#i wanna play inquisition again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

scribeofmorpheus · 2 months ago

Text

Dragon Age Veilguard: Love, Wisdom and Pride

A very long Dragon Age post!

Warnings for: Veilguard Spoilers, Solavellan spoilers.

Okay, so I will preface this by saying that this ‘analysis’ primarily focuses on Solas’ arc; both romanced and unromanced. It isn’t intended to be a romanticised analysis, though it is very much enamoured with how a romanced Solas and his relationship with Lavellan foils (and informs my reading/reception of) that of Solas and Mythal’s relationship in Veilguard. There is a relationship I will address that I feel does parallel Solas and Mythal! Scroll down to “Reading Between the Lines” if you wanna skip my little intro below. Spoilers follow.

Truth be told, I wasn’t ever expecting much in terms of actually getting a sequel to Inquisition. The game dev market went through a tumultuous reshuffle before the remake madness breathed life back into many studios. Bioware game sequels (Mass Effect Andromeda) were underwhelming and not as fleshed out since the EA acquisition. I absolutely believe Bioware would have been shunted had Mass Effect Legendary Edition not been so successful. EA’s reputation was always lacklustre and underhanded, but laying off or losing several head writers attached to Bioware with almost two decades of work under their belts was the biggest red flag. Trevor Morris not being asked to return in exchange for a ‘bigger name’ was also a grave warning that returning to the atmosphere, ambience and world of Thedas that we knew was getting further and further away from a plausible reality. And on top of that, there’s the fact Solas was never intended as a romance interest during early development of Inquisition.

Solavellan seemed doomed!

Despite this, I still held out hope for a sequel, but I feared we’d always be in permanent Solavellan/developmental hell. Heck, I’m still waiting for a Beyond Good and Evil sequel—the game released in 2003! So, actually witnessing people play Veilguard, seeing reactions to it, seeing memes and gifs and essay pieces (like this one), it’s like my community has awoken again, and I never thought I’d see the day. Yet I am not blind to the fact we were robbed of so much potential. I knew thing’s wouldn’t live up to re-emerging expectations when Dragon Age: Dreadwolf was rebranded to Veilguard—the shift seemed to imply less of a primary focus on Solas (and apparently, according to the artbook, the early concept art proves this implication correct).

Things seemed even more dire when the devs revealed there was no tapestry mechanic. I had only one hope: that with the Inquisitor’s confirmed return, we’d get at least some form of catharsis for our Inquisitors (Lavellans and otherwise), if we couldn’t get the conclusions to so many storylines present in each of our worldstates. My main fear was that they’d go the clichéd Ultimate Sacrifice route (which happens anyway, but in a way that makes thematic sense given the stakes and heavily blighted worldstate).

Suffice it to say, there was a lot of evidence that Veilguard would disappoint me in the end. But it hasn’t. It hasn’t lived up to the many expectations and marks of excellence that the Dragon Age world built itself into with the first three entries, that’s for sure, but I am also just so deprived of conclusions, of endings (whether it be because TV doesn’t exist in a sustainable format anymore or that comicbook movies are made with a sequel in mind, never letting anything just “Exit Stage Left” gracefully; or the fact we live in a regurgitating content cycle with late-stage-capitalism where anything remotely profitable gets turned into a caricature of itself: Squid Game, Star Wars, etc.). The cycle is so exhaustive that I am actually at a point where I can say I am content with the ending we were given (on a Solas/Solavellan front), Veilguard gave me relief, and beautiful, achy pain to boot. Though I would absolutely be disappointed by both the "non-romanced Solas" endings, given that Solas winds up either "dying alone, forever" or turns to Tyranny.

Now onto the actual review of that Solavellan ending, Mythal and themes of Love!

Note: I have only gotten the ‘best’ ending in my first playthrough, but I also thought the consequences of not maxing factions would be more… dire? Another note, pls, if your romanced Inky swore to stop Solas, how does that ending differ, if at all? Let me know, I’m dying here!

Sidenote: I’m working on writing another review about my views on the ‘sanitised’ worldstate, the new companions (and why I think Varric was the wrong choice to have as an advisor in the game, given that the Inquisitor or Morrigan would have been more impactful; and not to mention that Cole or Briala should have been companions), removal of the tapestry and what it means for the future of stories in Thedas (The Story We Lost is such a poignant compilation of the sheer volumes of lost lore and depth that I honestly think I won’t go as in-depth on that review as this one), and why I think Veilguard is my final entry into Dragon Age.

Reading Between the Lines: What Pride Hath Wrought

One thing is for sure, Trick Weekes flourishes when writing within the ambiguities and complexities of meaning. This makes every word uttered by Solas so great to dissect, he's a god of lies not because he 'lies' but because he's so careful with how he phrases things, what he holds back, and what he reveals.

For instance, the famous Trespasser exchange where Solas mocks his own follies with sarcasm by saying:

“What is the old Dalish curse? May the Dread Wolf Take you.”

Then a softer, more saddened and beaten-down Lavellan replies:

“And so he did.”

This irks him. Because he then realises in that moment that he absolutely did take advantage, but for some reason he frames it around sex rather than power because that’s easier to address than the latter. And he rejects the notion, even though he brought up the expression he knows to mean nothing close to a sexual inuendo for being ‘taken’, and yet he has the gall to try and derail the conversation by pivoting and saying:

“I would not lay with you under false pretences.”

When I first had this dialogue exchange, I was baffled, because did this mean that there was another meaning to ‘Dread Wolf take you’ that Dalish clans lost through the years, or was it more of a self-deprecating joke Solas had with himself because he, the Dread Wolf, romanced (took) a Dalish Inquisitor (away from her people’s beliefs, histories, past), and he found irony in the saying?

On the surface, “wouldn’t lay with you under false pretences” could simply mean “we didn’t sleep together” or “we did sleep together, but I wasn’t taking advantage as the Dread Wolf, I was simply Solas in your presence”. But I have recently thought of a more… ambiguous reading. Lay could have been used in a milder, more vulnerable way; to mean to be at peace, to be completely vulnerable, as if to sleep. In that sense, the phrasing becomes: “I could not be at peace with you because I was living a half-truth”.

I absolutely think the moment he feels he is truly beyond hope is when we see his expression of abject horror as Lavellan shouts: “I would have had you trust me!”. He realises then that he did fuck up, he did take the choice away from her because he thought he knew better, him and his pride led to a decision that hurt someone close to him, and he could finally see how wrong he was, how alike the entire situation became to Mythal’s treatment of him. Especially if Lavellan asks to go with him. Because he can see that despite the hurt, the lies and the betrayal on his part, Lavellan still wishing to join him draws too close to his first regret: following Mythal.

Whether he likes it or not, Solas’ love which could burn like a bonfire was directed at a powerful woman—a Herald, an Inquisitor—and inspite of her greatness of character, it still shaped her into someone willing to follow him on his dinanshiral out of love, much like he left the Fade and took physical form for Mythal. So now whenever I hear Lavellan shout “Var lath vir suledin”, Solas replying with “I wish it could, Vhenan,” changes drastically with the Mythal reveal, knowing he always walks away from the Inquisitor in Trespasser.

“I wish it could, Vhenan” sounds heavily like: “You would regret me, as I regret Mythal, and I cannot bear for that to happen us.” More poetically, it could read as: “I wish our love could overcome a duty that has lasted an incomprehensible amount of time, I wish I could change my nature, but then I’d be twisted into a demon, like the spirit of Wisdom in the Dales; and yet again, I would become your regret.” These two readings are very, very romantic. Realistically, given what we know of his kinship with Felassan, and how they were comrades and friends for centuries (“A story unfinished. His back turned!”), and given what we know of the complexity of Mythal’s will that presides over the creation of his very being, and yet he was still able to muster the strength to kill a fragment of her to fulfil his mission, “I wish it could” was most probably a lament: “Do not ask me to hurt one of the two women I’ve loved on this journey, because if it ever came to it…” he would.

Knowing what I know of Solas, of how he was able to convince himself that Varric’s death (avoidable as it was) was just another necessary step, that it was just another sacrifice, another loss that would be worth something only if he completed his ritual, I have no doubt that Solas would also be able to rationalise hurting Lavellan (which is why in his mind, turning away from her, breaking her heart, leaving with no explanation and aiding her in Trespasser so she could live whatever few years remained in “relative peace” is actually an act of preserving that love). I partially think the reason he reveals the truth in Trespasser (especially for a romanced Lavellan) is in the hopes his ‘truths’ will push her away. But on a deeper note, I think he also thinks of it as some twisted form of repaying her for loving him to the point that he could have almost forgotten what it was to be the Dread Wolf, to just be with her as Solas, that night at Crestwood. Maybe his harsh truths would push her to the point where she’d give up her love for Solas, now that she knew he was the Dread Wolf, freeing her from the shackles of their love. He’s very self-flagellating, all about self-sacrifice for the ultimate goal, the ends always justify the means, he will endure any pain and punishment as long as Arlathan returns in the end.

What is his love of a mortal compared to the despair and loss of an entire empire? Solas views himself as selfish for falling for her, and that nearly broke him, if he was selfish enough to leave the dream of Arlathan behind for her, what would that do to his spirit then?

In his way of thinking, perhaps telling the Inquisitor the truth is a way out, a rationale they can use to justify stopping him or to make it easier to hate him as the Dread Wolf rather than love him as Solas (someone he hasn’t been in so long).

‘Masking’ as the Dread Wolf

During Trespasser, the Inquisitor has every right to despise Solas after all they’ve learned, and I think he half reveals the truth as a tactic so the Inquisitor can have an excuse to hate him, to be driven to anger and have less pull over his choices, once they learn the truth. Solas is particularly skilled at making other’s play the role that makes his own choices seem inevitable, he orchestrates a lot of events to play out in a manner where it's easier for him to talk himself into bringing down the veil.

He goads Elgar’nan to anger easily. He inspires the spirits to fight for him to the death as a necessary distraction during the war. He absolutely allows the Inquisitor to speak to him one last time so he can offer insight, yes, but also so he can easily frame his actions as just and inevitable. But, Oh boy does he get in for a shock if the Inquisitor shows empathy towards him, it scares him because he’s become accustomed to being seen only as the Dread Wolf. To be understood? That gives way to remorse. And remorse gives way to doubt. And he cannot doubt his purpose, twisted as it is, it is all he has left of his former self. Without it he would most likely change into something different. Someone he doesn’t recognise.

This fear intensifies more so if a romanced Lavellan asks to go with him, and in that case, he takes command and distances himself away (rejecting the help of someone close to him; the chance for a possible betrayal; the chance at another Felassan or Mythal [x]; the chance to twist Lavellan outside of her purpose, in this case, the purpose would be love/empathy) but not without showing remorse at having sacrificed yet another relationship for his crusade.

“Ir abelas.”

Sorrow for what cannot be is at the heart of why the Solavellan romance is so powerful, especially because even though both Solas and Lavellan love each other passionately, love alone cannot be enough when faced with regrets. Love would ultimately be stifled. Corrupted into something else over time. And so, for Solas, having loved and lost tragically is better than having loved and corrupted.

He will not do to Lavellan what was done to him, even if it is her choice, because she knows so little, her naivete cannot close the distance of a millenia’s old sea, and it would hurt him immensely to take advantage of her kind heart [x].

By leaving, he keeps her heart pure. And the yearning! Knowing the love is there, but on its own it cannot be invulnerable to corruption, so it is better to lose it than twist it. Ugh! Him leaving Lavellan is the ultimate show of love! IT IS A WISE DECISION. A rare glimpse into pure wisdom. Which is why he kneels beside Lavellan in Trespasser, he does not “Stand Tall” in the face of Wisdom’s heart. He kneels beside her. And when he stands tall again, he is Solas once more, filled with regret, and once through the eluvian, he returns to masking as the Dread Wolf.

Sidenote: It’s especially confounding that Veilguard allows Rook to push the Inquisitor to save or stop him after you’ve reached act 2 despite your world state choice (I think this was done in case they feared the Inquisitor wouldn’t stand by Solas after everything he was revealed to be responsible for in Veilguard, however it doesn’t work because the Inquisitor wasn’t an advisor, Rook never told them what they learned from the wolf statues, so having a stranger hold the ability to make Lavellan keep her promise or not rings hollow). Personally, I wish the Inquisitor’s presence had more weight in the non-Solavellan endings, too. I wish the Inquisitor could end up being the last friend/former love that Solas destroys (if you don’t collect the wolf statues) which then prompts Rook to fight him because Solas’ last tie to empathy failed to redeem him, that the Inquisitor falling is the last straw and Solas snaps, choosing to be a villain in the hopes of being stopped because he can’t stop himself, and not the ‘I am a God’ ending they gave us. Same for if your Inquisitor vows to stop him. I also wish the Inquisitor was the one to do the wolf statue missions. Would have been a nice secondary protagonist mission like the switching perspectives between Kratos and Atreus in GOW: Ragnarök (the old guard and the new; Inquisitor and Rook). I would have loved if they dedicated more dialogue to Inquisition days too, which is why I think Cole should have been a companion (if he wasn’t recruited, he could simply be a compassion spirit that ‘follows’ the greatest pain in the Fade that yearns to be healed, giving a compassionate viewpoint to Solas’ folly; recruited Spirit Cole could have a greater connection to Solas than even Varric, seeing as Cole was most likely a literal representation of Solas rewriting his own history by preventing a spirit from becoming too ‘real’; Human Cole would have a deeper connection to the world of Thedas, and could have been a great tool to prove how change was inevitable, not always a bad thing, and inevitably out of even Solas’ control. But alas, we live with what we are given! Even Imshael could have served in this role! Spirit/Demon of choice and it wasn’t incorporated into the game that supposedly asks you to make the greatest world-changing choice ever; redeem the Dread Wolf or end the age of the Evanuris entirely?!

Now onto the next segment: I want to talk about Solas’ regrets and how I read the ‘love story’ between Solas and Mythal, and why Lavellan (and what she represented) wasn’t enough to get through to him (and that’s a very believable thing, that’s what makes their love both tragic and epic!).

