#hot take reblog bait | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moonchild9350 · 12 days ago

Text

Drive

Summary: you've been pining after your chauffeur Hyunjin for years. one night, you decide to take things into your own hands, deciding the only opportunity you need is to take a little drive.

Pairing: chauffeur!Hyunjin x wealthy fab!reader

Genre: stranger to lover au, fluff, smut-18+MDNI

Word count:3.6k

Warnings: car sex, teasing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), finger sucking, masturbation, exhibitionism, cum tasting, p in v penetration, creampie (don't), alcohol usage, breeding kink, use of term miss (but not in a sexual way)

Notes: the whole time i wrote this, i was thinking of the song Drive which we all know is about driving only yep lol. I hope you enjoy!

If you liked, please consider a like, reblog, or comment as it keeps me motivated ♡

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work elsewhere without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024)

The buildings pass by, disguised as large, blurry objects that are difficult to make out, each one blending in with the next. The other cars seem to be racing with yours, as they speed away to their destination.

You sit in the backseat, your phone in one hand as you respond to messages, your tongue poking out from the corner of your lips in concentration. As you pressed send on the last message, you tossed your head back with a sigh, throwing your phone down on the leather seat.

Closing your eyes, you let the air conditioner that is blowing gently from the vents above your head cool you down, as it was another insufferable, hot day. Your top was starting to stick to your skin, as you perspired. Damn you couldn't wait to get home and shower.

"Everything alright miss?"

You startle slightly at the husky voice, your eyes snapping open as you looked at the rearview mirror, where a pair of brown eyes were peering at you in concern.

"Yes, Hyunjin, I'm fine," you responded while tossing your hair back, giving him a good view of your chest where your cleavage was visible.

Hyunjin nodded, satisfied at your answer, his focus shifting back to the road.

You smirked, feeling a little more energized after the interaction. Hyunjin was your personal driver, appointed to you by your family. Each member had their own, as your family was wealthy and part of the elite of the city.

He was respectable and did his job well, taking you anywhere you needed to go. He was also good on the eyes. You loved sneaking a peek at his gorgeous, long brown hair, his beautiful brown eyes, and not to mention his luscious lips.

You decided to spice things up, as you were bored, but also slightly horny sitting within the proximity of a god himself.

You sat as seductively as you could and sighed again, Hyunjin taking the bait and looking up and into the mirror again to check on you. You kept eye contact, batting your eyelashes as you smirked at the man.

Hyunjin shifted slightly in his seat, his eyes darting to the road in front of him and back to the mirror to look at you.

Bringing your fingers to your lips, you slowly pushed the digits in, swirling your tongue around them, getting them nice and wet. You gently sucked on them, holding eye contact with Hyunjin the whole time.

You felt a jolt run through your body, settling in your core, causing your clit go throb. The thought of Hyunjin getting hot and bothered just because you were sucking your fingers, caused your pussy to clench as your slick seeped out into your panties.

You giggled as he shifted in his seat, as he let out a soft grunt. You knew he was clenching his hands on the steering wheel as you heard the sound of the leather crunch as he moved.

You continued to tease him, licking and sucking your fingers until the car pulled up to your drive way, the vehicle safely coming to a stop.

You withdrew your fingers with a pop, and wiped them on your shirt before grabbing your bag that was next to you. Before opening your door, you leaned closer to Hyunjin, placing your hand on the shoulder of his nice, crisp white shirt.

“See you later Hyunjin,” you purred, squeezing his arm before leaning back and opening the door.

“Bye miss,” Hyunjin said in a deep voice, watching as you slipped out the back seat, slammed the door, and walked away.

He sat there for a moment more, his cock twitching within your pants as he watched how your ass swayed with each step. He’s not sure what just happened, but chose to ignore it as he started the car again to park it in the garage.

You were happy with today’s event, happy that he fell for your charm. You knew the effect you had on Hyunjin, have known it for years.

You know he watches you from time to time in the car, as you walk away, his eyes glued to your ass. You’ve seen the way he eyes your cleavage when you lean a little too close when talking with him.

It will be easy to entice him, to ensnare him within your clutches using your charms.

It was laughable really, after all he’s just a man.

— —

The next day, you needed to have Hyunjin drive you to a small gathering, a celebration for the success of your new business.

You picked out your best lingerie set, smiling as you delicately pulled the black lace over your legs, snapped the lace bra over your breasts.

Picking up your red dress, you slipped it on, the material hugging your curves perfectly, showing off your shape. You topped it off with a diamond necklace and diamond studs, the light reflecting off the jewels and scattering throughout the room in the afternoon sunlight.

You slipped your heels on, fastening the buckles against your ankles. You felt satisfied as you took one last look in the mirror. Grabbing your clutch, you made your way out of your room, your heels echoing off the tile as you walked down the hall, the grand staircase, and finally out of the door.

Hyunjin was waiting for you, standing by the door of the car. You smirked as he eyed your body, his eyes widening as they traveled from your face to your tits. He lingered there before eyeing your curves and your legs before looking back up to your face.

“How are you miss?” Hyunjin asked, trying to cover up the lust in his voice.

“Very well, thank you,” you purred, sitting down on the seat as Hyunjin had already opened the door for you.

You slowly pulled your legs into the car, Hyunjin’s eyes traveling along the flesh. Once seated, you signaled to him that you were good, watching as he carefully closed the door. He got into the drivers seat and pulled away from your home.

You both sat in silence for the ride. You looked out the window, your mind on the man in front of you. You couldn’t help but wonder how his lips would feel on yours, how his hands would glide across your body as he takes you over and over.

You felt an ache form within your core, your arousal slowly seeping into your panties. You clenched your thighs together seeking friction as you imagined how big his cock is, and how he would look as he came, giving you loads of his cum.

You were so lost in thought, you didn’t hear Hyunjin announce that you were at your destination. You snapped out of your reverie and noticed how he had turned around in his seat, his eyes searching yours in concern, but mixed with something more. It was as if he knew what you were day dreaming about.

You cleared your throat and straightened up and opened your door. As you stepped out of the car, you took a breath of fresh air, your mind clearing from whatever that was swirling around in your brain.

“Thank you Hyunjin, I’ll see you later tonight.”

You didn’t hear his response as you had already slammed the door shut. You walked away from Hyunjin and towards the party, putting a smile on your face.

— —

The night passed, the drinks flowed. You danced the night away, as the alcohol coursed through you, causing that warmth you craved.

You were also warm elsewhere, your core throbbing, aching, needing to be touched, filled until you were satisfied. Your panties were soaked as you danced to the beat, the seductive song blaring on the speakers.

Your mind wandered as you moved, wishing Hyunjin was there, his arms on your waist as he held you from behind. You smiled at the thought of how you’d both get lost in each other, letting the music carry you to paradise.

However, as the song changed to something more upbeat, you watched as the picture materialized in front of you, disappearing from your mind. You needed Hyunjin and tonight you would have him.

— —

You sat outside on the step, breathing in the fresh air as the wind tickled your sweat coated skin. You were sipping a glass of water, eyes gazing in the distance as you waited for hyunjin. It was late and you were tired, but you still had that ache and that need for your chauffeur.

As you watched a black car pull up, you smiled, slowly getting to your feet. Hyunjin hurriedly got out of the car and rushed to your side.

“Miss…are you alright?” He inquired, his arms out, ready to stabilize you if needed.

“I’m fine Hyunjin,” you chuckled, gently pushing his arms away.

You walked next to him, his long legs matching your pace. You patiently waited as he opened the door, and slid in, your back relaxing against the plush leather seats.

It didn’t take long for hyunjin to get in and start the car, the house slowly fading away in the distance. You relaxed further in your seat, your eyes drifting up to where Hyunjin was sitting.

You watched as he gripped the steering wheel, the veins becoming more prominent with the motion. You sighed as you imagined those hands elsewhere, a shiver running down your spine and causing your pussy to flutter.

You leaned back as you began to run your hand over you body, eyes closing as your fingers brushed against your collarbone, inching lower until they reached your thighs.

Opening your eyes, you looked at the man in front of you, a soft smiling reaching your lips as your fingers inched higher, the digits playing with the hem of your dress.

You felt like you were floating, not quite drunk but enough to where you felt uninhibited. Every touch was heightened causing little ripples in your belly, your core aching and dripping.

Hyunjin was still watching you, his eyes darting to the road and back to yours. You kept eye contact with him through the mirror, as you spread your legs wider for easier access.

You touched the pads of your fingers to your soaked panties, apply slight pressure on the material right over your clit. You gasped out as you circled the nub through the cloth, waves of pleasure spreading with each twist of your wrist.

Biting your lip, you reached down to remove the offending clothing, dragging your sticky, wet panties down your legs. You tossed them on the floor, and ground your thighs together, your slick steadily dripping from your pussy and onto the leather seats below.

Hyunjin held his breath as he watched you dip your fingers into your sopping hole, deeper and deeper until you squealed, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet car.

He gripped the steering wheel harder, his knuckles turning white as he felt his cock fill out within the confines of his pants. You were a tease, and it was driving him insane.

You knew you had him, smiling as he stopped at a red light, his attention now solely on you. You fingered your self harder, faster, the wet sounds filling the car causing you to groan and Hyunjin to whine.

You chuckled as he shifted in his seat, his eyes on your pussy. With each thrust of your fingers, your palm caught your clit just right, your high approaching fast.

Your moans filled the car as you stroked your sweet spot, the warm feeling in your belly building until it snapped, pleasure spreading the your body as your walls spasmed around your fingers. You thrashed around as you rode out your high, your arousal drenching the seats below. Once you came down, you withdrew your fingers and smiled.

“Enjoyed the view Hyunjin?” You cooed, watching as he blushed and cleared his throat, his gaze turning back to the road, as the light had since turned green.

You relaxed on the seat spent, satisfied at easing the ache within your core. It didn’t take long however, until you felt the throbbing within your core wanting to be filled again.

Hyunjin suddenly stopped the car and got out, causing you to sit up in your seat, shocked that you were already home. However when you looked out the window, you noticed you were not home but in an abandoned parking lot.

Confused, you cocked your head, wondering what hyunjin was doing. Before you could react, hyunjin opened the door and got into the back seat with you, leaving the door wide open for anyone to see.

“Please, please, need you miss!”

You stared at the man in front of you, shock in your eyes. That shock soon turned to a smirk as you brushed your hand through his hair as he whimpered.

“You can have me baby,” you purred as you slightly yanked on the strands of his hair. “You can start by cleaning up this mess.”

Hyunjin looked at you before looking at the seat, the leather slick with your arousal. He licked his lips and whined before lowering his head and touching his tongue to the pool of liquid.

He groaned at the taste before he fervently started to lick up your slick. You ran your fingers through his hair as he cleaned up the seat, your pussy clenching at the sight.

“Nasty baby aren’t you, licking up my cum from the seat. It’s ok, I have more for you,” you said lifting his head up from the seat.

His tongue was still out, his eyes hooded as you brought his face closer to your pussy. You moaned as he attached his mouth to your clit, sucking the bud within his pillowly lips.

You gripped his hair harder, moving his head up and down, his tongue slack as you rode the muscle. You whined as Hyunjin pressed his face further against your folds and stuck his tongue within your entrance as deep as it could go.

Hyunjin fucked your little hole, catching every drop of your arousal on his tongue, making sure not to waste a drop. You felt pleasure trickle through your core each time his nose brushed against your clit, leaving you breathless each time.

You smiled down at the man below you, your heart beating erratically as he worshiped your pussy, eating you out like a man starved.

“Keep going baby, m’close,” you moaned rocking your hips against his face causing Hyunjin to groan, your pussy clenching at the vibrations.

Hyunjin lapped his way back up to your clit, suckling your bundle of nerves within his plush lips. He sucked hard and fast, his tongue darting out to flick the bud left and right.

You were close, that feeling of ecstasy within your reach. You pushed Hyunjin’s face further against you, smoothering him in your essence as the band within you snapped, your orgasm hitting you hard for the second time that night.

Your pussy contracted over nothing, your arousal seeping out with each spasm, coating Hyunjin’s lips and chin. Your fingers carded through Hyunjin’s hair as you rode out your high, little whimpers leaving your lips at the aftershocks.

It was becoming too much as he was still attached to your clit. You weakly pushed at his head, trying to get him to stop.

“S’too much Hyun,” you begged, watching as he leaned back to look at you, his face glistening with your arousal in the darkness of the car.

Overwhelmed with admiration for you, hyunjin leaned forward, pressing his lips to your in a passionate kiss. You groaned as you tasted yourself on him, your tongue darting out to lick along his lips.

Hyunjin shoved his tongue within your mouth, the muscle tangling with yours in a mess of teeth and spit. You reached down to touch his bulge, his cock hard within the confines of his pants. You palmed his erection, giving it a slight squeeze as he whimpered against your lips.

“Please miss, can I fuck you?” Hyunjin asked, his voice laced with desperation. “Need to feel you, please,” the last words fading out softly as he continued begging.

You wanted nothing more than to feel the man you’ve been pining over for what felt like ages. You lifted your dress up higher and maneuvered yourself to where you were on all fours.

Hyunjin quickly got up, unbuckling his belt and pushing his pants and boxers down, sighing as his cock sprang free. You looked back, your mouth watering at the appendage.

You knew he was a godsend but the sight of his cock made your pussy clench. You watched as he stroked his shaft, the sight of the pretty vein on the underside of his cock causing you to leak more slick. He wasn’t very long but girthy, complete with a mushroom tip that was red and leaking.

You arched your back further with a sigh as he brushed his cock through your folds, coating it with your slick. He teased you again and again, as he pushed the tip in just to withdraw it moments later.

You were frustrated and horny, needing to be filled with cock, and you needed it now.

“Fuck me Hyun, give me your cock baby,” you cooed.

Hyunjin grunted before pushing his length all the way in, stretching you out nicely, a mixture of pain and pleasure radiating through your core. It didn’t take you long to start moving your hips, as you met his thrusts, fucking yourself on his cock.

Your moans mixed with his, the only other sounds being the wet squelch of your pussy as he fucked you and the crickets surrounding the car in the night air.

You clenched around him, reveling in the feeling of his cock massaging your walls, hitting so deep you were seeing stars, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Hyunjin fucked you hard but slow, making sure you felt each stroke. He angled his hips so he could reach deeper, his cock rubbing against that sweet spot within.

He gripped your ass, massaging the flesh, his cock twitching at how your little hole sucked him in each time. He was close, and he wanted nothing more than to fill you to the brim with his cum, the thought of breeding you driving him insane.

What would your family think if he gave you his baby? Their beloved prestigious daughter swollen with the chauffeur’s child…his child.

His hips sped up at the prospect as he chased his high. He needed to cum but he wanted you to first. Reaching down and around you, he found your clit, rubbing tight circles around the bud.

You mewled out, being caged in by him as he fucked you, the feeling almost primal, like you both were nothing more than animals. His fingers on your clit sent shivers down your spine, the pressure building in your core, threatening to overflow.

“Gonna cum miss,” Hyunjin groaned, as he continued his assault on your body. “Can I fill you up? Lemme breed you, make you mine.”

Your pussy clenched at his words, the thought of you dripping with his cum turning you on.

“Yes, Hyun, fill me up, breed me.”

With a groan, hyunjin stilled his hips as spurts of cum flooded your walls. At the feel of him filling you up, you let go, your pussy spasming around his cock, aiding in milking him dry.

