#all this to say. leaving the pain behind is more complex than it seems. it's a slow and shitty process

[cursingtoji]

𓆩𖥟𓆪 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐑 — Geto is a thoughtful leader who uses visual resources to help his followers learn, and tonight you get to play a part. #Cult-tober.

< Part 1 - Contradiction

— cw: religious imagery but no specific religion, exhibitionism, emotional manipulation, god complex, public nudity, fingering, unprotected, oral (f -> m), sex cult behaviour. 3k words.

— note: did my research on cults for this one, also based on this request.

“Come here” you hear his voice after calling your name, the tone gives you chills.

You know better than to fear him, this is not the first time he calls you to the main room of the temple — a place that has become the closest thing you can call a home now. This room in particular is already very known to you, so why the fear? Can’t you remember the familiar feeling of the tatami under your knees? What about against your cheek? Wasn’t worth the pain of having your face rubbing on it while your master roughly thrusted into your behind? You do recall his pitiful smile when he realized what the mat had done to the soft skin of your face, right? He kissed it so tenderly while holding you like you were made of glass, a glass he didn’t mind breaking a few minutes prior to that, but now, glass.

So what’s wrong now?

Except for the dozens of followers sitting on their knees in that same room right now. How come you never saw that many people before? And more importantly, why are you seeing them now?

A few hours ago, he left you two things along with a note with the time and place you had to be. Those things are: a sheer black lace mask, very delicate fabric meant for your eyes, the type of thing you could picture a woman using in a ball in the 1800s, and a yukata, a simple one. You thought it was weird he didn’t leave an obi — the belt to tie up the yukata, so you took one from your own drawer to complete the traditional piece.

The mask is clearly not part of it, but you know better than to question him. Besides, the note is clear, you must wear nothing but those things. Nothing.

The room you thought you knew now seems strange and gloomy, it’s nighttime so there’s only a few candles lightening it up, there’s an essence burning somewhere the smell is weak but it’s there.

Geto in all his glory sits in his altar, his feet are up in the mat, unlike everyone else sitting on their legs. He has the pose of a deity and clearly that is what everyone thinks too.

Your bare feet touch the tatami, slowly approaching the altar and feeling the dozen pairs of eyes upon you, the offsetting lighting doesn't allow you to see their faces, which is probably for the best, yet Geto’s was lit up as if the sun itself rose for him and him only.

“Look at her, when I met her she was sick, this beautiful lady had a disease. I tried to look away, she was too far gone, but what did I do instead, sweet child?”

“You saved my life” you respond without batting an eye, your mind feels cloudy.

“Kneel” you obey taking place beside him.

Maybe he is a deity after all.

Just that day you were having a conversation with the twins. They had so many questions, especially after seeing you hurt by some curse, so many why’s leaving their little mouths.

“It doesn’t matter!” your voice rose for the first time since taking them in your embrace “If Geto-sama says it’s day and the sky is dark, it’s day. If he says it’s night when you can see the sun, you go to bed because you sleep when it’s night, understood?”

Sometimes you barely recognize the voice that leaves your lips. Scolding is something you never saw yourself doing, not to the girls you loved more than anything.

In your situation one would assume this behavior is driven by fear, what would Geto do if he found out your girls were questioning his actions? They cannot possibly care more about this non-sorcerer in front of them. Never.

But those people would be wrong. Fear does make you do what you do. Love does.

Only love makes you stay put in front of him when he unties your yukata, love has you looking him in the eye even while the disapproval for the presence of the obi is evident.

Geto makes you sit facing him, his stunning image much more welcoming than the unlighted audience, he’s big enough for you to understand can still see the quiet crowd behind you. His calloused hands touch your shoulders under the yukata, the soft touch is enough to warm up your entire body as he slowly revells a skin decorated by some few bruises, some caused by curses, some caused by gods, well… one god.

“She’s still not cured, I don’t know if she’ll ever be” he doesn’t have to project his voice too much in the quiet room, the hot breathing fans over your face, “But I’ll keep trying nevertheless” he says more quietly.

Geto’s hand goes between your legs and you have trouble keeping your sounds to yourself. His hand is big, and the space between your closed legs — while you’re still sitting on them — and your core is narrow, Geto has to be a little rough to get where he wants to.

And he always gets what he wants.

Your face is warm, breathing erratically but still… you’re not panicking even given the disturbing setting. It’s all due to him, if it was anyone else you would be screaming right now, fighting your way out of this.

Geto starts to stroke your folds with his fingers while talking about sins, the best thing you can do is shut your little brain from overthinking everything he says and taking it as personal.

However, what is left to do when he keeps going on and on about undeserving ones while teasing your fluttering hole? You can’t even look him in the eye, just keep staring his throat as he speaks. Your gasp interrupts him when he inserts a finger, both your hands to your mouth, you were distracted enough to forget this was obviously the next step.

Geto snaps his eyes back to you, not glad about the interruption, yet he resumes his speech so he can go on with his plans.

Your hands remain on your closed mouth, not wanting to make the same mistake again. Geto adds another finger and starts scissoring you, which worries you slightly, you thought this was merely a play for the followers, an exhibition of power, but the stretching he’s doing indicates he plans to go all the way. That and the erection under his haori, which you should’ve led you to suspect his intentions from the beginning since he’s never presented himself to his followers without all the layers of his traditional clothing.

Geto removes his fingers, straightening his posture as he finishes his sentence, he pats his lap and you find his eyes, they are predatory, from then on you’re dealing with Geto-sama, not Suguru.

You’re already undoing the ropes that tie his haori just like he did to you a few minutes ago. He’s bare under the fabric, dick is tall and hard, the leaking tip shines under the orange glow of the candlelight as you align it with your entrance.

“If you can’t control your urges, they’ll control you” he claims, hands behind your knees, his voice is steady but the grip he has on you tells it’s hard to control himself too.

“No person or thing should control you… except for me” the last part is whispered for your ears only. You bottom out on him, needing a moment to recover, not just from the stretch on your lower half but from his words and by how willing you are to let him control you.

Especially when he puts his hand on your head, pressuring slightly guiding you to his neck. He keeps his hand there, caressing your hair as you relax on his hold, like he’s comforting someone who's just lost a dear relative, not a simple villager he spared and is now balls deep inside dozens of followers.

With a sharp pinch on your thigh Geto signs you to start moving, you arch your back and raise your hips to slide out of his cock till only the tip is left then sitting back. Since the yukata was not fully removed, it stays on you, sleeves pooling on the middle of your arms, the rest serves as a curtain, keeping the audience from viewing the junction of you and your savior.

You busy your mouth by kissing and sucking his neck, he gives your hair a discreet pull, a warning to not mark him, guess it would be bad for his reputation if his beloved sorcerers find out he’s whipped by a good-for-nothing human.

All they know — as far as Geto is concerned —, is that you’re his little pet, kind of a 3 for the price of 2 after he took in the twins, a package deal he simply had to accept.

Whatever, you don’t care about them anyways. As long as they’re treating your girls as one of their own, it doesn’t matter how they treat you. Geto, Mimiko and Nanako are all you need to be content with your life.

Geto should limit himself from touching you, his fingers shouldn’t be tracing the little marks and scratches on your back.

“You are not perfect, mistakes will happen, that’s why you need someone to guide you” he talks to the audience, his chin resting on your shoulders as the tip of his fingers run over each trauma and imperfections on your back. At this point — with his dick reaching such a sweet spot inside your walls —, you are not sure if he’s still indirectly talking to you, but something makes you think he’s talking to himself, about you.

Is it such a delusional thought? That you are the one guiding him and not the other way around? You thighs clench around him, the awkward feeling in your chest start to bring clarity to your pleasure blurred mind and you start to look around reflecting on your situation.

Geto relizes something switched in your dumb little head, you do that sometimes, look around with wide eyes and heavy breathing. Suguru remembers the days in jujutsu tech, when he was confused, consumed by the trauma and unsure about his future. Why did you make him remember that? Your chest is rising rapidly, he doesn’t want you to panic, that’s not supposed to happen under his watch.

You’re taken from his lap.

“You love me, don’t you?” Suguru holds your chin bringing your focus to him, only him. You nod slowly, admiring his sculpted face by the candlelight, “Then what are you afraid of?”

