hangovers to know what was coming. You leapt for the sick bowl and barely got it under his face before he hurled up the bright blue electrolyte drink that you spotted on the table.

“Where’s your phone and your keys?” He peeked up from the bowl pitifully and he saw the determined look on your face before pointing to the kitchen. “Can you stand on your own? Don’t look so offended, it’s a reasonable question in your state.”

“I’m fine.”

“And I’m Max Verstappen.” You let go of him for a second to see if he would crumple to the carpet but he seemed to hold himself on pure stubbornness so you dashed to the kitchen to dump the bowl in the sink and grab his belongings.

“Planning on robbing me too?” he asked as he noticed you grabbed his wallet too.

“Since I’m apparently a whore, you owe me a hefty debt,” you muttered sarcastically. “It’s for your ID, asshole.”

Carlos didn’t deign to respond as he curled one arm around your shoulders, leaning heavily into your embrace, and the other clutched his abdomen.

“You’ve been in pain since practice, haven’t you?”

“Maybe…can we just go?”

You pocketed his things and took as much weight as you could off him, using every ounce of your strength training as you guided him to the elevator. It was strange to see him so reserved in the elevator mirror as it headed down to the underground car park and it was even stranger to sit in the driver seat of his car.

“Please don’t crash it,” he murmured as you started it up and headed out into the street.

“I know you don’t believe it, but I am actually a decent driver,” you muttered. The city traffic was busy 24/7 but the satnav came in handy with the directions to the emergency room at the nearest hospital. “Should I call your dad?”

“No. It’s probably nothing but a stomach bug.”

That ‘probably nothing’ turned out to be acute appendicitis. You could have laughed at how spectacularly wrong Carlos was but you were too worried as he was wheeled away to surgery and you were left to make a phone call.

‘Do not call him Daddy Sainz,’ you reminded yourself as you entered the passcode on Carlos’ phone and hoped he wasn’t too delusional to get it right. Thankfully it unlocked and you went to his contacts. “Hello, Mr Sainz?”

“Who is this?” he asked worriedly.

“It’s Y/N, I drive for Ferrari in the Academy, uh, Carlos is my Mentor.”

“Where is my son? Why do you have his phone?”

“He’s at the hospital. They’re just taking him into surgery now to remove his appendix.”

The elder Sainz must had put you on speakerphone as you heard the noises at his end increase. “Which hospital? Why are you only calling me now?”

“King Fahad Armed Forces and you’re welcome, by the way, if it wasn’t for me your son would still be curled up on the couch in his room until it burst.”

“He said you had an attitude,” the old man muttered quietly before he resigned himself to a sigh. “Thank you. I’ll be there soon.”

You sent him the ward number that Carlos would be brought through when he was out of surgery and tried to make yourself comfortable on a vinyl chair. It must have been cozy enough as you dozed off, only waking when a nurse tapped your shoulder and smiled sweetly. “Mr Sainz is on his way up now, the operation went well.”

You rubbed your eyes and thanked her as you sat up to see almost two hours had passed. It was then you noticed a pair of brown eyes were watching curiously from across the room.

“Have you been watching me sleep?” you asked as you stretched and cracked your back.

The old man snorted a laugh and put down the almost empty styrofoam cup of black coffee. “You don’t need to wait, I can look after him from here.”

“And ruin my perfect posture for nothing? I’m fine waiting a bit longer.” You stood up and made your way to the percolator jug of black sludge and poured yourself a cup too before pacing the room. “Have you been talking with the other teams yet?”

His eyes followed you back and forth like he was trying to pick your brain apart. “About what?”

“2025. He’s too good for his F1 career to end now.”

The old man stood up too and refilled his cup. “Would you like milk and sugar?” he asked when he noticed your face scrunch at the first sip.

“Just a tiny dash of milk please, no sugar. I like my coffee like I like my men: a little dark and bitter.”

He chuckled and poured a small amount of milk into your cup before returning to his seat. “I can see why my son likes you.”

You spluttered on your mouthful and hurried to swallow the hot liquid. “You must be thinking about someone else. Carlos and I just about have a mutual understanding, and it wouldn’t be a stretch to say he borderline hates me.”

“Can’t be too many female Ferrari drivers that he mentors from the Academy, because I sincerely remember his comment about her,” the old man teased, crossing one leg over the other and staring over the rim of his cup. His eyebrow arched, daring you to correct him until he took the silence with an air of smugness.

Sounds grew along the quiet ward and soon Carlos was wheeled in on a hospital bed, parking into the empty space that had been between the two chairs. Though he looked a little sleepy, Carlos was awake and he smiled dopily from where he lay looking up at you.

“The doctors said your testicle retrieval went well.”

His smile broke with a deep laugh and he turned to look at his amused dad. “I see you met her.”

“I did.” Carlos Senior stood up and kissed his son’s forehead. “I’m glad you had her to take care of you, son. I’ll give you a few moments alone.”

You frowned as his dad left the room, waiting for the door to close quietly behind him. “What the hell were you thinking! Why didn’t you say anything? You could have died!”

Carlos shrugged and shifted carefully to get comfortable on this pillow behind his head. “We don’t exactly have the sort of relationship where we talk about things.”

You huffed and lifted his head, fluffing the pillow before shoving it back into place. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Back to the insults, finally.” The sick bastard smiled happily and settled into the pillow with a contented sigh. “For a moment I thought I died and went to heaven.”

“Not funny.”

“Was so, you just care about me too much to laugh. Admit it, you would’ve missed me.” He opened his hand and inched it closer to the edge of the bed.

“They must have given you the strong stuff, you’re clearly delusional,” you said with a roll of your eyes but placed your hand into his palm and he closed his fingers around them. “Your dad seems to think you like me.”

Carlos yawned and closed his eyes, but a smile played on his lips. “That’s probably the beginning of dementia. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Trust me, I wasn’t,” you chuckled. A few moments of silence filled the room before a soft snore broke the quiet. Careful not to wake him, you kissed his cheek and whispered, “I’m glad you’re okay, Junior.”

“Knew it,” he said as he cracked one eye open and grinned.

You let go of his hand and dropped into your chair with an annoyed huff. “Asshole.”

“Brat.”

[prettyboypistol]

How mercs would react after having a wet dream

TF2 Mercs' Wet Dreams! ||TF2 x M!Reader|| +18 obviously

Scout

He imagines you shirtless and on his bed all cheesy porno style, you coax him over and pull him to the bed, kissing over his chest and murmuring about just how badly you need him.

He loves dreaming about you riding him and sucking him off, especially when you suffocate him in your chest and hold him close.

He has a recurring dream of you breathing heavily, panting out "Scout, Scout! Scout!" as you jerk yourself off as you ride.

Cums in his sleep and jerks off in the morning, sneaking away to wash the sheets early that morning.

Soldier

Solly is inspecting your dress code and orders you to attention for the formal inspection.

"Private! Will you do anything for your country?" "Sir, Yessir!" "No matter the cost, will you defend this base?!" "Sir, Yessir!" His voice a little quieter, yet slightly commanding as he leans into you. "Then show your major just how much you need his lead."

God, he loves imagining you in formal military dress as you kneel before him, praising his battle tactics and mouth full of dick.

Doesn't cum in his sleep, but it's a 70-30 shot that he'll grunt your name into his pillow as he ruts against his mattress.