The High Price of Redemption

A romanced Lavellan has the most agency to see through his guises, if she resolves to save him, but even she cannot undo the shackles that still bind him to Mythal—the binds that twisted Wisdom so far from its purpose it became Pride, even when he burned (Mythal) from his face. (Likewise, A close friend Inquisitor who promises to save him is most likely a parallel to Felassan, again, they cannot undo the shackles of regret either.) I fully believe the vallaslin had a deeper magic than simply marking one as being committed/devoted to an Evanuris, I think it linked them magically, and since Solas was the first to burn the vallaslin away, he probably wasn’t as good at severing the link on himself as he was for other elvhen, so maybe a part of Mythal’s will still lingers in him, twisting him to Pride still.

In Veilguard’s final confrontation, I love the intention of showing how Lavellan approaches Solas slowly, as she doesn’t know who she’ll be faced with up those steps, Dread Wolf or Solas. But when she speaks to him, trying to get him to change his mind yet again, forgiving him for his wrongs, we are reassured that Wisdom hasn’t been completely consumed by Pride despite everything we’ve witnessed in the game because he bows his head at her in reverence as he apologises.

He shows humility towards her. He elevates her and her enduring love as worthy of his respect, but he does not consider himself worthy of hers. Thus, Lavellan pries open the door to acceptance but his heart is still not enough. Which is why love alone cannot turn the tide. He’s too broken to accept it. He doesn’t think he deserves it, so the only way out is through; to continue the ritual, to prove he was right. The shackles persist. Varric’s death weighs on his conscience now more than ever. Possibly members of Rook’s team too if they died on his crusade. But he is vulnerable enough for Morrigan to approach, and now Rook can use Mythal’s essence to make the final push. The only way he could be with Lavellan, the only way he could atone for the past and shed the weight of his armour (his crushing duty to the Elvhenan) is as Wisdom, fully restored, unbound by mistakes.

“Ar lasa mala revas.” He could only find absolution once Mythal (the angered and more brash essence of Mythal, the one unchanged by Flemeth and all the human women’s lives she’s been shaped by, but the closest iteration to that of Mythal in Arlathan, the version that he perceives as having every right to be angry at him for turning his back on her, for not going that last final stretch with her and subsequently, not being by her side when she died) severed the final connection: facing his regrets, showing humility and apologizing, while not taking away the blame but sharing it.

What is Benevolence without Wisdom if not Hubris?

We know Elgar’nan was twisted to Tyranny during the war, and I saw a post somewhere where someone wondered what led to his corruption, and what he was before (leadership/command). Likewise, Mythal was not above corruption.

So far, I’ve seen a lot of takes on Solas’ ties to Mythal, the power dynamic of being a student/disciple enamoured (could be romantic) with the benevolence of Mythal, but not how Mythal’s purpose was possibly also twisted towards hubris the moment she asked Wisdom to turn physical and build weapons from its knowledge, twisting it to Pride. Without Elgar’nan’s tyranny to rally against after the war with the Titans, Mythal would most likely turn a similar route, seeing her ruling as “necessary” for the people: “If not me then who?”. And that is a very short stop and quick drop to “I am your all-powerful ruler, I liberated you, and only I can guide the way”. Benevolence twisted by hubris can easily turn to Tyranny too, only one more subtle, a kind of cultish indoctrination compared to violent subjugation. If Solas had not turned his back on Mythal when she chose to be Evanuris (a god over her people) then they most likely would have made the worst (best) pair in the Evanuris. Pride is the Seventh Deadliest Sin. But imagine Pride next to Godhood?! That is frightening. So, when Solas burns the vallaslin, walks away and works against the Evanuris, I believe that he also inadvertently stops Mythal from becoming a corrupted version of herself. The sorrow at having lost her closest confidant and “love” grounds her, keeps her saintly in Solas’ mind, and in some ways, perhaps saves the Elvhen empire from a worse fate than him erecting the veil to begin with. But neither of them ever consider this. And I think that sort of self-blindness perfectly encapsulates how flawed both Mythal and Solas are. Now onto love.

Solas and Mythal – a Love too complex to simply classify as mortal ‘Love’.

There’s no doubt Mythal and Solas shared a deep bond, one that definitely had love in it, when we hear Mythal calling him ‘love’, without the possessive ‘my’ in front of it, it’s easy to misconstrue what type of love they share. A small nitpick, but like a thorn, it applies sometimes just enough pressure to change a perspective. Not calling Solas “My love” but instead choosing to simply use “love” works within those wonderful ambiguities/complexities that Weekes thrives in.

If one started out as a spirit, it’s safe to say concepts like familial bonds, romantic bonds, and blood ties mean little to nothing. There is no one type of love and there is every kind of love all at once. It is only once physical bodies are introduced, that physical touch, the ability to stab someone in the back, to kiss out of affection, to hug out of empathy, to strike out of anger, that love now becomes this twisted thing too. There are no spirits of love because spirits always possessed love, but there are demons of Desire (Gluttony) and of Rage (love denied).

I believe, from GDL’s acting skills, his soft whisper, his almost submissive smallness in the breadth of Mythal’s already soft voice, that Solas was in love with Mythal, devoted as a student, beguiled by her benevolence, content even in her shadow, and possibly star-struck. He was in love with someone who doesn’t have the possibility to love him back the same, it is not in her nature to love those beneath her in the same intensity that those who look up to her do. It’s like a priest being in love with God. The priest can devote themselves, sacrifice everything, but a God will always love their flock equally, but they can still play favourites.

Benevolence cannot be enamoured with Wisdom because to be truly benevolent they must possess Wisdom but there is also Pride to be had in walking beside benevolence, but they can never be on equal footing. Likewise, Solas’ love is not reciprocated entirely by Mythal, but she does love him back in her own way. While Mythal is definetly Solas’ first love, layered and complex, it is also strangled by regrets and twisted by uneven scales of power. It would never be a nurturing love, only a consuming kind.

When he speaks of Mythal during the Solavellan ending, he calls her his “oldest friend”, much like what Mythal says, (paraphrasing) “would you have me be angry at my oldest companion whose experienced so much with me”. Because friendship is perhaps the easiest way to describe their companionship. They went through many iterations, one certainly holding romantic tensions (specifically from younger Solas), but ultimately, with that much time shared, kinship/friendship becomes the easiest to surmise. You can love your friends, fall in love with them, fall out of love with them, only to love them again, be disappointed in them, etc.

Media today is flushed with romance as a linchpin for driving a hero to make dire choices, and that has warped our perception of how a platonic/non-romance-based relationship can be all-consuming, and sometimes more impassioned than strict romance. But, to make it easier for people to understand Solas’ motivations, it's easier to see their love in the light Taash sees it (an unreliable, somewhat “still juvenile” narrator, in that they are still growing into themselves and their culture and the world): “They were doing it”.

However, Bellara, a companion whose entire companion story is linked to her strong, deeply character-driving relationship with her brother (platonic love) refutes that reading by saying (paraphrasing here): “We don’t know if their ‘love’ is the same type of love we tend to think of in a masculine and feminine relationship.”

Felassan’s letter after the Mythal Dragon fight alludes to Solas having been in love with Mythal, but nothing about how she felt. This is why I consider the Solas/Mythal relationship to be more of a one-sided romantic love, but a requited ‘love’ relationship for them both.

A parallel I find so compelling: Solas and Mythal vs Briala and Celene. Solas and Briala both hold deep emotions for people in great power with the ability to end a tyrannical cycle of subjugation, enslavement and classism, yet for both of these ruler’s charisma and well-meaning intent, they often are swayed to side with tyranny. For Mythal, that was Elgarnan, the Evanuris who made all the other’s worse tyrants; as well as her own hubris for believing her presence alone could dampen the ravenous hunger for power that the rest of the Evanuris held at the small prospect of leading the Elvhen in a time of confusion (being a North Star is hard when all the other lights around you aim to blind the flock into submission). For Celene, this is more about the nuances of retaining favour, pull and power over other noble families, their backing (be it financial, political or simply cut-throat), and their support so she can be the ‘lesser of two evils’ compared to Gaspard’s warmongering personality and Florianne simply being a puppet with no backbone. Both Briala and Solas are turned to pawns despite their immense strength and compassion for their respective elven plights; Briala is rendered a fangless lion (for lack of a better metaphor) if she is reunited with Celene, whereas if she is chosen to puppet Gaspard, there’s every likelihood her story could parallel a ‘power-mad’ Solas if he’d been tethered to Rage (at betrayal) and not Regret (at having not rejected Mythal when she asked him to take a physical body) throughout his tenure as the Dread Wolf.

Solas and Lavellan – a Heart that was never intended to be Given/Taken

Now I will compare the lack of possessives in front of Mythal’s “love” to Solas declaring Lavellan as ‘Vhenan’ and then ‘Ar lath, ma Vhenan’ vs ‘Ar lath ma vhenan'; again, the coma is the thorn, the pause that shapes the quiet unsaid things we can deduce. In the Trespasser cutscene DGL puts the pause after “Ar lath”, even though the subtitles construct the sentence with Vhenan as a proper noun since it’s a nickname often used by Solas: “Ar lath ma, Vhenan”. But I believe Solas actually says “Ar lath, ma Vhenan”.

With “Ar lath, ma Vhenan” the stressor is after the pause, so the line reads: “I love [you], my heart.” And with “Ar lath ma, Vhenan” it makes even less structural sense but can be inferred to mean: “I love you, Heart”.

The possessiveness of “My” is what definitively differentiates the love Solas feels for Lavellan as one more of the romantic side, it is a love of yearning and desire and a wish to have one last good thing that is pure and incorruptible. The one thing he had left to give. His heart. But that does not mean his heart is enough! The rest of him is still bound to the love of Mythal that was twisted through the ages. That changed him. And given how Pride often comes before a fall, I absolutely understand why Solas is actually very brash and ill-considering when he’s romancing Lavellan (“The kiss was ill-considered”/”It would be kinder in the long run”/”I wanted to show you what you mean to me”). He's on a precarious cliff during Inquisition. His first plan failed. He's allowed ancient elvhen magic to fall into a blighted Tevinter magister's hands. Literally everything the Inquisition did could have been for nought if the Mark had fallen to the wrong person. Things could have easily fallen apart for Solas too, so why not indulge in something trifling and fleeting? Execpt it wasn't trifling. Nor was it fleeting. And when he saw that the fall could potentially not happen, that the Inquisitor could do it, save Thedas and retrieve the orb, he was struck by the gravity of his brashness, of letting impulses control him instead of acting according to a plan. But it was too late. They'd both fallen for each other.

Solas didn’t expect to form entanglements within the Inquisition. He was committed. He was angry at the world, “walking through a sea of tranquil”, called flat-ear by the Dalish that later chased him from their village when he proved he was the Dread Wolf. He was despised by people who looked like him. Spirits were constantly being abused and turned into demons. People erected monuments to heroes who slew demons. Mages were caged. Elves were subjugated. The empire fell. Humans razed the lands with their wars and petty squabbles of succession. The darkspawn tainted the land. The dwarves would never dream. Solas awoke to the worst possible fate; in his eyes, it was all his fault.

So when he kisses Lavellan in the Fade, impulsively, he isn’t kissing her there because it is less ‘real’ than if they kissed while she was awake, it makes it so much more real. He’s kissing her in the space where he is most himself. Where he can shed the body he was forced to build and trap himself within, the body of Pride. He is acting on the impulses of an enlivened Wisdom spirit that does not consider tomorrow, for the first time in a long time. It isn’t a long game with Lavellan, like so much of his life has been about always thinking to the future, always considering the outcome, machinating, scheming, the wiles and woes of every trickster god in mythology. It’s being in the moment with her that is all-consuming. It lowers his guard, leaves him vulnerable, and when she enquires about the Fade or spirits or histories, he gets to be useful as pure Wisdom again.

Lavellan challenging him when he first shows animosity or irritation towards the Dalish (a prideful act), and then him being taken aback when she explains that maybe the Dalish could be shown another way (making him consider her words, being given a morsel of wisdom back, reminding him of his old self), these are all small moments where Solas can begin to see springs of hope in the broken world. And that’s terrifying. It means he’s destroying not just himself, but the memory of Mythal and Arlathan too, all for the love of a woman who fell for an apostate.

The best, most genuine unmasking of Solas for me is during Wicked Hearts, when he’s tipsy on wine, has no inhibitions, and revels in the intrigue, the gossip, the dancing, the music (something we now know is important enough to have an entire music room in the Lighthouse), the sex! He is at his most relaxed, and then he asks Lavellan to dance, not caring about how it would look for the “Inquisitor’s serving man, Solas” to be intimate in a fucking Orlesian palace with the Herald of Andraste, right after stopping an assassination attempt! He finds comfort in the world of Thedas at that moment. Something he rarely shows so outright.

When he takes Lavellan to Crestwood to confess, I believe removing her vallaslin wasn’t entirely just for her, it wasn’t just to free her from slave markings or to simply reveal a form of a truth he wanted to tell her, it was to resolve himself of what his first purpose was supposed to be, what she distracted him from. Removing the vallaslin had been something he’d done for the slaves of Arlathan, it was what earned him the mantle of Dread Wolf. When he removes Lavellan’s vallaslin, he resets.

Thedas cannot allow Wisdom to truly exist without fear of corruption to Pride, Thedas the world he was responsible for shaping, literally the Maker of the Veil, and he falls for a woman Heralded as Andraste’s Chosen One, Mythal’s incarnation in the South. The irony. The cruel, cruel irony. The Inquisition is tied to his past, every Andrastian he meets, every Dalish person with vallaslin on their face, every slave or city elf. Tevinter worshiping the dragons that still have the essences of the Old Gods. His heart alone cannot withstand all of the punishing, gruelling, oppressive weight that is Thedas. Even for Lavellan. So he frames their romance as this tragic, short-lived tale that was beautiful but ultimately destined to end. He expects it to pass for her, she’s mortal after all. But he also leaves his heart with her, literally giving her power over the last uncorrupted part of himself. Think Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann at the end of World’s End, but metaphorically. He gives her his heart to safe keep as he goes on a journey that could corrupt a heart, turn it cold and bitter, destroy it.

Ar lasa mala revas. You are free.

He frees his heart.

Lets it go.

Twice!