You were still caged in by Hyunjin’s body, his breath fanning across your shoulder as he came down from his high. He pressed gentle kisses down your spine, his fingers trailing down your skin before withdrawing his softened cock.

You whimpered as you felt his cum seep out of your pussy, the liquid dripping onto the leather seats, likely causing a stain after tonight’s activities.

“Wait here miss,” Hyunjin said softly.

In your periphery you saw him walk to the passenger door and open it up, his hands reaching into the glove box for some napkins. He came back around and began to clean you up before fixing your dress and helping you up.

Once done, he tossed the messy napkins away and cradled your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks.

You preened in the intimate moment, you eyes lost in his brown ones as you both stared at each other in silence. You heard the crickets chirp, the occasional hoot of an owl, and your own heart beating wildly within your chest.

“Miss….” Hyunjin began, but you cut him off, holding up a hand.

“Call me y/n,” you said, “of course only when we’re alone.”

Hyunjin nodded and visibly swallowed. “Y/n,” he said, trying out the name. He quite liked it and definitely could get used to it.

You thought he was going to continue, as he continued to stare at you, like he had something to say.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his lips barely opening at the statement.

Hyunjin leaned forward to press a kiss to your lips. It was unhurried, soft and gentle, nothing like the kiss of passion you shared earlier.

He pulled away first, his forehead resting against yours. Your mind was running a mile a minute, wondering what would happen now. You’ve always wanted him, but now that you do, would he want you?

Your thoughts were answered as he took your hands in his and said, “be mine y/n.”

You smiled as you let out a little chuckle. “Of course Hyun,” you said, more than happy to be his and only his.

Hyunjin smiled back, kissing the back of your hands.

“Guess we’re going to have to take more drives huh,” Hyunjin said, a little smirk on his face.

You most definitely would, that’s for sure.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @simpforleeknaur @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92 @velvetmoonlght

#stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #skz smut #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut #skz x reader #hwang hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin x reader #stray kids fanfic #hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin fluff #stray kids fluff #hyunjin imagines

554 notes · View notes

honeyed-hedonist · 7 months ago

Text

Pairings: Aged Up!Damian Wayne x Reader Word Count: 3.1k Summary: You're always just a phone call away for Damian, so he calls when he needs you. And tonight? He really fucking needs you. Warnings: SMUT--MINORS DNI. unprotected sex, creampie, degradation, size kink if you squint, face slapping (once), oral (male & female receiving), orgasm control (kind of???), basically just 3k words of Dami tearing you apart in the best way. A/N: Hello again! Posting another old fic on mine. I still blame @heli0s-writes for sending me on a Damian Wayne spiral. I will never recover from this and it's all her fault. Enjoy :3

IF YOU LIKE THIS STORY, PLEASE REBLOG IT.

It’s late. It’s always late when he calls you—3am and you’re answering the phone, the pitch of his voice deepened and gruff with need. A need that only you can satiate. “Come over, darling.” You’re out the door before you end the call, hailing a cab to the manor, pulse racing because you know what’s coming.

The path you walk when you reach the gate is so familiar, you could do it with your eyes closed, feet carrying you to the front door. There’s no need to knock or ring the bell, the second your shoes hit the porch Damian swings it wide open, the cowl stripped off, blackened liner still smeared around those beautiful green eyes. He’s looking at you like he wants to tear you apart, but you’ve always had an affinity for pretty, dangerous things.

A step closer and you catch the way the warm light of the entryway bounces off of the thin gold chain hanging around his neck. It sparkles, and your mind conjures up the image of it swinging above your face when you’re folded in half on his bed. It makes you clench, taking another step while your eyes make the slow trek downward, his bare chest and rippling stomach that cuts to narrow, defined hips has your mouth watering. You know what they feel like against your tongue, beneath your fingers.

There’s no need for words, his calloused hand closing around your wrist to tug you inside, the heavy door shutting with a definitive click that reverberates off the walls and arched ceilings of Wayne Manor. He’s already hard, you can feel it when his arm snakes its way around your waist to pull you even closer. And then he’s crouching down, sweeping his other hand behind your knees to lift you into his arms.

You’re trapped in the heat of his gaze, the salty, earthy smell of his skin--still damp with sweat from his night spent in triple-weave kevlar. Fingers dance up the back of his neck, tangling into that silky, black hair, and his chest vibrates with something akin to a growl. It sends your pulse rushing between your legs, desire warm and heavy in your belly as he walks you up the stairs towards the master suite.

The second you’re past the threshold, you reach for his face, wanting to feel his hot mouth on yours, but he doesn’t budge, the corner of his lips quirking in an amused smile at the whine that comes tumbling out of your throat when you try, and fail, to kiss him. “Patience, beloved.” Damian is gentle when he sets you down on the lush, thickly weaved rug that spreads out from beneath his bed, forefinger and thumb coming up to pinch your chin. His nose brushes yours when he speaks again, breath hot and sweet as it fans out across your face. “Be good.”

You watch with baited breath as he settles himself on the edge of the mattress, thighs spread open, palms flat against his knees, his posture perfectly straight. He looks like a king on his throne, and you’re prepared to bow at his feet. “You’re very overdressed, don’t you agree? Perhaps you should remedy that.” The tone of his voice leaves no room for argument, your hands falling to the hem of your sleep shirt, tugging it hastily over your head. Your shorts are your next target, swiftly yanking them down your legs. Shoes, socks, and bra all join the pile of your discarded clothes after that, and Damian hums his approval. “Much better.”

Lifting one of his hands, he points to the space between his feet. “Come.” There’s no hesitation from you, moving immediately with a step forward, but then he scoffs, eyebrows drawn down in admonishment. “Really, pet? Is that how you’re meant to approach me? As my equal?” His words make you short circuit, brain muddled with the fog of submission, because you will always submit to him--it’s not even a question at this point. He’s in charge, he owns you, and he knows it.

Dropping to your hands and knees, you crawl towards him slowly, eyes trained on his face, trying to read him--but Damian has mastered the art of impassiveness. His calves brush against your shoulders as you wedge yourself between his legs, the only sign of his pleasure is the tent in the front of his joggers and the rumbling in his chest. It’s enough--has you salivating from your place on the floor, eagerly awaiting instruction.

He leans forward, strong hand circling your throat, fingers tightening until he can feel the ripple of your swallow. “Have you missed me?” He asks, but you know better than to open your mouth, choosing instead to nod your head. Damian hums thoughtfully, free hand stroking at his slightly stubbled chin. “Hmm, I’m not sure I’m convinced. Why don’t you show me?”

“Yes, sir.” You answer, and he relents, releasing your throat to lean back on the bed, propped up with his arms extended so he can watch you--he’s always watching you--calculating, observing, learning. Damian Wayne knows all of the ways to take you apart, and all of the ways to put you back together again, but now he’s testing you, wants to see just how much you’ve learned since you began spending nights in his bed.

Shaking fingers dip beneath the waistband of his sweats, tugging them down his thighs until the heavy weight of his cock springs free, slapping against the hard plane of his stomach with a dense thud. You moan, how can you not? He’s impressively large, perfectly curved towards his bellybutton, nestled in coarse, dark hair, thick and throbbing just for you. His head is shining with pre, glistening in the orange glow from the roaring fire in the hearth nearby. Your eyes meet, faux innocence batting up at him from beneath your lashes. But Damian knows better, knows how filthy you are, and he’s losing his patience.

You let your hand circle the base, tongue dragging a hot, wet line beneath his length until your lips close around the tip, precum tangy against your tastebuds. You moan again, eyes rolling back. The musk of his night perusing the city is still fresh on his skin, and he always tastes so god damn good like this. Dirty. Natural. It spurs you onward, his tip popping into the back of your throat as you take him all the way down. He reaches out after that, fingers gentle against the skin of your neck, his cock seated so fully inside the wet heat of your mouth that he can feel himself beneath your esophagus when you swallow. It makes him grunt, satisfied with your efforts.

It’s all the encouragement you need to move again, cheeks hollowed as you suck him off. The only sounds in the room are your labored breaths and the nasty, wet squelch of your mouth on his cock. Damian’s eyes are blown black, watching you like a predator tracking its prey, hand shooting out to curl into the hair at the crown of your head and shove you down until your nose is pressing against his taut abdomen. He holds you there, testing your limits, keeping you still, voice strained with his pleasure when he speaks. “Swallow.” He commands, and you oblige, whimpering while your thighs shift in an attempt to alleviate the ache in your cunt.

“What’s wrong, pet? Do you want to cum?” Damian smirks at the desperate look in your eyes before he answers his own question. “Too bad.” He mocks your arousal, knowing all you really want right now is for him to fuck a hole right through you, but he needed to feel your warm, wet mouth first. And Damian will never apologize for having his needs met, because he always reciprocates in kind. Especially with you.

He volleys with you back and forth, letting you have control before ultimately usurping you to fuck your face. When he’s satisfied, your cheeks are hot, the remnants of the mascara that you carelessly forgot to wash off is smeared down your face, and your chin is covered in your own spit as he yanks you free from his cock by your hair. “Tch--look at you, such a mess.” Damian’s free hand breaks the string of spittle connecting your mouth to the tip of his dick and smears it across your face. He’s not gentle, and you don’t want him to be, moaning open-mouthed when his palm cracks across your cheek. “Get up.”

Your actions are instantaneous, done without pause or thought, rising to your feet with his hand still fisted in your hair. He stands, too, spinning you both around until your calves hit the mattress and he shoves you backwards. You fall gracelessly onto his comforter, and he gives you no reprieve, no chance to catch your breath before he’s peeling your thighs apart to inspect your slit. Your panties are an encumbrance, one that has him growling as his long, dextrous fingers tear the fabric clean off, ripping them away to toss on the floor.

He wastes no time, hands framing your pussy to peel your lips apart, leaning forward, he takes a deep inhale, the tip of his nose bumping against your throbbing clit. It makes you jolt, body bowing off of the bed, but his eyes cut to yours and you still immediately, knowing that he’ll stop if you don’t behave. “You have the most beautiful cunt, and she’s all mine.” Damian hums, mostly to himself, pink tongue slipping out of his mouth to circle your clit slowly. Your hands fist his expensive bedding, knuckles bone-white as he begins to work you over with his mouth.

He’s an expert at many things--knows over a hundred ways to kill a man with his bare hands--and can get you to gush against his mouth in a matter of minutes. Damian plays your body like a fine-tuned instrument, hits all the right notes to make you see stars. He curls those long, rough fingers of his against the velvet walls of your pussy, free hand applying pressure at your belly, while his plump lips suction against your pulsing clit. Barely two minutes in and you’re already hurtling towards bliss, whining and whimpering and writhing--all for him.

“Dami, please!” You want your release. Want to cum all over his handsome face. He can feel it in the way your cunt grips his fingers, fluttering in time with the expert swipes of his tongue. He knows it’s only a few more licks until you’re careening into your orgasm. His eyes meet yours between the valley of your breasts, glittering with mirth as you cry out, begging shamelessly for him to let you cum. And then, like the menace he is, Damian releases your clit with a wet pop, effectively slamming you into a brick wall, your orgasm slipping right through your fingers with a pained cry.

Tears of desperation brim in your eyes and he tuts, rising to his feet, forearm wiping your glistening arousal from his lips and chin. “Do you have no shame? Begging like a common whore.” He’s on you in a flash, joggers discarded, fully naked as his hand once again finds your throat and he snarls above you. “Your orgasms belong to me, beloved. I decide when you deserve to cum, and tonight, you’ll be coming all over my cock. Do I make myself clear?”

He expects an answer, but you’re transfixed, completely mystified by his overpowering, eclipsing presence above you. Damian makes you feel small. It fogs your brain, makes it hard to do anything other than mewl, thighs parting to accommodate his hips as he settles above you. “Tch--useless little thing. All you’re good for is being my tight hole to fuck, isn’t that right, pet?” You nod, helpless and desperate beneath him, every nerve ending in your body thrumming like live wires. It’s a fact that he captializes on, slapping the mushroomed tip of his dick against your drenched slit, the wet sound that reaches his ears making him moan.

There isn’t a sound on Earth prettier than hearing Damian Wayne moan for you, your mouth falling open as you gaze up at him in awe. It’s the perfect opportunity for him to sluice the middle fingers of his left hand over your tongue. Ever the obedient pet, your lips close automatically, suckling as those same fingers push so far back they make you choke. Through your bleary eyes, you can see the sadistic smile that graces Damian’s face. It’s dangerous, and it sends a fresh rush of arousal leaking from your cunt.

It’s almost like he can smell it, and he probably can, his irises disappearing until all that’s left are the whites of his eyes as he inhales deeply. There’s no warning, no preparation, just his gaze rolling back to meet yours when he snaps his hips forward with perfect aim, his cock stretching you open and filling you in a way only he can. It makes you scream, your back beginning to arch, but Damian is right there, pulling his fingers from your mouth to grip your throat and pin you back down against the mattress.

His pace is unforgiving. It’s brutal and deep, carving his way into your body with harsh thrusts that have the headboard knocking flecks of plaster off the walls until they cascade down like rain onto the comforter. “You. Belong. To me.” He spits it through gritted teeth, and it’s not something you’ll ever deny. Your relationship may be unconventional, but you wouldn’t trade it. Any time spent with Dami, to you, is a gift, especially if it means he’ll fuck you absolutely boneless in order to reassert his control on those nights when he feels like the world around him is spiraling.

You take it all--every thrust, the gnashing of his teeth into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, the suffocating grip around your throat, the drizzle of spit that falls onto your waiting tongue when he pries your jaw open. Anything Damian dishes out, you take without complaint, because while he craves control, you crave subjugation--the metaphorical yin to his yang.

Your voice is hoarse when you try to speak, breath stuttering with every powerful roll of Damian’s hips, barely heard over the lewd sounds of being fucked open. Each strike of his cock inside of you hits that spongy mound of tissue, dragging his silky, hot length against it with each withdrawal. It has you climbing right back towards your inevitable peek, the only question is-- will he let you finish this time?

“Dami--m’gonna--please, m’so close, baby.” You wheeze, and he smiles, teeth blindingly white even though the haze of your oxygen deprivation. You find some reprieve from the deliciously pleasurable pain when he finally peels his fingers back from your throat, hands sliding to your shins to fold them up and into your chest. His pace never lessens, he never slips out, following the bending of your body, the new angle allowing an even deeper stroke inside your gummy walls. It has you keening, hands clawing at his chest, his gold chain bouncing against the backs of your palms.

“Very well, I think you’ve earned it.” Reaching between your bent legs, Damian’s thumb slices through the lips of your cunt that are spread wide around his cock to seek out your clit. He’s precise, circling the aching bud in a way that makes you choke, throat vibrating with a squeal. You’re close again, rapidly approaching your release, so fast you can barely keep up, the pressure in your belly building to an unbearable tightness. This time, when you meet his eyes, the malice is gone, replaced with what you can only describe as devotion. “Go on, make a mess on my cock, cum for me.”

That’s all it takes, his permission coupled with the expert swirl of his thumb and the perfect drag of his cock have you seeing stars, bursting with a cry of his name. You scream, back arching up, chest to chest with him as he cradles you close. “I know, beloved, I know. Let it all out.” He coos, still thrusting wildly through the resistance as your pussy tries to shove him out with each fluttering pulse. Damian can feel your cum weeping out around him, it wets his thighs, dribbles down the seam of his sack, drips down onto the mattress. It makes him groan, balls tightening as he reaches the point where he can no longer stave off his own release.