You search your mind for all the reasons to be afraid right now, shouldn’t be hard, all you need is to look around and remember why you’re here.

Yet his hazel eyes don’t allow you to find any of those reasons, somehow your heart doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.

“Don’t you trust me?” he rubs your chin and you nod again, “Show me” you blink confusingly, “Show me how much you love me.”

You’re sitting on your knees as your eyes trail down where his member is still hard, it glistens with your juices and throbs slightly, the sight is too irresistible.

So you bow to your savior, taking him fully into your mouth, the position giving the closest thing to a privacy moment, where you could pretend it’s just you and Suguru like in the late nights in his chamber.

“There you go” he sighs happily patting your head, not putting any pressure, like what you’re doing is not sexual at all.

It’s merely a form of adoration. And Geto deserves being adored.

Naturally, you take him as deep as you possibly can, focusing your best in worshiping every inch of his skin, putting as much love into it as you can, not even minding the emptiness on your lower half or how you’re dripping on the mat.

There’s a buzz in your ear, you know Geto is talking, finishing his speech probably, but you can’t actually hear him, feels like hearing someone talking from a distance.

The last thing you remember is the hot shot on the back of your throat and the member twitching in your mouth. You think you heard Geto moan, which brings a weird feeling in your stomach since, as far as you know, you’re supposed to be the only one to hear that. His thumb goes to your chin, whipping the saliva and cum, pushing you to release him, you do, but you keep kissing his soft length until the smell of him mixed with the candles and something only this room had made you black out.

Phenomenal.

A word that resumes what Geto thinks about your performance tonight. If he gave you a script it wouldn’t have played out so perfectly.

Sometimes Geto underestimates how willing you are to be controlled by him.

When everything is done, he takes you into his arms, after wrapping the Yukata back around your body, he raises to his feet and steps down from his small stage carrying you.

There’s a door behind the stage, passing the curtains, which he usually uses as entrance and exit. Yet that night he feels like walking through the audience, with a pretty little thing unconscious on his mighty arms and a bunch of loyal followers bowing on his feet he experiences being, truly, a god.

#— cult-tober #geto x reader #geto x female reader #geto suguru #suguru x y/n #cult leader!geto #geto smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut

[from-the-clouds]

savior complex - joel miller x f!reader

masterlist | song inspo | gif: @joelmjller

All the skeletons that you hide Show me yours, I'll show you mine

summary: Joel shows up at your doorstep, battered and bruised. Despite the bad blood between you, do you have the heart to turn him away? Enemies to lovers. Takes place pre-television series/game. Was written as a companion piece/prequel to my other joel fic, but can be read on it's own. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, dirty talk, implied age gap. Enemies to lovers. Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, implied death of a family member, canon-typical suffering! Descriptions of injuries, blood, stitches (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: I haven't seen the enemies to lovers trope written for joel yet, and I'm also obsessed with the trope of a character showing up at their enemies house because they don't have any place to go. So maybe this is a little self-indulgent. Special shoutout to @ay0nha for letting me talk to you about this fic! Please enjoy, I'm really proud of/excited about this one.  ♥

“What do you want?” 

The ice in your own voice comes as a surprise. You weren’t sure you were even capable of sounding so cold, but it’s probably a good skill to have nowadays. Plus, he’s probably the last person you expect to see, and certainly the last person you want to see standing in your doorway.

“I need your help,” he says. 

You snort, lips pressing together in a bitter smile. “Uh-huh.”

It’s so dark in the hallway, you can barely see his face, but you can imagine what Joel might look like, lines etched in his face from the permanent frown he’s always wearing, particularly when dealing with you. You’ve known him a handful of years, here and there, and you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen him smile….or laugh…or display any emotion other than irritation, or indifference. 

The breeze from your open window shifts your curtains to the side, lets a sliver of light from the full moon pan over him, and you can see him clearly, just for a second. 

He’s covered in blood. 

It’s hard to see exactly how much, but it’s all over his face, his shirt, and accompanied by dirt and grime. One of his hands hangs limp at his side, his opposite clenched into a tight fist. The breeze dies down, the curtain falls back into place, and he’s cast once more in shadow. 

Crossing your arms, you lean against the doorframe. Anyone else, you’d help without question. At one point, you would’ve let him in willingly. But it had been months since you’d last spoken, and you had no intentions of ever seeing him again.

“Why should I help you?” 

He lowers his eyes, looks at the floor. When he answers, his voice is strained. 

“Because I have nowhere else to go.”

The more your eyes adjust in the dim light, the more you can see. Tattered clothes, rain dripping from the tips of his salt-and-pepper curls, his eyes dull. You wonder if he’s trying to make himself look like a kicked puppy, petulant and pathetic, but it doesn’t really seem like something Joel would do.

“Please?” 

He’s in pain, you can read it on his face, and you wonder if it’s because of his injuries, or because of how horrible it must be for him to beg you for help. Historically, it’s always been you in his place, needing something – and if it didn’t serve his interests, he’d leave you in the dust. Joel never made exceptions, no matter the circumstances, despite how long you’d known one another. With that to consider, you have every right to turn him away. You should feel satisfied, seeing him so desperate. You wished you could feel satisfied, but you didn’t.

“Fine.” You let him in. What is it about him that always makes you cave? 

Pulling a chair away from your small kitchen table, he staggers behind you, favoring his right foot, bracing himself on any surface he walks past – the doorframe, the countertop, the table, until he finally lowers himself into the chair.  

You cross the room. It takes most of your bodyweight to shift the couch in the corner of the room away from the vent behind it, and you kneel down. Air conditioning and heat are a thing of the past, but it’s got other purposes now. Using a blade of the knife you always keep handy, you’rable to pry the metal grate away from the wall, to pull out a tin tackle box that you haven’t had to touch in awhile. 

Joel’s still at the table when you return to him, breathing labored, and you flick on the lights. He blinks, his eyes are on you, you can feel the way his body is pinched with nervous energy – like a starving feral cat that’s been trapped in a cage, and still can’t decide if it trusts you yet. As if you’d ever done anything to hurt him. If anything, you should be scared.

“Alright,” you say. “Let me take a look at you.”

His eyes have shifted away from your face, but, too proud to cast them down, he’s glaring at some fixed point behind you, glazing over. He doesn’t want to register what is actually going on. It doesn’t stop you from the task at hand, and you begin to take inventory of his injuries.

“So what happened?” you ask. He’s got a black eye forming, several small cuts all over his face, one of which is slicing through his bottom lip, causing it to swell.

“It’s none of your business,” he quips.

“It’s precisely my business, if you want me to be able to actually help you.” 

“A deal went wrong,” he said. “I was in someone else’s territory. They said rather than turning me into FEDRA, they’d let me off easy.”

“This is being let off easy?” you ask, then cluck your tongue. 

Joel doesn’t answer. 

“And that?” you eye the bump forming on his opposite temple. 

“It’s nothing,” he says, even though, when you graze a thumb over it, he swallows hard. 

“You’re gonna need to be more specific.”

“Got uh, shoved into a brick wall.”

You slide two fingers underneath his chin, using light pressure to tilt his face towards you. “Look at me.” When you’re staring at him like this, studying him closely, you’re forced to acknowledge how handsome he is. Even battered and bruised, it’s the dark, sad eyes, sharp jawline, long lashes that draw you in. He’s hardened by the world he’s been surviving in for twenty years, like everyone is, but he wears it well. You’d never tell him that. 

“Any blurry vision, dizziness?” You aim your flashlight in his eyes, and his pupils constrict. 

“No,” he says. You study him a moment more, and know what to look for. But you don’t find anything of concern.

“Well, I don’t think you have a concussion,” you say. “But I’ll keep an eye on it…..What else happened?” 

“Got me with a knife.” That is what you’ve been the most concerned with since he’s stepped inside. There’s a dark stain blooming on his shirt, just below his left ribcage

“I see,” you say, stepping back. “Take your shirt off.” You open the tin that you left on the table.

It’s full of medical supplies, ones you’d pocketed from the QZ hospital the last few years working there. It’s not easy to sneak them out, nor is it entirely ethical, but you’ve gotten pretty good at it, and now have a decent sized stash built up in case of any emergencies. You’re still deciding if Joel Miller’s well-being is worth the waste of supplies it’s going to be.