So only once he is relinquished of his regrets, once Mythal does the same for him, only then is there “Nothing left except their love”. Because Lavellan still held his heart there was still something left after. Something beyond despair and regret and loss. He had given his heart to her to safekeep. And she did. Lavellan returns his heart to him when he is freed. What Mythal had to break so Solas could heal right again (like a bone), Lavellan casts a splint around so it can be set and heal properly. This is the difference between Mythal’s love and Lavellan’s. Both Mythal’s love and forgiveness broke him, but Lavellan’s love gives him the strength to Stand Tall one last time.

Solas, before Pride alone, as Wisdom (perhaps Solas always meant both Standing Tall and Wisdom, for Wisdom can grant one pride to stand tall for what they believe in), finds contentment with the rare and marvellous spirit that endured (his Vhenan). Wisdom endured because of humanity, something benevolence is beyond.

Bellanaris

When Lavellan offers to go with him, to continue on the dinanshiral that she already considers herself a part of, Solas is legitimately taken aback. His expression is soft yet full of disbelief and awe. He actually stops walking a few frames before Lavellan says this, as if hoping Lavellan would say something to him!

And then she basically proposes to him! “Bellanaris!” I absolutely adore the fact that Lavellan promises them eternity. A vow as sacred as a death right, as protected as an ancient, elvhen, undisturbed burial ground in the face of Orlesian colonialisation. They endured and now they will have an eternity. For once, we have an elvish tale that is not a curse, it is a love story with reunion at its core, where both elves reclaim something precious that was denied them.

Lastly, i am absolutely frothing at the mouth that Solas and Lavellan primarily speak in elvish! And even more feral at the fact Solas does not try to talk her out of joining him (because this sweet talker very well could!). He simply tells her where he is going is terrible. And she shuts that shit down immediately. No repeat of Trespasser. She's standing beside him, the South has all but fallen, whatever ties yet survive are strained, and she has fought the good fight for 8 years. I think the Inquisitor was about ready to leave Thedas behind.

The last decisions Solas makes are of his own volition. Entering the Fade for atonement. Stepping into the Fade with Lavellan (It was confirmed by Weekes that Lavellan’s presence in the Fade prison would fundamentally change it in a way we haven’t seen!). Thanking Rook for giving him one last shot at getting happiness. All his own!

This is the look of a man finally reunited with his wife! So much emotion in ONE frame. God! There’s never been a character like him. A love story like theirs! I’m so happy I got to see this ending. Full circle!

P.S. If you read this far, woah nelly! That’s crayyzeee, so here are some more great pieces: Why it was important for Lavellan to kneel for Solas as he knelt for her in Trespasser in the Solavellan ending [x], and here’s a great deep-dive on Solas as a spirit of Wisdom [x].

#dav #dav spoilers #solas #solas x lavellan #solavellan #mythal #datv spoilers #dragon age veilguard #veilguard spoilers #dragon age #dragon age veilguard spoilers #the dread wolf finally took her #his war has ended #their love may endure for eternity

535 notes · View notes

knife-eared-jan · 2 months ago

Text

Ok, as much as I have been hyping and playing 12 hours a day since it got out (still in Act 1 though, bc I'm a slowass player and completionist), I feel like I have to say something that is getting hard to ignore at this point... and I wanna preface this by saying that I am loving a lot of aspects of the game and I adore the writing when it comes to the companions, who I am obsessed with.

And maybe this will get better yet, as I generally heard the writing picks up once the story progresses beyond picking up all companions..

But I'm starting to get quite upset at the way the writing just does NOT care about the established lore and the politics of Thedas like at all, when to me - and many others - that richness, nuance and depth of the world is what makes the games so special.

(Spoilers below)

I looked past the way the elves in Arlathan just seemed to know that their gods are evil and Solas is "kind of a dick" but was right about that. When, you know, that made him basically the Satan of their pantheon up to now.. It was after all the tutorial stage of the game and I understand that you wanna ease newcomers into the lore. I could also handwave it in-universe with Morrigan being there - she could have filled the Veiljumpers in on the discoveries of the Inquisition or even what the Well told her.

It felt a bit weird that our contacts in every other faction just accepted this huge revelation without a blink, but again it was the early stages and I also get that having a discussion about it 6 times with different faction leaders would have been incredibly tedious. So I ignored that. And yeah, at least the First Warden found it hard to swallow.

The fact that they brushed aside the gods finding elven subjects - many of whom after all still worship them - with one sentence from Solas was disappointing though. Instead they chose to ally them with the Venatori and the Antaam who are the pure evil factions with no nuance or motive to side with them besides a comic book level of hunger for power. They didn't even throw in a sentence about the gods maybe speaking to the Venatori through the Archdemons to get them on their side or how it's very ironic that the Venatori, who want to make Tevinter great again, stoop to working with the pantheon of the people they oppress because they see them as lesser and other. No political exploration of the massive lore implications at all.

It really hit me when I picked up Davrin and he commented how Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain blighting the world would really endear us (elves) to the rest of Thedas - this was the first time anyone actually mentioned the political impact of the elven gods being real, freed, evil and blighted on modern day elves at all, when this should be HUGE. It should be ugly. It should be complex. It should be explored in as many examples as bloodmagic and the oppression of mages was in DA2. It should be a central point of Act 1. (This btw made me love Davrin so much in that moment because this was the first time in the game for me when I actually felt like talking to a Dragon Age elf and even just that one line felt like home.)

And now I just did Taash's first companion quest and it seems Qunari lore is also being ignored (except for the gender aspect of it, which I look forward to). Taash's mum was a scholar and had a baby and the only problem about that was that it could breathe fire and was special but otherwise all would have been dandy? Like she would have just been allowed to keep Taash long enough to find that out about her baby if she was living under the Qun? That directly contradicts everything we know about how the Qunari's culture around reproduction and childcare works.

Sorry to be negative and talking myself into a rage - I know it's not something people want to see rn. But like, I realise you have to brush over some lore intricacies for brevity and to make it digestible for new players. But this is a world initially inspired by Wheel of Time and ASOIAF, both of which are interesting because of the depth of ficitional cultures, lore and politics, and hence it's also what gives Dragon Age its appeal. And now they take us to the most politcally interesting areas on the world map and just get rid of all of political depth?

That's really disappointing. Imagine if Winds of Winter dropped all political themes just because there's several previous books and it's been some a lot of years.

Also, I managed to play DA2 before I ever played Origins and they could introduce me to a vast established background of lore just fine back then.

Sorry. Rant over. But I had to get that out of my system.

#veilguard critical #datv critical #datv #dav #veilguard #dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age: the veilguard #bioware critical #datv spoilers #veilguard spoilers #da4 #da4 spoilers #bioware #da elves #qunari #the veilguard #dragon age veilguard #my obsessive da ramblings

651 notes · View notes

beardysuits · 2 months ago

Text

Closer to Dad pt 2

Part 1 found here

I can’t believe it, I’m uncle Rob! I was still getting used to being a solid 50 pounds heavier, probably even more to be honest. When I dressed up as Rob, I had chosen one of his older football jerseys to feel his stomach pressed against his beefy belly. Each step I took I could feel the fabric stretch to accommodate my new form. I patted it, feeling the jiggle ripple through the rest of my abdomen. This was going to be a fun day.

Normally it would have taken me about 15 minutes to get from Rob’s house back to mine, but with my new longer legs, and the amount of excitement built in, I made it in half the time. Stepping up to the front door, my heart was racing in anticipation. I haven’t spent real quality time with my dad in what felt likes years. To go from being the scrawny son he essentially ignored, to becoming his best friend and brother, was a dramatic shift. However, I let out a long breath of air and pounded on the door with my strong fist.

Dad, I guess I should refer to him by his first name now, Mike, opened the door and looked at me inquisitively. He wasn’t even wearing his usual jersey, just a green t shirt and jeans, his hair messy, with the locks shining in the golden sunlight.

“Rob? What are you doing knocking on the door? You haven’t done anything but stroll in like a bastard for years”. Shit, of course I should have just walked in. Rob’s been coming over to our place for years now to hang out with my dad. I chuckled to try and cover.

“What and not take you up on opening the door for me? Fat chance,” I told him with my best uncle Rob impersonation. He rolled his eyes and ushered me in. I think I can still play this off. Coming into my home as Rob made it feel like a brand new experience, like I was stepping foot for the first time. Though that may just be because I’m about a foot taller and my perception has greatly shifted at this new height.

“You want a beer?” Mike asked, closing the door behind me.

“It can’t even be 8 am,” I told him without a second thought. His eyebrow raised again.

“What took you so long to ask?” I asked him back. He scoffed and wandered off to the kitchen. My heart would not slow down. I can make a couple of recoveries, but what am I supposed to do when he actually starts talking about football? Mike came back, and tossed me an unopened can. I popped the tab and took a swing, almost spitting it right back out. Fuck me, that’s what beer tastes like? At the tender age of 20, I was just shy of getting myself any alcohol of my own. Though also, at the tender heart, I was too chicken to sneak one of my dad’s to try before today.

Thankfully Mike had his back turned to me, otherwise he surely would have seen me grimace from the taste.

“So, game’s not for another hour,” he said, coming back from the kitchen again, this time holding the entire box full of beers. Oh god do I have to drink all of those? I can’t even stomach one.

“How about you make your lazy ass of some use and help me stock the fridge? Especially since you didn’t bring any of your own,” he continued. Was I supposed to bring something? I’m clearly an awful guest. I followed him downstairs to his man cave, one which I rarely stepped foot in.

It was what one would expect of a middle aged man who was obsessed with football. A once plush couch now worn out from years of ass being met with it, a small beer fridge along the side, massive flat screen tv along the back wall. If you pick up a copy of “Man Caves for Dummies”, you’d find this on chapter one. Mike shoved the box of beers at me and I waddled off to the fridge to stock up. Not like there was much space anyways, he always kept it pretty filled.

As I was finishing up the bottom level of the fridge, I felt a hard smack against my ass, almost causing me to shove my whole head into the fridge.

“Hurry up slowpoke, I wanna get these chilled before the game starts,” Mike said, pulling another beer out of the top shelf. He already finished the first one? I was too distracted to even drink mine, now so aroused at my ass getting smacked, and being ordered around by my dad. Don’t get me wrong, I was used to him ordering me around before, but this time it was playful. It didn’t help that my new cock was pressed against the silky material of my jockstrap, hidden under Rob’s set of Wranglers. I was chubbed up since I came in his body earlier today, but the touch of Mike, and the material sliding against it, made me rock hard.

I adjusted my pants to help try and mitigate how much of my cock showed and closed the fridge door behind me.

“Just giving you time to remember how I got the good ass genes from dad,” I told him. I turned and shook my ass at him, smacking it myself. Fuck Rob’s butt really kept up some perk since his old military days.

“Please, the only thing you got from dad was a bad back and a receding hairline,” he said, chuckling to himself. He took a swig out of his beer and I decided to mirror him. This time, I knew what to expect and choked down the ale with less effort. This actually wasn’t too bad after a while. He reclined back on the couch and kicked his feet up on the corner L of the sofa. He was wearing his basketball shorts and his calves were showing. I never looked at my father in a suggestive way from the implication alone, but I wasn’t me right now. Even as his brother it felt like I was somebody entirely different.

I could admire how strong his legs looked, especially when he stretched one of them out to pop his knee. The shorts rode up and a brief glimpse of his thigh bared itself to me. This didn’t help my need to hide my raging boner at all. He turned his attention from the TV and looked at me.

“What are you waiting for? Permission?” He asked. I sat on the opposite end of the couch from him. We had an hour until the game, and I immensely regretted not doing more research before I took over Rob. Mike tried to engage with me about the team, sports, players, and I did my best to rebut against them with jokes and more general comments. He definitely knew something was up though. I drank through the whole thing, feeling my new belly slosh as it contained nothing but beer. The jersey I was wearing started to feel even tighter as I felt my stomach expand to accommodate.

“Jeez Rob are you okay?” He asked me, minutes before the game began. My consciousness was starting to fade some, the alcohol finally starting to kick in. I had to have been 6 beers in by this point, only taking so long due to Rob’s large build.

“What do you mean?” I asked him, blinking slowly to orient myself. He finished his last bit of his drink and threw it into the closest trash can.

“You aren’t yourself. No idea what I’m talking about, stumbling through any conversation, it’s like I’m talking to…” he shrugged, “well, Timmy”. That made me snap into focus. The original plan when I took over Rob was to talk to my dad about anything but football, and hopefully, make him actually like the real me.

“What about Tim?” I asked him. He cracked open a new beer.

“Well you know, he’s a good kid, but I just don’t get him. Always up in his room all day, toying around with those little figures of his.” My figures I paint as a hobby. Something about bringing those little guys to life brought me a lot of calm. I didn’t even think my dad knew they existed.

“Have you tried connecting with him about what he likes?” I asked him. I knew the answer, but wanted to hear him admit it.

“Yeah,” he said. Liar. “I mean, kind of. I just don’t get it. You known when we were growing up we were outside, running around the woods, getting dirty. Tim he just, I don’t know, is just a shut in. We didn’t grow up like that, he actually did things. Like when we kidnapped the Connors’ dog and posted a ransom to buy snacks in the summer. I mean you know, we did a LOT together. Tried new things, grew closer. He doesn’t do anything, just toys away and plays on that damn computer”.

Ouch. Can’t say I’m surprised though, it’s about what I expected him to feel.

“But I wanna connect with him, you know. I want to be his dad, not just his father. I taught him to ride a bike, hit a baseball, how football works. Then he became a teenager and just dropped all of it and became a different kid.” I was about to open another beer, but wanted to be as much of myself as possible.

“You know Mike, I think he may have always been like this,” I told him. He raised an eyebrow in response. “I think, he just wanted to be the person you wanted him to be so you’d love him. But, he found out that he wasn’t happy doing those things, so he just decided to be himself, and hope you’d love him anyway.”

Mike was silent for a long time, not even taking another drink.

“That is, at least my theory,” I said. He shrugged and pondered.

“I mean I do love him, no matter what he does,” he finally said. “He’s my son. He can be a pro athlete or build and sell a computer for a living. I just figured since we had so much fun together and have great memories, that’s how he should do it too. But, maybe I should try and see how we can do what he likes more.”