Pyro

They imagine you as an angel, dawned in gloarious robes and with a halo and wings. Pyro isn't worthy- not a monster like them that can barely stay sane- yet you invite them forward and kiss their mask's forehead as you hike up your robe to expose yourself. "It's alright darling, you can touch me."

Secretly, Pyro wants to deflower you. They know you're probably not a virgin, but the idea of spoiling your virginity is so hot to them. The first one to touch your body, the first one to ruin you.

Pyro kneels and nuzzles your thighs in reverence as they touch you the way they desire. Their touches leave purple-black marks wherever they touch, actually staining you with sin. They feel so guilty about ruining an angel like you, but you're allowing them to!

Pyro does cum in their sleep, whimpering and writhing against their suit.

Demoman

Tavish's wet dreams start out like normal dreams- in a bar, drinking his heart out back in Scotland with his friends. Then he sees you from across the room. You give him a look that invites him over as you bite your bottom lip.

"Hey there sexy, you look like you could use some company." You flirt, petting Demoman's bicep. Tavish laughs and escorts you to the back of the bar, magically turned into a nicer bedroom as he lays you down.

It's a bit of a haze, but Tavish remembers thrusting into you and imagining how tight you mush be, he dreams about fingering you open with the hilt of eyelander if he's feeling a little fantasy-based rather than in the year of the lord 1971.

Sometimes he dreams of you fucking him, and those are the dreams that wake him up to stained sheets.

Heavy

In the cold russian nights, you knock on the door asking for a place to stay. Mikhail ushers you in and offers you a warm bath, which you graciously accept. Little do you know that there is a little hole in the wooden walls, where Heavy keeps an eye on you.

Mikhail touches himself to the sight of your naked back, as you seen to have the same idea in the bath, reveling in the now warm touches of your hands against your skin.

He hears you moan out his name as you masturbate, and that only fuels his fire more. He usually climaxes to a particularly loud and desperate begging from your lips.

Wakes up with a raging boner that he mostly will ignore, but will rarely take care of himself to the thought of you.

Engineer

You're kidnapped, tied up by the enemy- but you're naked and begging for someone to touch you! Engie is there to rescue you, but you look so handsome all vulnerable like that- you understand, don't you, darlin'?

Dell fucks you as you're tied up in the chair and mutters dirty things that make his sleeping body blush as he promises to fuck you in every way he can as he fucks you like a desperate man.

The feeling of your tightening around him and begging to let you cum, please don't call him daddy, he'll stain his sheets!

Is massively ashamed to touch himself when he's awake to thr thought of his coworker

Medic

You. On his operating table. Bound by the belts and struggling to escape as your dick is hard and tied with a little bow at the base. "To Medic" the gift tag says. Wouldn't it be rude to not use a gift?

He imagines you drunk on lust as he injects both you and himself with an aphrodesiac. Hazily, you two fuck on base instincts for hours as he shoves his cock deep into you over and over again, orgasm after orgasm until he was thoroughly used.

But you break your restraints, pin him against the table and fuck him from behind. It's your turn to use him like the cocksleeve he knows he is. Use him like a fleshlight, just as rough as you always imagine!

Doesn't cum in his sleep but jerks off into a test tube for research purposes later.

Spy

You and Spy are making out in his smoking room before you lay him down onto the couch, unbuttoning his suit and kissing all the skin you can reach as you undress him.

You finger him lazily with one hand, pouring him a glass of wine with the other. The glass is left on the side table as you suck hickeys into his thighs before you thrust into him.

It starts off slow- as it always does, you're always gentle at first- then you pick up the pace, drilling into him with reckless abandon as you chase your pleasure.

Spy sleepily jerks himself off from over his pyjama pants, more asleep than awake as he dreams of you absolutely wrecking him.

Sniper

He imagines you fucking yourself with your fingers in his Sniper Nest, holding his shirt close to you. You fuck yourself stupid as you moan out "Mundy, oh god, Mick- please fuck me!"

Mick loves watching, just like the creep he is. He loves the shame of watching someone through a sniper scope, even if he's not watching intimate moments like that. During missions, he likes to rub one out as he watches people do mundane things.

He fucks his fist in his sleep to the sight of you seducing him- the idea of you wanting him just as much as he wants you drives him insane.

[leemacher]

You're Enough For Me | Astarion x Gn!Tav!Reader

Summary: Shortly after making it to Baldur's Gate, a moment alone with Halsin reveals how he truly feels about you. In talking to Astarion, you realize the true extent to which his time with Cazador affected him, and his relationship with you. OR In which you and Astarion have a conversation about you rejecting Halsin because I don't like that you can't bring that moment up unless you imply that you said yes to Halsin

Word Count: 2,343

Content: fluff, slight angst, mentions of sex, Astarion's trauma, established relationship

Sliding down a tree trunk to sit, resting against it, you didn’t even begin to take in the river before you. Instead, you closed your eyes for the first time in what felt like days. Listening to the river rushing by you and the birds chirping around you, with a deep breath in your muscles began to relax. 

For once there were no goblins or shadow monsters to watch out for, there were no cultists trying to kill you or the gods chosen to deal with, and no one needed saving. In that moment it was you and the calm, peaceful world around you.

Unfortunately, like all good things, your perfect serene world melted away at the sound of light footsteps behind you.

“If you're here to kill me, bargain with me, or ask for a favor, come back tomorrow. I’m taking the night off.” At your voice, the footsteps abruptly stopped, and instead came a laugh that you would know anywhere.

Astarion moved to stand next to your sitting form, leaning up against the tree on his side. “Darling, if that was your attempt at intimidation it needs some work.”

You found yourself chuckling with a light smile before looking up at him. “Maybe you can teach me.”

He hummed, casting his eyes towards the river. Taking the moment to admire his features, as you often found yourself doing in moments like these as of late, you couldn’t help but wonder how you had gotten lucky enough to be involved with someone like him. No matter how often you knew he thought himself unworthy of your affection, or any affection really, you felt the exact opposite.

This man who had been through so much, fought for so long, had chosen you. Astarion’s past was one both of you battled nightly, so while you didn’t know all of the little details, you knew enough to understand how deeply his time with Cazador affected him. How much of himself he had lost. The idea that what little of himself he had left he was willingly given to you sent shivers up and down your spine every time you thought about it. He chose to be vulnerable with you, he was open with you, eventually, and he could find safety and comfort in your presence. You were definitely the lucky one.

“C’mon, love.” His voice brought you out of your thoughts. By the look on his face, you could tell he had been thinking of the same things.

Grabbing his hand and pulling yourself up and towards him, the two of you began your walk back to camp. Tomorrow you would finally reach the city, and all of the chaos and stress would fall right back onto your shoulders. Tonight though? Tonight you were going to lie down, curled into Astarion’s side, and have the best sleep you’ve had since this nightmare had begun.

 Filing back into camp after a long day of wandering around the city, you couldn’t help but feel joy when you saw Gale making something over the fire out of a few ingredients he had bought during the day. It had been a while since any of you have had food that didn’t just consist of whatever animal you had come across during your journey.

Setting your things down, the first thing you noticed was that most of your companions hadn’t come back yet. Only you, Shadowheart, Gale and Halsin had had their fill of the city it would seem.

While sorting through the items you had bought and… well, not bought, a hand landed on your shoulder and you jumped in fright. Whipping around you came face to face with Halsin, who had a guilty look upon him.

“Sorry, I did not mean to scare you.”

Laughing it off, you shook your head and pulled yourself together. “It’s fine, Halsin. Is there something you needed?”