When you turn back to him, he has unbuttoned his shirt, but is struggling to shrug it off his right shoulder, where his arm hangs limp at his side. 

“I….” he manages….”I can’t move my arm.”

“Sit up,” you instruct, and he does, which gives you room to slide the rest of his shirt off his shoulder. You immediately notice the obvious deformity. “Looks dislocated.” 

He nods, looking at the floor. “I was trying to defend myself.”

The idea of him, outnumbered and outmaneuvered, a position he’s so rarely in, is unpleasant. He might be an asshole, but because of it, he always comes out on top. There’s something almost comforting about that kind of consistency these days, and it’s tough to stomach the idea that he doesn’t have superpowers, he’s just another person. You’re not sure why you still hold him in such high regard.

You can’t dwell on it. Especially because what’s more pressing is the cut below his ribs, a few inches in length. It’s still bleeding, but not severely. It’s not a stab wound either, even though it’s deeper than you’d expected, but there’s no internal organ damage.

You take a clean cloth and place it over the wound, guiding his left hand overtop it. “You’ll need stitches.” You slide your hand from underneath his, ignoring the warm weight of his touch. “But we need to stop the bleeding. Apply pressure.” He does, and winces.

“You don’t have anything for the pain?” you ask, raising your eyebrow. 

“Front pocket of my shirt,” he says. You fish out a pill. Oxys. You’re not sure how strong they are, and you don’t want to encourage the habit, but this might be a case where he actually needs one. 

There’s a glass of water already sitting on the table, and you grab it, standing over him. Neither of his arms are free to accept the offering.

“Open up.”

He glowers at you like a defiant child. 

“Are you serious?” you tilt your head. “Come on.”

Reluctantly, he opens his mouth, and you tilt your hand to drop the pill in and lift the glass of water to his lips. 

When you’re done with that, it’s time to work on his shoulder. You had done this a few times before, even once to your mother, who had also been a doctor. Med schools didn’t exist anymore, but you didn’t need a degree now to provide care, at least not in this QZ…just experience. And your mother had taught you everything she knew. Before your part of town fell to the virus, she’d even had you reading her old textbooks. So you felt like you were only missing the degree.

You pull up a chair to face him, so close it’s touching the corner of his own, and sit, carefully taking his injured arm and bending it upwards with one of your thumbs in the crease of his elbow, your opposite hand wrapped around his wrist until his forearm is resting against your chest. 

It’s way more intimate than you want it to be, but you don’t have much of a choice. His jaw is set so hard you think he might crack a tooth. “So sometimes, if you relax your muscles enough, you can actually get the shoulder back into place that way.”

You release his wrist and reach out to knead the muscles around the problem area - his chest, his shoulder, in between his shoulder blades. He tilts his head back in the chair, his face pinched. 

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Just don’t hold your breath, that makes it worse.”

Joel hates this, you can tell. How often does he have to rely on someone so much to help him, that he lets them touch you like you are, lets them see him vulnerable? 

As much as you can, you avoid eye contact, looking down. You didn’t need to see him shirtless before to know that he’s muscular – not perfectly cut, but that isn’t really your thing, anyways. He looks good enough that your eyes are being drawn to places they shouldn’t be, down his torso to the v-lines dipping into the waistband of his jeans. He clears his throat, and you turn to find him watching you. You hope he can’t feel the way your heart is hammering against the back of his hand. 

It’s been a few minutes that you’re trying to get him to relax, but he can’t seem to. You should’ve known that this method wasn’t going to work for him of all people.

“Okay, I’m just going to try to move your arm a bit, see if that’ll work instead.”

He nods.

“Just keep breathing,” you instruct. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.” you slowly guide his elbow forward, still keeping traction. 

He hisses. “Relax,” you soothe. It’s hard, despite the bad blood between you, to resist the urge to be warm, gentle. To reassure. It’s in your nature, it’s part of your job.

Eventually, and with a little patience, you’re able to get the joint to move back into place, and you check to be sure Joel is able to move it on his own. He can, even though it’s sore. You fashion him a sling made out of an ace bandage. 

“You’re probably gonna be a little sore for a while, so take it easy.” It’s probably a useless instruction to give because you know he won’t take it easy. 

He has a sprained ankle, and you wrap it up, elevate it. There’s a near-perfect footprint left behind in dirt on the skin there. Like someone had stomped on his leg hoping to break it. You’re glad they failed.  

Next is the stitches. There’s a few cuts on his body that need one or two, but you start with the big one. The wound has stopped bleeding, so you disinfect it, pull out your tools, and begin working, bent over him. Every time the needle pierces his skin, he tenses. You wonder if the one oxy was enough, or if it hardly touched the pain because he’s using them so often.

The entire time you’re treating him, you’re trying to be as clinical as possible. You’ve got to focus because if you think too much about him, you think about the last interaction you shared, and how pathetic you’d been. And the fact that he’d thought to come to you of all people for this makes your head spin. It’s not supposed to. You aren’t supposed to feel these things for him. You aren’t supposed to owe him anything.

Joel’s fist curls so tightly into itself that his knuckles turn white, fingernails leaving crescents in the skin of his palms. “Kind of feels like you’re making this as painful as possible.”

You smirk slightly. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

He sniffs, and you glance up to see him looking down at you, the ice that had been in his gaze before has thawed.

You squint at him, try to act indifferent, and turn your attention back to the stitches. “Don’t worry, I’m almost done.” 

“Thank fucking-”

“Shhh, you’re distracting me.”

His hand relaxes slightly as you keep working, slow and methodical, silence casting like a spell. 

“Why me?” you ask, finally.

“What?”

“Why did you come here? To me?” you pause. “It’s been forever. You’ve got Tess, right? Couldn’t she help you?”

Joel rubs his aching shoulder. “I didn’t want to scare her,” he answers. “And…I know you’re used to handling this kind of thing.”

“Uh-huh,” you say. “I am.”

One of you should probably acknowledge what had happened. But it won’t be me, you think.

“There,” you tie off the last stitch, and cover the wound with some gauze and a waterproof bandage. “You’ll probably need antibiotics. I’ll try to snag some from the hospital tomorrow.” 

Once you’ve fixed the most pressing issues, you focus on cleaning all the cuts and bruises on his face, his torso, cleaning and wrapping his bloodied knuckles. It’s probably been at least two hours since he arrived when you finally draw away from him, your surgical gloves snapping as you pull them inside-out, and off your hands, discarding them on the table, which is now littered with bloodied gauze, bandage wrappers, and medical supplies. You wish you had more ice packs than just the one for his shoulder and ankle, since he could use them just about everywhere, but it’ll have to do. 

“Could use a drink after all that,” Joel says, looking at his hands, flexing his fingers. 

“Don’t push it,” you answer, scraping the mess off your kitchen table into a bin. It dawns on you that you do have a half-empty bottle of bourbon sitting in your cabinet that’s surprisingly good. “But now that you mention it….” 

He snorts, the closest thing to a laugh you’ve ever heard. 

You pour a few fingers of whiskey into two glasses, sliding one across the table to him. Neither of you clink glasses, but you do eye each other over the rims of your cups as you take the drink in one go.

Joel places his empty on the table. “I should get out of here.”

“In your shape, it might be better to wait for light.” As much as he won’t admit it, you know he’s still weak, not in his right mind, and vulnerable to any FEDRA agents working the streets. “But I have to sleep, I’ve got work in the morning.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t fight you. 

You curl yourself up on the couch, that is old and worn but still surprisingly comfortable. Joel sits at the table awhile more, and has one more drink. After all the activity of the night, you’re out within minutes. 

Joel drags himself over to the bed, which you’d never offered him directly, but he assumed to take since you were on the couch. He doesn’t think he’ll sleep, but he can’t sit upright in your uncomfortable kitchen chair anymore. Every part of his body aches. Your bed is in the corner, neatly made, even though it’s just threadbare sheets and a blanket. His never is, and he finds it ridiculous you must waste the time at the beginning of your day for something like that.