I could feel the tears well in my eyes. Fuck Dad, why couldn’t you just tell me that.

“Thanks Rob for just letting me- are you crying?” He asked. I wiped the tears away and hid my face from him.

“No no, just, fuck it,” I said, looking for a new beer.

“You fucking softie,” he said, a hearty laugh escaping him. “Here, for you listening to my bitching.” He leaned over the armrest of the sofa for a little while and finally pulled out a new can. He tossed it to me. Raising his own, he opened the tab. I did the same, only to be met with a flare of foam dousing me. He cackled and slapped his knee.

“Fucker!” I yelled at him, already becoming inhibited from all the drinks. “Gotta change this fucking shirt now,” I told him. I could feel the words slurring as the alcohol came on harder. I stood up, stepping back to try and regain my balance. I grabbed the bottom of my jersey with both hands and yanked it up, my head stuck in the hole before finally tugging it off and slamming it to he ground.

I looked down, once again admiring Rob’s hairy chest and beautiful pecs. The years of service he did performed wonders on his body, which he didn’t give up on as he reached middle age.

“Give me a shirt,” I told him, trying to make it to the staircase.

“Rob fucking sit down, you’re fine,” he called out to me. “Let that shit dry and just be half naked for a bit you puss.” I walked back and fell back on the sofa. My cheeks were flaring up and I could feel my heart pounding from the exertion. I put my hand on my chest to feel the heart rate, and couldn’t help but squeeze a little, feeling the pec succumb to my own touch. I chuckled and looked over to my father, who was looking at me intently. I chuckled to him.

“What?” I asked, losing sight in trying to pretend to be Rob at this point. He smirked.

“Nothing, just, all this talk about our childhoods is making me just remember the good old times. You know know, the Connors dog, the woods, the…. late night talks. Ones about girls, and who was hot in my grade, who was hot in yours. How we’d-“ he pulled his own shirt off and threw it on top of mine. “Try to figure out what would make them feel good”.

I admired Mike’s body, not as toned as mine, but certainly he took care of himself as he aged. He own chest displayed a gorgeous set of fur. How did I miss out on just how beautiful he was? How did I not get these genes and looked more like my mother? How is he looking at me so… sexually? He slid down the L of the sofa, laying his head against the back cushion, throwing an arm behind his head to rest it. His armpit was shadowed in a dark bush, which I can only imagine smelled of a strong musk.

Wait what the fuck? This is my dad, or my brother? He’s family, but I did jerk off my own uncle just hours before. He’s my dad, but he’s also not making this weird. He’s.. he’s.. fuck he’s sexy!

“Game’s about to start,” I told him finally, not taking my eyes off his physique.

“They’re playing the Buccaneers, I know how it’ll go,” he said. He got on all fours and crawled to me. Judging from the look in his eyes, the beers had taken their toll on him as well. We were now face to face, mere inches from one another. I could smell the alcohol on his breath as he leaned in and planted his lips on mine. I pushed back a bit, but he wouldn’t let me break away. His tongue slithered forward and traced it along my new one. I gave in and wrestled his with my own, my lips moving in sync with his. He placed a hand on my chest and squeezed at my pec, the warm touch juxtaposing with the shivers which shot through me.

I took my hand and placed it on the back of his head, brushing my fingers through his salt and pepper hair. As I gripped at it, he became more aggressive and reached for my throat. He wasn’t rough with it, but placed his thumb just below my Adams apple, pressing firmly. My breath was ragged from his force, and my pants had grown so incredibly tight in futile attempts to restrain my cock. My other hand went on the lower end of his back, guiding him to press into me, the fur on our chests entangling.

He slipped his mouth away from my lips, running them down my neck, kissing me as he lowered himself further down this stolen body. When he got to my belly, he took extra time to take both hands and rub them across it. He worshipped my stomach, kissing at it, gripping, and without a single word, making me know it was his. His hands ran down my stomach to zipper off my hands, toying with it. I spoke back to him with my dick, flexing it to tell him it needed to be released.

He looked up at me and smirked, lowering his head down again to lick at my bulge. It was torture, I needed to produce it to him and have it slide down his throat. I reached my hand down to get to my pants, but he immediately snapped and grasped my wrists.

“Uh uh,” he hushed. “Remember, I’m making you the girl here. And a good girl, lets the man do what he wants.” He released my wrists and finally got his hands back on my zipper. He zipped it down, before finally finishing with a flourish and pulling the Wranglers down to my ankles. He worked to get them kicked off my feet, before being met a silky pink jockstrap, which could snap at a moments notice. It was absolutely soaked in precum, and my dick had pushed it to its limits.

“What the fuck Rob? You sporting these now?” He asked me. I smirked at him.

“Was just remembering the good times,” I told him with a wink. He seemed to hesitate, almost snapping back to reality. However, the lust must have taken over, as he proceeded to take his tongue and lick up the precum which topped off the jock. Just feeling the tip of his tongue hit my cock made me groan involuntarily.

“Shut up, Tim might be home,” he told me. I wouldn’t worry about that, I wanted to tell him, but no words could form at this point. He proceeded to lap at my bulge, seeming to suck off any of the pre which had accumulated. Just as it seemed he was about to pull my jock off, he backed away. Fuck, was something wrong? I looked up and saw him working on getting his own pants off. He was struggling, barely able to move at all.

I assisted him, leaning forward and not taking the same slow care he had given me. I yanked the pants off and discovered two thing about my dad. One, he liked to go commando. Two, he had an impressive cock. Veiny, hard as a rock, and long enough that I knew he could rub out a prostate without even going halfway in. If he was the surprisingly soft and sultry type, I was the ravenous one. I had never actually sucked a dick before, but had watched plenty of films to emulate what others had done. I gripped the base of his shaft, which despite how large my new hands were, still was an intimidating beast.

I licked at the head of his cock, tasing the musky aroma come to life as the sensation of manhood trickled down my throat. He tasted amazing, his own precum starting to mix with the sweat he had built through the day. I licked my lips, lubing them up as I began to take his entire cock into my mouth. The years of study had prepared me somewhat for what it took to take him, but practice made perfect. At first I almost gagged and vomited the half dozen beers which still waved in my stomach, but as I got into a rhythm, it became easier. He leaned his head back and didn’t say a word, but moans were suppressed from his closed mouth.

He raised both arms up, showing off his pits. The smell permeated through the air, filling my nostrils. He must have not showered in the past couple of days, as I could smell the usual scent of my father embody the room. It motivated me to work harder, pushing my lips to the base of his balls and holding them in place. He grabbed the sides of my head and thrust his cock back and forth, skull fucking me as a growls began to erupt from him.

I thought he was about to coat my throat with his cum, but just as he was about to finish, he threw my head back and pushed me to the other side of the sofa. I looked up to find him jerking himself off and staring at me seductively.

“Turn around and show your big brother that hole of yours,” he commanded, sitting up on his knees. I did as he was told, getting on all fours and facing away from him. I felt the couch move below him as he crawled to me. He spit, and the sensation of his saliva against my hole made me shake. With one hand, he spread my ass cheek to the side, and with the other, I felt him guide the tip of his cock. Pressing against my hole, I gripped at the fabric in the couch, my knuckles turning white.

“Easy,” he told me. “Remember, just like we used to practice.” He pushed the tip and my hole reluctantly allowed him in. It was a shock of pain which made me scream. His hand quickly shot to my mouth and covered it, muffling my howls.

“I told you to shut up,” He said. He kept pushing his cock further in, still holding my mouth closed. He inch which slid its way in made me try to yell louder in and louder, but his calloused hand pressed harder against my lips. There was a sensation, a pop. Immediately I stopped yelling and groaned again, this time in ecstasy.

“There you go lil bro,” he told me. “Just like riding a bike”. He pulled out some and pushed his way back in. Fuuuuuuck. Fuck he was so god damn big! He pumped, his cock rubbing against my prostate. Each thrust sent electricity coursing through my body and out the tip of my cock. I hadn’t touched it in ages and wanted to pump in unison with him, but too much of me was just holding on to the couch for dear life. His thrust began to increase in speed, with no room in between for rest.

“Fuck daddy’s gonna cum!” He yelled out, clearly not worried about the noise anymore. He put a hand on each of my shoulder to steady himself.

“Cum in me dad, cum in me!” I yelled out, my lips free from his grasp.

“FUCK!” He yelled out, pushing his balls deep against my bare ass. I felt his cock twitch with his pulse as wave after wave of his cum shot deep into my colon. I counted it out, each pulse getting weaker and weaker, before finally all I could feel was my dad’s stomach resting on my back as he caught his breath. He slid out and fell back on the couch, his legs spread, and while now limp, he cock rested beautifully on his thigh.

I laid on my own back and marveled at him, so gorgeous even just lit by the TV glow. For a second I was worried in his post nut clarity, he would realize what had happened. Instead, I could hear him snoring, somehow already passed out from the exertion. I took the opportunity to finally whip off the jock strap and pump my cock, which had been lathered up in a concoction of my precum and dad’s saliva.

I felt his cum begin to leak out of my hole, running into the couch. I grabbed a small handful and rubbed it between my fingers. It was thick and a stark white, prime for breeding. Prime for lathering up my cock further and… lathering… That, gave me an idea. Releasing my cock, I stepped to my pants he had discarded on the floor. I fumbled with the pockets until I found it, another vial.

Inside was the lotion I had made to slip myself into Rob. I was worried it would wear off while I was here, making me be ejected. So, I brought an extra container in case I had to sip back inside. But, what if I went a step further? Both of us were already naked, so I took the opportunity to pour the contents all over Rob’s body, just as I had done in my real body.

It was a miracle there was enough, as Rob was twice the size as my original body. However, I finally stood in front of my father, silk, lathered up, and ready to experiment. I was just as careful as I was when I took over Rob’s body. Fingering my dad’s hole and enlarging it. Making it able to take one finger, then two, three, until finally my whole hand was inside of him. I think all of the drinking had sedated him, as he wasn’t moving a muscle from all of the activity.

I pushed further, finding the process to be much more difficult than last time. Previously, I was going from a short, lanky form, barely 150 pounds into a man twice my size. This time, while my father was hardly a small man, had less room available to take in Rob’s body. I worked carefully, pushing both arms inside, before taking a deep breath and plunging my head inside. This sensation was the same at least. Pitch darkness, a tight sensation, the beating of his heart echoing around me. The issue was, Rob’s chest was so fucking massive, I had to really push to get inside.

I could still feel my feet outside, so I used them to prop myself up and force myself in further. I could only imagine what it looked like out there. The towering form of Rob, chest deep inside of my dad’s hole as he tried to slam his entire body into him. However, with each thrust, I could feel my body being encapsulated by my father. Eventually I found my whole upper body inside, and I worked to stretch myself out. It was like I was trying to slide into a latex suit that was two sizes too small. Every crevice of mine was suppressed and pushed inward.

It was constricting, my father’s form could barely contain the man who had at least 40 pounds of muscle on him. But surely, I found a way to get both legs inside and curl my feet in too. I felt the hole close and Rob’s body completely be closed in. Having done this once already, I had an idea of what to do next, but the size difference made it all too difficult. I did learn however from last time to adjust my cock first and not cause a panic. With both arms still not in position with my dad’s, I took my cock and slide it into his like a sheath.

Before I aligned them though, I experimented and pulled back and pushed in again. I did this a few times, feeling like I was fucking the inside of my father. It was too good, but I had to push on, the constriction was getting to me. I aligned both feet and legs, arms, hands, and finally head. I slithered my tongue into my father, and pushed the top of my head into his. With one final force, I pushed my cock into the tip of his and felt the transformation complete.

I opened my eyes and surveyed the room, my head groggy as I felt the alcohol trying to hold me still. The glow of the TV still reflected off the walls, but more noticeable than that was the smell of my father’s musk right next to me. I looked to my left and found his armpit right next to my face. I inhaled deeply, now aware that I was my dad! I liked at his bicep, knowing all the while this tongue just moments ago was worshipping me. I sat up, trying to orientate myself.

Everything was the exact same, though now I could see just under me was a pool of the lotion and cum which soaked into the seats. I rubbed my dad’s hole, and found that some of his cum was still leaking out from me. I brought it to my face and lapped it up. It was salty, tinged with the potency worthy of breeding.

I took another scoopful of his, I guess, MY own cum and lathered up my new dick. As I never did actually finish while I was just Rob, I still had a sizable load to get out. I pumped my dad’s cock which had sprung to life once more. I smelled at this pits as I did so, lapping at his biceps and worshipping my new body.

NSFW version found here

From the excitement of today, it didn’t take long before I could feel the eruption coming.

“Fuck I”m gonna cum!!” I yelled in my dad’s voice, before finally letting out the build up of cum spray all over me. Despite getting off just earlier today, it was a cascade as I coated chest. The fur absorbing every drop and sinking into my chest. My cock was bright red, pulsing as each drip soared into the air. But it was over all too soon, and I was left with just myself, the smell of cum, musk, and the football announcers quietly speaking.

I looked down at myself, proud of the mess I had made. Though, I did wonder what this meant. Was I stuck as my father, with Rob gone forever? Would I get ejected as Rob? As myself? The lotion had lasted this long already, I wonder how much longer I had. If it wasn’t long, I wanted to make the most of it. Slowly, I raised myself up and stood, looking to dress myself up. There I found the jockstrap I had Rob wear, still damp. I stepped in and shimmied it up my legs.

It was cool at this point, and made me shiver, but it was so good to be reunited with it. I rubbed my hands over my body, coaxing the cum further into my hair and admired the nice bulge my dad gave the jockstrap. Maybe if I can keep this up for a bit, I’ll have to have dad pick up some new clothes…Something with leather perhaps.

--------------------------------

A bit of a longer story, but hopefully that makes you all enjoy it even further! Would love to hear from all of you as to what you'd like to see more of as I try to get back more into my writing.

Thank you all!

#male bodypossession #male possession #body possession #male takeover #father and son #dad takeover #male transformation #possesion #male bodysuit #uncle and dad

404 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 10 months ago

Note

poly!marauders x drunk!reader at a party and reader needy but they don’t want to help reader because they don’t want to do anything when reader basically unconscious of what’s happening because reader is drunk. So they try to explain to reader that they will gladly take care of them after they get better and go to bed. Thank you!