With a low moan of your name he pumps into you once, twice--the third sending the first spray of his cum deep in your womb. You can feel the pulse of his length as he bottoms out with a grunt, forehead pressing against yours, breath hot against your mouth. Jet after jet of semen coats your insides, filling you up so full it almost hurts. You whimper out, and Damian shushes you, cupping your face to plant a soft kiss against your lips. “Shh,” he murmurs. “You did so well for me, my darling. Such a good girl. I’m so proud of you.”

All you can manage is a hum, Damian’s fingers carding through your sweat-slicked hair as he peppers soft kisses over your cheeks, the tip of your nose, your forehead. This has got to be your favorite part, because while he knows how to completely wreck you, he’s also right there to pick up the pieces and stitch you right back together again.

He carries you into the bathroom, runs a bath for the both of you, coddles and keeps you close until the pair of you are falling into his freshly stripped bed beneath the sheets. His arm is slung snugly around your waist, his lips on the back of your neck as you settle in preparation of sleep. “I’d like you to move your things into the manor.” His voice is soft, there’s a hesitation there that is so uncharacteristic it nearly shocks you back from exhaustion. But again, all you’re able to offer him is a hum of acknowledgement, wiggling further into the warmth of his body, heavy eyelids closing as your consciousness wanes and you drift.

You’ll tackle this moving in business when you’ve got a clear head and a full belly, but the prospect of taking the next step in your relationship with Damian brings you the most pleasant, peaceful sleep you’ve had in years.

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #robin x reader #robin x you #batfam #batfamily #damian wayne smut #robin smut #smut writing

752 notes · View notes

604to647 · 10 months ago

Text

Fics that Live in My Mind, Rent Free (Pedro's Version) - Part 2

Welp! It seems there are link and tag limits? Who knew? Not this newb 😂😂 When I said that I've read so many good fanfics, I really meant it. Again, below the cut is a continuation of the list of some of my fave Pedro character fanfics that I've read on this site - ones I think about and revisit often. These are all fics I should have/would have reblogged if only I wasn't so weirdly nervous about it; in 2024 we will muster up some courage and reblog (it will be slow, probably, but I promise I will be trying!). This is a good time for me to also say that one of the reasons I am motivated to step out of my comfort zone on this is because of the genuine joy every comment/reblog/like has brought me this year as a new writer - thank you all from the bottom of my heart for the kind reception on anything I have ever posted. 🥹 ilysm 😘

Anyways, we press forward (Part 1 of Rent Free PPCU fics can be found here):

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian, GOAT)

Of Shadows and Roses by @the-scandalorian (Bodyguard!Din x Royalty!Reader)

All Mine by @mellowswriting (Possessive!Din after Reader uses herself as bait)

Narcissus by @bits-and-babs (Armour/mirror sex)

Looking out for you by @beskarandblasters (Jealous!Din after Reader uses herself as bait)

Cherry Liqueur by @decembermidnight (Reader teases Mando in public)

Breaking in the New House by @beskarandblasters (I love Husband!Din and Wife!Reader fics)

Javier Pena (Narcos)

Sweet Dreams by @javiscigarette (Javi can't sleep)

Phone Sex...amiright? by @tightjeansjavi (Reader calls Javi at work)

Sharing is Caring by @ezrasversion (Corrupt DEA Agent!Javi, Mafia AU!Joel Miller, Reader Threesome)

The Saint, the Sinner, and the Devil by @joelsgirl (Corrupt DEA Agent!Javi, DBF Mafia AU!Joel Miller, Reader Threesome)

MIA by @itsharleystuff (Jealous!Javi with Undercover!Reader)

Surprising Javi P with a Lingerie Set by @swiftispunk

Not here...not now by @gracieispunk (Reader visits Javi at work)

Bunny by @whatsnewalycat (Sex Phone Operator!Reader; Part 2 is great too!)

Ease by @javiscigarette (Javi takes care of Reader after a bad day)

Joel Miller (TLOU)

Say It Right, Peeping Neighbour, and Right Place, Right Time by @chaotic-mystery (All the DBF and BFD fics are amazing; these are my fave)

Quickie by @joelscruff (This falls in the middle of the Boyfriend's Dad series, but it's the first one I read and I was hooked!)

That Funny Feeling by @bluebeary-jay (Joel loves pet names 🥹)

I've Got Lust on My Tongue by @itgetsdark-x (Bratty reader a la Maddy Perez)

The Babysitter, Part 1 by @proxima-writes (There's a Part 2 as well!)

Under the Table by @toxicanonymity (A lot of good Joelkemons, but Speakeasy is a classic and maybe my fave?)

Online Friends, Sticking it to the PTA, and Caught Sunbathing by @walkintotheriveranddisappear (All of Emma's Joel fics are really hot [honestly you can't go wrong], but these are my faves)

Late Night Smoke by @bettercallwillow (Dbf smoking. sigh)

Calling Joel Daddy by @inkedells (I honestly love it when authors bold the dirty talk 🤭)

Gimme What I Want and In the Next Room by @atticrissfinch (The masterlist is some of the hottest Joel fic, if I may say so; these are my faves)

An Open Window by @velvetmud (Joel being a peeping tom; I also always hope for a sequel to this one!)

Crave by @toxic-seduction (Part 2; Reader finds Joel in the QZ)

Good Luck Charm by @javiscigarette (Joel watches the football game)

Ravish by @psychedelic-ink (Webcam Model!Reader; Part 2 is also incredible!)

I Know it When I see It by @bageldaddy (Pornstars!Joel and Readers. This series has me and everyone else, I think, in a chokehold. Reading, as well, the writer's thoughts and feelings about the porn industry and the care put into the characters is such a joy and makes the fic that much more rich)

Chaser series by @livingemkayde (Nanny!Reader and a love triangle; not finished but so good I'm happy to wait forever)

Right my Wrongs by @chloeangelic (Father in Law!Joel)

In A Feud with Her Neighbour by @proxima-writes (Read this delicious fic and the bonus scenes will be the icing on top)

Kiss and Tell by @toxic-seduction (Stepdad!Joel and mom goes away for the weekend)

Peaches and Cream by @javiscigarette (Joel buys reader peaches)

Didn't Cha Know by @chloeangelic (The Joel Reader has been pining for is her boyfriend's brother)

Gif to breakup the text block:

Camgirl by @phuckinphia (Another Camgirl but this time she's Sarah's friend 🫣)

The Right Wrong Number by @proxima-writes (Sarah's soccer coach!Reader)

Nightmares by @fruispunk (QZ!Reader has nightmares that Joel hears and mistakens for something else)

Damage Done by @bluebeary-jay (Joel accidentally triggers Reader; mind the tags. Heavy angst, heavy topic that is beautifully written)

Yes, Mr. Miller by pedropascallme (Babysitter!Reader, Part 2 Thank You, Mr. Miller is also excellent)

How Long series by @gracieheartspedro (Link is to Part 1; series is complete and wonderfully hot and emotional. Reader's boyfriend Tommy is a cheat😢)

Francisco "Catfish" Morales (Triple Frontier)

Fictional Death by @psychedelic-ink (Frankie comforts Reader)

Well Fed by @the-ginger-hedge-witch (Frankie is HAPPY 🥹)

Forest Ranger AU by @the-ginger-hedge-witch (I'm not an outdoorsy person but this AU makes me wish I was)

It's Always the Quiet Ones by @thot-of-khonshu (Frankie surprises Reader)

Pero Tovar (The Great Wall)

Kinktober 2022 - Breeding by @moralesispunk (Guard!Pero and Royalty!Reader)

Bodily Exchange by @absurdthirst (Mafia AU!Pero and daughter of mafia boss Reader)

Damnation or Salvation by @absurdthirst (Pero is sent to retrieve Reader)

Dying Wish by @absurdthirst (Pero makes Reader's father a promise; okay at this point, just all of Keri's Pero fics 🤭)

Marcus Moreno (We Can Be Heroes)

Beat Poetry on Amphetamines by @psychedelic-ink (Marcus comes home hurt)

481 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months ago

Text

Paradigm Shift 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you get transferred to a new position but it’s hardly a breath of fresh air. (plus!reader)

Characters: Loki, Bucky Barnes, this reader is known as Billie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

Dark roast, black. You're tempted to order one for yourself but the extra dose of caffeine might unhinge you after the morning you've had. Transfer, no desk, a firing, a stolen desk, and two painfully aloof bosses.

You go back up to the office, the short reprieve offering some clarity but not solutions. There has to be some way to get more than a grunt and a closed door from these men. Geez, if you wanted to work with children you would've done so.

You knock on Mr. Barnes' door. The one next to it opens first. Laufeyson considers you from head to toe and Barnes appears not a second after. He takes his cup without a thanks.

"Mm, and where is mine then?" Laufeyson challenges.

You blink, long and hard. Of course. Of course! You let out a slow breath, "what would you like, Mr. Laufeyson?"

You don't miss the quiet snort from the other door and it closes before you can glance Barnes' expression. You have a suspicion he expected this. It's like your first job when you worked with a bunch of men in stocks. Their numbers were as bloated as their egos.

“Matcha.”

The door shuts in your face. Again. You bite down and stretch your fingers wide. It’s fine. It’s fine. Growing pains.

Matcha... what? Iced? Latte? Hot tea? Smoothie? Wonderful, a guessing game.

You will be getting yourself another coffee for the trouble. Another trip to Roasters and you settle on the simplest option; just tea. You’re certain if you’re wrong, he’ll let you know.

You stand at the two office doors and contemplate your life decisions. Is this worth it? Can you beg Odinson to take you back? To send down another poor soul? You almost feel bad doing that to someone else. You’re about to give when that innate stubborn ticks in your jaw. It’s only been a few hours. You don’t just give up that easy.

Knock, knock. There’s a delay before Laufeyson answers. You’re not put off by it. You know the tactic. It won’t work on you. If his tea is cold, it won’t be your fault.

“Matcha, sir,” you hold out the cup.

He accepts it and reads the sticker on the side. He narrows his green eyes and looks at you, “note for next time, I prefer Garcon’s to Roasters.”

Click. Another shut door. You’re really starting to get angry. You laugh out the flurry of agitation and turn away. What else can you do but think of it as a joke? It has to be. It’s just that absurd.

You sit at the desk and open your laptop. You get it hooked up to the monitor and refinagle the cords. That’s an accomplishment at least. A tiny morsel of victory. You glance around and frown. It’s like the waiting room in Beetlejuice; everyone looks miserable. Well, can you blame them?

Your phone buzzes and you check the messages. Girl nights hangs like bait at the end of your day, keeping you swimming through dark waters. It’s a bit ridiculous. Your friends are all like you in one way but all vastly different in many other ways. You all spend your days taking care of men who couldn’t give a shit about any of you.

You can already taste the Paloma; bitter grapefruit with the burn of tequila. You are dying to drink away this day. You look at the clock and nearly whimper. It’s not even one o’clock. Ugh.

You plug away at your desk. You get the daily agendas templated then spend time scouring the web. You have something in mind. You’re pretty sure you can make it work. As long as those grumps can do the simplest of tasks.

You customize the survey and send the link. You doubt you’ll get a response today or even at all. It’s a hail mary, really. Barnes’ door opens, then Laufeysons. Your chest fills with dread. Great.

“Hello, sir and... sir,” you sit up as they approach.

“What is the meaning of that quiz?” Laufeyson demands.

“It’s not--

“Asking a lot, aren’t you?” Barnes crosses his arms.

“No, I just--”

“What business do you have about my dry cleaning?” Laufeyson hisses.

“I have lunch when I have lunch. I'm not a child at grade school,” Barnes sneers.

“Okay, woah,” you put your palms out, “first, there’s an n/a column, you can choose not to disclose the information. Two, I need to know what to do. What do you want from me?”

Both men frown and look at each other, then back to you.

“I can think of one,” Laufeyson raises a finger, “don’t treat us as children who need you to put our socks on.”

“Good one,” Barnes scoffs, “also, you could stop with calendar reminders.”

“Those are automatic,” you mutter.

“And the arguing,” Laufeyson points at you.

You sputter, dizzy at their onslaught of criticism. They can tell you exactly what they don’t want but they can’t give you a clear answer as to why you are there. You calm yourself with a breath and sip of coffee.

“Mr. Laufeyson, Mr. Barnes--”

“Why him first? My name’s first alphabetically,” Barnes says.

“I--” you stop yourself and take another taste of your coffee, “if my presence is getting in the way of your work, I will go back upstairs and talk to Mr. Odinson--”

“Mr. Odinson? Thor?” Laufeyson says, “no, you won’t do that. In fact, that is another item for your list, no talking to my brother. Especially of me.”

You could tear your hair out. You could hit your head on the wall. You could gauge your eyes out and drown yourself in your coffee. Instead, you smile.

“Got it,” you say, “well, sirs, good luck with your meeting this afternoon.”

“Yes, thank you,” Laufeyson intones.

“Mm, sure,” Barnes says and they both turn on their heels then stop at once. They face you in sync with each other.

“Meeting?” They ask.

“Mmhm,” you nod, “it’s in your calendars.”

They stare at you.

“If that’s something you’d like me to brief you on,” you say tritely, “you can submit that in the survey.”

Laufeyson hums dryly and Barnes growls. Neither says anything further as they retreat. You keep your eyes on the screen as your heartbeat races. You can’t believe you said that.

#bucky barnes #loki #dark loki #dark bucky barnes #dark!loki #dark!bucky barnes #loki x reader #bucky barnes x reader #series #drabble #paradigm shift #bad bosses #au #marvel #mcu #avengers #winter soldier #captain america #thor

178 notes · View notes

shenanigans-and-imagines · 1 year ago

Text

For All I Care

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Asexual!Tav, Astarion x Bard!Tav

Astarion's POV, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Fic, Astarion being bad with emotions, hints of one-sided Gale x Tav if you squint

Warning: Canon typical violence, violent thoughts toward Tav

Summary: After a fight with a hag, the rest of the party wakes up to find you still fighting for your life. Astarion feels himself at a loss, afraid and helpless in a way he has never felt before. And it's all your fault.

A/N: Just a gentle reminder that I have not played the game, so in terms of the exact placement on the timeline, it's a little sketchy. Just know that this is well before the events of I Want It All, and we'll call it good. And, as always, PLEASE REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS! I NEED VALIDATION TO SURVIVE!

Word Count: 6.2K

If Astarion never saw a hag again, it would be too soon. Just one was more than enough for several lifetimes. The bitch was not only a sore to look at but hit like a brick wall. Even after a full night’s sleep aided by Shadowheart’s magic, he still felt stiff all over.

The rest of camp wasn’t much better. The sun was almost fully overhead by the time everyone stumbled out of their bed rolls. All morning banter was replaced with mumbled greetings and not so subtle groans. Even Lae’zel remained quiet, seemingly too occupied with her own discomfort to comment on the weakness of everyone else.

Astarion counted himself grateful for that. He didn’t think he could endure a lecture on top of an aching back.

“Here we are,” Gale said, a little too cheerfully. “I know last night's excursion was rather strenuous, but if this doesn’t cure what ails you, nothing will. No offense, Shadowheart.”

“I would take offense, but I’m frankly too tired to care,” she countered, dryly.

Gale gave a good natured laugh before handing her a bowl of something hot.

The pout on her face fell away as soon as she took her first bite. The rest weren’t far behind, the low murmur of pain turning to something more pleasant.