He sprawls across it, surprised at its comfort. A breeze coming through the open window drifts your curtains to the side, and he catches a glimpse of the full moon. Between the liquor, and the pills, the pain has subsided enough that he’s able to relax a little. The sun will be up soon. He just has to wait…

— — — — — —

The next thing Joel hears is your voice, muffled by the buffer of your front door. He looks at the clock next to your bed, it’s early in the evening. The sunlight trickling through the gaps of your curtains is golden, a slanting orange glow in the corner of the room. The window is closed. Fuck. Did he really sleep all day? He uses his good arm to shield his eyes from the offending light before stretching. 

Sheets on top of him rustle, he must have climbed under them at some point the night before.

It feels like he’s been hit by a freight train, and he groans. Pain drips through him, settles in his shoulder, his side, his head. His mouth is dry, and he sees a full glass of water next to him, two white pills. He couldn’t remember you leaving that morning, but it had to have been you who left them there. Who else would it have been? Without thinking, he indulges. 

There’s a note scrawled on a scrap of paper underneath the pills. He picks it up with his free arm, the other one still wrapped in a sling. 

– Take pain meds

– Ice shoulder, eye, temple, ankle

– Change dressing

– LEAVE

The last word is underlined twice. He exhales, letting his head drop back against the pillows, until it snaps to attention….you’re still outside, but your voice has gotten louder, more animated. You’re talking to someone….no…..you’re raising your voice at someone. He can’t make it out through the door, and for all the bad things he could say based on the nature of your relationship, he knows that you don’t often lose your temper. 

‘I think you should leave,’ he catches the end of what you’re saying and is immediately jolted out of the fog of discomfort, leaving your note on the bedside table.

He’s crosses the room, ignoring the protest of pain from his ankle, hears a man’s voice respond, but just a snippet – ‘stupid fucking bitch’ – and he’s throwing open the door, nearly trampling you, since you’re pressed against the threshold with your arms around your backpack, eyes wide. 

When Joel follows your gaze, he spots a man about your age standing a few feet away, chest puffed out and chin up. 

“Joel,” you say, and he’s taken aback by your tone – relief. He’s never heard you say his name like that. Somewhere, in a small part of his brain he doesn’t want to acknowledge, he thinks he might like to hear you say it again. 

“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” the guy tilts his head back to look up at Joel, giving him a once over, and steps backward in consideration. 

Instead of correcting him, you say nothing. 

“What’s going on here?” Joel asks, and you lower your arms, move your shoulders back, standing up straighter as you turn to look at him.

“Ben was just leaving,” you say. 

“Sounds like a good idea,” Joel answers. His hand instinctively comes to rest on your shoulder – reverent, protective. He knows he’s in no shape to get into a fight right now, but he’s significantly larger than the other man, and figures that alone will be enough of a deterrent.

Ben notices, and nose curls into a snarl, rolling his eyes. “Fine, whatever. He’s like…old enough to be your dad,” he mumbles under his breath.

You don’t answer, just stare with contempt as he retreats down the hallway. Once Ben has turned the corner, you step into your place, Joel’s hand falling from your shoulder. 

“Who was that?”

“Just some guy from work,” you say, sounding uninterested, dropping your backpack onto your kitchen table.

“How often does he–?”

“Let’s not get into it,” you shake your head as you pull open the curtains, sunlight casting warmth all over the room, specks of dust glittering in the air. But he wants to know more. He’s tried to ignore all the suffering that isn’t his own since the world went to shit, but he’s at least aware of how dangerous it is to be a woman, living on her own.

“I didn’t think you’d still be here, did you sleep all day?” 

Joel doesn’t answer.

“You probably needed it.”

You disappear into the bathroom, and Joel sees a rush of light through that door, the creak of a window opening. “I brought the antibiotics, they’re in my bag,” you say when you exit, hands on your hips. “You’re not feeling feverish, are you?”

Joel shakes his head no, and sits back down on the bed. 

“Well that’s good,” you go to the counter. “Hey, if you need to shower here, it’s probably better because I can dress your wound before you go. I was actually thinking today about how you would definitely fuck it up if you tried to do it youself.”

He rolls his eyes at the insult, but answers. “That’s fine.”

You’re making yourself something to eat. He notices a polaroid on your bedside table. It’s two kids – a girl and a younger boy, her arms around him – their lips curled into identical smiles. When he looks closer, he realizes the girl is you. 

Please? My brother is sick, he’s in a lot of pain, you had said, on your knees in front of him, swallowing hard. Your fingers were curled in his belt loops, the cold steel button of his jeans pressed into your chin, so close he thought it might leave a permanent mark. In one of your hands was a wad of credits, only a couple short of what he’d asked you for in exchange for the pills. I’ll do anything you want me to.

Of course he wanted you, how could he not? He wondered if you knew that already, and were just trying to take advantage of his weakness. Or maybe you were just that desperate. It didn’t matter either way. He can’t do it. Not like this, he thought. 

No, is his answer.

He stepped backwards, away and you still tried to cling to him. Sensing his reluctance, you continued to talk.  Joel, whatever you want. I’ll do whatever, please…it’s nothing. Eventually, he slipped from your grasp, and you fell back to your heels. He left you there, and he didn’t look back.

The memory is burned into his brain, and has followed him to sleep more times than he’d be willing to admit. He swallows hard, and you’re standing in front of him with an opened jar of applesauce and a spoon against your lips. “Are you looking through my shit?” you ask. 

“It was sitting out.” 

You snatch the photo from his hand so quickly that one of your nails knicks his thumb, shoving it in your back pocket and jerking your head towards the bathroom. “Hurry, I can’t be up late like last night.”

The shower feels nice, even if the pressure is shit and the water is cold. He still has blood caked under his fingernails that he can’t seem to fully eradicate even after scrubbing them against his palms. He slips back into his jeans when he’s done, and he notices a clean shirt has been left on the bed when he exits. 

“You done?” your voice calls. There’s the sound of a book snapping shut, your weight shifting on the couch. “I want my bed back.”

Joel grunts an affirmation, and you round the corner with the tin of medical supplies from the night before, discarding what you were reading on the foot of the bed. “This’ll take two minutes. Let me see.” Pausing in front of him, you press your fingers, a little experimentally, along his ribs, peering closer to examine your work. “Oh, this looks good. It should heal nicely.”

“It doesn’t feel good.”

“Uh-huh, but it’ll get better. Give it time.”

He sits down while you shimmy out of your flannel shirt. You begin to work, quietly, quickly, and at first, he tries to look away, at the top of the bedside table where you’ve placed a bag of antibiotics and a fresh glass of water. The note that was there earlier, with instructions on how to take care of himself in your absence, that also told him to LEAVE, is gone. He gives in and turns back to you, knelt between his legs like it’s nothing, pressing an adhesive bandage across the wound. 

He’s not sure why he had expected you to be cruel. You should be cruel, he knows that, but you aren’t. Your touch is confident, firm, and surprisingly tender. It must be muscle memory, he thinks, because he’s never known you to be sweet. Maybe he hadn’t been paying close enough attention.

“There,” you say, pulling away. “Now, I’d recommend changing that once a day at least, if you can. Take an antibiotic once a day, and make sure you do the full course. Ice your elbow, eye, ankle, all that every couple hours. Also, you should really use a sling for at least a month-”

“No.” He knows he won’t do any of those things, can’t really afford to between work, life, and resources.

“Suit yourself.”

“I will.”

You don’t scoff or roll your eyes at him or try to convince him why he should, and it’s like a peace offering. I could fight you on this, because I’m smart, but I won’t. It’s everything you’re saying, but you’re silent, and you sit on the edge of your bed a foot or two away, poking your fingers into the laces of your boots, untying them. 

“I’m sorry.”

Joel says it before he can stop himself. He can’t remember the last time he’s said those two words.

You balk at him. “For what?” 

Everything. “Your brother.”

“Oh,” you say, focusing back on your feet, pulling them out of your boots and pressing your thumbs into each arch. You shrug, shake your head.  “Yeah, well….I’m just glad he’s not in pain anymore.” 

“Yeah.”

“...And at least it wasn’t….you know…” The infection. 

He nods, takes a beat.

“I should get going,” Joel says, his hands on his knees. “The next time you need something-” 

“Uh-huh,” you cut him off tersely. “Right.”

“All I’m saying is that I owe you one.”