He nodded, then. “I’d like to talk to you about something actually.” Nodding for him to continue, you watched as the man who stood strong in the face of everything you had faced together became somewhat nervous, though no less serious.

“I never quite realized how burdened I was, until I met you. The threat of the shadow curse, the politics of the grove.” He trailed off for a moment before regaining his words as you tried to figure out where this conversation was leading. “I was forgetting who I was, but you lifted the fog. Thank you”

You smiled, softly. It seemed everyone in camp had a habit of thanking you for things they did all on their own, albeit with a little support. “I wouldn’t claim to be responsible for all of the things you’ve accomplished, but you’re welcome nonetheless.”

At your words, he laughed lightly in what seemed to be disbelief. “You’re too modest. I wager you don’t even know how extraordinary you truly are. But I do.” Your heart felt as if it had stuttered in your chest. He wasn’t implying… Was he? “I have lived a very long time. I have taken many lovers. My heart does not stir lightly, but it does now.”

Oh. He was. A thousand thoughts swam through your head. Thoughts of Halsin and the moments between the two of you at the party after the grove, of the feelings you had felt grow slightly at his willingness to risk everything, do anything, in order to remove the curse over the shadowlands and restore Thaniel to his former self. “What are you saying, exactly?” Your words came out in a shocked breath, no doubt picked up on by the man before you.

“I want more than to fight by your side, or to sit around a campfire with you.” His hands reached out slowly and hesitantly for yours. “I want to lay with you under the stars and feel your skin against mine. And I think you feel the same way, but tell me I’m wrong and the matter can rest. I do not wish to sour our friendship, but I have to know if it can be something more.”

With a slow sigh, you closed your hands around Halsin’s, thoughts ultimately landing on Astarion and the connection the two of you shared. “I won’t lie and tell you that I don’t feel as you do. Your kindness and resilience in all we’ve faced has allowed you to grow on me in a way that I never thought possible.” You could see the deep breath Halsin took in, and knew that even if you did not share in his desires as much as he did, it would hurt you just as much. “But, I’m with Astarion. Mind, body, and soul. Had we met under different circumstances, or had things gone differently, I may have indulged in such sentiments. But I can’t, and truly no matter how I feel towards you, I don’t want to.”

Your hands clutched his tighter, determined to let him down as easily as you possibly could. Halsin was a great man, and he deserved great things. “I know that if I wanted, you would be okay with sharing. The whole ‘as nature intended’ thing,” the two of you shared a laugh. “But Astarion means the world to me, and even if he was okay with it, I wouldn’t feel comfortable sharing myself in that way with someone else knowing that it is his heart I live for.”

Slowly, an understanding smile appeared on Halsin’s face, and his words made the weight of guilt and sadness fly off of your shoulders. “I understand. It is true that I would never ask for you to leave Astarion, nor would I have held you without his consent, but I understand my ideals are not for everyone.” He paused for a moment, squeezing your hands back before releasing them fully. “I am happy that you have found someone you wish to share yourself with in that way. Thank you, for allowing me this moment.”

“Of course, Halsin.” He nodded in goodbye before making his way back over to his tent and slipping inside.

The moon rose quickly, and a fire was kept going by Gale. As all of the others began filing back into camp, excited from things bought and people met within the city, you still could not get your conversation with Halsin out of your head.

Quickly getting up from the fire and grabbing one of the two bags Astarion carried, you brushed your hand against his with the intention of holding it, giving him the opportunity to pull away and smiling brightly when he fully slipped his hand into yours. His tent, as always, was welcoming and warm. Filled with tattered books and the finest blankets and pillows he could get his hands on up until this point, it was no surprise when he pulled out a very nice looking quilt and matching fluffy pillow set that had no doubt cost a fortune, if he even bought them at all.

You sat down, watching as he moved his newly procured items to the exact spot he wanted them in. Chuckling lightly in an almost nervous manner, you disrupted the quiet in favor of getting what happened earlier off of your chest. Not that you had done anything wrong, but it still felt odd for him not to know, given all the things he did know about you due to the many nights spent watching the stars and talking about anything and everything you could. “You wouldn’t believe the conversation I had with Halsin today.”

Your voice came out low, meant for the two of you only, and you watched as Astarion froze for a moment before bursting into laughter. “I was wondering when you were going to ask me about this.” Your confusion was clear as day, and in voicing this, you were only left more confused. “I guessed! The man can’t stay quiet about ‘enjoying the freedom of nature’s gifts’. I bet he’d outlaw clothing if he could.”

Letting out a laugh at his impression of the local druid, Astarion smirked to himself before continuing to move everything around so that his tent was just right. “Wait, so, you’d be okay? If I…” You trailed off, uncertain.

“I’m happy for you to have as much Halsin as you wish, far be it from me to hold your hunger against you. I just have one question, before you go off with him-” Your mind began to spin, as light as the conversation seemed to have been, he hadn’t even given you a chance to tell him what truly happened. He had no doubt that you said yes? “This isn’t because… We haven’t… In a while? Is it?”

His pace in readjusting his belongings finally came to slow down as he said this, intently watching you for a reaction.

“What? No!” Astarion let out a small breath of relief, and before he could continue with what he was about to say, you cut him off. “And slow down, for gods sake. I told him no.”

Astarion’s facial expressions shifted so fast you could barely keep up. “You... said no?”

Nodding, you let a soft smile take over your features. You reached for him, pulling him down towards you and forcing him to sit in front of you. “I said no. I told him that even if you were comfortable with it, I wasn’t. Because I only want you.”

You let your words sink in, holding onto both of his hands and waiting for some kind of response. “Oh. I mean,” he paused. “Oh.” 

“Astarion,” you reached your hand up and placed it lightly on his cheek, forcing him to look you in the eyes. “I need you to listen to me, very carefully.” His eyes widened slightly. “Sex? Doesn’t matter to me. If we never had sex again it would be okay with me, so long as we were still together. Holding your hand, kissing you, cuddling, just… just talking with you, existing with you, is enough for me. Because I’m not with you for your body, or even your face, even if it is a really really pretty face. I’m with you because of you, because of who you are and the way you make me feel. Your smile, your laugh, your wit, those pesky morals you’ve been developing recently,” you let out a giggle. “Sex with you would be great, if and only if you are comfortable with it.”

It was silent for a moment, before Astarion finally spoke up. “And what if I’m never comfortable with it.”

The waver in his voice was almost enough to make you burst into tears at that very moment. “Then that’s okay.” You brushed your thumb across his cheek. “I love you, Astarion. That’s why I’m with you. I choose to be with you because I am in love with you. Sex has nothing to do with that.”

His eyes fluttered close as you spoke those words, his head leaning ever so slightly into the palm of your hand. 

After a few minutes of silence between the two of you, you spoke again. “I’m going to go head out to the fire and get a nice spot ready to eat with the rest of them. Come and join me when you’re ready.” Shifting to get up, you planted a soft kiss onto his forehead and lightly brushed your fingers through his hair before stepping out of the tent and leaving him to process the moment you two had shared.

You sent smiles to your friends as you took up your usual spot around the fire, thanking Gale as he handed you a bowl of freshly cooked soup. Eventually, you felt the familiar hands of your partner slide around your waist and pull you onto his lap.

Setting your empty bowl aside, you smiled at the faintest sound of an “I love you” lingering in the air, so soft you almost didn’t hear it. You whispered it back and laid against him, relaxing into his arms.