Thanks for requesting!

cw: alcohol, explicit themes/language (? like no smut just want of smut haha)

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

At some point, your boyfriends had evidently decided that you’re not to be let out of sight. You’ve tried to go get another drink on several occasions, but no matter who you talk to, you always seem to end up right back on the Longbottom’s settee with one of the three of them. Now they’ve fixed you in Sirius’ lap, his hands spread firm and possessive over the curves of your hips to keep you from running off. Every time he shifts his leg even a little, the heat in your core intensifies.

Now, he laughs at something someone says, body rumbling like a motor underneath yours, and you nearly whimper. You lean back until your head is on his shoulder.

“Siri,” you murmur into his ear, “let’s go upstairs.”

He turns his head into yours, smirking. “We are upstairs, sweet thing.”

Oh. “Well, can we go somewhere else?”

“Why, honey?” Sirius’ voice is smooth as always, and now it runs over your skin like velvet. You could almost shiver. “You bored?”

You lean away just slightly so you can look him in the eyes, keeping your voice low. “I wanna fuck.”

You watch surprise, then delight, and finally chagrin play one after the other over your boyfriend’s features. He presses a chaste kiss to the skin under your ear, repentant. “I wish I could,” he tells you, breath fanning over your neck and giving you goosebumps, “but it’ll have to wait.”

“Why?” you whine.

From the other side of the couch, James sends you an inquisitive look at the sound. Sirius pats your thigh consolingly. “It just will, baby. I’ll take care of you tomorrow, yeah? Let it go for now.”

You don’t think you will.

You start squirming in Sirius’ lap, trying to turn around so you can kiss him but not quite coordinated enough to manage it. As it turns out, your fidgeting is enough. His hold tightens on your hips, and he leans forward, murmuring a quiet “behave” into your ear.

Your cunt pulses. Galvanized by this discovery, you repeat your new tactic, shuffling around on your boyfriend’s lap until his grip is punishing. You can feel the shape of his rings through the material of your bottoms. Sirius growls, and James’ head pops into view once again.

“What’s going on over there?” he asks.

“Sirius is being mean to me,” you whine before your boyfriend can get a word in. “He won’t let me move.”

“I’ll bet.” James eyes Sirius’ flustered countenance, beckoning for you. “Come here, babydoll.”

Sirius releases you into James hold. You notice him crossing his legs as soon as you’re away. James takes his boyfriend's trials as a cautionary tale, tucking you into his side rather than sitting you on his lap.

“You’re in a troublesome mood, aren't you?” he asks fondly, rubbing up and down your arm.

“M’not,” you object. “Sirius was just being mean. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Mhm.” His disbelieving hum purrs through your bones.

You cozy up to James, looking at him through your lashes. The material of his jumper feels nice against your cheek. “You’ll help me, won’t you?”

He laughs raucously. You’re about to scowl, but he pecks you on the crown of your head, saving himself. “Just to be clear, are you asking me to fuck you in Alice and Frank’s new house while you’re sloppy drunk?”

You nod impatiently.

“Yeah, that’s not happening, darling.” He delivers another kiss to the top of your head to soften the blow. “But I do think I can persuade Remus to take us all home, how about that?”

Just as quickly as disappointment takes root inside you, hope blooms in its stead. You smile so hugely your ear pops. “Yes, please,” you tell James.

He squeezes your upper arm affectionately before leaning over, conveying something to Remus with a look that you might normally be able to interpret but currently can’t be bothered to. They’re going to take you home. You know what that means. There, you can fuck louder and nastier and longer than you ever would’ve been able to if you were trying to be discrete in the Longbottom’s spare bedroom. You can’t get there fast enough.

James stands you up, and there’s a flurry of goodbyes and niceties as your boyfriends shepherd you out the door. Or, you know they must all be with you, but it’s sort of hard to keep track of three people at once. You’re not completely sure whose hand is on your forearm as you descend the steps outside, or who wrestles you into their jacket when you shiver at the brisk night air. You lean contentedly into the loving touches regardless.

Eventually, it’s Sirius who gets you settled in the backseat, worriedly making Remus take your hands in his so you don’t stick them in the door when he closes it.

“You don’t think you’re going to be sick?” he asks, and you have the vague impression he’d been upset with you not long ago, but you can’t recall what for and there’s none of that in his demeanor now. He tucks a stray hair behind your ear, lips pursed. “I can run back in and get a bag for the car ride.”

“No, m’fine.” You sit up extra straight to prove it, cheesing at him. “I’m excited to go home.”

Sirius snickers and closes your door, but Remus cocks an eyebrow at you.

“What exactly do you think is going to happen when we get home?” he asks.

“We’re gonna fuck,” you say brightly.

In the driver’s seat, James barks out a laugh at your crass language. Remus darts a look his way, looking like he might be biting back a smile of his own.

“Dove,” he says, “we’re not doing that tonight. We’re going to have some water and go to sleep.” You must look crushed, because his smile turns near pitying. “You’re too drunk, sweetheart.”

“But I want to,” you say brokenly.

“If you wake up tomorrow feeling better, you can have whatever you want.”

From the front seat, Sirius says, “I’ve tried to tell her this.”

You make a plaintive whining sound, and Remus reaches around your face, pulling your head down to rest on his shoulder consolingly. “You’re being so mean to me,” you lament.

“Oh, I know,” he coos, patting your hair. “M’the worst.”

1K notes · View notes

nymphomatique · 1 year ago

Note

Thinking of overstimulating nerd!miguel to the point of tears and squirting (people w penises squirt too if the tip is stimulated enough!)

read this ask and immediately took it too far i’m depraved,,, miguel gets pegged and squirts 😔

cw: gn!reader, you can either have on a strap or have a real pp 🕺🏽, pegging, d/s dynamics, spit, anal fingering, unprotected anal sex (use protection!!!), prone bone, bad ending i didn’t know how to finish this off LMFAO, erm idk at this point 😔 not proofread you guys know the deal. enjoy!

you were sitting on the couch in your dorm (what your mothers money could buy, you were some days grateful for), back against the arm, scrolling aimlessly on your laptop. next to you say miguel, your feet in his lap as he massaged them gently. he was engrossed in whatever science fiction movie was playing on your flatscreen tv. ex-machina you want to say? the two of you sat like this for a while, but knowing miguel, you’re not surprised when you feel something stiff brush against your feet in his lap.

your eyes flit over your laptop to miguel’s face. even with only partial view of his face, you can see the light tint of red upon his cheeks, and you can’t help but smile a bit. “hey,” you call out, lowering your laptop screen and placing it on the floor to fully look at his side profile. he responds with an inquisitive hum, still focused on the movie.

“i can feel your dick stabbing my feet, you freak,” you laugh out, crossing your arms under your chest. miguel turns to look at you and starts sputtering an apology, but you’re swinging your feet off of his lap to stand, placing yourself within his lap. your hand comes up to his face, your four fingers and thumb on either side squishing his cheeks mid sentence.

“who said i didn’t like it?” you say, looking at him in his deep eyes. you can’t help but be honest when caught in the crossfire of his gaze. you let go of his cheeks, your arms wrapping around his neck and your face burried within the book between his face and your arm. your lips are right next his ear, and with a smile you lick up the shell of it, earning a soft “f-fuck” and a buck of miguel’s hips up into yours. you let out a giggle and move your head to face him again, arms still around his strong neck. his hands move from their grip on their couch to your hips. much better, you think.

for a moment, you look at him, and he looks at you. miguel, miguel, miguel. he’s all encompassing. no matter how much control you feel you yield over him, you find yourself weak to him. submissive in your own right to him, and it tears you apart inside. you blink back your thoughts, and succumb to the pull you feel towards him in the moment. i really want to kiss you, you think. and you do, you kiss him soft, lips touching ever so lightly you feel as if you’ll pass out if you take anymore from him, if he gives anymore to you. and the kiss is soft for a while, your hands coming to cusp his face in your embrace. his hands rub soft circles within your hips. you pull apart, and you feel overwhelmed at the sight of him. abashed and turned on, the two of you are. looking at him in this moment is like looking in a mirror, you feel to intense want wafting off him.

“wanna try somethin’ with you,” you state, still sat atop him, letting yourself fall into the brown pools of color in his eyes. “yeah?” he nods, and his fingers rub up and down your sides slowly, an act you’re sure is one he’s doing absent mindedly but you can’t help but feel the heat trickle into your abdomen at the sensation.

“wanna fuck your ass,” you say, watching his face. a look of surprise takes over, and you see him silently contemplating what to answer you with. you look at him, silently trying to say it’s okay to say no, without wanting to crawl out of your skin if embarrassed for feeling so scared to ask the question in the first place. after a moments silence, he answers. “okay.” steady, sure.

you feel like the pressure crushing your chest has lifted, the tension dissolving into an impatient arousal. you kiss him once more, chaste, and get off of his lap to strip, and you command him the same. once both naked, you grab his hand and walk to your bed, ditching the uncomfortable couch you were laying on. “lay down f’me,” you say, pushing miguel down to the bed by his chest. and ever so obediently, he does as you say. and you can’t help but feel proud, smug even. he does what only you say, nobody else.

you look upon his naked body, taking a moment to admire him brazen muscle and braun, his trail of black hair starting at his lower abdomen, trailing to the base of his thick cock. you feel a tightness squeeze within you looking at his dick, mouthwateringly beautiful and thick. you crawl onto the bed stomach down, and position your head between his thighs. “knees up,” you tell him, kissing his inner thigh. he does as you tell him, a small sigh leaving him. “so pretty down here, aren’t you?” you say, grabbing his dick with your left hand. wordlessly, you take it slow, licking small stripes along the shaft of him, thumb rubbing circles around his tip tenderly. you lick, and lick, and rub until you feel yourself getting impatient to taste him, the precinct swirling and spreading under your thumb making you salivate, you remove your hands from him opting to cup his balls as you take him in your mouth slowly at first. you sink down until your throat encases all of miguel within you. miguel hisses at the feeling and his hips jerk up, and you moan around him. you pull your head back, and forward until you’re in a steady rhythm of milking him with your throat.

“f-feels good. g’nna cum- fuck!” miguel hisses. you remove him from you throat and veer towards his balls, heavy and waiting right below his thick cock. you don’t hesitate to put the sack into your mouth, suckling softly as your hand jerks him up and down in quick pace. under your ministrations, miguel slowly unravels at the seams, your stimulation making him burn up inside. your unoccupied left hand trails up miguel’s leg, from his knees and up his thigh. from there, you move your hand down to miguel’s ass, using a finger to scoop up the trail of spit leaking down between your mouth and his taint, coating your finger in it. after lubricating your finger, you slowly move to circle the ring of muscle, throbbing under your touch. you rub around the tight hole, hearing miguel’s moans at your teasing.

you take your mouth off of his balls, licking a stripe up from his sack to the tip of his leaking dick. “tell me you want my finger in that tight little ass of yours,” you say, lust oozing from your voice.

“please! need your fingers inside me,” he breathes out, clearly frustrated at your sudden halt in pleasuring him.

“i know you do, baby, can’t wait to destroy your ass,” you whisper, kissing your way down miguel’s shaft to his balls once more. your lips engulf the skin, warming and massage it within your mouth. your jerking continues as well, and you finally push your finger slowly into miguel’s ass.

“f-fuck, thank you, feels so good. ah!”

you pump your finger slowly in an out slowly, eventually working into an even rhythm. “just one finger and you’re fallin’ apart f’me?” you tease, stoping your stimuli on his balls. “gonna put another finger up there, bet you want that huh?” you ask, jerking him up and down quickly as your fingers caress his anal walls.

“yes! please oh my god i’ll do anythi-“

you insert another finger, curling them upwards while you pull and push in and out. miguel is uncontrollable underneath you, squirming and twitching haphazardly on the bed. you spit on his ass, adding a third finger within him. his hips buck up, and you can’t help but giggle at his inability to control himself. “i know you feel good, cum for me baby.” and he does, spurting his cum all over your slowing hand, your jerking coming to a halt along with your prodding fingers. you remove your hands from miguel, crawling up the bed to reach his face. he looks sated and blissed, eyes closed and chest heaving.

you bring your hand up to carcass the side of his face, and his eyes flutter open. “taste yourself,” you say, moving your cum coated fingers into miguel’s mouth, a mouth that sucks you clean with no hesitation. his tongue swirls around your fingers, warming and wetting them simultaneously.

“fuck miguel, should see how you look suckin’ on me like that,” you sigh out. you pull your fingers from his mouth slowly, watching his lips let your ligaments go. “not done with you yet baby, turn around f’me,” you say to him, tapping his cheeks softly. lackadaisically, he turns onto his stomach, ass up.

you prep yourself behind him and move to grab the lube in the nightstand next to you. you open the bottle and slick yourself up, pouring some between miguel’s cheeks as well. the coldness causes him to jump and you laugh, “ready?” you ask.

“yes, p-please.”

you place your legs on the outside of either of miguel’s and lean your pelvis forward, pushing your dick through his tight sphincter. immediately you’re met with resistance, miguel silent but still tensing at the intrusion. “gotta loosen up for me, yeah? wanna get fucked like a good little boy dontcha? need to fit myself inside you,” you say, massaging miguel’s ass with both hands.

you hear miguel whimpering and let out a soft okay, and you continue to push, slowly. “fuckin’ squeezing my dick down there, miguel. you want it that bad?” you tease him. he lets out a moan in protest, but you shush him. “s’okay. you know it’s my job to fuck you like you need, hmm? todays no different.”

you push until you’ve reached the hilt, pelvis against miguel’s ass, chest against his back. “tell me when you’re ready, okay?” you whisper in his ear. and after a minute, he breaks the silence with a ready, and you slowly pull yourself out, and pushing back in, falling into a soft rhythm. here and there, you hear a quiet moan from miguel, until he gets restless and tells you to go faster.

and faster you go, lifting your hips up and slamming them back down, the contact of your pelvis against miguel’s ass reverberating loudly through your dorm.