“You really think I believe that, coming from you?” You snort, shake your head, and reach to pat his leg in a patronizing way, until his hand lands atop your own. He thinks it might make him feel better, to see if your reaction to his touch gives anything away. But it doesn’t. Everything about you is rigid, cool. 

“I’m sorry….about that night,” he decides, purposely changing the subject. “But I don’t make exceptions.”

“Right. Then, I guess I’m a fool for doing this,” you gesture towards him, with your free hand - all the work you’d done. 

Joel shakes his head no, fingers tightening around your hand, clasping it hard. He’s sure, or at least he hopes, somehow, you can see it. That this isn’t a jab, that he means it. 

I’m sorry. 

You look down at where his hand is squeezing yours, and he watches your throat work once. 

“No,” he begins. “You just have every reason to hate me.”

A wistful smile crosses your face, but it’s hard to decipher what it means. To him, you’re still unreadable, even staring right at him. Most people avoid Joel’s eyes at all costs, but not you. You slide your hand out from underneath his, and he thinks for a second you’re going to retaliate. His body is facing yours, his hair is still damp, dripping onto his bare skin. It doesn’t stop you from placing your hands on either one of his shoulders, and learning forward. 

The white tank top you’re wearing clings to every curve of your body, except where it’s shifted off your shoulder, revealing a black bra strap. It’s intoxicating to have you this close. You must be able to hear the way his heart picks up, thuds heavy against his ribs, being so close to him.

“You think I hate you…” you say quietly, voice a low murmur, tilting your head, studying him. “That’s why you want me, isn’t it?”

This is why he’s never liked you. That uncanny ability to stare right through him, crack open the camera, spool out the film. 

“Isn’t it?” you prompt, when all he can offer is silence.

Of course it is. It is always easier when hate is involved. Hate bolds the blurry lines, boils everything down to its simplest point – that’s all that this would be, just two people trying to escape, if only for a little bit. And you, he’s sure, would make it so easy. 

“Yes,” he answers, though he’s not sure if he believes it. In this case, hate is just another medium to channel energy through. Passionate energy. True hate, maybe, would be your indifference. And neither of you are indifferent.

“Well….” you lean forward, your lips are nearly touching. He’s still frozen. “Maybe I do hate you.”

It’s a beat before anything happens, a few seconds of uninterrupted eye contact, your eyes have darkened, pupils wide. 

He pounces on you, ignoring the scream of soreness through his body as he cups both sides of your face, his tongue already scraping on your teeth, swallowing the surprised noise you make, which he finds ridiculous because what did you think was going to happen, talking to him like that?

But you can’t be that shocked, because your arms have tightened around his shoulders, you’re pulling him closer, he’s pulling you closer. A tightrope, about to snap. 

He wraps himself around you protectively, you feel so small there, he’s aware how easily he could break you, but he won’t. Or at least…he’ll try not to. 

You break away first. “Fuck.”

Your lips are full, wet, flush, parted, and you’re panting. He pulls you back against him, and you oblige, much more pliant this time, letting him claim you. Two sets of hands fumbling for purchase. 

“I do want you.”

“Then have me.”

He pulls you onto his lap, still sitting on the edge of the bed, and it’s shameful how easily you move there, settle your weight across his hips. You’re warm, so warm…too warm. His skin pricks.

Your hands thread into his hair and tug, it’s heavenly. He’s not used to being touched like this.. Grinding down, you find him already already rock hard – he has been since you were knelt in front of him cleaning his stitches, but he’d been trying to ignore it – and he moans. “You like that?” 

He hums into your mouth, agreeable. Yes. 

Joel wants to touch you, won’t be satisfied if he can’t, and he tugs at the hem of your shirt. You pull back, just for a split second to pull it over your head. It takes him a moment, but he still remembers how to unclasp a bra with one hand, and you’re bare before him. All he has to do is run a calloused palm up your spine and you’re arching your body closer, until he can mouth at your breasts. 

You sigh as he cups, squeezes, pinches. Latches onto one of your nipples and grazes his teeth over it, watching you closely….your eyes closed, head falling back, murmuring. Yes.

What he wants to do is to lift you up, spin you around, and press your back against the mattress. He wants to spread you open across the bed, put his head between your thighs and lave at you like a man starved. He wants to hear every way you can cry, moan, whimper his name as his tongue works your clit, fingers in your cunt, washing over him. Of course, he’d go gentle at first – not too gentle – but gentle enough, work you up. He wants to dangle you over the ledge, hold you there until you’re begging to be let go. And after you finally come, pulsing around his fingers, he’d wrap your legs around his hips and fuck you into the mattress until you do it again. After the first time, he thinks, it’d be even easier to get you to do it again. And again. Would you face his steely gaze head on, eyes fluttering? Would your nails scrape track marks down his back? Would you stifle a moan by sinking your teeth into the pulse point on his neck? He wants to- no, needs to know.

But he’s weak right now, and can’t do any of that. He’ll settle for what he can get.

Your fingers are twisting the button on his pants. “Come on,” you murmur. 

“You shouldn’t want me,” he warns.

“I know.” But I still do.

Your hand is down his pants, and he shifts his weight backwards to wiggle further out of them. It’s far more hurried than either of you deserve. You don’t even attempt to tease him through his boxers first, your hand wrapping around him in one swift and confident movement. 

Hissing, Joel sees you duck your head, feels the press your lips against his neck, his cock jumping in your grip as you run your thumb over the head, pump him once.

“You’re so big,” your voice is all breathy and soft, the sound of it has him growing even more frantic. He tugs at the loops on the side of your jeans. 

“Take these off.”

Yes. There’s no protest.

It’s torture when you leave his lap, for the brief time you do, his gaze tracing the curve of your ass as you wriggle out of your pants, then your panties, and when your return to him, he holds you closer.

“I knew you’d be so fucking good for me.”

“Did you?” It's playful, breathless, your arms around his neck. The lightest he’s ever heard you. 

You’re wet, already dripping onto him, and he dips a finger between your thighs, sliding it through your slickness, dipping into you just so, enjoying the noises you make before withdrawing. It’s a shame he can’t take his time. He’s too impatient. One of his hands he uses to guide his cock to your cunt, and the other he uses to steady your hips. His head drops to watch himself sink into you. 

The stretch of him inside you makes your toes curl, you’re already pulsing around him and he hasn’t even given you everything.

“Fuck,” Joel whispers your name when he feels you around him, all-encompassing and overwhelming. “So fucking good.”

You’re whining, but it’s unintelligible, your head bobbing into an enthusiastic nod, teeth snagging your lower lip. When he’s reached the hilt, you pause only for a moment before you begin to move on your own accord. Experimental rolls of your hips, not drawing back far at all, keeping him deep inside you, rutting and writhing with no reprieve. He thinks he might come right then and there, it’s been so long, and it’s you. This young, pretty thing who – if this whole fucking world hadn’t gone to shit – wouldn’t have looked twice at him before. It’s just another injustice – that you’re going to let someone like him ruin you.

You begin to bounce on him, dragging yourself along his length. “That’s a good fucking girl,” he groans. “Just like that.” 

“It’s so…fuck, Joel, you feel-”

“I know.” He answers, partially in agreement, and partially to shut you up. If you keep saying his name like that, it’s not going to end well. 

He tries as best as he can to answer your hips with ruts of his own, but it’s sloppy, erratic. The whole thing is, and he wants to curse himself because it really shouldn’t be, just like he shouldn’t be thinking about what he’ll do differently next time. 

It’s the first time he’s been with you, so he doesn’t know what it feels like when you’re getting close, but you’re throbbing and pulsing around him, your breathy pants and soft sighs start sounding more desperate. 

You’re so fucking wet he can hear it, can feel it seeping out, dripping down his balls onto the mattress. He realizes one of his hands is just clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm, trying his hardest not to come before you do. All he wants is to give you something, a chance to make up for everything that he’s taken.

“More,” you murmur, you don’t even seem to remember, or care, that he’s hurt. That you’d spent hours the night before after he’d been torn apart, putting him back together. “More, please.” 

His lips quirk into a boyish smile, something you’ve never seen before. He likes you like this, begging, desperate, sweet. “Don’t laugh,” but your lips are quirking, too, and you fucking nuzzle against his beard to hide it.