[r--kt]

Where actually was this betrayal line for Obito that Kakashi had crossed?

about the whole "anyone got Kakashi, but not Obito" thing that @komihoyinsblog said. I remembered where the culmination of this theme was. no, like, this whole topic is real!

let's talk about the scene after when Jubito was defeated. here I will analyse kkobkk relationships and Obito's arc specifically.

contents | context · meaning of the scene · where's a mistake and where's a betrayal

CH. 655

Context

during the battle with the shinobi alliance, Obito came face to face with a deeply repressed desire for another life, which he did not realize due to his position as the only one who can fulfill the tsukuyomi plan. the battle itself as well as the conversation with Naruto reminds Obito of the aspirations and values dear to him that he had to sacrifice. all this has noticeably hit Obito and now he is disarmed and stripped of his armor, which is metaphorically reflected in his half-naked body (and cuz fans love men's boobs).

CH. 652. god, look how happy he is, I'm sobbing. love the way he never regrets about his scars, they're with him even in his imagination, that's a reminder of his core values.

structurally, in Obito's arc, this scene is the Collapse point and the end of the second act. here, the previous methods (the tsukuyomi plan) have shown their inconsistency, and the goal (peace for everyone and for him, too) has not been achieved, and he must find a new way to achieve this goal. at the beginning of the scene, he is confused, defeated and not ready to face the consequences.

why isn't he ready? he's lying there, seemingly resigned. yeah, not exactly. here, he accepted the impending death, and it's even not bad to die by Kakashi's hand to some extent. another question is, is he ready to talk to him, is he ready to accept the defeat and find the strength to continue the journey?

Meaning of the scene

once again, it is important that the battle with the alliance and the conversation with Naruto influenced Obito, but did not convince him. it was Kakashi who did it.

in fact, this conversation with Kakashi is a crucial reason for Obito to return to his ideals. before that, he was in doubt (the second act is a reflection of the character, as if hesitating from one side to the other), and after that he takes the side of the alliance. what did Kakashi say that made Obito come back?

three questions Obito is asking.

how can you be sure that Naruto won't fail on his way, unlike me? [pic 2, above]

why are you so attached to Naruto, what's the difference between him and me? [pic below]

why are you willing to help him (and not me)? [pic below]

they don't talk about different paths here. Kakashi emphasizes that Obito's path is not exactly wrong, so that's not the deal. it's about Obito and Naruto as people, and, more, about Kakashi's opinion on Obito.

finding out why he is not the one whose path Kakashi is ready to defend is essential for Obito. he wants to understand why Naruto (aka Obito's previous self, too) is closer to him, why Kakashi does not support the actual one for whom he grieved so much. why, even recognizing the possible correctness of tsukuyomi, Kakashi refuses to support Obito in this, prefers to go the same way. and also look at how damn emotional he is at this moment, his feelings go from anger to anxiety in a couple of frames. that's what happened when the central conflict "I'm never good enough to be loved" is raised.

Obito's questions are a subconscious appeal to Kakashi — "why don't you choose me? I could make you happy. what's wrong with me again?!" he thinks that the reason Kakashi doesn't take his side is not because of the correctness of his path, but because of Obito himself. subconsciously, he thinks that it's because of Kakashi's personal dislike of this "new" Obito, and he is very afraid of this might be true. just look at his face at the bottom of the page, he's really worried about hearing Kakashi's answer. oh, and it's actually the same meaning as "I thought, maybe you could love me like you used to, even though I'm different" [ Jinx's quote from Arcane, yes, I like to compare these two sometimes ].

what Kakashi says in this situation means "let me help you." Kakashi said he would be ready to help Obito if he let him in, if he allowed him. this is literally the only condition (which is important to mention here) under which Obito did not pass, because of his desire to reject Kakashi's help, believing that he must put his life on tsukuyomi plan and cut off all ties. but this does not mean that he wanted Kakashi to cut off this tie in return.

Obito was an individualist, and he only scoffed or got angry at Kakashi's offer to help/sympathize. now they're in a situation when Obito finally hear that Kakashi said "you've made mistakes, but that's okay. I can be with you, if you need me to, and I'm okay with you continuing your life and reaching peace. I accept you and I believe in you." and I want you to appreciate that this is the tipping point of Obito's arc.

so, that's why Obito changes his way of acting. Kakashi shows that he accepts Obito the way he is, and thus significantly reduces Obito's need to prove his worth through his own hardships and overcoming difficulties. yes, Kakashi had already said similar things before, and it didn't work, but here this line is resolved precisely because of this deep conversation they had.

Where's a mistake and where's a betrayal

oh, maybe Rin's death was a thing Obito considered a betrayal from Kakashi's part? everything's much less trivial. would he offer to help Kakashi if he thought he was a traitor? and well, he offered.

CH. 630

no, look at his face on the bottom right, why would you say that with such a gentle face to someone you consider a traitor? what is it, a genuine smile? so something happened besides that.

the betrayal was that Kakashi preferred his other ties to the connection with Obito. here, betrayal is not about killing Rin, and not about breaking a promise — all these are mistakes that Obito is able to forgive.

all the moments when Obito says something like "you had the opportunity to kill me, but you didn't do it", "you can't deal with me because of guilt?", "still blaming yourself for the broken promises?" - all this is an attempt to increase his own value, to show the importance of Obito for Kakashi. and it's also a projection. Obito says, "you had so many opportunities to kill me, but you..." although he does the same. like, why would he leave Kakashi alive after the kamui battle? intentionally inflict a non-fatal wound on him and leave him in a dimension that only he and Obito have access to? "I don't care if he's alive or dead," but at every opportunity he chose the option "alive", even if it's less profitable for him. my baby loves to deceive himself so much.

all this time, Obito believed that he was striving for their common dream, and therefore the condemnation from Kakashi (there should be a couple more frames from the manga) feels like the most painful blow for him, especially when Kakashi says that Rin would not want it either. before that, Obito had compared himself and Kakashi a couple of times, put them on an equal footing, and after being rejected by him, that's where Obito feels really lonely.

the point of no return was precisely the fact that Kakashi shows with his own words that he does not accept the current Obito and everything he's been striving for years. all this, taken together, he considered a betrayal, as if he's not enough, as if he fucked everything up again.

therefore, their conflict is resolved by the acceptance of one person by another, this is in fact exactly what Obito's heart wanted — to hear that he could be accepted after all that had happened. the same thing happened after his death, when he finally met Rin, by the way.

hope the text is not that messy. oh, and! that kkob video I've made with mitski's song. this fits the topic so well. love these guys

[peachsayshi]

(going crazy about Choso watching you in the shower don't mind me.....)

It was the smell of your soap that Choso noticed first. Wafting into the hotel room with that undeniable moisture- the bathroom door must be open.

Open? You'd never made that mistake before. He glanced at the mirror across the bathroom door and saw the cracked door and light filtering through. It was open. The bathroom door was in fact open, and the only thing separating him from your naked form was a thin shower curtain.

Before he knew it, he was standing by that door, peering in. Your silhouette moved and his eyes widened, watching you cleanse yourself of the mess of battle. Could you get your back on your own? His mouth was agape as he imagined himself joining you, washing you, dragging his soapy hands all over your incredible body.

He was rock hard. Overwhelmed by the sweet scent of your shampoo. As you picked up your conditioner, he caught a glimpse of your skin through the gap in the curtain and nearly groaned. He needed you. God, how intensely he needed you...