Astarion observed, doing his best to push down the bite on envy in his chest. He could eat, technically, but it went right through him, not even granting him the temporary relief of a full stomach. If it didn’t smell appetizing, he wouldn’t mind so much, but it did. Yet another minor torture of his existence.

Eventually Gale did turn his gaze to him, that annoyingly persistent enthusiasm faltering.

“Do you…ah, require a refreshment?”

Deciding to have some fun, Astarion gave him his best seductive smirk.

“Very much,” he purred. “However, if you’re the one offering, I’ll pass. I’ve got someone much more appetizing in mind.”

He turned his head towards your tent, and immediately frowned. You still hadn’t made an appearance. Granted you were always one to rest in, but this was getting ridiculous.

Gale followed his eye line, grimacing as he came to a similar conclusion.

“Might need to hold off on that. They got it pretty rough last night.”

“I’ll go check on them,” Wyll volunteered, pouring a fresh bowl of stew. “If anything will get them out of bed, this will.” He then turned to Astarion, giving him a hard look. “Try to keep your fangs to yourself until they’ve eaten something.”

He answered with a mocking pout. “Oh mother, must I?”

Wyll didn’t raise to the bait, rolling his one good eye before making his way towards your tent.

Something odd twisted inside Astarion. He was struck with the sudden urge to trip the man. Childish perhaps, but he just couldn’t stand that tone of altruistic condescension. He would have spoken up if Wyll hadn’t beaten him to it. He was rather partial to the idea of you and him sharing breakfast in bed. It would only be breakfast, but he wasn’t in a position to try for more. At the very least, it would be a convenient excuse to check on you himself.

Gale hadn’t been exaggerating. You had gotten the brunt of the hag’s attention, running between everyone to provide whatever aid you could. By the time you made it back to camp, you could barely stand, skipping your nightly check-ins in favor of falling straight into your tent and a soundless sleep.

This troubled him in a way he couldn’t properly explain. It wasn’t like he needed you to tuck him in, but he had grown accustomed to your face being the last he saw before closing his eyes. He knew the others appreciated it as well. It was how you had found yourself as the leader of this merry band. You weren’t the strongest or the most powerful, you simply took the time to care.

It should have bothered him more. Gods knew he clashed with Wyll and Karlach on more than one occasion concerning their bleeding heart heroics. Perhaps it was because your heart always put the party first. You’d extend it to others, but never to the point it needlessly put them and, more importantly, him in danger.

You just…helped, with clear eyed understanding and so little fanfare it made it easy to forget just how much you did, until the moment you couldn’t.

He blinked hard, mentally yanking himself from wherever his mind was leading him.

He wouldn’t feed on you today, he decided. There had to be some boar or deer around. It’d be best if they stay put another day anyhow. No need to rush into the next life or death scenario.

“Shadowheart! Gale!”

Everyone turned, to see Wyll running from your tent. The two spellcasters were up the next second, all exhaustion rushing from their bodies, readying for a fight.

“What’s going on?” Gale asked.

“I don’t know. Something’s wrong with Tav.”

“What? How?” Shadowheart interjected. “They were fine last night. I healed them myself.”

Wyll shook his head. “That may be, but they’re not waking up.”

“We better have a look then,” Gale said, with an authority that left no room for argument. He took the lead, the two others falling quickly behind.

Astarion stayed where he was, frozen. There was a hard twisting in his gut. He could feel the hair rise on the back of his neck as the sudden need to run shot through his veins. He recognized the symptoms; fear was an emotion he was intimately familiar with.

Before he realized what was happening, he was on his feet, taking long strides towards your tent.

It couldn’t be as bad as Wyll was making it sound. Admittedly, you had been run rather ragged, but nothing the rest of them hadn’t felt. Perhaps he had taken one bite too many. This was nothing. You were fine. You were supposed to be fine.

He stopped at the threshold, pushing aside the flap.

Whatever breath he had in his lungs rushed out in an instant.

The first thing that hit him was the smell. It clung to the inside of his nose reeking of damp sickness. Your body was drenched in sweat, your hair plastered to your forehead in soaked clumps. He swore he could feel the heat of your skin burning. Your breath came ragged as if someone had wrapped an invisible hand around your throat and was slowly choking the life out of you. He could see how your body twitched and jerked. It was taking both Shadowheart and Wyll to keep your limbs in check as Gale mumbled some enchantment over your body.

His hand gripped hard on the fabric. He needed to take a step back. He had little experience with disease, but it was plain enough that whatever this was didn’t play by any rules he was familiar with. The survivor in him screamed to use this perfect distraction to grab whatever he could carry and run. Still, he didn’t move.

“What’s wrong with them?” he said, his voice rough even to his ears.

“I don’t know,” Gale admitted, clearly disturbed. “I haven’t seen anything like this before.”

“They were fine,” Shadowheart insisted. “I healed them, and they went to bed. Nothing else happened.”

“There were a lot of spells being thrown around last night. Maybe they were hit with something the rest of us weren’t,” Wyll suggested.

“Oh Gods,” Karlach said, just behind Astarion’s shoulder. “Do you think it’s the tadpoles?”

Something heavy sunk straight into his stomach at her words. It certainly was a possibility. They all knew the symptoms, but why now? Why you?

There was a slight rustle of movement just behind him. Lae’zel by the smell. A quick look out of the corner of his eye saw her standing just behind Karlach. Her back was stiff and her expression hardened in a way he had come to recognize.

He never moved faster in his life.

Before anyone could react, he ducked under Karlach’s arm, knocking Lae’zel off her feet. Her sword scattered clear of her grip, skittering into the grass. She fell with a hard thump as he used the momentum to trap her under the weight of his body and dagger at her throat.

“Now, what were you planning to do with that,” he said, as smooth as a knife.

Her surprise was evident, but quickly overtaken by a low growl straight from her chest.

“Unhand me, or I will unhand you.”

“Might need the sword for that.”

“Oi! What’s going on?” Karlach said, finally turning towards the scene.

“If it is the tadpoles, we cannot risk them turning,” Lae’zel snapped. “I am prepared to do what is necessary.”

Red blinded Astarion’s vision, a hiss escaping his lips as they pulled back to show bared fangs.

“Necessary?”

“We don’t know that yet,” Wyll said, stepping beside Karlach. “Just think a moment. If it was the tadpoles, wouldn’t all of us have felt something by now?”

Lae’zel ignored him, her eyes turning straight to Astarion’s. Her expression lost none of its fury, but there was a coldness to it that forced an air of calm.

“You know I’m right,” she held.

His jaw clenched. He did know. If even one of them turned into a mind flayer the rest were bound to follow. Killing you would be the logical thing to do to preserve his own survival. Still, it wasn’t your neck he was poised to cut.

“Nobody is killing anyone!” Wyll interjected. “Gale and Shadowheart will figure out what’s wrong with Tav. In the meantime, we are not going to do anything we would sooner regret.”

“Astarion?” Karlach said, cautiously.

There was a long pause. He could feel their eyes burning the back of his skull, but neither stepped closer. It was easy to imagine what he looked like; half crazed, teeth bared and blade ready. Not his best moment.

With what grace he could muster, he pulled away, quickly putting some distance between himself and Lae’zel.

She got to her feet, decidedly not reaching for her weapon as her eyes moved between the three of them.

“They live for now,” she allowed. “But if Tav does turn, you know what we’ll have to do.”

Astarion’s spine stiffened. The dagger twitched in his hand, just in time for Karlach to step between them.

“Walk away Lae’zel,” she said, sternly. “I’m not kidding.”

Lae’zel’s brow furrowed, her face twisting in disgust. “Tsk'va,” she cursed. “Cowards. All of you.”

She turned then, picking up her sword before making her way back to her tent.

Once she was a good distance away, some of the tension left Karlach’s shoulders as she pulled her attention back to him.

“You okay?” Karlach asked.

“Well, I certainly haven’t made any new friends,” Astarion said, his voice tighter than he intended. He glanced over at Wyll. “I take it still no answers?”

Wyll gave a long sigh. “Gale said he’ll need more time to detect the exact cause. He doesn’t think it’s the tadpoles, but there’s no telling just yet. Luckily, Shadowheart was able to calm them enough to sleep. At the very least they’re no longer at risk of hurting themselves.”

“So what do we do?” Karlach asked.

“Wait. This isn’t something we can fight. Gale and Shadowheart will do what they can, but ultimately, this is Tav’s battle.”

Astarion bit back a growl as red once again danced across his vision.

Wait? That was the fabled Blade of Frontier’s brilliant plan? Hells below was everyone in this camp completely useless?! He didn’t need to be a cleric to know what was happening. He knew what dying smelled like and none of them, not a single one, could think of an actual, tangible solution besides wait?

Forget tripping the man, it was taking every single ounce of restraint to keep from strangling him.

Draining the last of his patience, he turned on his heel, and made his way towards the treeline.

“Where are you going?” Wyll called.

“To go kill something,” Astarion spat. “Unless you want me to stay here and do it.”

Wyll looked like he was going to say something that would put his neck in Astarion’s teeth, but Karlach spoke up first.

“We’ll make sure Lae’zel keeps her distance. Don’t wander too far.”

Astarion didn’t have an answer. He just managed a tight nod before continuing out of camp and out of sight.

He didn’t know how long he walked. He just knew that by the time he stopped the sun was much lower in the sky. The sounds of his companions deafened in the overgrowth leaving him well and truly alone.

A shuddering breath escaped his lungs. Whatever strength in his limbs left him. He only just managed to catch himself on a tree as his hands began to shake.

What in the nine hells had he been thinking?

Well, that was the trick, wasn’t it? He hadn’t been thinking. Fear had been driving him and he had done as he always did when fear took over; he found a way to survive, damn anyone who got in his way. The difference was, it wasn’t his life that was in danger. When had your survival become so vital to his?

He knew he was reliant on you to keep him safe from Cazador. You were the only one who trusted him. Without your vote of confidence, chances are he would have been left to his own devices a long time ago. He needed you alive if he were to maintain the protection of the others. And he had put that protection in direct threat by holding a knife to one of the group’s best fighters.

He let out a frustrated groan, rubbing his face in his hands.

Fuck, this was a disaster. He had never been particularly gifted when it came to strategy. It was difficult to anticipate consequences when he never knew what fresh hell awaited him in the morning. Compound that feeling by two hundred years and it was no wonder all his plans fell apart.

Even if you did survive, he still had no way of guaranteeing you would stay loyal to him. All his attempts at seduction had failed. You certainly enjoyed his company, and he was sure you gave him more attention than the others, but he didn’t know what you wanted. Every single day he waited for you to name your price and every single day you failed to answer. It was driving him to insanity.

No wonder he had been so quick to draw his blade. Any grasp he had on safety was already hanging by an invisible thread.

He let out a deep breath, forcing himself to calm. There was little he could control at the moment, but he could control himself. It was a new sensation, one he was still getting used to. He’d have an easier time of it once he fed.

Blood of thinking beings was out for the moment. He’d have to settle for something big and preferably angry. There would be nothing elegant about this hunt.

He got his wish. While he might have preferred a bear, the raging boar did well enough for his purposes.

It was an ugly kill. He didn’t just bite the beast. He tore into its neck so deeply the bones of its neck became exposed to the open air alongside bloodied muscle. His hands did the rest, ripping it fully open so the innards spilled out onto the forest floor. In the end, he didn’t even get much blood out of it, allowing the earth to become wet with carnage.

He breathed it in, hoping it would somehow erase the smell of your convulsing body from his mind.

It didn’t work.

Even with fresh blood in his mouth, he could only think of your labored breaths and racing heart. The relief of sated hunger became tainted by the taste of sickness on his tongue.

He forced himself back on his feet, not bothering to wipe away the blood as he stumbled further into the forest.

There was nothing he could do. He’d sooner drain the life from you than save it. It was baked into his nature; a disease in his own right.

If he just had a target, something he could trick or kill, it would be different. Instead he was left to wait; useless…powerless.

His hands clenched, his nails digging into his palms to the point of pain.

Surely he didn’t need you so badly. If you died, he would just have to refocus his efforts on somebody else; Shadowheart perhaps, or even Gale. He wasn’t about to get sentimental now. He would survive you as he had done countless others. This wasn’t his end.

He found a deer next, performing the same ritualistic slaughter. Blood filled him. He could feel his mind becoming clear, but it wasn’t enough. He moved onto a burrow of rabbits, then a badger, and even a weasel. It was only when he caught himself seriously contemplating gutting a squirrel did he realize how futile it was. All the blood in the world couldn’t make up for his inherent weakness.

He had grown too dependent on you. It was making him sloppy, unbalanced. Maybe you were better off dead. He would be free then.

That was the point of this whole venture wasn’t it? To be free. Free of Cazador. Free of fear. And here he was ready to chain himself to another just because they’d shown him a bit of kindness. What was that kindness worth when the loss of it inspired a terror he'd never known before.

A fury rose within him, one he clung to like a lifeline.

This was all your fault. You brought him to this. How could he possibly forgive you?

He let the anger fester as he took the time to clean himself up. Blood caked his hands up to his elbows with tendons stuck under his fingernails. It took several washes in a nearby stream to get it all out. He counted himself lucky his shirt had managed to escape most of the viscera. The last thing he wanted was an interrogation.

He needn’t have worried. It was well after dark by the time he crept back to camp. All was still, in the same way a body became when holding its breath.

He spotted Gale easily enough as he poured over some tome, his lips moving along with the words. Lae’zel and Wyll sat together, polishing their weapons without exchanging a word. Shadowheart looked to be meditating while Karlach sat next to the fire, brow furrowed while throwing the occasional stick into the flames.

Aside from the faint scrap of stone on metal, not a sound came from any of them.

Against his own will, his gaze turned to your tent.

It struck him then, why the quiet filled him with such dread.

By now a steady flow of strings should be teasing the edge of his ears. You seemed convinced a half inch of fabric was enough to muffle your rehearsals. None of them bothered to correct this assumption. On more than one occasion, he found himself forgetting the book in his hand as he listened to you work out some new melody. There was something about the way you played, as if each note lifted a burden on your soul. And if the night wasn’t filled with your music, it was touched by your voice.

You had a way of sparking conversation, sharing countless stories while encouraging the others to do the same. You knew when to listen, when to comment and just when to laugh to make the telling all the sweeter. He spent more time than he cared to admit thinking about how to pull that sound to your lips. He found it had the same effect on him as your plucking.

Then there were the rare times, when banter dwindled and everyone became lost in their own thoughts, he could make out a song just under your breath, an unconscious hum to accompany your work.

It brought a comfort he couldn’t describe, one he hadn’t realized he needed, until it was gone.

With quick steps he made his way to you, slipping into your tent with not even the barest rustle of fabric.

He’d never been in your tent before. If it were any other day, he’d be taking the time to examine every inch of it, but all he could focus on was you.

You were so still. An improvement from before, but not an especially encouraging one. It was clear from the perfectly arranged pillows you hadn’t moved since Shadowheart put you back to sleep. The only hint you were alive was that barest intake and outtake of breath.

His jaw tightened, his body tensing as a growing panic rose within him.

No, this was good. You were stable, for now. He still had options, more time to plan. He didn’t have to make any decisions tonight. Best he left and waited to see what the morning would bring.

You took a sharp intake of breath, slightly deeper than before. Your eyes twitched behind your lids and then you settled.