“I’m not - fuck.”

The shower was useless, he’s already sweating again, but so are you, and he trails his tongue across your neck to taste it, then unclenches his fist, moving it between your legs. He takes your clit between his knuckles, circling it carefully, steadily, while his cock keeps hitting the same, soft spot over and over again. 

You can’t get enough. “Harder, Joel…please.”

Of course, he obliges. And he’s lucky, because he doesn’t have to do much more. You slow, legs shaking, and you’re suddenly so tight around him he can’t move. “That’s it, baby, come on, so fucking good…” he would, is, saying anything to feel you. His name is a mewl on your lips, the rubber-band snaps, and you come around him, pressing every part of yourself against the hard line of his torso. He aches, it’s the sweetest torture he’s ever known. 

He knows, because he’s going to fuck you through it, has to, that he will not last any longer. 

“Where?” he pants, and you’re still peaking, gasping, grabbing. 

“Inside me,” you answer. “Please, inside me.”

He’s too lost in the moment to consider the consequences. Doesn’t care about them at all. When he comes, you groan at the feeling of him fucking you full, cunt still squeezing him, not as tightly as before, but still apparent.

The last bit of arousal is still waning, and he leans back to lie on the bed, pulling you with him. You fall to his chest, hands pressing lightly to adjust your position, suddenly aware again of the wound beneath his ribs, the bruises on his shoulder, settling so you’re pressed against his side, his arm still loose around your waist.

Neither of you say anything for a long time, and he notices your legs are trembling. 

We shouldn’t have done that, he wants you to say, as you should. But you show no signs of remorse.

Before all this, when he was a different man, he would’ve helped clean you up after. He would have soothed you in the aftermath; stroked your hair, peppered kisses along your neck, your cheeks, pulled you close so you could fall asleep in his arms. He can’t now, because you’re smart and you’d know what it means, but the guilt gnaws at him. 

When you sit up, pulling your shirt back over your head, sliding on your panties, and walking towards the bathroom, he imagines you think you’re doing him a favor. You are, in a way. Or maybe, you’re resisting the same impulse that he is.

You return a few minutes later, wrapped in a tattered robe, and climb next to him on the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows, then looking down at him. Between the combination of being tired, stiff, and fucked-out, he still hasn’t moved. 

“Don’t you think Tess is worried about where you are?” You bend your knees back and cross your ankles. 

“She knows I can take care of myself.”

Your eyebrow quirks. Can you? Joel turns away and stares up at the water-damaged ceiling panels.

“You should probably go.” 

His head snaps back towards you. He thinks of every person over the last twenty years he’d said the equivalent to after sex, and wonders if it made them feel as nauseous as he does hearing those words from your mouth.

The feeling fades – only a little – when you reach over to press your palm to the side of his face, cupping his cheek, before tenderly moving a piece of damp hair off his forehead, nails scraping against his scalp.

He lets his eyes close just for a beat, before nodding and sitting up. “Thank you,” he says, and he’s not sure what for. All of it, he supposes.

“Uh-huh,” you roll over, reaching to grab your book that had fallen to the floor at some point during your coupling, while he pulls on his clothes, laces up his boots, and takes the antibiotics from your bedside table.

Joel takes one last look at you, already engrossed in your reading, and then walks to the door.

“You know where to find me, if you need anything.”

You look up, nod, and he’s gone.

— — — — — —

part ii

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #enemies to lovers #tlou #tlou hbo #pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #tlou imagine

[rileyslibrary]

Hello! I just wanted to say that your fics have such a distinct feel that it makes it feel like a cinematic masterpiece so moving as each sentence is full of detail and care it’s INSANE

Could you do one where the 141 as a whole are able to go on leave for a few months but reader doesn’t really have a place to go? Like due to thier participation in the military their family has essentially cut contact with them and the military has been a placeholder for their home-life—how would Ghost react?

Once again I love your works and hope you have an amazing day ‼️

The Log Cabin: Pack Light

A/N: Hi, anon! Thank you for your kind words. Here’s the story; enjoy! :)

———————————————————————

You’re at the base’s garage, squatting on the roof of a battle-worn 1994 Land Rover Wolf, welding a rack that had been blown apart during your last mission. It’s quite admirable how these vehicles can withstand anything coming their way and still stand strong after so many years.

How long are you going to stay strong? The sparks dance around you as you manipulate the welding torch, wishing there was a similar way to mend your scars and those you’ve hurt in the past with your decisions.

But these things are far more complex than welding metal; you can’t mend fractured relationships with mere tools. It takes understanding and empathy—qualities that seem foreign to those once close to you.

Or maybe they’re right, and you’re unworthy of their forgiveness…

You close the oxygen and fuel torch valves, lift your welding mask, and wait for the molten metal to cool. You assess the seams and sigh; it needs more work. You put the welding mask back on, reignite the torch, and continue.

As the heat emanates from the torch, glowing around your gloved hands, it suddenly flickers and sputters before its flame eventually dies out. Baffled, you lift the torch in your hands and shake it. You turn towards the valve, only to see Ghost standing beside it, holding the handle. He’s dressed in civilian clothes, though he still wears his mask and carries a rucksack over his shoulder.

“I was calling out for you, but you couldn’t hear me over the...” he trails off, pointing at the torch.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” you say through the mask, “this thing is a pain to fix.”

Ghost looks at the rack, then back at you. “Does it need to be fixed now?” He asks.

“It does.” You insist, not wanting to disclose the actual reason.

“Liar.”

Your eyebrows shoot up from behind the welding mask. “Excuse me?”

“You expect me to believe that while the rest of the team is on leave and doesn’t require that vehicle, you absolutely need to fix it.” He says.

You look at the torch and then back at him. “I must do it so it’s ready when you guys return.”

“When you guys return.” He repeats. “So, you’re not leaving.”

You forcefully turn to face him. “I am leaving.” You assert.

“Oh yeah?” He provokes you. “Where are you going?”

“None of your business, Lt.”

“See?” He says and lifts both hands, “You’re lying.”

You lower your head and throw the torch onto the roof. “What do you want me to say, huh?” You murmur, “What?”

“The truth,” he replies, “and take that bloody mask off while you’re at it.”

“Why should I take it off?” You sneer and point at his mask. “You wear yours all the time.”

“You can see my eyes, though, can’t you?” He explains and points to his face. He gestures with his head towards you. “Let me see yours,” he commands.

You roll your eyes and lift the mask. He removes his balaclava in return.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” He asks. “What exactly are you trying to fix?”

‘My relationship with my family,’ you think to yourself and feel your face getting warmer than before when the wielding flames were burning around you.

He stands there with one thumb tucked under the rucksack’s strip. He’s waiting for an answer—a proper, truthful answer.

“This is my home.” You whisper, shrugging and lowering your head.

“What about your family?” He asks, and you shake your head, tears start filling your eyes.

“Any friends?” He asks again, this time softer.

You give him another negative shake of the head, which causes the tears to run down your face. You quickly wipe your cheeks with your gloves.

He removes his rucksack from his shoulder, drops it to the ground and puts his hands on his waist.

“Have you tried talking to them?” He asks.

“I did,” you reply, “but they don’t want anything to do with me. I disgust them, and I’m not proud either...”

“Nobody’s proud.” He admits and puts one hand on the roof’s rack, “But somebody has to do what we do.”

You sniff and rub your nose. “See? That’s why I’m here, fixing that damn rack; somebody has to do it.” You explain. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Not necessarily.” He shrugs. “Not all of us will go see family or friends; Price is travelling to the Caribbean alone as we speak, and I’m off to Scotland.”

“With Soap?”

“Fuck no!” He yells, and a chuckle escapes his lips. “He has no idea I’m going there.”

Your lips curl up, and he returns your smile. He knocks on the vehicle’s roof twice and opens his mouth to say something, but he hesitates and stops. You decide to break the silence.

“Thank you for listening to me.” You whisper.

He bites his bottom lip and pats the roof once more.

“Wanna come with me?” He asks.

Your face warms up again but for a whole different reason.

“T-to Scotland?!” You ask, surprised.

Ghost scratches his cheek and nods. “Yeah,” he replies, “it’s a small cabin in the woods—it has a single bed, an outdoor toilet, and we’ll have to hunt for food. But it has a beautiful pond for swimming and plenty of hiking trails.”