Like the soothing sounds of a siren, you hummed a tune as you lathered your hair with conditioner. He was enraptured. Nothing could tear him away from this. From you. He softly palmed the tent in his pants, wondering if you left that door open on purpose. Wondering if you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you...

Wondering if you'd welcome him if he decided to join you.

@nyxronomicon 🖤

{oh, nyx. this is altering my brain. you need to take full accountability for what you are doing to me right now, but I also refuse to walk away without leaving a few more crumbs myself. your ask has me clenching my thighs and biting my lip. I am simply losing it over this man!!! now let's think of this scenario, where the temptation is far too much...}

➳  minors / ageless / blank blogs dni   ➳  tags: cw breeding; lchoso in heat; arousal

there's a soft knock on the door that sends a tremor of excitement and apprehension up along your spine. you curl your frame under the shower head, allowing the warmth to veil over your soft, vulnerable body.

"yes?" you call out, your firm tone dwindling through the barrier of raining water droplets.

"did you mean to leave the door open?" choso bluntly asks, making your lungs collapse from the tension in his deep voice.

what are you supposed to say? you think in a moment of panic, that you did mean to leave it open because you wanted to test him?

a lump forms in your throat. you were coaxing someone who barely had the capacity to understand the deep intensity of his human emotions just to play a game of a rabbit toying with a wolf.

instead, you simply swallow your guilt and innocently reply, "yeah, I wanted to let out some of the steam..."

the silence lingers for only a few seconds but the heaviness resides in the short distance of space separating you both.

you hear him clear his throat from behind the door.

"would it be alright if I used the sink to wash up then?"

your heart rumbles, shuddering with enticing uncertainty.

"yes, you can come in."

from behind the curtain you hear his footsteps, a slow approach to the bathroom sink. you're suddenly hyper aware of your naked state, of every drop trickling down your delicate curves, of your nipples pebbling hard from the slight draft that followed choso, and of the throbbing pulse between your legs.

you exhale quietly as he turns on the faucet, wondering what to do next. from between the curtain you study him, his hair down and haloing around his handsome face. his cheeks are slightly red, and he cups the water in his hand as he splashes it across his face.

your hand mindlessly turns off the faucet to your shower.

you avert your gaze just as choso turns to meet yours through the small sliver of space.

"do you mind passing me a towel?"

there's another pause before the sound of choso rummaging through the drawers interrupts the quiet. he approaches you, the shadow of his strong, broad frame prominent from behind the curtain. you don't know why the thrill of it makes you ache, or why you insist on tempting him further when you know that the it truly isn't a fair game.

you curl your fingers around the curtain and peek your head through, your thighs clenching at the expression on choso's face.

there's an unrecognizable hunger in that gaze, a hardness resting along his sharp jaw that's contrasted by the blush in his cheeks. the front of his brows are pinched slightly together, and you can see the veins in his hands pop as he grips the terry cloth fabric between his fingers.

you reach for the towel, noticing his eyes falling to your glistening bare skin, and focusing on the slope of where your shoulder and neck meet.

"thank you, cho." you gratefully reply, as you pluck the towel from between his hands.

when you dip back behind the curtain you swear you hear him sigh with exasperation. you wrap the towel carefully around your body, the length barely covering you up in any decent manner.

choso is still in the bathroom when you step out of the shower, his head now under the sink faucet as he allows the water to run through his raven hair. he slicks back the strands with his fingers, and exhales once again.

"you're free to use the shower now," you calmly state.

he leans back, his hands gripping the counter behind him, but his eyes are fixated on you.

"great," he murmurs through gritted teeth, focusing to keep his attention on your face and nowhere else. "I'll jump right in"

you nod your head, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth as you try to scurry away but you suddenly freeze when choso sidesteps in front of you and blocks your path.

you're so much closer now. close enough to take in the hard muscles of his torso. close enough to burn with shame from toying with him in this way.

you seize up in panic when draws his hand to your neck, sealing the gap of space as he stands in front of you chest to chest. the tender caress ignites everything within you, and you sink your teeth deeper into your bottom lip as a shivering vibration runs up along your neck. choso has his hand to your throat, his thumb stroking up the column to the space right underneath your ear.

your eyes fall to his pecs, the rise and fall pulling you away from the stillness of the moment.

choso drops his hand to your line of sight, showing off his thumb covered in bubbling suds.

"you missed a spot"

he wipes it off against his pants, as your hand absentmindedly reaches for the place where he touched you. the pads of your fingers lightly dragging over the exposed skin.

you glance up at choso from underneath your eyelashes, "oh, I did..." is all you can say.

your arousal sticks to your inner thighs, making you adjust your stance, but that is when choso directly drops his gaze to your crotch without any hesitation, his expression a battle of desire and concentration.

his breathing slows, and your eyes widen as the heat rushes straight to your cheeks.

why does it feel like he can see right through the material?

like he knows that you’re wet right now.

“I should leave you to it then,” you foggily announce, taking a tiny step back.

“hmm,” choso purrs, his dark eyes gaping at your concealed cunt.

you casually dart around him, stepping out of the bathroom and shutting the door behind you.

every nerve in your body quivering with anticipation.

[batchilla]

Fata Morgana Chapter one: A Favor Given.

Content warning for some … outdated views on women. Don’t worry, you can fix him.

The tournament of Fata Morgana brought with it all the excitement of a tournament, but given it fell so close to the annual Festival of Cupid, it held more still. For as well as the honour of victory, a gold purse and acclaim, the winner was given a crown of roses, to give to any maiden he saw fit to choose, and to open the Ball of Cupid by sharing a dance with said maiden. Captain Jason Todd, the knight of Arkham, had won the past three years, and each year, the same maiden had been given the crown.

You.

You, the princess, and only daughter of the king of a small yet ambitious nation. You, who while understanding that your affection for the hero of the battle of Arkham, the captain of your personal guard, could never be fully realised or acted upon. You, who had the last three years watched him compete with baited breath hoping to dance with him once more. You, who after he had first presented you the crown three years hence, had given him a favour the next two years. You, who on the eve of his fourth tournament, are sneaking down to where the competitors have pitched their tents around the competition field, to do so once more.

The air is warm, crickets and the nickering of horses punctuated by the occasional voice. They are stoic, not rowdy or drunken, that will come tomorrow when the contest is over. Tonight, the sense of anticipation and solemn preparation lingers over the field. You find his tent with relative ease, it’s blood red fabric near black in the darkness, but his steed is tied outside and pays you little mind as you hesitate outside the tent flap. There had been no hesitation when you slipped past your guards. No hesitation in deciding to come here. Still, you hesitate now, when the only thing separating you from him is canvas, struck with nerves over what exactly you would say to him.

Your stalling is ended by the tent's flap opening to reveal the Knight of Arkham standing there, staring you down looking less than impressed. Your mouth goes dry as the desert.

He stands there in loose pants, and a white shirt with the top eyelets undone to just above the lowest point of his pectoral muscles. His hair is mused and out of order. You feel your breath catch, and it is only your lifelong etiquette lessons that prevent you from doing something completely humiliating and degenerate like bite your lip. Granted you saw him nearly every day, but there was something about seeing him out of plate, seeming so much himself rather than maintaining stoic professionalism.

“Your royal highness, you ought not be here so late - and where is your guard? God preserve me…” He runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

You try not to stare at the way the action causes his arms to move and flex, or how soft his hair seems. Instead, you force yourself to look him in the eyes, and reply.