He paused, glancing to the entrance, half expecting somebody to come rushing in. He was surprised nobody was in here with you, or at the very least watching the door. He had slipped by without so much as a “hey you”. Any vagrant could just wander in.

He could end it right now. All it would take was one quick slice. The picture became clear; a single surprised gasp, the smell of your blood and then…silence. Forever.

Bile rose in his throat. He shut his eyes trying to will the image away as that new desperate terror threatened to drown him all over again.

Damn you. Damn you to every circle of the hells!

The gods were mocking him. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. He couldn’t just like you. No, he had to go and start caring.

A small whimper broke through his thoughts. Your head jerked, your brows pinching in distress.

Shadowheart. He needed to get Shadowheart, or Gale, or Wyll. Hells, she may not be able to touch you, but Karlach would undoubtedly have a better bedside manner. Besides Lae’zel he was the worst person suited for this. Gods, what was he even doing here?

You took a sharp intake of breath, flinching away from something only you could see.

He was on his knees the next second.

Your body settled, but your breathing came hard and fast. At least it wasn’t rasping.

His hands hovered over you, unsure of what to do. He had officially given up on the idea of leaving. He’d just have to improvise the rest.

Hesitantly, he let his fingers brush across your forehead, pushing aside a few of the loose strands. You were hot to the touch, but he took comfort in the fact you weren’t sweating as you were before. Whatever had taken hold of you that morning, it seemed to have loosened its grip.

You began to calm, a soft murmur of contentment stumbling from your lips.

The irony was not lost on him, but it didn’t stop a part of him from melting at the sound.

“Now that’s hardly playing fair, darling,” he whispered. “I’m trying to be angry with you.”

You didn’t answer except for a sigh as you turned your head, following his touch.

He allowed himself to linger for a moment before placing the back of his hand against your skin to feel it properly. You really were much too warm. The relief you were expressing no doubt came more from his body temperature than his caresses.

Slowly, he pulled away as he glanced around the small space. There had to be a water skin in here somewhere. Surely the idiots would know better than to leave you to burn yourself from the inside out.

A soft groan caught his attention as he spun back to you.

You shifted under the blankets, rolling back and forth as if to get loose of your cocoon. Your eyes darted quickly behind your lids. Another huff of breath and then, all at once, there you were.

“Tav?” he breathed.

Your eyes were bleary. Your skin was sallow. Your hair was a mess. Everything around him smelled of sweat and sick. And for a moment, he swore he could feel his heart beat again.

A hint of a smile touched the corner of your mouth, your brows rising slightly.

“Tav? Must be pretty bad then.”

He had to laugh. It was a short, strangled thing, and just about the only thing he could do to keep the stinging in his eyes at bay.

“Worse,” he said, managing to gain some hold on himself. “Of course, it must be said, your worse is most best.”

You huffed out a small laugh of your own, which quickly turned into a series of dry coughs.

He straightened in alarm before quickly spotting the water skin hanging on the center pole of the tent. Thankfully it was full, allowing him to waste no time lifting your head as he guided the water into your mouth.

As soon as the liquid met your tongue you scrambled for more, pushing yourself further up to guzzle the rest.

“Easy,” he warned, pulling back the container. “Can’t have you choking to death after all of that.”

You gave a slight sputter, proving his point as you caught your breath. “Sorry. Just thirsty.”

“Clearly,” he quipped. “Do you need more?”

You averted your eyes, your expression turning suddenly sheepish. “Please?”

As tempting as it was, he decided to save his teasing for later. It was always more fun when you could give it right back anyway.

He lifted your head, resting it on his lap before guiding the lip of the lid back to yours.

“Slowly this time,” he cautioned.

Your muscles tensed with restraint, but you followed his lead, taking no more than he gave.

He tried to ignore the tight feeling in his chest. His mind flickered to his own thirst and, for a moment, he could see his own desperation reflected in your eyes.

Something stirred inside him; an ache he didn’t recognize. He’d do just about anything to keep that look from marring your face ever again.

Once you’d gotten a few more mouthfuls he pulled the water skin away, setting it down on the floor beside you.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice still a little rough, but an obvious improvement.

“Don’t mention it,” he said. “To anyone.”

“Don’t worry, nobody would believe me anyway,” you teased.

“Truer words.”

Without really thinking, he let his palm rest on your forehead. He had already gotten a sense of your temperature, but the way your eyes closed as you relaxed into his touch was too good to pass up.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Like a band of goblins decided to make a riot of my insides,” you admitted, before turning your gaze upward. “What about you?”

“Me?”

Your mouth turned in an apologetic half smile. “No offense, but you look a bit ragged. Did something happen?”

He blinked, surprised by the sudden flash of anger your question inspired. Of course he was a bit ragged. You had started this morning on the verge of death, the knowledge of which had been torturing him for near on…oh, who bloody cared how long. And yet you had the audacity to ask if something happened, as if that wasn’t enough; as if you weren’t enough.

It must have shown on his face, as your brows furrowed in concern.

“Astarion?”

He mentally shook himself, pushing down the emotion as best he could.

“Don’t worry about me, darling. Let’s focus on getting you better.”

You frowned, your lips parting as if to say something when the entrance of the tent burst open.

“Hey, thought I heard your voice!” Karlach said, with a beaming smile. “Good to see you awake soldier. Told’em you’d bounce back, just a matter of time. Shadowheart! Gale! Tav’s awake! Astarion is with ‘em.”

Astarion prickled at the announcement. He didn’t need the entire camp knowing his business. He had decided to sneak back for a reason. Surely nobody had seen him.

He got his answer, as Karlach turned back, lowering her voice.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “Noticed you slip in earlier. Thought I’d leave you to watch Tav, but then I heard talking and well…you know.”

“Yes, thank you,” he clipped, hoping the note of embarrassment would be blamed on getting caught and not…other things.

“Thanks Karlach,” you said, smoothing over any lingering tension.

“Don’t even think about it. Few more rounds of healing and you’ll be right as rain.” She then turned her gaze to him. “You got’em?”

His brow furrowed slightly. He could say no. Gale and Shadowheart would need space to do their work. It would be the perfect excuse to walk away and try to forget any of this happened.

He glanced down at you, your head still resting in his lap.

You looked so fragile. It was a word he had never thought to use before when describing you. The sound of it rang with a dissonance that made his hair stand on end. Still you managed a half smile, your head tilting as silent permission to leave if he wanted.

And what exactly would he do if he left; wait in the dark, just as helpless as before. He may not be able to do much, but he could do this. It was better than nothing.

He turned back to Karlach, his purpose clear. “I’ve got them.”

She didn’t say anything back, simply nodding in acknowledgement before dipping out, and allowing Shadowheart and Gale to enter.

Shadowheart immediately took a place beside you, her hands glowing with magic as she got to work. Gale, meanwhile, remained standing seemingly unsure of what to do.

Astarion couldn’t help but notice the way the wizard’s eyes shifted awkwardly between you and him. Some petty part of him felt vindicated in staying. Apparently he had taken his designated spot.

“Glad to see you awake,” Shadowheart said.

“So am I, funny enough,” you said. “What happened?”

“Nasty bit of business,” Gale explained. “That hag didn’t hold anything back. Combination of cause fear, ray of sickness, a few other bits of spell work and bestowed curse to keep them all knotted together. The healing magic Shadowheart gave you last night was able to mend your physical wounds, but little else.

“Luckily once we were able to identify the spells, I was able to untangle most of the effects and pluck that curse right out. All told, it looked much worse than it was. With the hag dead, it appears your body has been able to fight off most of the remaining effects on its own. Honestly, if you were at full capacity at the start of the fight, it likely wouldn’t have gotten as bad as it did. Much easier to recover when all your blood is inside your body.”

Gale’s eyes flicked over to Astarion.

His jaw clenched, knowing full well what the wizard was implying, but he wasn’t about to admit he was right.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I take an arrow to the shoulder,” you said, dryly. “Just don’t bleed.”

Shadowheart gave a short laugh. “Good to see your sense of humor is intact.”

Astarion and Gale broke eye contact allowing whatever argument was about to ensue to die on their lips. There were more important things to worry about.

“What can I say, I’m a born entertainer,” you said, ruefully before turning your gaze evenly among the three of them. “I’m sorry to have caused so much trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” Gale assured. “When compared to Karlach’s engine or my own condition, this is little more than a sniffle.” He glanced over to Shadowheart. “Anything I can do?”

“Honestly, there’s not much even I can do at this point,” she admitted. “We’ll just have to see how you feel in the morning. One of us should stay with you at least, in case something happens.”

“I’ll do it,” Astarion said, earning shocked looks from both spellcasters. He did so particularly love the look on Gale’s face.

“You’re sure?” Gale said, skeptically.

He gave a nonchalant shrug. “I’m not planning to sleep much anyway. And don’t worry, I’m just as capable of yelling as anyone else in this camp. Besides, I doubt either of you are going to be much use to anyone in a few hours.”

Gale looked like he wanted to argue, but not before you spoke up.

“He has a point,” you said. “The pair of you have done enough as is. I’m feeling a lot better already. I’ll be fine.”

“Alright,” Gale relented, with a grimace. “There’s some stew in that container there if you get hungry. See if you can keep some food down. And if they so much as twitch in their sleep–”

“I’ll handle it,” Astarion cut off with a sharpness that left no room for dispute.

Gale appeared taken aback. So did Shadowheart for that matter, but Astarion couldn’t bring himself to care. You had in a very polite, roundabout way told them to leave. His job was to make it clear how much better that would be for everyone’s health.

Both Gale and Shadowheart got the message, ducking out without another word.

Astarion waited, counting down a solid minute to make sure nobody else would come barging in. Only when he was certain they were gone did he finally allow his body to relax.

“You don’t have to stay.”

He pulled his attention back to you, his brows furrowing.

“I really am feeling a lot better,” you insisted. “I’ll be alright.”

His instinct was to argue. He wasn’t in the mood for any more quiet heroics from you, but something in your eyes gave him pause.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked.

“I…” You swallowed. The emotion in your voice was clear even from that one word. “You don’t–”

“Do you want me to go?” he repeated.

For a long moment, you didn’t say a word.

He waited for the predictable guilt to appear, an obvious sign of your irritating selflessness with maybe an apology thrown in on the side. There were hints of it, yes, but something else lingered, moving across your features despite your best efforts to bury it away.

“No,” you confessed, with a yearning deeper than he felt he had any right to know.

He thought back on what you told him, the bits and pieces you shared about your life. It was never obvious, just comments that slipped through, as if by accident.

You didn’t know your mother. Your father was little more than a memory. You never mentioned any siblings. A flurry of names and faces filled your stories from across Faerun, but they never stayed the same between tellings. Now that he gave it proper thought, he couldn’t think of a single one of them you had named friend.

He had to wonder how many nights you suffered through a fever alone, how many times you bandaged your own wounds and kept your own company on long nights in the middle of nowhere.

You hadn’t given him permission to go out of the kindness of your heart. You had expected him to. You just wanted to give yourself the illusion of control over when.

And yet, you asked him to stay.

“Well, that settles it,” he soothed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your lips parted as if to say something more, but you closed it again swallowing the words back down.

He counted himself grateful. He was liable to say any number of foolish things if you let him.

Slowly, your eyes began to droop as sleep overcame you once more.

As promised, he didn’t move, not daring to so much as shift your head.

Maybe…maybe this was your price. He couldn’t be sure. He doubted he would ever be sure of anything with you, but maybe this was what you wanted; somebody to care.

It was a dangerous notion. He had never provided anything real before. The concern he felt for you now was against his will. If he started caring for you on purpose, who knew where that might lead; the things he would be willing to do, all for you.

He blinked the thought away. He was getting ahead of himself. A little went a long way, especially with you. Honestly, it would be almost too easy; a kind word here, a helpful hand there, and he would have you curled around his finger in no time. It wasn’t so different from what he had done before. All he needed to do was not care anymore than he already did. Nothing he couldn’t handle. He could stop any time he wanted.

It was the thought that kept him through the night, the one he repeated to himself as he came as close to holding you as he dared.

He had a plan now. What could possibly go wrong?

Taglist: @bambamwolf87

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion baldurs gate #asexual!tav #asexual!reader #bard!tav #astarion x ace!tav #astarion x evie

1K notes · View notes

girlcrushart · 2 months ago

Text

Last night I stumbled on these pics of Taylor Momsen and completely lost my mind for a bit there. I didn't know who these pics were of, because even tho I def knew who Taylor Momsen was this marked the first time I was aware of where she decided to dress in such a way as to murder as many lesbians as possible. And woah did I take the bait. Everything about this picture is peak hotness for me, from her feet in those badass boots, thru the camo-ish fabric, to the x's on her nips, to her gorgeous hair and very pretty face. And yes, I skipped over mentioning those abs because I needed to close on those abs because jesus fuck. Yesterday when I reblogged these pics to kat-eleven I inquired about two things: 1. Who is this girl? (and a few of you reached out with help on that front—thanks!) and 2. Where do I sign up to worship her abs? So far no response on number 2, so I'll wait patiently on that one. I'll try to wait patiently. Unf. Today's girlcrushart guardian is Taylor Momsen.

#taylor momsen

115 notes · View notes

hot-take-tournament · 9 months ago

Note

Omg the reblog person is so real for that. I understand that Tumblr doesn't have an algorithm so liking doesn't functionally do anything but I get extremely anxious about reblogging so the guilt trips are really awful for me (and I assume it's the same for others with similar issues.)

Uh- bit of a tangent/rant below. For context I'm an "Audhd-er" (I think that's the term people use, it means I'm autistic and I have ADHD)

I understand most of the time they are over-exaggerating their feelings on the matter. In posts about reblogging stuff from writers and artists it's always kind of a "LIKES DO NOTHING SHOW YOUR LOVE WITH REBLOGS LIKES MEAN NOTHING"

I've always found that a bit odd. As someone with two mutuals (one of whom is rarely online) and 1 normal follower my reblogs really aren't gonna do much so I mostly reblog stuff my mutuals might like and occasionally make my own posts. (Keeping everything else private for the most part) When I get a like it always brings a warm fuzzy feeling because it means someone enjoyed my reblog or post enough to share with me that they liked it.

I've only had one post that breached containment and it was a fun weekend of checking out the blogs of people who liked it! All in all I think maybe people are just unaware of the anxieties that come with being online and the people who experience those anxieties are too anxious to really speak up about it. I mean look at me I'm chilling behind an anon mask rn (I rarely send an off anon ask lol.)

For a website dubbed by its users as the neurodivergent website, some people forget to consider that learning and working within the culture of a social media platform can be extremely stressful for many types of people, let alone an autistic person such as myself (the ADHD doesn't help either). Some of us would prefer to lurk in our private blogs, only coming out of our comfort zone when we feel ok to do so.

All in all, a reminder to reblog is perfectly fine, but please refrain from the guilt-tripping and social obligation type of thing— or at least be aware of it and try not to be offended if one of your mutuals struggles to reblog.

Now this is all my personal perspective, other people will likely have completely different experiences but I wanted to share in case people were confused on why it's an issue for some people. Thanks for reading this whole thing and I hope you have a lovely day <3

I think I get what you're saying -

For a lot of people it genuinely takes a surprising amount of guts to put themselves out there on the internet in any way, even if it's anonymously, and that includes things as simple as reblogging a post.

It's not just Tumblr either. You also see it on Reddit and Twitter, and in online games where people just want to keep to themselves and not interact with strangers. Some people just want to lurk, maybe liking or upvoting, but not commenting or reblogging, because that feels like making yourself more "visible" somehow, in a way simply liking posts doesn't.