“Wow, wow, wow, one bed?!” You shout, throwing your hands up, “That’s a bit too forward, don’t you think, Lt.?”

“Come on!” He smirks, “As if we haven’t experienced that before. We’ll make it work.”

You look at him, and he returns your gaze. You’re grateful for his offer, but doubt still lingers.

“Thank you, Lt.,” you reply, “but I need to finish that rack.”

“Bollocks!” He shouts and smiles. “How long will it take you?”

“That’s not what I mean-”

“How long?” He repeats.

“Simon..”

He drops the smile and looks you straight in the eyes.

“I’m serious,” he whispers.

“You’re just offering out of pity.” You speculate, and he throws his head up, letting out a sharp chuckle.

“Very bold of you to think I’d invite you out of mere pity.” He says. “I thought you also had plans; that’s why I didn’t offer before. I’m doing it because I found the opportunity.”

You look at him, contemplating his words, then shake your head.

“Thanks,” you say, “maybe next time.”

He picks up his rucksack and begins walking towards the garage’s exit.

“We’re leaving in an hour!” he shouts as he walks towards the door.

“Ghost! “

“Pack light!”

———————————————————————

Part 2 this way ->

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x y/n #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #ghost cod #ghost cod mw2 #cod ghost #ghost cod mwii #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley fic

[mistyheartrbs]

cannot stop thinking about weird barbie and queercoding and how her subplot mirrors margot robbie barbie’s main plotline and the Implications of it all. because like. weird barbie is introduced as this outsider who lives on the fringes of barbieland society (it’s intentionally never made clear whether she was exiled or chose to set up camp there herself; the way mckinnon plays her makes me think probably a mix of both) who, as one of the other barbies (i want to say alexandra shipp/the author?) explains, was one of the prettiest barbies until a little girl played with her too hard, and now she’s an outcast. the barbies call her Weird Barbie behind her back and to her face. this is because of something she couldn’t control (first parallel to robbie’s barbie, whose crisis is brought on by gloria’s own feelings of negativity) and yet she’s forced away because of it. going to hop onto a brief tangent here and say one of the things that never sat right with me in toy story 3 was the weird...demonization? of the preschoolers who chew on/break/otherwise harm the toys because in a story where the Very Ultimate Dream of any toy is to be loved and played with it’s bizarre that they then seemed to be saying well, actually, there are Wrong ways to play with toys when these kids didn’t know any better. and it would’ve been easy for that to be weird barbie’s deal - a freaky little girl played with her in the “wrong” way and doomed her as a result. but she gets to be a hero! she leads the resistance!

robbie’s barbie is immune to ken’s brainwashing bc she experienced the real world’s misogyny and more specifically felt gloria’s messy complex human emotions - her “dark and crazy” drawings, as sasha calls them - stemming from the pain of being a woman in society. weird barbie has never been to the real world and still manages to stay immune, along with her mansion of misfit toys (including, as other tumblr users have pointed out, magic earring ken aka Gay Ken) - there’s layers to that. in both robbie’s barbie’s and weird barbie’s cases, their girls placed Weird and Unpleasant feelings onto the perfect ideal that is Barbie™ and absolutely upended their lives as a result - but they became fully realized people because of it. barbie chooses to go back to the real world to live as a human woman because she wants to feel all those messy and bizarre human feelings! she loves them! she loves humanity and the avenues through which she reaches that love are women being unabashedly freaky and weird both within and outside of her understanding of the world she lives in. what a queer experience. what a way to showcase that scary exciting feeling of being on the very fringes of girlhood and needing to define it for yourself. pink birkenstocks. she leaves barbieland better than she found it. she can’t stay there anymore. she loves the people around her and she loves herself and that self-love is something she’s earned now. weird barbie gets to run sanitation. gloria’s ideas for ordinary barbie foster understanding. barbie is sasha’s stepmom now probably. greta gerwig you’ve done it again.

#barbie #barbie (2023) #barbie spoilers #weird barbie #took like a ten minute break from writing this and thought 'weird barbie and jo march two sides of the same coin' so now that's there also #still thinking also about the fact that mckinnon and gerwig went to barnard college together #natsuki's terrible disco pants

[treacheryinblue]

A Noah Sebastian x F!Reader One Shot

Word Count: 5.2k

× Summary: Noah is Death, the ruler of the after life (or whatever you want to call it), though he is cursed to watch you come and go from his never ending existence time and time again.

× Warnings!: Eh-level smut (cut me some slack as I get back into it •‿• ), language, little bit of violence, tiny fluff, slight dom!noah, smut with plot aka this became more in depth than I meant for it to. Let me know if I missed anything!

× Story Song: God Complex by VIOLENT VIRA

There was an ache in your lungs with every labored breath you took, each one more strained than the last. You could hear his heavy steps trailing not far behind, and even though your calves were burning and you weren't sure how much longer you could carry on, you forced yourself to keep going. The pain didn't matter. All that did was the drive to stay alive. 

'Just a bit longer’, you would tell yourself. A vain hope that the man would tire out eventually and give up. All you had to do was outlast him. A simple task, right? 

Wrong. 

Small branches snapped beneath your bare feet as you did your very best to avoid low tree limbs and protruding roots from the ground. You dodged every obstacle, though you were only leading yourself deeper and deeper into the unknown woods in the process. 

You could hear his maniacal laughter over your shoulder, and you swore you could even feel his breath pass your skin, but there was no way he was that close without having snagged you yet. Finally, you took a sharp right turn and pressed your back up against the opposite side of a rather large tree. Tears streamed down your face, your hand covering your mouth to keep your sobs and heavy breathing muffled. 

“Come out, come out…” the man taunted, amusement evident in his sadistic tone. “We need to finish what we started or else it’s six feet under for both of us.” 

You forced your eyes closed, squeezing them as tight as possible. Maybe you would open them and be in your bed, all of this having been some sick and twisted nightmare. Unfortunately, that's not what lied ahead for you. 

Rough hands secured around your shoulders, forcing you down to the dirt without a hint of remorse. A scream erupted from you due to the sudden action, as well as the fear, obviously. 

“No! Please stop!” You pleaded while your fists tried their very best to bang against his chest, face, head - really anywhere you could reach. “Just let me go!” 

“Help! Someone help! Please!” 

The man’s laughter echoed through the woods and soon he had managed to pin your hands down on either side of your head. You squirmed and writhed beneath him, desperate to escape the heavy weight of his body being placed down on to you. 

“There's no one out here to save you, princess.” He somehow shifted your wrists into one of his hands, leaving the other free to dip down. “It's just the two of us.” 

There was a glint from the faint glow of moonlight shining off the blade he produced. The sight of it instantly silenced you, your eyes growing wide in terror. “Please...” you continued to beg through your tears, but it was as if the man couldn't hear a thing. Not that he cared about what you had to say. 

Then, without hesitation, he was forcing the knife at an angle up into your stomach. You gasped as the pain consumed you, too stunned to cry out again. Or maybe you were becoming too weak, due to the loss of blood and all. The man didn't stop there, though. He retracted the knife, shifted a bit, just before plunging it down into your chest. Another gasp escaped you, but this one didn't seem to hurt as bad as the first. Actually…you didn't feel much of anything anymore. 

Although there was a warmth consuming you, your assumption was that it was just the blood escaping from your body and pooling, but the deeper you progressed into the darkness, the more you began to believe that wasn't entirely true. 

× × ×

Suddenly, your eyes snapped open and you were staring up at a high, dark ceiling, and not the previous trees you had just been surrounded by. Your hands flew to your chest in search of the wound, then down to your stomach, but there was nothing. All that remained was the blood stains and the agonizing memory of your death. 

“Thirteen stab wounds…a bit of an overkill.” 

An unknown voice came from somewhere within the room, frightening you in a way that made you quickly sit up and snap your head around in search of the source. 

“Oh, ritual sacrifice? That's fun. Haven't seen that in a few decades. Gotta say, though, the thirteen is really bugging me. It's so cliche.” 

You could sense someone circling you just within the shadows of the room, making sure to stay deep enough to not be revealed quite yet. 