“All is well, surely. These tents are filled with knights. Men of honour. I am perfectly safe.” You speak softly, so as not to draw attention to your presence, despite what you verbally claim, you know full well that being undiscovered will better serve you.

Captain Todd-Wayne opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Sighs. You suppress an urge to smile, practically able to see his mind working on how to respond to that without offending your feminine sensibilities.

“Your Highness while your father’s knights - myself included - would of course never consider harming you, the matter persists you are without escort.”

You bat your eyes, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to you. “You are the captain of my guard, and have acted as my escort a great many times.”

His jaw clenches, and he makes no attempt to rebut the statement. “Who was meant to be guarding your door this evening?” He asks tiredly.

“Sir West.” You supply.

“Well. Rest assured that by sundown tomorrow he shall be thoroughly reprimanded for allowing this to happen.” He says, anger brewing under his carefully stoic features.

You sigh, but do not argue. You came for a reason, and you will not be distracted by his ire in your goals accomplishment.

You reach into your pocket, and produce a thick, blood red ribbon of finest velvet.

You hold it out, and he takes it, carefully not touching your hand, but where the ribbon hangs from your fingers.

“Best of luck in the morrow.” You say softly. You hope he understands what you really mean. What you cannot say.

You hope he knows you love him.

You turn back into the night before he can respond, the soft look of awe on his face, though the same each year, too great a source of pain and longing for you to take.

___________________________________________

Later that night, Jason lays on the temporary bed in his tent, staring at the ceiling as he idly runs the ribbon through each digit, feeling its weight, its softness. He slides it through his fingers, pulling it through and winding between each with his opposite hand. He closes his eyes and his breath shakes as he recalls its owner. Imagines it in her hair, tying it up, exposing her neck and …No. No. No.

He clenches his hand into a fist, his eyes snapping open. He was a knight. Her Knight, Her protector.

He would not dishonour her with his perverse thoughts.

He refused to.

She had done him a great kindness, in extending her favour. Clearly she knew of his affections, given his actions at the three Tournaments of Fata Morgana past even a woman could deduce the truth of his pathetic circumstance.

It was a great kindness indeed that she allowed him to indulge, one night a year in an unreciprocated fantasy, even feeding into it with this, the most generous of gifts.

Fata Morgana. An illusion. How terribly fitting, his lone solace, the one mercy he allowed his starved soul. To dance with her, once a year. To lay the wreath of roses in her hair, and pretend he was more. That he was worthy.

That he was not the second, adopted, common son of his father. That he hadn’t been sent off to be a squire so young that the Wayne estate no longer felt like home. That he had risen to his honoured rank of his position because he deserved it.

They’d said he was. The king had called him a hero. The people called him a legend. It would not surprise anyone if his story outlived him three generations. Jason Todd, the hero of the battle of Arkham. He had rallied his men, and turned what should have been a massacre into an unparalleled victory, but when the screams fell silent and the dust settled, he had disappeared. He had been declared dead. Turned into a martyr. A fallen hero.

Until he had been found in the woods of the Al Ghul estate, with no memory of who he was or how he came to be there, six months later.

The greatest of healers had helped his mind return - but what happened to him in the lost six months escaped him still.

His Father had asked him to recover at the Wayne estate. He had refused. He said it was duty. It was. But not to his king. It was duty to her, and to his heart. He had not spoken to his father since.

He knew she surely saw only a knight. How could she see more, given how little he was? A knight pinning after her to be sure, but not one she would seriously consider as a marriage prospect. He was not heir, afterall. He was not respected, he was a novelty. A fearsome novelty.

Sleep finds him eventually, a merciful reprieve from his spiralling consciousness. Only to take him away to the same nightmare he has had each night since his return.

That flash of sky, of rocks ascending skyward, the smell of salt and of decay. Pain. Nothing.

[webslingingslasher]

i was thinking about how boyfriend!frat peter would swing his way back to trouble and like thinking if she needs something or what she was doing all the time he was on patrol like

"has she seen the episode we didn't get to finish?"

"nah, she wouldn't... right?"

"i hope she forgot bout it"

"i think she ran out of toilet paper"

"gonna be so mad if she saw that episode without me"

kinda messy in a peter way but he likes to find himself thinking about her after being spiderman because sets him down to earth again <3

the second peter had his hand on your window, your laptop slammed shut. you were sitting a little too straight up, your hands in plain sight.

'were you watching porn?' you sputter, the idea making your chest feel warm. 'no! i was just looking at stuff.' peter's eyebrow quirks, 'porn stuff?'

'no!' your eyes flash around the room, it's a guilty look. 'oh, c'mon, it can't be that bad. what kind of stuff are you into?' peter swears he's joking, but when he playfully reaches for your computer you flatten yourself on top of it.

'holy shit, it really is porn.'

'it's not porn! it's... it's... for you. yeah, it's for you and it's a surprise!' your boyfriend blinks, 'you have to believe the lie to sell it, trouble.'

you couldn't be caught, peter would never forgive you.

'you got me at a bad time, you were supposed to call me on your way over.'

'did you miss me that bad? you had to pregame my arrival?' you huff, sitting up and fixing your hair, you don't realize how close your boyfriend got.

'i wasn't doing that!'

'you were about to.'

'no!'

peter's having way too much fun, 'then what were you doing?'

'i already told you, nothing!'

peter's quick, he grabs your laptop but not before you catch the other side. a gentle game of tug and war. 'i'm gonna look.' you tug, it's useless, peter could rip it from your grasp in a second.

'no! not allowed!'

'then tell me what you're hiding.'

'no!' you screech louder when he takes total ownership of the machine. guilt washes over you, you've been caught red handed. the only solution was looking at your knees.

your boyfriend gasps in horror at the screen, it sounds like how you knew he'd feel about it.

'i'm sorry, peter. you were never supposed to find out.'

'how could you do this to me? to us?'

you can't even make eye contact. 'i know, i'm sorry.'

it's like it chokes him to say, 'how long has this been going on?' you look up at him, if you plead he may accept your apology.

'not long, i promise! it was just today.... and maybe last week. but i swear i'll never do it again.'

'this hurts, trouble. this really hurts me.'

sure, maybe you did betray his trust a little. but he's the one that got you hooked in the first place, he can't push all the blame on you.

'but you've already seen it! and i really wanted to see the next episode and you weren't here and i figured it would be okay... but that was four episodes ago.'

'fine. but you need to keep me updated, because the only reason i'm rewatching it is so i can experience it with you.'

a subtle confession, something you weren't supposed to take to heart, but you did. the whole reason peter got you watching was so he could relive all his favorite parts, but with you.

you pout, peter pushes your computer back in your hands and points at your bottom lip. 'no. you dug your grave, you don't get to be sad that i'm sad.'

'but i'm really sorry.'

'sorry you got caught.'

'no! i'll never watch it without you, i promise.' except you were in the middle of a very juicy scene and you're itching to press play. peter can read you like a book.

'you wanna do it right now, don't you?'

'no.' ..... 'yes.' ..... 'but i won't.'

'god gives his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers.'

peter doesn't understand the restraint you're showing. 'you stink, go take a shower.'

'promise you won't keep watching?'

it's hard, but you can do it for him.

'promise.' 

[lovinglokilaufeyson]

The Devil You Know - A.A.