It's difficult to put into words, but I feel it's kind of like being in a university lecture with 50+ strangers. Liking is sitting in the back quietly taking notes. Reblogging is like putting your hand up and giving an opinion when the professor asks for one.

It's true that only reblogging actually contributes anything functionally, but there are plenty of people, especially neurodivergent people, who might struggle with that kind of thing, but still want to show some appreciation, or just save it as a bookmark.

So, I think that's partly why that kind of guilt-tripping or threatening reblog bait can be so stressful. Tumblr is a comfort app for a lot of people, who just want to curate their own little private space. Reblog baits are like someone banging on your door, telling you that you're actively doing something wrong by keeping to yourself, and (in the case of "I'll block/unfollow you if you like/read but don't reblog" baits) people will hate you for doing it.

It also implicitly takes away the sense of control you have over your own personal online space. Ideally, you should be able to do whatever you want with your own blog - no one should dictate your own online experience. So, if you just want to reblog things you like or want to share, at whatever pace you feel comfortable with, there shouldn't be anything wrong with that.

But reblog baits seem to suggest that you shouldn't have that control, and there are certain things that you have no choice but to put on your blog, and it has to be right now. And I feel that sense of having control suddenly snatched away from you without warning could also be a major source of anxiety for a lot of people who see Tumblr as a source of comfort.

With all that in mind, while I do believe that it's not quite this simple, considering artists and writers, and especially those who rely on commissions, do need exposure from reblogs, I also feel it's difficult to blame people for finding very aggressive reblog baits stressful, especially when you're suddenly blindsided with them.

At least, those are just my initial thoughts based on what you said, but absolutely let me know if you disagree with any of this or feel I misrepresented what you meant <3

#asks #not a poll #hot take reblog bait

24 notes · View notes

irisintheafterglow · 1 year ago

Text

Until You Come Back Home (gojo x you)

summary: you call his name enough times that he does, indeed, come back home.

wc: 1.76k

cw/tags: angst/comfort, happy ending !!!, lovesick reader and lovesick satoru, mentions of suguru and riko so anime spoilers, pet names (sweetheart, angel, babe)

note: RAHHHH HERE IT IS HE'S BACK last part of "I Don't Wanna Live Forever" !!! this is my coping mechanism before, during, and after shibuya cuz i plan ahead, yk? anyways hope you like it :D

likes, reblogs, and feedback is always appreciated !

It’s quiet in your room, too unsettling for it to be considered peaceful. You toss around in your covers and count sheep until you’re well past 200 to no avail. It just felt like something was missing and you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. The room felt humongous and claustrophobic at the same time, too hot to wear blankets but too cold to have your skin exposed. Every single one of your senses was irritated to its limit and you settled for taking a walk to get water. However, you’re surprised to find that you’re not the only one feeling restless.

“Satoru?”

You see him tilt his head to look at you in the darkness of the teachers’ common area. His legs are crossed over each other and he rests his chin in the heel of his hand. Rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his half-unzipped jacket, he gives you a tired smile as you sit on the coffee table in front of him. The bags under his eyes are deep enough to bury a treasure chest. You don’t ask if he wants to talk, instead reaching out to take his hand and running your thumb over his knuckles. It’s just something friends do, you reason. No feelings involved with this kind of physical touch, right? After a moment, he shrugs a lean shoulder with a ragged breath, once-vibrant eyes now dulled.

“Bad dream woke me up. Thought it’d be better to have a change of scenery.” His voice has none of its melodic lilt that you’d grown to love since you both were students, and it makes your face fall. You had very limited knowledge of his nightmares, but to find him staring off into space at the earliest hours of the morning was especially concerning. It was frightening, sometimes, to be Satoru’s closest remaining friend. Witnessing the strongest sorcerer at his weakest was a frequent occurrence for you, however much he tried to appear unbreakable to the rest of society. It was even more frightening to walk this line with him between friends and lovers, to gamble your feelings on a human with the powers of a god. “Do you remember Riko?”

“Of course I do. As vividly as I remember him, too.” You don’t speak the name of his best friend turned murderer, for your sake and for Satoru’s. It was a stab to the heart you weren’t ready for. “The dream was about them?”

“Mhmm. Just reliving it all again.”

“You’re sort of doing that now, sitting here like a guard at his post.”

“That’s the point, babe.”

“The point is hurting you, Satoru.” His hair seems almost iridescent in the moonlight when he shakes his head.

“What are you doing awake, anyway? Missed me so much you couldn’t sleep?” He was baiting you to change the subject and, to your dismay, you bite.

“Bold of you to assume I miss you at all,” you state flatly, dropping his hand dramatically. He exhales a quiet laugh, leaning his head on his hand to stare at you with those stupidly pretty blue eyes.

“Liar. You’re the first one I see after every mission, even when I’m not looking for you.” Your mouth quirks at his slip.

“You search for me after missions?” It makes your heart a little lighter to see some of the twinkle come back into his eyes when he smiles softly. “You’re lying now. Look at your smirk,” you say, flicking his knee lightly. It’s purposeful, you think, when you feel the fabric of his sweatpants brush your hand. He never turned on Infinity if it was you.

“Believe whatever you want to believe; but, fact is, we’re really good at running into each other.” He leans back in the armchair, raising both hands in surrender. He sighs, looking out at the moonlit courtyard below. “Even right now.” The corner of his mouth quirks teasingly and his eyes flick back to you. “Guess you always know when to find me when I need you, huh?” What is usually a heated face and a rapid heartbeat is replaced by a comforting warmth enveloping your entire body as you nod in agreement. Your mouth opens into a large yawn and you’re reminded how early it is. “I'm fine. Go back to sleep.”

“No.”

“Why won’t you listen to me?”

“Would you listen if I told you to go back to sleep?” He frowns, staring out the window again in reluctance. Before you speak again, he gives the tiniest shake of his head, imperceptible if you weren’t already staring at him. I can’t. He’s scared to fall asleep again, you figure, like when Megumi was younger and would crawl into your bed in the middle of the night. You huff, running your tongue over your top lip thoughtfully before plopping onto the couch perpendicular to his armchair. He glances at you, puzzled, and you settle into the cushions determinedly. “If you’re anxious of what can happen while you’re asleep, I’ll keep watch and wake you if something happens.” His face contorts to protest but you’re quick to cut him off. “Please, rest. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

You don’t really remember much after that. In the morning, you find yourself in Satoru’s bed with his arms curled around you. His face is buried in your shoulder, the blankets are twisted around your legs and his, and you have to blow a few white hairs from your face, but it doesn’t matter. It’s peaceful, and he’s asleep with his forehead against your neck. When you absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair and rub his back with the other hand, he sighs and melts more into your body. It’s a position you became much more familiar with when you officially started dating. It was natural to hold him, to wait for him, to love him. Sometimes, when he returned from a mission and you were already asleep, your body would move on its own to embrace him as he slipped into the sheets. Over time, his name fell from your lips as easily as breathing.

You would whisper it sleepily, in a hazy trance between sleeping and waking. “Hi, gorgeous,” he replies against your temple, pressing feather-light kisses to your skin. “Miss me?”

You called it over and over, slightly out of breath after you sprint from one end of the school to the other, Shoko texting you that he was returning after a months-long mission. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed you,” he murmurs in your ear, picking you up and spinning you around like a romcom movie.

You’ve screamed it, occasionally, on the days when being in love with a fallen god became too much to bear and he told you to leave, if you couldn’t stand him that much. The romcom side of your relationship certainly appeared during those days, as it seemed to rain the hardest when he was standing outside your door and begging you to come back to his room. It wasn’t perfect, being with Satoru, but neither was he. That alone kept you coming back and calling his name like a mantra.

It’s the only thing you’re able to say when you see him for the first time since his unsealing.

You see him with Yuuji and Yuta in the courtyard, the same courtyard he looked at all those nights ago. Your breath catches in your throat when you finally register the afternoon sun glinting off of his hair. Though your brain was firing off a million signals in a span of seconds, it feels physically impossible to form words, to breathe, to run. Your body and mind push against each other for control, one completely frozen while the other is running so many trains of thought they’re all crashing disastrously. You swallow and take a few cautious steps down the stairs. His head snaps in your direction.

“Satoru?”

Before you can blink, he’s in front of you, alive and breathing despite the newly healed scars. You cup his face in your hands ever so gently, as if he’d shatter if you weren’t careful. The warm feeling of his skin beneath the pads of your fingers told you that he was real, that he was here. He’s there to catch you when your legs give out and you sink to the ground with him, inhaling him for the first time in weeks that felt like centuries. His arms were just as strong as you willed yourself to remember and just as firm as if you were the one who came back from a lethal assignment.

“My angel,” he murmurs into your skin. Devotion drips from his words like honey. “How did you know where to find me?” You choke out a half-laugh, half-cry and smile against his chest, more at ease than you’ve felt in your entire life.

“We’re just really good at running into each other.” He laughs, genuinely laughs and it feels like a thirty pound weight is instantly lifted from your shoulders.

“We are, aren’t we?”

“Can we have that rager wedding now?” You were beaming at him, basking in his light and slowly tracing your fingers over his scars. It was just another part of him for you to memorize.

“I thought you denied me my rager wedding.” His accusation is whispered right into your ear and the hair on the back of your neck stands up from the close proximity. “I was heartbroken, truly.”

“If it means keeping you forever, I’ll have a hundred rager weddings,” you promise. In true Satoru fashion, however, he still likes to push your buttons whenever he has a chance.

“What if it’s two hundred?” He smirks and you roll your eyes, unable to stop smiling nonetheless.

“That’s pushing it.”

“Fine,” he concedes, pressing one more kiss to your cheek. “One will do. We don’t even have to buy a house.”

“Why not?”

“Because wherever I’m with you, I’m–”

“Already home. I get it.” He draws his mouth into a frustrated grimace.

“You didn’t let me finish my sappy line.”

“You’ll have to come up with better than that if you want to truly have that rager wedding.”

“It’s good that I like a challenge, then,” he states before picking you up clear off the ground, one arm slung under your legs and the other supporting your back. He calls out something to his students behind you that you can’t hear, escorting you back to his bed and resting, truly resting, for the first time in ages.

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #gojo angst #gojo fluff #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #satoru gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk spoilers

397 notes · View notes

mysterycitrus · 11 months ago

Note

You’ve talked about how fandom treats jtodd & dick, so what are your thoughts on how fandom treats dick & tim?

There’s this post that’s asking about people’s batfamily hot takes, and I was scrolling through the reblogs bc I love drama. One of the “hot takes” was calling dick a bad brother bc of the bruce lost in time comic era. Specifically saying that fandom excuses dick’s shitty behavior towards Tim bc his dad (Bruce) died and because of the stress of taking care of the city by himself. While Tim was hurting because of the deaths of Kon, Bart, Jack, Steph, and Donna (idk why they included Donna as Tim’s grief and not Dick’s??) and therefore Tim’s & Dick’s hurt and stress aren’t the same. According to this person, Tim was going through it and Dick was making it worse.

Now, I’m not going to claim I know how everything went down since I haven’t read those comics yet, but this feels like a gross misunderstanding of the arc.

From what I’ve seen, fandom tends to invalidate and villainize Dick during this time in favor of Tim. Dick is not being excused, in fact he’s being blamed for things that are either not his fault or just made up in order to whump Tim. Idk that “hot take” just rubbed me the wrong way because of how one-sided it was, and I guess it made me wonder about your thoughts about Dick & Tim since I tend to agree with your opinions lmao

fundamentally the issue is this — dick grayson existing and being a good person is an obstacle for fanon angst. dick grayson being a good brother means that jtodd can’t just slot into his pre-existing relationships with tim and cass and damian. dick grayson being a good friends means that he’s close with the titans and the league because he’s competent and trusted. dick grayson being kind means that he didn’t abandon tim, he was literally trying to keep everything together after bruce’s death.

not to try and make it a grief olympics but as much as people talk about everyone tim has lost (and i think they must have been talking about dana winters in that post?) people seem to forget that dick’s city just got nuked + the fallout of nightwing 93 + donna dying + jade dying + the titans falling apart + he was just locked in arkham himself. like… his dad has just died, he’s had to fight off his brother who’d just tried to kill both tim and damian and been given custody over a kid who doesn’t trust him

red robin 2009 has done irreversible harm to tim drakes character. people using that as the starting point for reading about him is bad. it’s a comic about a grief spiral, and it isn’t an amazing depiction of him either. but even then, people just seem to love straight up fabricating what’s in it.

dick tells tim that therapy might be a good idea. tim tells dick that he’s leaving because he trusts dick to let him do what he needs to do. even at his lowest point, dick is who he trusts most. those takes that’re like “tim drake was at his lowest point and then jtodd sees him and realises that he’s cool actually and they bond #jasontoddisagoodbrother #dickgraysonisabadbrother etc” because they like to posit that dick threatened to throw tim in arkham are so silly

that’s even ignoring how people just straight up lie about damian’s actions and how weird everyone is about ra’s al ghul. no, tim isn’t the only one he refers to as detective aside from bruce. no, tim isn’t one step away from being a mass murderer. no, damian didn’t try to kill tim— he was reacting to tim being suspicious of him. tim was beefing with a ten year old. why are u being so mean to the ten year old? (We Know Why)

ur right — it is extremely one-sided. im not one to pretend that canon is flawless by any means, but acting as though fanon is better just because someone online came up with it is also stupid. there are many many racist undertones with how jtodd and tim are interpreted, both separately and with each other. a lot of it is yaoi baiting dynamics, that a lot of fans don’t seem to want to admit. i won’t comment on how white people writing jtodd as latino and tim as asian can be Bad but like…. it’s all tied up together. people want these two characters to have suffered the most, because that justifies everything fans want them to do. they want them to be wronged. they want their idea of justice in their name

#does that make sense? Idk #dick grayson #dc comics #anti batfanon #the ask and the answer

283 notes · View notes

cheersyouslxg · 4 months ago

Text

╰┈➤ 💀 Ghost 💀

Word count: 6,986 ┆ ┆ MDNI - 18+┆ ┆ »»———- I started this as a SMALL drabble for a pairing made with a friend with Simon that turned into.. this. ———-««

TLDR; Simon is taking on his last mission before retirement. Why? Because in this world, Simon found the love of his life and began a family. With three girls and another baby on the way, Simon decides its time to hang up the mask and take a desk job within the company to be home with his family more... However, This last mission goes awry, losing communication with his team, and Ghost will do anything to bring himself back home to his wife and children.

Triggers: bad militant writing (Just look past the things that don't quite make sense. I did my best.), angst, gore and injury, swearing, torture, ghost being scary ghost, etc etc

⊹ Comments, feedback, thoughts and reblogs are encouraged! ⊹

This wasn’t the first time Ghost had been in the dark, but it would be his last.

The first twenty minutes, maybe thirty, in hiding had been spent wandering down a self depreciating hole of misery. How could they have been so stupid? Were there signs he missed coming into the target location? Every seemable precaution was made. They’ve checked and double checked their sourcing claiming that their target was hiding out in that damned safe house! But they knew that, didn’t they? Azimi and his men had put out a lure with a fresh slab of bait on a hook and waited. And foolishly, they had taken it. Line, hook, sink, catch.