“f-feels so good. fuck my ass harder, p-please!” miguel groans. who are you to deny him? with you arms as leverage and your knees on the bed, you use all the momentum you have to fuck him senselessly as he asked you too. and you fucking him hard, your thrusts causing a cry of pleasure or a string of curses everytime you come down onto him. you’re so good, miguel starts crying.

“p-please let me cum- feels so good ohmygod, fuck! s-so big, i feel so good. thank you thank you thank you,” miguel babbles, and you kiss the back of his neck, fucking him deep and hard. “cum for me, show me how good i make you feel,” you grown out, feeling your finish peaking over the horizon.

you lift yourself up and grab miguel’s hips to bring them up, fucking him in doggy so you can jerk him off. his dick is incredibly hard when you reach around to touch it, his tip red and weeping. you thumb his tip and he starts shaking as he fucks himself back onto you.

“g-gonna pee, s-stop,” miguel breathes out. “nuh-uh, let it all out right here baby,” you say, hips still fucking into him brutally. log my god he groans, head falling into the sheets.

you jerk him as you fuck him, relentless in your stimulating. and finally, with a weak moan, miguel groans and shudders while he squirts clear liquid all over your sheets. you grown at the mess he made, fucking up into him for a few more thrusts until you finish. when you finally pull out of miguel, he lets out a whine and you laugh, laying down against him.

“i can’t believe you actually squirted,” you laugh. and he covers his face with your silk cased pillow, embarrassed. you can’t help but laugh and kiss his forehead.

“alright, get up water hose, gotta clean you and my bed.”

#<nerd!miguel3 #you’ve got mail💌#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara drabble #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel atsv smut #miguel o’hara x you #sub miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara smut

1K notes · View notes

revasserium · 1 year ago

Text

nxx #1 - waking up with you

artem.

you wake up to find him watching you, the summer sky of his eyes fixed on you as you smile and yawn and curl closer. “sleep well?” he asks, his voice still husky and rough, the silk and gravel of a jazz singer in a smoke-filled bar, delicious and intoxicating. he asks you about your dreams, traces soft, abstract lines into the bare skin of your waist, smiles at the way you get shy when you realize what a mess your hair is, tugs you back when you try to pull away from him to straighten it out — he says, “no… let be it,” he says, “it looks good like this… just like this…”, he says, “sometimes… i think i’m still dreaming when i wake up next to you,”, he says, “look at me…” and he smiles, cups your cheek, holds you still as you stare back at him, searching his eyes only to find love and love and love.

luke.

you wake up to find him watching you, though he’s still clearly barely awake himself — there’s a shy, lazy grin caught on his lips and he slips over to slip his arm around your waist to pull you closer, nuzzle into your cheek if only to make you laugh. “hey! what’s so funny?” he asks, a pout already pressed between his lips, his eyes drawn large and puppy-like, but you smile and shake your head, tell him that it’s nothing, kiss the tip of his nose just to see him blush before he dives on top of you, pinning you beneath him with a bright laugh, “ah, so that’s how you wanna play?” he says, his honeycomb hair falling to frame his face and you — you stare up at him, breathless. he has the decency to blush again before collapsing at your side and tugging you closer, “mm… it’s too early for that, isn’t it?” he asks, looping his arm around your middle and pulling you close, “let’s sleep in for just a bit longer, hm?”

vyn.

you wake up to find him watching you, his cheek propped up on the heel of his hand, his eyes like twin stars, bright and burning and inquisitive, “ah… good morning, my sleeping beauty,” he says, smiling as you bury your face in your pillow to stifle a yawn, feeling you cheeks heat at the thought of him watching you sleep for god knows how long and — were you drooling? he laughs as you peer up at him over the top of your pillow, your hair a birds nest sitting atop your head — he reaches out to muss it up even more, a fond smile gracing his lips as he leans in. he kisses both your eyelids before pulling back, “good dreams, i hope? you were smiling a lot so…” he cocks his head to watch you, ever the scientist as you are ever the butterfly, pinned to the cushion beneath him. “s-something like that…” you say, averting your eyes as you try not to recall the details of your less-than-kosher dream of him, but he only leans in, his smile widening slightly as he pulls you closer, “mm… tell me about it… and maybe… we’ll be able to make some of those dreams come true, hm?”

marius.

you wake up to find him asleep — or so you think, but the grin on his lips tells you otherwise, and when you try to pull away, a pair of arms reaches out to tug you back against his warm chest, his hold on you tight and steady as you feel him nosing into the back of your neck, “ah… jiejie… how mean — trying to leave me before i wake up…” you laugh to yourself before flipping over to meet his dazzling, gemstone gaze, pursing your lips as you take him in, “if you were asleep, how’d you know i was trying to leave?” you ask, but he only crinkles his nose and leans in to bury his face in the crook of your neck, whining even as you feel him smirk against your skin — “so mean, jiejie… bullying me on a weekend morning… after everything that happened last night…” you feel yourself go hot at his words, thinking back to last night — to the heat and friction, to the give and take. you swallow as he chuckles, pulling back to pin you with those saturday night eyes of his — “don’t you think you owe me just a little, hm?” he asks, pulling you beneath him and pinning you there, “didn’t you promise you’d make me feel good too?” and you can barely nod before he’s grazing his lips along the bare skin of your shoulder, letting out a soft, wanton moan, “so… how about we start… right now?”

tot MARIUS reqs are officially open u__u

1K notes · View notes

thedissonantverses · 24 days ago

Text

“This game has too many lore inconsistencies and plot holes.”

Nah see sometimes world states change and that’s a good thing for world-building and not actually an inconsistency or a plot hole you just missed a bunch of stuff. You might be more comfortable with Origins. A lot of people still think it’s the best one for some reason.

“There’s not enough religion.”

Good. We had three games of this. We’re in an entirely new part of the world. Go play Inquisition. You, get this, lead an Inquisition. Never in my life have I thought “You know what this situation needs? More Catholicism!”

“The romances are boring/bad.”

No. The game just doesn’t treat them like the most important part of the story cause it’s not. Go play a different developer’s games for that. There’s a full scope of humanity to explore beyond romance.

“The dialogue is bad.”

Tourist. I was there for “Hawke stepped in the poopy.” I have a tattoo of “swooping is bad” covering most of my back. Well, shit if you wanna miserably side by side the bad dialogue from each game be my guest. There’s a hell of a lot of great dialogue in Veilguard too.

“The elves aren’t acting elfy enough.”

…Kay no you’re done with video games. I know the made up language is neat but you need to stop. The lore and the writers don’t treat races like monolithic cultures so why do you?

Lo siento, I meant “fuck off shem.” Grrrr I’m an elf. This is what elves do.

“Rook is a bad p-”

Oh for fuck’s sake just go play Inquisition again.

#dragon age #veilguard #veilguard spoilers #fandom critical #critique the game all ya want #but your critiques suck #get better ones

130 notes · View notes

dark-fics-4-you · 1 year ago

Note

step bro rafe who plays football or hockey. idk it just seems hot🙏

Number One Fan

I’m gonna combine this with this request: Something with step bro rafe where the reader calls him rafey and it turns him on but she doesn’t know…

(This can be read as a continuation of my previous step bro!Rafe fic, but i’m not sure if I want to make a bunch of drabbles or one connected narrative so we’ll see what happpens ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

Next chapter

Warnings: drinking, relationship between step siblings, rafe is having unpure thoughts👀

The stadium was packed with college students and fans, roaring as the whistle blew.

You were close to the field, eager to get a good view of Rafe. He was the star quarterback of East Carolina University, and for good reason.

He had led the team to victory in all 10 of their last games.

The score was evened out, with only a few seconds left on the clock, everyone was eager to see what would happen next.

When the whistle blew again and the ball was passed to Rafe, you cheered loudly.

He dodged two players, dancing around them before running all the way to the endzone.

Everyone on the crowded bleachers jumped to their feet, cheering and screaming at the touchdown, but no one was louder than you.

“Go Rafe! Go!! Woo!!!”

You beamed proudly as you watched him pump his fist in the air, fist bumping his teammates as they congratulated him.

You were one of the first people to rush to the field, running up to your older brother and practically jumping on him in your excitement to hug him.

“Oh my god, Rafey! That was such a good game!” You squealed. “You were awesome! That last touchdown was amazing!”

Rafe flashed you a grin, perfect teeth winking in under the bright lights of the stadium. “Thanks, Y/N/N. You know I win every game just for you,” he joked and you giggled along.

“Hey, some of my teammates and I are gonna go out for drinks after we get cleaned up, wanna tag along?”

“Sure!” You smiled up at him. You were always happy when he included you in things he was doing, which admittedly was a lot of the time.

“Perfect, sugar. Here are my keys,” he tossed you them. “Why don’t you bring the truck around to where the locker room exit is, you can wait in there till I’m done. Okay?”

“Yeah! Sounds good!” You parted ways, heading to the truck but you didn’t notice how his gaze stayed on your back as you walked away.

~~~~~~

“That’s a pretty hot piece of ass you had hanging around you, Cameron,” one of Rafe’s friends joked, suggestively nudging the blond with his elbow.

“Shut up, Wilson,” Rafe snapped. His stomach lurched at the comment. He didn’t like the idea of any of his friends trying to sleep with you.

In fact, he didn’t like the idea of anyone trying to sleep with you. The very thought made him sick.

“Hey, I’m just saying, I wouldn’t mind if she came around more, amiright?” Wilson asked the other guys around him that had seen you and they all laughed and nodded.

“Knock it off, seriously,” Rafe warned. “She’s not interested.” He could feel his irritation rising, his face heating up.

“Damn okay Cameron, chill. We were just joking,” someone else interjected.

“Well I’m not fucking laughing.” He pulled on his shirt before slamming the locker door. “I don’t think I’m gonna go out tonight anymore. See ya at practice.”

A few guys complained, “come on Rafe, we didn’t mean anything by it.”

But he was already halfway out the door.

~~~~~~

“Change of plans,” Rafe said as he climbed into the driver’s seat and you clicked your buckle.

You looked at him inquisitively. “Oh?”

“We’re gonna go out, just the two of us. None of the guys.” He started the truck, pulling out of the parking lot and towards the road.

“Oh, okay.” You said in a confused tone. “Why are they not coming?”

He was silent for a moment and you glanced at him again.

“Rafey?”

“I just decided that I’d rather go out with my favorite girl instead,” he said with a smile, ruffling your hair and you grinned.

“Oh, okay!” You said happily. “Ooh could we go to this bar that I know, it’s on Seventh street.” You babbled away about the bar you wanted to go to.

Rafe shifted in his seat, trying as hard as possible to hide his growing erection, nodding along but he was finding it hard to pay attention to anything you were saying, attention shifting between watching the road, and turning to examine your features.

He pulled up to the bar and you hopped out of the car. You both showed your ID’s at the door and found a booth to sit at, Rafe pulling you in to the same side he was on so you could be closer.

A waiter came to get your drink orders, you got a fruity cocktail and Rafe got a beer, and Rafe ordered a plate of loaded nachos for you to share.

Your drinks came quickly and you offered Rafe a sip of your cocktail, which he took before offering you a sip of his beer.

You took a quick swig, face scrunching up at the flavor. “Bleh, I still have no idea how you like beer so much, Rafey!” You giggled, leaning against him in the small booth, his arm wrapped around your waist.

“You get used to it if you drink enough, Y/N/N.” The blond laughed, grabbing a nacho off of the plate in between the two of you.

“I just think it’s so gross,” you shook your head, smiling.

“Please, you’re one to talk. I still remember that time you tried to make mixed drinks for us at that party and they sucked so bad I nearly threw up.” He chuckled.

“Shut up! I got better afterwards!” You laughed hard at the memory. “So mean, Rafey,” you said with a fake pout.

“Not true, I’m always nice to you, Y/N/N,” Rafe sounded surprisingly earnest. “You know I would do anything for you.”

“I know, I know,” you finished your cocktail, catching the waiter’s eye before ordering a second.

You leaned back, melting into your step brother’s arms.

“You’re my favorite person in the whole world,” Rafe whispered quietly. “You know that, right?”

There was a strange moment when you met his eyes, odd feelings washed over you. The intensity in his look stirred something in you that you couldn’t identify.

“Yeah I know, Rafey. You’re my favorite person too.”

He smiled at that, pulling you closer to his warm body. You cuddled against his chest, enjoying the circles he was tracing lazily into your back with his fingers.

Your second drink arrived and you downed it quickly, feeling a little beyond tipsy by the time the two of you stepped out of the bar.

He drove you home, comfortable silence most of the way. You felt warm and the alcohol in your system made you feel much more affectionate.

Rafe opened the front door of the house for you, allowing you to lean on him drunkenly as he guided you inside.

When you reached the top of the stairs, you paused, not wanting to go to bed alone.

“Would it be okay if I slept in your bed tonight, Rafey?” You asked, looking up at your step brother with hopeful eyes. “I just feel more comfortable when you’re by me.”

“Sure, Y/N/N.” Rafe smiled at you, leading you to his room.

You kicked off your shoes, taking your shorts off before dropping them on the floor. “Do you have a shirt I could wear, Rafey?”

His eyes fell on you, noting your bare legs and the pink panties you had under your shorts. His mouth felt dry, and it took him a second to remember you had just asked him a question.

“Um, yeah I should have one…” he searched in a drawer, before tossing you the oversized shirt.

You pulled it on, unclipping your bra underneath the shirt before putting it with your shorts and top.

Rafe kicked off his shorts, stripping to his boxers before pulling his shirt off over his head. He stepped towards his door, flicking the lights off.

You crawled into his bed, breathing in his smell in the sheets, scooting over when he followed.

Usually when you slept in Rafe’s bed, you were the one who pressed to him, hugging his back as he faced away from you, but this time, you were surprised when you felt the warmth of his chest press to your back, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you closer to him.

As you dozed off to sleep, you were none the wiser that your step brother was beside you, hard as a rock, and imagining things that were far from brotherly.

Chapter 2

#rafe cameron #outer banks #dark!rafe cameron #dark rafe cameron #obx #drew starkey #rafe cameron fanfic #stepbro!rafe #stepbro!rafe cameron #number one fan

1K notes · View notes

kookslastbutton · 2 years ago

Text

Too Late to Dream ༓ jjk (m) || ch.I

✑ Summary: You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.