Pairings: Spawn!Astarion x Fem!Reader (Mephistopheles Tiefling! Raphael’s Daughter)

Warnings: Abandonment by parent, implied loss of parent, BG3 Spoilers (set sometime in Act 2), Angst, Conflict/Yelling/Disagreement between Tav & Astarion, Past Trauma, Not Proofread

Wordcount: 1,364

Summary: You are Raphael’s daughter, who he disowned for her good nature. You are abducted from Baldur’s Gate and receive a tadpole in your head. You have bonded with Astarion, but you are not about to let him ask your father for help.

A/N: Requested by anon! I loved loved loved this prompt so so so much God! Thank you for requesting this, I loved writing it! Also, I did some research as to what race Tav would end up being. From what I understand, if Raphael (Cambion) had a child with a human, it would be either a Tiefling or a Cambion?? (Still really muddy for me) Therefore, Tav/Reader is a Tiefling for the sake of this story, and to make the fact that she is “good” more realistic. There will definitely be a part two of this (with substantial fluff, maybe even smut).

It had been years since you had spoken to your father. He was on the verge of abandoning you when your mother gave birth to you, a Tiefling. Raphael would have preferred you to be a Cambion, as he was. You still had similar appearance like he flourished, but you showed an innocence that juxtaposed his own behaviors. He tolerated your presence for a while, but the time came when he was unable to process you frolicking through fields of flowers, basking in the sunshine, the pure happiness that radiated from you. He tried to destroy everything you loved: the flowers, the light. And yet, you were still happy.

He hated it.

He dropped you off at the orphanage at once, you were maturing, but not fast enough for him. That, and he practically despised you. Perhaps, for what Raphael himself lacked. However, who ever claimed that devils were self-aware was definitely a devil themselves.

You spent much of your childhood wondering what you did to deserve to be dropped off at the orphanage that day. The truth was you didn’t. You didn’t deserve to be abandoned by your father. You were just too dissimilar, and that was something Raphael couldn’t handle. You spent a bit of your upbringing attempting to enhance your magical skills, your father had rescinded the vast majority of your abilities upon plopping you at the door of the orphanage with no explanation. However, you were able to regain a lot through your studies in Candlekeep. You were a bookworm, and you loved learning, not only that but you had an innate proficiency with arcana. You became well-versed in magic, but you didn’t know that your adventures had yet to begin.

You had a tadpole placed in your head, and suddenly you felt a kind of freedom you hadn’t felt previously. Then, you were able to escape, with the help of your Githyanki “friend” (you had grown closer over time, she could tolerate you now) Lae’zel. You recruited Shadowheart, Astarion, and Gale along the way. Later on, you met Wyll and Karlach. Karlach was most similar to yourself, being a Zariel Tiefling. Her skin was darker than yours, warmer, but if a stranger met you two they would have thought you sisters.

One person that you didn’t think you would bond with was Astarion. Astarion had his walls up very high from the very beginning, but something within you tore them down. Maybe it was your giddiness, or your general inexperience, but he felt the need to protect you, in a sense. Sure, you had fucked up in battle more times than they all could count, but you tried your hardest, anytime you misfired a spell you would study it over and over again with Gale until you could do it right 100% of the time.

You were perplexed on how you bonded more with Astarion than Gale, but the further you dug with Astarion the more you wanted to know. You had slept together a few times; little did you know that Astarion mostly pursued you for his own gain. He figured that if he got on the good side of the fearless, well-liked leader, she and the rest of the party wouldn’t turn on him. What Astarion didn’t realize was that he didn’t have to sleep with you to get on your good side. He just simply had to be him. You enjoyed his sass, his quips, the bantering that he tried to pursue with you. It never lasted long, which invigorated him, you were simply too easy going. A lover, rather than a fighter.

You were like a ray of sunshine. If he could, Astarion would douse himself in your rays every moment. Similarly to his newfound love for basking in the sun, you were intoxicating to him. Astarion hadn’t met many people who glowed as you did. Ironically, your contrasted, dark correspondent, your father, Raphael, had been following you and your crew around for the past few weeks. Of course, given the whole tadpole situation, the group reeked of desperation. And devils loved desperation. Desperation would lead to deals.

You were adamant that that would not be occurring.

It became evident, one night, that Astarion would be pushing you on that boundary. Astarion’s former master, Cazador,  had written a piece of infernal text on his back. You didn’t think much of it until Astarion became fixated on it one night. You could tell him what it said, but that would mean releasing the information that you were indeed Raphael’s daughter to the rest of the party, which you would have preferred not to do.

This, in itself, was a big step for Astarion. Talking about his past, his troubles, all of it. He felt comfortable around you, perhaps partially because you had shared so little with him regarding your past. You analyzed the scars on his back, running your fingertips over them as you did. “So, darling?” He inquired, pondering if you had an answer for him.

“I can tell you its written in infernal” you spoke simply, only giving him a glimpse into the answer he truly wanted. You bent down on the ground, drawing it on the sand for him, “here.” “I’ve never seen it before” Astarion spoke, and you nodded. “Infernal, you say?” He questioned again, as if an idea was coming to mind. You gestured in approval yet again.

“Darling, thank you. I believe we need to seek out Raphael, that devil who has been creeping on us the past few weeks. I bet he could tell us the meaning of the scars Cazador left on me.”

“Astarion, you can’t possibly be serious. Raphael is a devil. Devils always require a deal, and there is always a catch. You can’t pay that price.” You argued. You had wanted to do something nice for Astarion, given the horrific situation, but you knew one thing for sure. You would not be approaching your father for anything, not even over your own dead body.

“Darling, please. I’m not stupid. I need to know what these marks on me say, and Raphael can do that for me. We can adjust the pricing, I’m sure. You’re just inexperienced.” He quipped, and you gasped at his remark.

“We are not talking to Raphael, and that is final, Astarion.” You were worked up now, Astarion could see it. Gods, even the owlbear across camp half asleep could see it.

“It’s not your decision to make, Tav. It’s mine. If I want to make a deal with the devil, so be it. You can stay out of it.” From across camp, you could hear both Wyll and Karlach trying to intervene and talk some sense into Astarion. He wouldn’t take it anymore. He was his own person, and he could make his own decisions outside of what Cazador – or anyone else – decided for him. You looked at Astarion with glistening eyes, on the verge of tears. He knew he had hurt you, as well as hurt his position with you. But part of him didn’t care anymore about that.

“You’re just too naïve” he spat, and with that, a Barbarian-like rage emanated from you, your typical glow radiated into a powerful force that was nearly too much for Astarion. Your eyes were glowing most prominently, your hands formed into tight fists, and your teeth gnawed against one another. “You want to know what the damned scars say, Astarion?! Do you!?” Astarion, for the first time in weeks, was mildly scared for his life.

He nodded ever so gently, careful not to push you further. “It’s a contract. One between Cazador and Mephistopheles. The rite of profane ascension to a fate similar to godhood, but for vampires. He needs seven thousand souls, and you’re one of them.” Astarion had to bite back a chuckle. You had to be kidding him, right? This was a joke. Right?

“I’m dead fucking serious Astarion.” Your eyebrows were shifted downward, reciprocating your tone of voice.

“How would you know?” He quipped, anxious to break the pattern of seriousness and – perhaps lies that you were spreading. He didn’t want it to be true.

“I’m Raphael’s daughter."

Part Two is now out! Read it here.

[mllemaenad]

Listening to Wyll's backstory in context of all the details we're acquiring on devil's contracts and soul selling is fascinating.

See - I listened to Lann Tarv's three tales to get my soul coins. I felt bad for making Karlach listen to that, obviously, but to be honest I didn't even want the coins that much. I actually wanted the stories. I wanted a better understanding of how this works.