Quickly, it became clear that wallowing would do nothing but have him willingly lying in wait should the enemy sweep through the area one last time. He’d done enough to prostrate his ass as a target, willingly walking into the fire to be burned. With no working radio, no eyes watching his movements, the team effectively evacuated without him… Ghost crawled out from the spot he’d shoved himself into while running from the enemy. His left shoulder had sustained injury from a soldier high on his luck, pouring heaps of molten lava into his shoulder every time he attempted to move it.

He spent another ten minutes using a knife to dig into his flesh with gritted teeth clamped down on his gun’s shoulder strap. He’d endured pain worse than a bullet in the arm, in his own personal hell crafted by whatever cruel deities saw to it to conspire against any chance of happiness that came within arms reach. This failed mission had meant to be his last. On paper this was a simple capture and take into custody. Everything looked easier on paper, but he’d been convinced the mission was a walk in the park. The park just happened to lead into hell.

The blunt of the bullet was scraped and clawed at by steel until enough blood lubricated its exit and plinked silently into his lap. The pain had not been as kind to have left with the bullet, shooting through his nerve endings and lighting up his spinal cord. The brain was truly a remarkable organ. Its function was to keep the body alive, projecting whatever means it had to whilst attempting to survive. Where blinding, white hot roils of agony burbled through his body, the brain sent message after message to the adrenal glands that his body was in crisis. Responding effectively, his heart raced and drowned out the thundering pain of his shoulder. Possibly to encourage his ass off the ground and back towards the false safe housing unit, Ghost was reminded of the reason he was here.

Three little faces crossed behind his eyes in a mental image, slowly becoming more vivid as a camera lens focused onto its subject. Smiling faces and hopeful grins pushed him forward, recalling the haunting laughter of his squealing daughters. The image grew hazy, a sharp spark of pain undulating through his body burning up the film of the picture. He would hear them laugh again. Right foot forward, left quickly in pursuit to launch itself past its twin until Ghost broke out into a run. An amateur’s handiwork patched up his shoulder enough to keep the bleeding contained, though his muscles ached as the wounded left arm steadied the butt of his gun against his right shoulder.

Including himself, four of the original seven men in his team had appeared to survive. Scattered amongst them were soldiers in friendly uniforms brought down in the fray as they assisted in immediate evacuation. Not even their tags had been brought for proper identification. Resounding waves of guilt were buried under his resolve to move quickly, stopping respectfully to each fallen man to retrieve their patch and tags. His wife, he thought, would prefer to have Ghost’s tags should he ever have fallen. Something to have a memorial in his honor. It was a silly daydream, casting away the lingering dread brought along with the implication that he may not return from this mission.

Less enemy lay on the ground as he approached the safe house, running the outer perimeter quickly before entering through the splintered back door housing numerous bullet holes. Glass crackled slowly under a trained boot floating through the wreckage on high alert for the slightest infraction in the air announcing unidentified movement. Even wounded he was a soldier of flawless rhythm, trusting his feet as he waded through the kitchen and into the living room that was also clear of other life. The first floor was swept clean, being guided by the end of a barrel upstairs onto the second floor. There, Ghost found four enemy bodies, one of which was still groveling with death for a second chance. By the looks of it, the soldier was bluffing about what cards he had in his hand, and death had just picked up the last card he needed to complete a Royal Flush.

Looming over the crumble of debris in the husk of a man, Ghost’s pistol pulled from his belt spoke before he did. A warning shot rang through the air and bit into the wood beside the man’s right shoulder. He swiftly sank to his knees as the other recoiled in the shock of echoed ringing resounding from the bullets' holler. A warmth was pressed to the man’s temple, ghost's knee lodged between the man’s leg with considerable weight pinning his thigh into the ground, much to the soldiers' chagrin. This enemy was wounded before ghost had arrived, too weak to truly fight this encounter. He did, however, have enough wind in his lungs to spew aggressive attacks of venomous words shrouded by a language Ghost did not understand.

Ghost remained unconvinced that this agent of evil couldn’t understand him when he demanded he speak English. Ragged intakes of air stoked a fire fueling Ghosts rage. He’d caught a fistful of the soldiers hair and slammed his head into the floor beneath them, silencing his prattling with a sharp cry instead. This left room for ghost to speak, making his intentions very clear if this final demand was not met promptly, “Speak English.”

Maybe it was the strikingly raw, unhinged tone of Ghost's voice, which nearly relieved the soldier of the contents in his bowels shaking so viciously under the Lieutenants capture. Or maybe the blood loss and head trauma he’d sustained while falling had blurred his vision so much that he believed he was looking straight into the face of the grim reaper. He couldn’t help but wonder what the Grim Reaper was doing in Britain to have such a thick accent, nor was he expecting death’s eyes to be as piercing and cold as splinters of ice~ unnaturally blue crystals encapsulated within a blood splattered skull. Either way, death’s eyes drilled deep into the tendrils of the young soldier’s heart and struck enough fear to silence his charade of playing dumb, speaking in a broken English accent, spilling all of his master's secrets to stay alive. Even so, it wasn’t enough to sway Ghost into his decision of putting the rest of his clip into his skull, but then- Ghost heard the crackle of the soldier’s radio come to life, spewing the foreign language.

Ghost grabbed the beacon of communication before the soldier had the thought to announce a survivor, pressing the cooling barrel under his chin tightly, the radio at his ear. “Translate.” Almost literally, Ghost had the man by the balls, his knee hovering uncomfortably close over his groin to ensure that any attempt of escape would result in searing pain. Either by a quick and shocking bullet to the head or a mind numbing impression of his knee and all 250 pounds of ghosts weight crushing into this twats dick. There seemed to be no other choice, held under the extreme duress of fear when dealing with death himself.

Quivering lips trembled more violently than leaves on an oak in the torment of a summer storm, relaying to ghost moments after each warble of the radio went dead that Azimi had been transported securely to their harbored location deeper in the mountains. The sick bastard had enough gall to be right under their noses, hiding out in the same damned country that he’d had Ghost’s team sent to their deaths! Some foreign location was mumbled, furrowing Ghost’s brow underneath the mask.

“Where is that? How far away are we from there?” He pressed quickly, shoving the end of his pistol further into the soldiers flesh between his jaw. He could imagine the bloodbath he’d endure if he pulled the trigger then, lips twitching in minor intrigue. An unadulterated savage man lay within the stare once frozen, now melted under a rage boiling so hot the orange and yellow flames were consumed by the blue heat. The soldier had been able to compose himself under the expected cold of which death brought each member of his new legion with his touch… but the fires of hell burned at a temperature lower than this devil’s stare.

“I- I no know! I no know! Uh- uh- many days trip from town! East!” Tears blinded his vision, sobbing in his native tongue for mercy. Maybe it was for his vast amount of time left unlived. Maybe it was for his mother, begging to keep her son on this earth. Maybe he had a wife and young babe. Unfortunately for him, Ghost couldn’t understand him. He emptied the clip, bathing ceremoniously in the splatter of flesh, blood and brain exploding from gunfire. Death had a family too; he would stop at nothing to see to it he held them again. The man in the mask didn’t flinch, hardly batting an eye more than was necessary to deflect brian matter from leaking into his corneas. The soldier hadn’t even the courage to meet death's final gaze, in the form of a ghost, crying and pissing himself. He died akin to the way he was born into this world: a blubbering, defecating baby.

A town was nestled deep within the dense forests surrounding the mountains. It was the only town this side of the mountain, that much Ghost had gathered while taking a scan of the area before they’d deployed. As a consequence, people were scarce this far up the mountain aside from small huts and houses owned by the extreme reclusive types that could take care of themselves. Or a safe house where terrorists camped out waiting for death to visit. It was rude to delay them any longer than was necessary, heading east to track down the town.

It was hard to keep his bearings in such a dense forest. The trees locked tightly by the heads and blocked out any sunlight, had there been any to block out. It looked like he would be walking through the night, guided only by a compass and night vision in a sea of ominous darkness. The sun had set three hours ago. Ghost still had a long stretch of night to labor in. Miles of walking offered a space where he could drift into the recesses of his mind now and again. Once the initial spike of fear had cemented into his chest, the anxiety became bearable overtime. It existed only as a discomforting thrum, easily ignored by vigilance to survive and common sense to not allow himself to sit and give up.

As far as last missions go, Ghost was humored and humbled. His job had never been easy. No rational human being could look at the requirements and sign up because it seemed easy. Decades of experience had a way to continually humble him whenever he began thinking that this was the hardest the job could become. A new threat to humanity introduced itself with a hard stick up the ass, serving Ghost new life lessons and piling upon him more trauma that would paralyze the average man. He took everything in stride, hoping for the worst and lightly surprised when sometimes the end result proved better than worse.

The only time he’d even been proven wrong was when he married his wife. He had hoped for the best, and their nearly thirteen years of marriage had proved better than conceivably imaginable. Every single day he was stunned by the reality he woke up to as if he hadn’t built it brick by brick with her over the course of their relationship. She was his only constant in a world ever changing, ever worsening and dedicated to seeing Simon fail. She made him a better man, helped him achieve new goals. Scarlett Riley was the love of his life and brightest star in the cold, cruel universe.

Her glittering eyes stared back at him within the wallpaper of his phone, as well as the three pairs of near identical stars shimmering within her arms as a Father’s Day photoshoot one year when Olivia was nine. She was now twelve and filled with her own ideas and opinions that were strikingly similar to his own which meant they often came at an impasse. She was a spitting image of her stubborn and resilient father, her smile gleaming at him through the lighted screen almost challenging him now. Come home to us, daddy. We need you here.

For now he would say goodbye to them in the woods, taking out the sims card and smashing his cellphone with a rock. He incinerated the sims holding the keys to his heart, burying the evidence until the only tie to his family was the tattoo of his wife’s name on his chest and the poorly drawn field of flowers rising up his right arm from where his children had creatively given him the idea to tattoo their artwork on his body forever. The colorful work didn’t match any of his other tattoos, and he loved it all the more for it. He kept no printed pictures nor wore his wedding ring while deployed for the sole reason of remaining as alone as was possible. He would never have to say that he was the reason his family was tracked down and tortured because of careless keepsakes left on his person.

Elaine was inching closer and closer to the double digits, breaking Simon’s heart daily the taller she grew. As it was with the most beautiful flowers, weeds tried their best to choke out her light with playground teases about her weight and shaming her for her softened heart. Simon could swear honestly and say he didn’t have a favorite between his three girls. He would place his hand on the Bible in front of a judge with a clear conscience and confess that each of his girls were loved wholly and without judgment on which he favored more than the other. However, Lainey held a special place in his heart for her demure personality, and he sought harder to protect it. Livvy was a firecracker, able to handle her own (oftentimes bringing him and her mother to visit the school principal from something she had said or did while defending her honor and her families.). Elaine Marie could not even hurt a fly which was considered an atrocity within her moral compass. She depended on her father to save her from pesky trolls and mean goblins and instead of fighting the dragon, she wanted her knight in shining armor to make peace with the misunderstood creature who only wanted her to be able to see the kingdom from a new angle in the tower.

By now, nothing but rage and determination fueled Ghost's ambition. As far as he was concerned, anyone standing in his way was a threat to his chance of getting home and seeing his family. The mask he wore protected him from leaking emotion otherwise bottled to the festering brim. A red string of fate wound tightly around his trigger finger and guided him through the thick and almost stifling foliage. The end of the line was tied to Azimi, but through the long path tangled his minions Ghost would rip through one by one until it was impossible for Azimi to hide behind fire power and shrouds of smoke. Out-running death was as impossible as trying to get blood to pour from a stone.

When he needed to rest, he allowed himself no more than fifteen minutes to catch his breath and relieve his aching shoulder of the pressure of his arm weighing down. A sling would have been ideal, but with that came stalling in the event that he needed to use his firearm. An emergency pack of food was rationed, water sipped frugally when the pits of hell opened up inside of his throat and introduced a thirst so vicious the man nearly gagged on nothing, the ducts of his salivary glands shriveling in consequence.

By early eve the next day, the treacherous and seemingly endless void of trees opened up into a small path of dirt marking passage where cars and trucks came from more inhabited areas. From the little he knew and what he had been told by the soldier, there was only one small town within the mountains and calling it a town was considered generous. Few farmers lived in the surrounding acres, and a single truck saw to it that the dirt road was put to good use to transport products ready for sale. It drove from the town to a landing where it was flown then down the mountain because no one had ever been adventurous enough to carve out trees and rocks up the entire mountain for a vehicle to pass through.

The man shadowed the treeline, following this path up through a winding incline to where he was sure it would empty out into a larger mouth of streets. His exact intention was unknown to himself, hoping to find food and possibly someone oblivious enough of his militant clothing to trust him enough and aid him as he passed through. Time was his ultimate adversary, the egging notion that the longer he took to get to the hide out of Azimi, the longer the man had time to find a new destination. He was lucky that Azimi was arrogant enough to remain in the country and so close by their ambush location. But he wasn’t foolish enough to stay here for long, and whatever he was planning in the near future would drive him further out into the world to ruin and slaughter the lives of hundreds, thousands of innocent people if Ghost didn’t book it walking double time.

Had he worn an apple watch, his activity record would be off the charts. He’d never felt more exhausted and ready to throw in the towel and die in the barren floor of the woods than when he’d finally seen proof of life at the end of the dirt road. Coming into town was only the beginning of his journey, and had he not focused on his family waiting for him at home, Ghost would have let the moss of the earth consume him slowly.

But he thought of Violet May, his youngest daughter at home probably screaming and cackling as she fights her mother for the apparent god-given right to shovel as many stones into her mouth as she can or scrabble atop the back of their great pyrenees Benny. God, she loved that old dog, and god did that dog deserve a dog-house the size of a mansion in whatever afterlife was available for good boys when they pass over. Wherever Violet bounded towards with stubby legs and stumbling escapes, Benny Boy was behind her nudging her with a wet nose creating a ripple effect of giggles and squeals in the toddler demanding a ride back to the house where her mother scolded her for going too far from her sight.

He had promised her a trip for ice cream when he returned from this mission. His last mission. As a man who strived to never make a promise he couldn’t keep, Ghost closed his eyes and rested for twenty minutes blurring right passed him in the blink of an eye and then he found a hiding spot for his rifle and pack. Nearing the town’s edge, he realized his mistake in stashing the larger firearm to appear less threatening to locals. A field stretched beyond him, and within the field was a line of workers collecting whatever plant they’d sifted months before in preparation for harvest. Outlining the field was the scattering of men wearing the same colors as the soldier he had performed an immediate removal of the brain on. It appeared that Azimi had taken control of the businesses in the town, and perhaps their reversed attack hadn’t been so planned afterall.

With only a throwing knife, pistol, and two spare mags on his vest, Ghost calculated the best plan of action given his odds of survival in his current state of health. Gathering intel allowed for another brief moment's rest, watching the men chat idly with automatics relaxed in their arms jeering threateningly at any imprisoned worker let to glance their way. The way they conversated so nonchalantly while holding an oppressing thumb down on honest, hard-working citizens enraged Ghost, simmering silently. One soldier broke off from the group, sweeping the perimeter or venturing closer towards the woods to take a piss. Either was in favor of the shadow slinking back enough to skirt closer without being detected by ruffling branches and snapping of dead twigs; though, being honest, Ghost moved silently even under duress.