Pairing: economics professor!jungkook x fem!artist!reader

AU/Genre: angst, smut, fluff, marriage au, age gap, series

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 4,187

Warnings: 8-year age gap, mentions of professor-student relationship (oc was a Masters student), flirty banter, fighting, jk has a bit of a temper, pent-up issues/desires, jk has daddy issues

Now Playing: Make It Right, Tryna Be, Infinity, Heaven+

A/N: Okay I have been having such baby fever for last few years no joke. I wanna be mom or aunty but my sister won’t have kids yet! So i write this lame series to cope even though it's lowkey sad? lmao. Enjoy!! 🥰

༓ ch. II >> | series masterlist

You’re not exactly sure when it happened but one minute you’re crouched over, sketching in your journal and the next, a child with big brown eyes comes up beside you to watch over your shoulder. He’s a cute little fella, you note. Can't be more than four years old. His hair is ink-black and on the longer side. He’s got on a pair of black and white checkered pants, navy blue sweatshirt, and a toy snug under one arm. At first glance, you struggle to make out the toy but it looks like an elephant.

“Hi…” His hand reaches for you. It tugs the edge of your dress sleeve before reaching down to latch onto a few fingers. You smile up at the child, warmth immediately beaming through your heart.

“Hi sweetheart,” you say. “What’s your name?” You wait for the boy to answer but he doesn’t. Instead, he shuffles down next to you on the grass and points to your drawing. His delicate eyebrows knit together in an inquisitive manner. “What is this?” he asks.

You look down at your drawing, examining it from various angles. It's unfinished but you're working on a sketch of the pond nearby. You've managed to capture the sun-kissed water but the sky needs more work. Being the weekend, you couldn't give up the rare opportunity to indulge in your favorite hobby. “It’s the pond with all the colorful leaves,” you reply.

Blank face, the child thinks before speaking again. “Who taught you?”

Now that's an interesting question. Drawing had always been in your blood since a child. You fell in love with the ability to let your imagination run wild on paper whether it be on the back of your homework or even cardboard. To you, drawing was freedom and discovery. It allowed you to express emotion, memories, abstract thoughts, and to recreate the real world. You typically preferred sketching with drawing pencils but occasionally dabbled with watercolors. You had a gift for it–a natural gift.

By the time high school rolled around, you tended to hole up in the art room, sketching for as long as you could. Your art teacher suggested you go to school for it come senior year which gave you enough push to bring it up to your parents. Determined, you spoke to your parents about it but it was null–art could only be a hobby, it couldn’t support your future. They suggested you go to school for economics or finance instead. You nearly hurled at the idea but you eventually agreed, knowing they’d never pay for you to go to art school. Drawing, as you found out, had to be on the side.

"I had a teacher once in school," you say. "But I mostly learned myself."

The child tilts his head to the side, a puzzled look on his face. “You?”, he says.

You nod your head in affirmation.

“No way! Even I have art teacher.”

You chuckle lightly and move to stand up from the grass, needing to stretch due to your crouched position. He follows suit, still clinging to your hand. “Where you going, Eomma?”

Eomma...That's a name you don't get called often. You're not used to being seen as the mom type. In fact, when you tied the knot with Jungkook, the two of you agreed that having a family was a grey area. You both liked kids, sure, but being parents? That was a subject neither of you seriously considered. “I’m sorry sweetheart,” you coo. “I’m not your Eomma. But, let’s find her together, okay?”

The child shakes his head, refusing to budge. "Mm no," he says, clinging to your leg. "Wanna stay with you." Your heart skips a beat. Children don't typically take to you like this. It causes something inside of you to want to lunge down and pick up the child in a tight embrace. But you nip that thought in the bud when you catch sight of a woman roughly your age jogging toward you. She looks like the child’s mother.

“Si-woo!” She gives a wave. "Si-woo come here!"

“Eomma!” The child’s cheeks rise into a big grin as he watches his mom approach nearer. He lets go of your leg but his hand remains locked in your own. You end up squeezing Si-woo’s tiny hand but then, like a bitter aftertaste, you remember– he doesn’t belong to you. You loosen your grip and allow him to run back to his mom.

“It was nice meeting you Si-woo!” There’s a hint of sadness in your tone but you do your best to brush it off. You only knew Si-woo for a short while and now he’s back with his real mom. You should be happy but when Si-woo’s mom lifts her son, she gives you a scowl. She doesn’t even come up to say anything to you but turns around and carries her son back to their picnic area. You frown realizing you were merely a stranger who little kids are told not to talk to.

You sigh and glance at your unfinished drawing. Suddenly, you don’t feel like drawing anymore. You pack up your belongings in your bag and head to your car, the event replaying in your mind.

You can’t blame Si-woo’s mom for being a little rigid, you think. You’d share a similar reaction with your own kids if you had any–if you had any. You repeat the phrase unexpectedly. Were you warming up to the idea? Your marriage did recently surpass the two-year mark, perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to consider having…no, you mentally stop yourself. Yes, Si-woo was cute but it likely wouldn't happen. You toss your bag of art supplies in the back seat and drive home.

“Jungkook! You here?” You step into your shared apartment and drop your bag on the kitchen counter. The smell of burnt wax mixed with vanilla bean hits you as soon as you walk into the living room. “Jungkook you better be home or these candles are going in the trash!” You really didn’t mind the candles but your husband had a nasty habit of keeping them lit even when you were both out of the house. He didn’t do it on purpose, of course, it was accidental but it was too much of a fire hazard to ignore.

“Kook!” you holler again, but no reply. These damn candles. You snuff them out one by one before venturing into the bedroom. Thankfully none were lit in there. You reach behind your back and unzip your dress, letting it pile around your feet. It's a beautiful dress but you were dying to get into a pair of sweat shorts and a t-shirt.

“Hey honey,” Jungkook says, emerging from the bathroom with damp hair and a towel tied around his waist. You let out a yelp before making eye contact. You've always been easily startled. “How was the park?”

Mentally, you bite your lip. This man was getting sexier every day, especially with that gold band wrapped around his fourth finger. You toss a t-shirt over your head. “Absolutely wonderful. Been a while since I’ve been able to really focus and draw. I loved every second." Should you mention the child? You pause, briefly contemplating the thought. Why not? "A really cute kid came up to watch me draw too…’til his mother took him away.” You don't notice but you nearly spat the last part.

Jungkook lets out a small snort, amused by your sudden irritation. There were many things he knew you could put up with, a resilient woman you were. But whoever this kid’s mother was must have gotten under your skin in the most unusual way. “It’s great you had a good time but you sound borderline offended about whoever this kid’s mother is.”

“It’s nothing really.” You shrug. “The kid came up to me and grabbed my hand. We had a nice talk but then his mom showed up. She didn’t even say hi to me. She just picked up her son and scowled at me like I took him or something. Believe me, I get it. But I didn’t do anything!”

“Don’t think about it too much __. She was probably just worried about getting her son back. I’m sure she did mean anything.”

“I guess. But do I really look that harmful?” You face your husband, hands perfectly poised on your hips.

Jungkook strides over to you and strokes down your arms until your hands relax to your sides. He gives you a quick peck on the lips. “Yes.”

Surprised, your mouth falls open. How dare he?! You give a pout, one that Jungkook finds especially irresistible. “Then you can keep your hands and lips off me for the rest of the night, Mr. Jeon.” You wiggle out of his grasp.

“That’s what I’ve been telling you for the past four years Ms. y/l/n. But you couldn’t stay away, could you? Just had to marry your hot professor, you naughty girl.” Jungkook grabs you again, pressing himself against your torso. You squeal at the contact. Married for two years and you’re still a blushing mess, get it together __!

“I wasn’t the one who was grabbing my student’s ass after class halfway through the first semester,” you quip, gripping his biceps. “I’m innocent.”

“Oh honey, nonono. You don’t get to play the role of a shy little angel who got eaten by her big bad wolf of a professor day one of university. You were already a master's student when we met. You knew what you were getting into when you started wearing tight little skirts to my class.”

You roll your eyes. “C’mon I had leggings underneath and I wore sweaters. If you’re accusing me of seducing you through my wardrobe then you have a very odd way of getting turned on.”

“Honey, how long have you known me? Sure tits and ass are cool and I won’t say no if you wanna show me.” You give a light shove on his shoulder at that, Jungkook chuckles. “But I have a doctorate in economics. Nothing catches my interest more than a studious individual like yourself studying all the angles of supply and demand. Plus, I liked your sweaters. Made me curious what you were hiding.”

“Oh stop it!” You end up giggling at your husband’s beyond-cheesy explanations. “How am I supposed to know my economics professor was ogling my teddy bear sweater for fuck sake?”

Jungkook throws his head back, feigning frustration. “It wasn’t a teddy bear sweatshirt. It was a bunny and it was very cute!”

“Whatever. Point is, I’m not the one to blame. I was a good student getting her master’s like her parents wanted until she found out her professor was sculpted from the gods themselves. Your shirts were barely fitting you. I swore they were going to bust one of those class periods.” You imagine the horrified look your peers would give. Not you though, you'd probably start drawing him. Shameless, really.

“As I recall that shirt-busting happened many times by your claws. I had to replace a dozen shirts in a month from how many you destroyed.” A pair of manly hands sensually trace down your sides. Jungkook leans forward, lips near your ear. “Seems like you had a lot of pent-up energy.” He nips your ear before peppering small kisses down your neck.

“You have no idea.“ You close your eyes, a moan escaping from you. "Professor–"

Jungkook grunts, suddenly suckling on the sensitive skin. “Mmm you haven’t called me that in a while. Kinda missed it”, he says, backing you up against the dresser. You were about to hop on top when your ass hit the edge but a rude, obnoxious ringing pulled Jungkook off you.

“Hey man!” Your husband answers the phone, a little too joyous in your opinion. You knew exactly who it was on the phone–Park Jimin. You bite your cheek, doing your best to keep down a sour face.

“Yeah let me ask __. Hold on.” Jungkook looks at you. “Honey, Jimin wants us to go out to dinner with the guys. You wanna go or stay in?”

Maybe, you think. You love Jimin but his dinners are usually quite elaborate. He always makes reservations to the fanciest restaurants in Seoul, and he required everyone to be dressed to the hills. It was fun now and then but did you have the energy for that tonight? Eh. What the hell. “Sure. What time?”

Jungkook passes on your inquiry before looking at you again. “6 p.m.” You nod in consent and walk to your closet, rummaging through your clothes for something Jimin-worthy. “Alright man, we’ll see you there. Yeah got it, k bye.” Jungkook hangs up the phone and watches you pull out dress shirts, pants, blazers, literally all your work clothes. “Found anything?” he pipes up.

You pull out a dark green dress, above knee-length, and gorgeously hemmed. “I’m pretty sure I wore this last time but–“

“Next," Jungkook interrupts. "Jimin will notice and you know how he gets when people wear the same outfit twice in a row.” your husband fiddles with through his own dresser drawers, yanking out an oversized t-shirt. You groan knowing all too well how tight Jimin ran this operation. One time Namjoon came in the same maroon dress shirt as before causing Jimin to have an absolute fit. He even made the man go home and change. Dinner was late that night.

“Yeah, you’re right.” You rummage through your closet again hoping to find something tucked in the back. There’s bound to be something. “Damnit, I thought I had more than this,” you grunt, finding nothing.

“Do we need to go on a last-minute shopping trip?” Jungkook throws on a pair of cargo pants.

You groan internally. Shopping isn't your favorite activity. It always took so long, and nothing was to your liking. You prefer online shopping but with only three hours until dinner and apparently nothing in your wardrobe, you suppose it's inescapable.

“Come on, honey.” Jungkook combs through his hair with a few fingers and grabs his wallet from the nightstand. “This is for Jimin."

"Alright, let me put some jeans on.” Jimin, you bougie little punk.

You view yourself in the dressing room mirror, a plum-colored dress adorning your body. This is the tenth dress you've tried on and to be honest, you feel pretty good in it. Nothing feels itchy, too snug, or out of place. The dress was a simple, strapless sheath dress and it fit you like a glove.

"__." Jungkook taps on the door. "You're not gonna like what I have to say but it's inevitable…there's been a change of plans."

"Okay," you reply with strain. "What is it?" You unlock the door to find your husband glancing down at his phone. It's a text from Jimin, you notice.

"Sorry for this but we're not going out for dinner tonight. Seokjin's daughter isn't feeling well so they're going to stay home. Yoongi also hasn't been able to get much time with his kids and wife lately so he's not coming either." Jungkook continues reading Jimin's text aloud. "I don't think we should go out without the whole party so I'm thinking about canceling our reservations."

Damn.

"You look beautiful," he says, catching your half-disappointed expression. "I'm sorry."

"It's no big deal," you sigh. "We'll eat in." From Jungkook's point of view, you were upset about wasting an hour and a half on shopping. He knew you'd much rather be back with your drawing pencils or watching a drama. He felt bad. The real reason, the one you think best to keep to yourself, however, is that hearing Jimin's text reminded you of Si-woo again. Further, it reminded you that nearly everyone in your friend group had at least one kid except you and Jungkook. Normally it didn't affect you though, so why did it today? Had the little kid from earlier really stuck with you that much?

"__? Everything alright?," Jungkook says. "I know we had plans and we've been shopping for a while but if you like the dress you should still get it. Jimin will have his dinner again and there will be other times you'll need it."

It takes you a moment but you reply, forcing a fake smile the best you can. "Oh yeah, yeah I'm good. I dazed off for a second there. I'll–I'll put the dress back actually."

Seeing through your facade, Jungkook lightly grips your arms. "If there's something you're not telling me I'd like to know, please?"

His endearing facial expression both soothes you and creates coils of nervousness in the pit of your stomach. You want to tell him what's up. You also want to pop the question that you've both been sweeping under the rug for the last two years. But how? Maybe you shouldn't. Maybe you're just in a mood today.

"Have–" You start but the rest of the words don't come out.

Jungkook waits for you to finish the sentence. "Have you thought of any ideas for dinner?" You stutter out. "'Cause I was thinking it’d be easier to order takeout tonight."