And what I'm learning is - for the gods (and godlike beings) of this world, cruelty seems to be the point. I mean - it's possible there's a god in this world I wouldn't want to stab to death with a rusty fork, but if so I have not met them yet.

These beings have the power to save people and places, to change lives, to do anything. And when someone asks them to - they demand a terrible price. But they don't just demand a price. They subvert the original request in such a way that they utterly fail to deliver on the original promise.

An abused woman wishes to be loved - and her true love appears, but dies instantly. A man wishes to save his children from starvation, and ends up personally growing masses of meat on his own body - not only painful for him, but forcing his children into survival cannibalism, which they were trying to avoid.

Auntie Ethel works the same way. Every one of her customers is left in a tortured state, while Ethel still takes her payment.

The idea is that the person must come to regret their wish long before the payment comes due. Every cry for help must be met with a boot to the face. Or else the mortals will get uppity? Or something.

What is interesting is how consciously Wyll defies that. And how much Mizora is dancing around, trying to force him into that state of miserable regret.

Wyll was manipulated into selling his soul. He was a kid, and he was summoned into a terrible situation - and in that moment, he could see no other way to save the city. Mizora did need to save Baldur's Gate to serve her boss's purposes, so she couldn't take that victory from him - but she did everything she could to take the joy of it.

He didn't get respect, or admiration, or his father's pride for saving the city. He lost his home and his family. He was assumed to have done something monstrous because he was denied an opportunity to defend himself.

That was supposed to fill him with bitterness and regret - but he got to work building his own life instead. By the time you run into him, the Blade of Frontiers is a hero of some renown. He's remade himself, and found a way to enjoy what his powers can do, however he came by them.

So that didn't work.

Then Mizora sent him after Karlach, and that was a mission tailored to break him. Karlach is kind and heroic herself, and that the start she has been sold into slavery, mutilated and forced to fight in a war against her will. If Wyll killed her, and then found out who she really was, then he betrayed everything the Blade of Frontiers is supposed to stand for - and he would lose the life he made for himself.

But he didn't, and that didn't work either. He's got a friend, now, who at least knows part of what he's dealing with.

So Mizora gave him demonic features. That would destroy the life he's made for himself, because no one would trust him to help them.

Except now Wyll basically goes nowhere on his own, and a small army of people can attest that he got those horns and eyes as punishment for being a good man. Mizora might be able to shut his mouth, but she can't silence his friends - and the group absolutely have shouting sessions about everything. Wyll's horns become a battle scar, like his missing eye, and nothing more.

And beyond that, if you are playing as a heroic character, a significant throughline in the game's story is the journey of the tiefling refugees. The story makes it clear that these people experience a constant barrage of racism, due to their appearance and "demonic" heritage. It also makes it abundantly clear that this prejudice is entirely undeserved - they're just people, with virtues and flaws like everyone else, and what is happening to them is terrible. So Wyll turns up to assist a bunch of people whom he now at least somewhat resembles - and with Karlach along, you have two people in the group who technically count as "infernal", but haven't got an evil bone in either of their bodies.

Mizora created solidarity. Oops.

Wyll is deeply suspicious of gods and higher powers. He doesn't want to make more deals with devils. When Elminster arrives to tell Gale what Mystra demands of him, he explicitly says he does not do religion. When you get Mizora to agree to let his contract expire in six months, he starts by casually invoking the gods - but switches to thanking the player character instead, because he knows who helped, and who did not.

But he utterly refuses to regret the pact he made. That can be a struggle. He clearly misses his dad, and would like that relationship repaired. The fact that he was transformed very much against his will is clearly a source of distress from him.

But if he regrets, then Mizora wins. That's it. Game over. She gets what she wanted all along. So he doesn't.

The main companion characters all have this kind of problem, and naturally have different ways of dealing with it. You have characters like Shadowheart and Lae'zel, who were indoctrinated as children, or Gale, who was literally seduced by one of these nightmare deities - and with them you have to start out by convincing them they they were the wronged party in the first place.

But Wyll knows exactly what game he's playing, and he's been screaming defiance the whole time. It's just that, in his case, the "defiance" is grinning and carrying on every time Mizora inflicts some more bullshit on him.

[eelnoise]

in my feels tonight so have some zoro fluff that i wrote to help 🤫

BTW i appreciate you guys so much. thanks for reading my silly fics 🫶🫶🫶

zoro x gn!reader (if I slip a pronoun in lmk!! I'm tired and it ain't proofread!!)

this fic has a sequel!!

Zoro wakes with a start. His right eye springing open and blinking several times to clear his vision. His chest is heaving and a light layer of sweat is damp against his skin as his groggy brain processes his surroundings. 

Another nightmare. 

Flashes of his past - times where he failed or disappointed had long haunted him, and recurring memories seemed to follow him even in sleep most nights. 

It eats at him deeply, even if he doesn't show it on his face or in his demeanor. Years of grief and loss in the face of danger and battle has hardened Zoro, a stoic mask carved into his expression that hides his feelings and serves as a filter for unwanted emotions. 

He has to stay strong, at least on a surface level. He has a crew to protect and a captain to aid - people who rely on and expect great things from him.

Zoro keeps his thoughts tightly wrapped, bottling them up in a way that only makes him spiral further into his own anguish. 

A quiet and frustrated sigh passes through his lips, the hand at his side twisting into a fist in anger when he feels a head-sized weight on his chest and a much smaller arm draped around his middle. 

It's you.

His heart leaps when he takes in your sleeping form. Your face is caught in the moonlight peering in through the window in his cabin, peaceful and relaxed in what Zoro hopes is a bliss filled slumber. 

He wraps his arm around you, one hand coming to rest on your head as he begins to stroke your hair. A soft, lazy smile twitches at the sides of his mouth.

You're a reminder that life can feel more vivid - a light in the dark recesses of his mind. A reminder that even someone as cold and as rough as he seems to be is worthy of love. 

Love - what a word to describe how he feels toward you. 

It's something he'd never thought about having; something that always seemed so foreign and strange to him. Loving someone with your whole being was something he couldn't understand, devoting himself to something other than his dream, and this life of piracy didn't seem possible. 

Zoro would die for his captain. He would and had taken on anyone who stood in Luffy's way on their journey. Left on death's door many times, Zoro could've gone out knowing that he'd done his part. It didn't matter if he lived or died as long as Luffy could live his dream. 

But for you, he'll come back every time. 

He has to live.

Just meeting you had ignited a flame he thought long dormant, the fire fanning into a greater blaze when you seemed to understand him, body and soul. And when you took his hand in yours that one fateful evening, your fingers entwining with his after a long conversation at midnight in the crow's nest - he had fallen head over heels. 

He cherishes you in a way he had thought impossible. You know just how he ticks, and you always seem to be right there with open arms when he really needs you. 

Words don't need to be exchanged to show the love between you - that isn't really his forte. You met this particular behavior with learned ones of your own, forgoing average public displays of affection and replacing them. A simple but gentle touch to his shoulder can anchor him. The quick brush of your hand next to his in passing always has a deeper and more unspoken meaning to it. 

You know him like no other, and he makes sure to show you just how much he cares in the only ways he knows how. 

Zoro presses his lips to the top of your head a few times, breathing in the scent of your hair with a warm smile. You hum even deep within your dreamy state and nuzzle your face closer to him, warm and safe in his tight embrace. 

God, he loves you.