A thrown rock disturbed the brush a few feet from the soldier, beckoning him to investigate the movement. For a brief second, Ghost thought it wouldn’t have been enough to lure him outside of the line of sight. He blended in with the large trunk nearby, peering in a crouched position until the soldier’s back was completely turned towards Ghost. The stalking predator inched closer, moving swiftly with a graceful complexity often only seen portrayed by felines. With knife in hand, Ghost blocked the soldier’s ability to breath with the blade shoved through his neck. He made only a soft gurgle of blood fleeing his body in protest of having to serve a future dead man.

Since the other man wouldn’t be needing it, Ghost picked up the semi-automatic and searched his person for other useful tools he may be able to use. An extra magazine of ammo was located, and a hand held that Ghost wouldn’t pass up. Just in case. It appeared that the universe was looking kindly down on the man now, for the gun had a silencer attached to it. The man’s phone was also pocketed as well as the radio. Noting that the guy on the floor’s friends would soon notice his absence, Ghost moved on in the woods closer to the gathering herd of soldiers. There was bound to be more, and since he couldn’t tell just how many, Ghost was put in a precarious position.

Going in guns blazing was not a smart idea. One man against the unknown was a suicide mission. He couldn’t guarantee that the workers wouldn’t react if he took them out quietly all at once. Their screams might be heard from afar off and attract other soldiers, ruining the element of surprise. Or they could run into town for safety, and the same result would come to pass. Then again, leaving them to eventually come searching for their dead friend was also ill advised. He may have ten to twenty in such a case before he was found or reported missing and the hunt for something amiss would begin. Think, Ghost…

For now, he created more distance from the body while he debated his options. If the universe was in an even more beneficial mood, there may not be that many of Azimi’s men in town. Three or four of them tops stationed at each field to keep their laborers in line… Maybe a few within the small center of town to oversee the general store. All he knew was that if he started, he would have to continue until all of them were gone. Or he would have to be the one gone before word would travel fast enough to push Azimi from his hiding. Fuck… He was in a bind.

The mountain’s signal was scarce but nonexistent. A shred of hope kept him moving despite the exhaustion fighting to have him give up. Pressed between a rock and a hard place, Ghost shoved at the rock, glaring down the sight as he maneuvered two men into his scope before pulling the trigger. Within a second he was readjusting and shifting three inches to the right, dropping the last soldier before he had time to register the blood splatter on his face. Those in the field were stunned but didn’t scream, dropping themselves within the crop to shield themselves possibly from the ghost gunman. They would live to see another day, or at the very least would not be taken by Ghost’s precise aim.

The nearest hut was void of people, sparking a flicker of hope that Ghost was careful not to let be fanned too hot lest the board be shifted and he fall from beneath solid ground. Hope gave security and security bred inattentiveness and vulnerability. It appeared to be used by soldiers by the looks of the inside. It may have been a friend he had met before. He didn’t push his luck, taking whatever food and rations he could rummage through and slipping out to stake out the town.

Ghost stayed only as long as was necessary to gather what he needed and allow himself an hour or two of sleep. From the town he had borrowed their radio to intercept the radio waves and tweak it to reach the encrypted signal only used by his team. Wary of sticking around too long to chat, he offered only the directed coordinates to the safe house where he was headed next and to pass along word for his family.

“Tell the stars I’m coming home.” Simple, yet effective, for the right people would know what he was referring to. His stars: Scarlett, Olivia, Elaine and Violet Riley…. And the littlest star yet to be born.

With a confirmed coordinance and map of the area, Ghost felt better than ever as he continued his hike onwards towards victory. He had confirmation that approximately by the time he would arrive at the safe house his back up would arrive to meet him at the rendezvous and ambush Azimi once and for all. As far as he could tell there had been no emergency transmissions warning their leader of a survivor having ransacked their army in the town. He couldn’t know the future of the locals there, and he couldn’t worry about it either.

In two days there was a total of 53 miles cleared. Ghost didn’t try to add up all of the other miles he’d trekked in the past week, directing the last of his energy and determination on the end mission ahead of him. Once reaching the rendezvous, he rested. All he could do was wait for his team and hope and pray to whoever was above that Azimi had not moved yet. Half a day passed where Ghost intermediately slept and kept watch, rousing from sleep upon the slightest crunch of leaves and twigs underfoot. Concealed well, he watched, coming out from hiding only when he saw the familiar boonie hat trailing through the thick trees.

“Captain…” Ghost garbled, choking on dryness found in his throat from days without use of speech. All heads, and guns, turned to the familiar voice of their lost friend. He never had a doubt they wouldn’t come.

“Ghost!” A harsh whisper exclaimed incredulously from the captain, drawing near to assure himself that he was not seeing things. If he had been hallucinating, his mind would have been playing a cruel joke on him. His lieutenant looked awful. Dirt and debris covered him from head to toe, sitting in soggy clothes from the morning dew and rainfall he’d walked through. His eyes, the only visible part of his face, were hollow and the skin around it sunken and sullen. Hell’s ash clung to his person, reeking of wildlife and neglect. But… He was alive. Above all, Simon was alive. “It’s good to see you, mate. How are you? Sanderson, take him back to the exfi site and wait for us there.” Price called in to Laswell, their watcher, confirming Ghost’s attendance and assuring command that he was alive if not fully well.

“I’m fine, captain. That won’t be necessary. I’m not finished, sir.” The severity of conclusion in Ghost’s voice silenced even his superior, admittedly unnerved by the resolution in Ghost’s eyes. There was no changing his mind. They were there only as his support now, to guide him safely home with Azimi alive. Or dead. Capture or kill. Ghost wouldn’t comment on which he was most partial to. It should be quite obvious.

~~~

The return helo might have been worse than the week he had endured in the middle of nowhere. At least before encountering Azimi Simon hadn’t managed to break three ribs. Before being thrown off a balcony and landing on massive jagged stones, Ghost didn’t have to deal with the emergency medic poking and prodding and bitching. He’d been kicked harder than an abused dog whose owner had come home drunk from an awful day at work, but at least in the field this twat hadn’t been there.

“With all due respect, lieutenant, the mask needs to be removed to ensure that you have no major head injuries. You’re not breathing well as it is. I hate to pull this card, but my charge supersedes your title in this situation!” The soldier had valor, he would admit, but it was completely misguided and useless. Ghost’s breathing rattled like a broken chain rotating on a bicycle. Jolts of pain encompassed the entirety of his being with every shallow breath he choked on.

Death’s cold stare shifted from the equally banged up and detained unconscious target, strapped beside Garrick, to the woman futility barking up the wrong masked tree. He tasted iron with every swallow of thick, pinkish saliva. “How about you fuckin’ focus-” He wheezed, groaning from the pain produced sharply while coughing. Groaning upset his body more which brought more pain which made him cough harder which brought more pain which- “f-focus on the bullet wound or ribs digging into my-” another wheeze. Another coughing fit. More pain. “Goddamn chest. The mask. Stays. ON.”

Captain John Price redirected the medic, a hand gingerly placed on Ghost’s shoulder. “Forget it, Gallahan. Mask is fine where it is.”

Ghost didn’t meet Price’s gaze, returning his glares to the terrorist. A thousand and one ideas flashed before him on how to remove the worthless scum from off the earth’s shoe. Something in him had been defiantly tempted to go against his orders and assert much deserved revenge. He was better used alive, but would anyone actually have mourned his loss if Ghost had lodged a bullet between his eyes? It was the last thought he ruminated on before his vision blurred. Something had been administered to take the edge off, and it surely helped with his pain, but it also pulled heavily at his eyelids.

“Stay with me, Ghost. Stay-”

Ghost, for the first time in over a week, slept deeply. Though he didn’t dream, he felt as though he had been suspended under water. His eyes remained closed, but he had been able to see himself outside of time and its constructs. His body neither floated nor sank within the depths of an eerily still ocean, held by the lazy burbles of air pockets trickling from underneath his body in a steady flow from somewhere unseen below. He had felt them, as clearly as he felt the bed beneath when he did stir (which wasn’t very clear at all with how much dope they pumped through his system..), gyrate excitedly over his back in search of an unobstructed path towards the surface. The more he considered this, the more he concluded that these bubbles were pushing him towards the surface with them, or so his human reasoning decided. Humans were funny that way, assigning emotion and intent to inanimate things. Truth? These air pockets were only burbling to the surface from an underwater geyser or volcano. Then again, these air pockets were fictitious to begin with, so it didn’t fucking matter what they were or weren’t trying to do to the man.

It was disappointing that the first thing Simon saw waking up was her. Taylor Gallahan stood over his bedside like the fucking boogeyman taking his blood pressure and checking his vitals. She had been doing so hourly for the entire evening, changed from her field gear into scrubs. The stench of his week had followed him, by his own command and stubbornness, mingling unsettlingly with the hospital's sterile air. Breathing proved to be no more easier than before, but at least the pain was nothing more than a dull prodding at his side when he inhaled.

“Welcome back, sir.” Taylor appeared less than enthused to see the faded blue peering up at her. “Don’t worry about staying awake just yet. First dose of morphine always packs a punch.” Her eyes flickered to the IV stand holding various pouches of liquids all being fed into his body through veins of their own working tandem with his. Simon’s gaze weakly followed hers, attempting to blink away the blurred edges in his vision. “Rest assured, Ghost, your mask stayed on.” Irritation was easily noticed in her tone, even while Simon was higher than a kite. His lip twitched underneath the mask, lolling his head to the side. Again, he slept.

A car met Scarlett Riley at Eloise’s flat. Two soldiers welcomed her into the country with a classic ‘Ello’ and instruction that nothing be spoken of in public regarding SpecGru or those it had in its care. Classic English city views shifted into the countryside as they drove her into the elusive base. Such a brilliantly hidden-in-plain sight machine operated at a high level of clearance. Arrangements were made quickly and efficiently when a certain CIA agent notified them that The Mrs. Riley would be touching down in England to see The Simon Riley. All of the SpecGru staff within the hospital seemed to have molded and framed their duties to tend to the soldier lost in the blind who returned alive with the most wanted target in handcuffs. These things just didn’t happen on a random fucking Wednesday.

“Scarlett…” It should have come to no surprise to anyone that John was the first familiar face to welcome Scarlett into the building. East of the entrance was the intensive care unit designed for the soldiers put into situations such as Simon. The best in the world lay behind those doors rotating dutifully to see to it that their patients lived to tell the tales. Price held an air of warmth wherever he went accompanied by friends, but his eyes were just as exhausted as the rest of his teams sat in a line of chairs against the waiting room wall. None of them had gotten much sleep. None of them had left the waiting room after being cleared from the medical inspection. Kyle and Johnny had risen to their feet faster than the speed of light at the sound of her voice, reassuring her the only way they knew how with a hug.

“He’s stable.” A smile grew on his lips, brushing off weight from her shoulders with his hands soothingly. “Got the best care in the world kissin’ his arse just beyond those doors. They won’t let anyone in just yet. I’ll talk to the attendant about having the doctor come and speak with you as soon as possible. Have a seat, dear. Johnny will go fetch you a tea. Just try to calm down, alright?”

“Don’t worry, Scar. I slipped my phone with him in the helo and had them give him a charger earlier.” Johnny’s arm wrapped around her shoulder, inviting her, guiding her to an empty chair.

The world’s finest tending to Simon's ass? Yes. Kissing it?

“Evening, sir.” Taylor’s voice disrupted Simon’s dreamless sleep, assisting the man’s search for something clear to hold onto in consciousness. “How are you feeling? Scale of one to ten?”

Simon knew that her fingers pressed against his wrist, but he couldn’t find the pressure to feel it. He stared blankly at his wrist, mouth dryer than the Sahara desert. When he spoke, his voice cracked with a hoarse whisper, “Have to be able to feel anything to have a rating.”

“That’s a good thing, Ghost.” Taylor’s smug smile tugged at Simon’s patience, using it to become more lucid. “Otherwise you’d be weeping in pain.” His vitals were recorded, bloody discharge emptied and Simon’s person checked. “Do you need to use the restroom yet?” To save Simon’s dignity, she didn’t mention having to clean his ass after he relieved himself while unconscious. It was common when the body was fighting for survival and couldn’t directly express attention to holding the contents of its bowels in. Whether or not he remembered was not for her to worry about. Simon shook his head, and she nodded. “Morphine will do that. You may be constipated for a while. If you don’t go within a day or two, we’ll administer a laxative to help soften things. You’ll have to… shit…before you’re released to go home.” She had heard enough of Simon’s cursing to feel comfortable enough to do so herself. She felt entitled after having to deal with his lively attitude…

Taylor genuinely smiled, pleased to be able to say, “I’ve been told to let you know that your wife has arrived. Doctor O’Rorke says that once your lungs are clear, you can have a visitor.” She took note of the stark difference in his countenance, a sudden clarity dawning across his eyes. For the first time, she saw a glimpse of humanity in his expression. Humanity cloaked his body, easily visible by any passing glance that he was physically human, but she was just now noting the desperation in his eyes. Quickly it was corrected, and she mistook it for the morphine thrumming through his body.

Simon had promised her that she would be the first to see his face once he got home. It was a sort of ritual he had begun after Olivia was born and Scarlett retired from active service. Ghost carried Simon through the mission, safely into the hands of the very capable woman. He had been in and out of sleep over the course of the next three days, sporadically in communication with his wife whenever he could see clear enough to reply. (so he may have a slight concussion… maybe… perhaps… it didn’t fucking matter right at that moment!)

Regularly he was awoken by Taylor who would make small conversation while checking his vitals to ensure he was still operating as normal as one could in his condition. He never seemed like a peanut gallery, offering her the basic answers while staring her down. He was more respectful of her station when she was practically carrying his weight to sit at the portable bathroom chair. It was always then when she respected his desire for silence, quickly completing the necessary task and helping him back into bed before disappearing to flush his urine into the toilet. Soon, she encouraged, they could try walking to the joined bathroom.

He was expecting the tall blonde when he was pleasantly surprised by the familiar silhouetted brunette. The door had become his alarm clock, blinking groggily until he was urged to wake up faster. She appeared by his side as an apparition, almost not believing she was real until her weight dipped the mattress, pulling shock and awe across his glazing eyes.

“Lovie, How are you?” Simon whispered, or wheezed, regretting immediately his attempt to sit further up from his perched position on the angled bed (never allowed to lay back enough to truly sleep comfortably so his lung could drain properly.), forced back against the pillows by the jolt of electricity shredding through his battered chest. He settled for holding her hand, sliding his hand further up her arm for more contact. His thumb traced circles along her flesh, tapping gently before he retreated his only arm in working condition to slip off his mask.

Air had never been so fresh, so refreshing when he was removed from claustrophobia. Self-imposed torture had been everything and more than worth it as he honored tradition, returning his hand into hers quickly. “It’s a lot better than it looks….I assume.” He cracked a smile, the creases around the corners of a bruised and swollen eye wrinkling. His cheek wasn’t much better with blotted purples and blues from smacking his face not only against the ground but his *mask*, but the very same mask had kept his nose from breaking in the fall. Ghost had kept him alive.

“Already feel a hell of a lot better now. Get my clothes. I’m ready to go home.” He teased, prodding to get her smile to meet those gorgeous eyes of hers. “May need a cookie first… to build my strength of course.” The back of her hand was brought to his lips, pressing kisses over each knuckle. Even her hands smelled fantastic. *Like home*. Her hand was returned to her, deftly searching her stomach with his palm. “Hey there, little Riley.”

#💀 ghost 💀#call of duty imagine #call of duty fanfic #ghost fanfiction #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley imagine #ghost imagine #simon riley #cod imagine #ghost cod

49 notes · View notes