Eyes narrowing, your husband stares into your eyes. He's searching for any hint that you're bluffing–shifty eyes and such. You think he's caught onto you until his shoulders relax and eyebrows soften. "I was thinking the same thing. But also, I'm buying you this dress even if you don't. It's gorgeous on you and I know you want it. Now take it off and let's go find something to eat."

You manage to chuckle a "thank you" and slip back into the stall to change into your normal clothes. You feel a slight pang of guilt in your gut for not coming clean to him but you weren't sure if you were ready to tell him the truth no more than he'd be ready to hear it.

“Seriously honey.” Jungkook’s voice carries over the stall. “Are you really alright? Do you need anything?” You swallow hard at his persistence.

“I’m perfectly fine,” you reply. “Maybe a little hungry.” One day at a time __, you think.

You end up placing a dinner order at a local favorite nearby. You and Jungkook take it back to the apartment, curl up on the couch, and put a movie on. You nearly fall asleep after the first forty minutes because the plot is so utterly dry and quite frankly, boring. Jungkook seems to be enjoying it though so the movie plays the entire way through.

Still hardly paying attention, your mind drifts off to other affairs. You think about your upcoming work week, what to get for your best friend's birthday in the following few weeks, and the cute dog you saw yesterday, and of course, you loop back to the same lingering topic–your brief afternoon with Si-woo. Part of you wanted to take him home but Jungkook would have a fit, as well as you know...Si-woo's mother. You snort at how interested you've become in entertaining thoughts about children and taking care of them. As you've covered before, you aren't the mom type.

Si-woo and his mother looked very similar though. They shared the same hair color, eyes, and face shape. You wonder what his father looked. Did he have long hair too? Did he share the same lips? Before you can stop yourself from going further you wonder how identical your own child might be to you and Jungkook. Would your child love the arts like you or the social sciences like your husband? You suppose it could be a blend since you technically have a master's in economics yourself. You'd much rather be owning and operating an art museum or being a studio art professor but that's beside the point. Your child would be free to venture down their own path. That is if you have any.

You shift your eyes to Jungkook who's concentrating heavily on the movie. He's a wonderful husband, you sigh, full of love. No doubt he'd make a great father but did he want to? Jungkook never really mentioned it before and neither did you. When you first start dating you had a brief talk about children and building a family but you were still in school then and Jungkook was swamped with his teaching responsibilities. Children weren't something that either of you felt like you could handle at the time. After you'd gotten married there was an opportunity to discuss it again but you were both quite comfortable with it being just the two of you. Today is the first day you've shown any serious aversion to your comfortable lifestyle–you want a baby.

Once the credit scenes appear Jungkook feels your eyes burn through him from your lounged position. "You're making that face again," he says.

"There's no face."

"Yes there is."

"I don't think so."

Patience running thin, the tone in your husband's voice gets firmer. He's not angry but it's clear his temper is rising. You and Jungkook haven't had a spat in a while and you really don't want to start now. "I can see that there's something on your mind. It's the same one you had from the dressing room and I'm pretty sure it isn't about food this time."

"I don't know what you want me to say," you mumble tiredly. You sit up straight. "My face is my face."

"Honey, I know there's something going on that you're not telling me. Is this about that kid's mother from earlier? Because I'm certain it wasn't personal."

"No, it's not about that at all. It's just been a long week and I'm exhausted," you lie, yawning as if on queue. Jungkook grips the couch arm in agitation. He isn't sure what's going on but he isn't letting you go to bed without getting to the bottom of it.

"You're not having second thoughts about our marriage are you?" He throws the idea out there, hoping its obvious inaccuracy will push you to tell him the truth. You grimace at the guess.

"That's ridiculous!" You sneer. "How could you think that?"

"Well maybe because you're not telling me anything else?" Jungkook tosses his hands up. "I mean who knows, it could be anything. Was it the movie? Shopping? Are you horny? What the fuck is it?!" You jump at his sudden outburst.

"No it's none of those–"

"Look," Jungkook cuts shortly. "Will you just tell me so we can deal with it?!" You throw him a nasty look.

"Just deal with it? Like it's some kind of nuisance of an issue that needs treatment?" You jump up from the couch and head to your bedroom in a fury, your husband hot on your trail.

"I don't mean to be pissing you off, sweetheart but I know something's up." He follows you into the bathroom, watching you reach for your toothbrush. "Can you please slow down and talk to me?" He grabs the toothpaste before you can, forcing you to stop in your tracks. You feel your body starting to shake, eyes tearing up. You friggin' hate fighting and you hate being so unsure about telling him the truth–that you want a family. You're scared of his response most. What if he says no?

Realizing your nervous state, Jungkook takes a deep breath and softens his tone. He hates seeing you cry and he hates it even more when he's the one causing it. "I'm sorry honey." He steps towards you but you flinch away. You're not ready to be touched yet.

"I–I want...I want to be a mom. I want a baby." You wait for your husband's reaction and when it comes you instantly start bawling.

"A baby? What do you mean you want a baby?" Jungkook feels everything inside of him panicking. There's a reason he teaches economics to college students and not high schoolers or below. He doesn't do children, he isn't cut out for it. He'll babysit of his hyung's kids from time to time but at the end of the day, they aren't coming back home with him. Jungkook was sure his wife felt the same way but now? Now she's tearing up in front of him, scared to tell him she wants a child–one that will be his.

Jungkook takes you into his arms, his thumb wipes off some of your tears. "Honey, I'm sorry I didn't know. When you came home from the park I didn't realize that little boy meant so much to you." You try blinking back your tears but they keep running down your face. He's being gentle with you and you appreciate that but his choice of words tells you his answer is no. It's quiet, subtle, and cuts like a knife.

You break away from him to splash cold water on your face. The coolness calms your nerves. “He didn’t. Never–never mind what I said, sorry. I’m tired and I’m probably not thinking straight.” You leave the bathroom, leaving Jungkook scrambling for his thoughts.

A/N: Lmk what you think, tysm for stopping by 💞

Masterlist

#btshoneyhive #bangtanbathhouse #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #bts smut #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts au #fic:toolatetodream #kookslastbutton

2K notes · View notes

bwabys-scenarios · 1 year ago

Note

Sick Kurapika please🥹

WARNING: smut under the cut, creampies, hickies

It was just a cough, nothing really to be worried about. At least, that’s what Kurapika kept telling himself as he continued work.

‘Can’t get worried over a little cough. I’ll take some vitamins when I get back to the hotel…’

But the next morning, his cough turned into an awful cold. He had a runny nose, a fever, and a barking cough. Kurapika cancelled any plans he had for the next few days and called Leorio.

And Leorio called her.

The blonde laid in bed, absolutely miserable. He didn’t have the strength to get up to eat, going to buy himself some medicine was out of the question.

‘It should get better with time, I’ll just sleep it off…’

That’s what he thought before his hotel door opened. Kurapika sat up, wondering who the hell had a key to his room.

“(Name)?”

There she was, standing in the doorway, carrying a few grocery bags in her arms. “Hey, Pika. Leorio told me you were sick, so I came as quick as I could.”

He could feel his heart thump against his chest. He’d specifically asked Leorio NOT to tell her, knowing that she would come and possibly get sick too.

“I brought medicine, snacks, ingredients for chicken noodle soup, some high electrolyte drinks-“

“You should go, (Name).”

She tilted her head, setting down the grocery bags in the small kitchenette. “Why? I just got here.”

He played with his blanket, looking down. His cheeks were a faint pink, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the fever or because the woman he had a huge crush on was here to take care of him. “I… I don’t want you to get sick.”

She hummed, before walking over and standing next to him. He gave her a inquisitive glance when she leaned closer, then quickly pecked his lips.

“(N-Name)!?”

His face went red, the girl giggling. “Well, now it’s almost impossible for me to NOT get sick. Can I stay?”

Her face had heated up as well, and when she was looking at him with those pretty (e/c) eyes it was hard to deny her. “I guess it’s alright. But…”

She blinked. “But what?”

“But I’ll need another kiss.”

She grinned bashfully, giving him another kiss, this one reciprocated by the blonde. “How about another?”

“Please.”

After a few heated kisses, (Name) walked away to get started on the soup and prepare his medicine. Kurapika is as on cloud nine, fingertips pressed against his lips to try and keep the feeling of her lips on his.

———————

“Pika.”

He turned his head, cheeks pink.

“Pika, look at me. It’s just some cough medicine, you c-“

He shook his head rapidly. (Name) sighed. “It has a spider on its logo. I c-“

When he opened his mouth, she shoved the spoon full of medicine in we fast as she could, the blonde coughing as he choked it down.

“Ack, you didn’t have to do that! Yuck…”

He swatted her hand away, eyes narrowing as she sat next to him. “Yes I did. Your fever went up again, and if you didn’t take something I’d have to take you to the hospital.”

Kurapika twiddled his thumbs, looking down with a pout. If he wasn’t being so frustrating, (Name) would find him cute.

In the past hour, the blonde had gone from sweet and grateful, to a brat. She knew he was in pain, and the fever was making him a little delirious, so she didn’t fault him for it.

“Hate spiders…” he mumbled, crossing his arms.

“I know, Pika.”

“They’re gross.”

“Yes, you’ve said that many times. You can lay back down now.”

She kissed his forehead before tucking him in and heading back to the kitchen to check on the soup she was cooking.

He watched her go, eyes hazy and mind fuzzy from his fever. “Got a really cute butt, (Name)… wanna squeeze it.”

She stopped at this, turning her head to look at the blonde. His gaze was different, eyes half lidded as they stared at her ass. “P-Pika!?”

He blinked sleepily. “Hmm..? Your breasts too, look so soft…”

He yawned before turning over and drifting off to sleep.

Poor (Name) was stuck standing in the kitchen, her face hot as she wrapped her arms around herself. Now she was feeling hot and bothered.

‘He wants to… touch me?’

——————

Kurapika felt something cool drape over his forehand, the blondes eyes fluttering open to see (Name) hovering over him.

“(Name)?”

She smiled at him, seemingly moving something around on his forehead before pulling away. “Sorry for waking you, Pika. You were getting warm again, so I got a wet rag to help cool you off.”

He nodded slowly, smiling weakly. “Thank you, (Name). I’m already feeling some relief from the heat.”

He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “My angel, you’re too kind to me. Even when I’m being… unreasonable.”

His lips pursed slightly, before he began to kiss each of her fingertips. “Won’t you… help relieve me of my more intimate heat, love?”

He looked up at her through his eyelashes, smirking when he saw her flustered face. “W-what do you mean by that, Pika?”

He smiled against her palm. “You know what I mean, (Name). I know you’re not stupid, you can’t be oblivious to my advances.”

She did know what he was talking about. Besides him blatantly stating he wanted to touch her earlier, he’d been very… touchy the last few months. His touch lingered, eyes following her figure when she visited.

And she didn’t dislike it, no in fact (Name) quite liked his attention being on her.

“…”

She shyly glanced at him, slowly climbing into the bed to lie next to him. “Is that really what you want, Pika?”

His hands went to her waist immediately, pulling her flush against his body. “Yes, more than anything.”

She poked her lip out, thinking it over. She could feel his hard on poking her tummy, his lips moving to press kisses to her neck.

(Name) moved to sit in his lap, resting her butt against his bulge. “Pika, sweetheart, I doubt sex will help you feel any better. In fact since you’re sick, that kind of thing might strain-“

She felt him pin her down, gasping when the back of her head hit the plush pillow. He was already ripping off the sweatpants she’d been wearing, his cold hand cupping her clothed cunt. “Can handle that, not that sick.”

He hovered over her, face still red from his fever. Despite him being weaker than usual, (Name) was still unable to break away from his iron grip. And why would she want to, when her panties were growing wet from her own desire?

“Hmm…”

He let go of her pussy, pushing her panties to the side slightly to get a better look. “Wet already, and I haven’t even done anything.”

She pouted. “And you’re hard from just looking at me. Guess we were both wanting this…”

He hummed, slipping her panties off. “Need you, (Name).”

He was quick to pull his pajama pants down and press against her pussy, glancing up to stare at her through his eyelashes.

She wiggled a bit, trying to pull him closer. “Pikaa, put it in already.”

He laughed, leaning forward to give her a sloppy kiss. “Impatient, but that’s okay… I’m impatient too.”

He pushed, holding onto her hips as he bottomed out inside her.

For someone so sick, he was able to go for nearly three hours, pushing her legs against her chest as he sank into her cunt. After several creampies and too many kisses to count, (Name) was getting tired.

“Sleepy…” (Name) muttered into his neck. Kurapika pulled her in closer, peppering kisses all over her face and neck.

“Sorry, angel. Just a little longer, okay?”

She pouted, but allowed him to continue pounding into her puffy cunt. He kissed her nose, gently cupping her cheek. “You can take one more load, hmm?”

She whined. “But I’m so full…”

He cooed, reaching down to rub her clit again.

“Shh… just be a good girl, and take all the cum I can give you.”

——————

“Seriously!? You’re both sick now??”

Leorio tapped his foot against the ground angrily as he looked over the two. They were cuddled up together, looking miserable yet content at the same time.

“Sorry Leorio… couldn’t help myself.” (Name) said before descending into a coughing fit. The blonde patted her back, frowning.

“It’s my fault, I’m the one that got her sick with my selfish actions…”

Though, Kurapika didn’t regret the night they spent together…

The dark haired man pinched the bridge of his nose, wearing a mask over his face. “Should have known sending (Name) was a bad idea. Can’t keep your hands to yourself, can you blondie?”

They both blushed, (Name) not even attempting to hide the love bites decorating her neck.

He sighed, rolling up his sleeves. “Alright, I’m here now. (Name), did you make that soup?”

She nodded slowly, a pout on her lips. “Yes… sorry Leorio.”

He patted her head, the woman being pulled into Kurapika’s arms.

“Ungrateful brat.” Leorio said, flipping of the blonde.

The two spent the next two days being tended to by Leorio, clinging to each other. They were nearly inseparable.

Once they were better, Kurapika kissed the top of her head. “Does this mean we’re…”

She nodded. “Yes, Pika. We’re together now.”

He smiled against her hair. “Forever?”

A giggle left her lips, making the blondes heart race.

“Forever.”

457 notes · View notes