“Who…where am I?” The trembling of your voice was thick with fear, and even now a fresh set of tears began to well within your eyes. “Am I dead?” 

“You're a smart one, huh? It usually takes people way too long to figure that out.” 

Slowly, a figure emerged from the shadows directly in front of you, though the man now standing there kept his distance. He appeared to be roughly the same age as you, wearing all black with his hands clasped behind him. His face was void of emotion despite the amusement you swore you could hear in his previous statements, but there was a gleam in his dark eyes that you couldn't quite place. 

As much as you didn't want to admit it, he was rather beautiful. 

With a faint nod, you sniffed and finally pulled your gaze from his just so you could take a glance around the room. What you initially thought was a large empty space, was actually an oversized living area of sorts. You could just slightly make out the outline of furniture and art pieces, a new item making itself known with every shift of your eyes. When you looked back to the man, he was closer, his tall form crouching in front of you with a bend of his knees. 

“You seem sad,” he pointed out, his brow furrowing while examining you with only his eyes. 

“Well…I'm dead apparently, so…” 

“No,” he sternly responded almost before you could finish saying the words. “This is different.” 

Long fingers reached out, and at first you flinched away, until he sent an intense stare into your eyes that made you turn your head back to its natural position. A finger pressed beneath your chin to tilt your head up, the man fixating on every possible inch of your face. Then, without a word, he produced a devilish smile. 

“Very interesting.” 

With him taking a firm grasp of your chin, you sharply inhaled and dropped your knees to the side so you could lean in closer to him. He was standing up now, but bent at the waist so he towered above you, your eyes remaining level. “I think I'm going to keep you…at least for a bit.” 

“A bit?” You repeated, your curiosities bringing forth another smile from him. 

“Just a few centuries or so.”

The man’s hold of your face began to soften until his fingertips were just ever so lightly cradling your jaw. He could sense your confusion and hesitancy towards his words, thus leading to his new approach. 

“Let's get you cleaned up.”

× × ×

Moments later you were standing within a lavish bathroom after having walked with awe through…wherever you were. You weren't sure if it was a home, a conjured image, or what, but you were in too much shock still to question it. What you did notice during your walk, was that everything was very gothic. The architecture, the decor, the artwork that hung on the walls - all of it giving off a certain vibe of its own. 

What really tied it all together was the deep color scheme that made you feel as if you fit right in; with the dried blood on your clothes and what not. 

A large claw foot tub sat in the middle of the bathroom with steaming water running from the faucet. He looked at you, then motioned to the tub, making a clear request for you to get in. When you didn't, he arched his brow with a silent question. 

“You're still in here…” you explained, like that wasn't already obvious enough. 

When the realization of what you meant dawned on him, he produced a chuckle, slowly nodding. “Nothing I haven't seen before, I can guarantee.” 

“Since you've never seen me naked before, it actually is.” 

He heavily sighed, but then begrudgingly turned so his back was facing out, his front angled towards the corner. 

“Is this better?” 

You didn't respond. Instead, you stood still for another long moment before finally beginning to strip out of your soiled death clothes. Chills formed over your skin as the cool air encompassed you, this helping guide you faster to the awaiting bathtub so you could seek out the warmth again. 

Only when he heard the water settle, did he turn back around, slow steps approaching the tub. You glanced up to him, arms folded over your chest, legs crossed and pressed together to keep yourself hidden beneath the water. He didn't attempt to look, though, for his sights remained locked on your face. The way he was looking at you was rather odd, but there were many other questions that you wanted answered before the one that had to do with that. 

“So…do you have a name?” 

“Many,” he responded without hesitation. How was he always so quick? 

“Okay, well, what do you want me to call you out of these many names?” 

Taking in a deep breath, he slowly exhaled, using this brief moment to ponder your question. “You can call me Noah.” 

You snorted out a laugh only because the name given was far more normal than you were expecting. “Noah?” You repeated as yet another question for him. 

“It means ‘to rest',” he explained without even a hint of a smile. Something was telling you that he didn't find this taunt of yours to be entertaining in the least bit. 

“Okay, Noah, can I now know where I am?” 

“Do you always ask so many questions?” 

Cue your deep, prolonged sigh.

“I was used as a sacrifice, stabbed in the woods, I died, then I woke up here. Did I freak out even once? No. I think I'm deserving of some answers.” 

Noah didn't dare try to hide the smirk conjured by your feisty demeanor. To be honest, he was impressed, at the very least. He gave a single nod as he crossed the bathroom to retrieve a solid black washcloth from a neatly folded pile of items. Joining you again, he dropped the washcloth into the water, then sat on the edge of the tub down near your feet. 

“The afterlife, Hell, the underworld - whatever you want to call it, that's where this is, though it's really a realm of its own. An entirely different plane from Earth. That's the easiest way to explain it.” 

You had started cleaning your skin with the cloth and soap provided, soon turning the clear water red with your washed away blood. As he spoke, your eyes focused on his face, more specifically the way his jaw moved with every word. It was then that you noticed flashes of color popping up from over the black turtleneck he wore, permanent etchings that accompanied those you had glimpsed on his hands. 

Huh, you never thought of someone like him as being the tattoo type. You know, a being beyond most human comprehension. 

“So…what? You're the Devil?” 

This caused him to laugh, a deep chuckle erupting from his chest which told you that it was a genuine response. 

“Sure, if that's who you need to think of me as. Though I prefer to see myself as being more complex than a red man with a pitchfork and horns surrounded by flames…and much more handsome.” 

Your eyes traveled from his neck and back to his face before settling on the sharp angle of his nose, then his lips. Of course the man who was basically the Devil would be handsome…you should've known that to be true already. The wash cloth still rubbing along your skin slowed at your chest, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as you admired him. 

Why weren't you scared? Any logical person would've been, but you were more concerned with viewing more of that enticing tattoo that was teasing you. What was it? How far down did it go? Did he have more? Although the water was hot that you were submerged in, you somehow felt a chill radiate down your spine. When you finally looked back up, Noah was watching you, that previous gleam returning to his eyes. 

“You didn't hear a word I said, did you?” He scolded, before then lifting himself from the edge of the bathtub again. 

You opened your mouth to speak, though nothing sounded like it would be the right answer. Instead of replying, you just closed your mouth and held his gaze. 

“What if I had revealed a secret of the universe to you? All while you were too busy thinking of me naked?” 

“What? I wasn't thinking about that!” You scoffed in defense. 

Noah had shrugged off his jacket as you struggled to find your voice, the long sleeve shirt he wore also being tossed aside next until he was fully bare from the hips up. He didn't linger in front of you for too long; his steps around to the back of the tub only allowing you a quick moment to study the tattoos that were inked across the entirety of his torso and arms. 

“Do you know how I know you were thinking that? Aside from the blush that's risen to your cheeks?” 

You sharply inhaled as you felt his hands on your shoulders, your heartbeat immediately picking up in pace. Again - any logical person would be terrified. 

“Because you told me you were…last time.” 

The tattooed hands on your shoulders tightened their grip, his thumbs rubbing soothing yet firm circles into the base of your neck. You knew he was trying to keep you relaxed as he revealed something that sounded kind of important, but your eyes were closed and you were already lost in the sensations. 

“Last time?” You murmured softly as the task of processing his words took longer than they typically would. 

Noah’s breath fanned across the side of your neck and his hands began a slow journey down to your chest, pausing just before getting to the hardened peaks that were now your nipples. You could feel him smirk against your skin, then he was palming your breasts, pulling forth the faintest of moans from under your breath. 

“Would you believe me if I told you that this is the ninth time we've encountered each other? Thousands and thousands of years, and your face is the only one I've seen more than once.” 

He released the hold he had on your chest, now brushing your hair away from your neck so he could plant need-filled kisses along the elegant arch. The loss of contact caused you to pout, your eyes opening to see that a mirror had appeared on the wall opposite of the tub. It gave you a clear view of him behind you, and the fire burning within his eyes that was becoming more and more familiar. 

“Don't worry, you'll remember. It never takes too long.” 

The words you wanted to say still refused to be voiced, all because Noah was distracting you with his mouth and hands. The latter snaked around to the front of your throat, his fingers securing until he was able to force your head to angle up towards him. His mouth then claimed yours in a heated kiss that clouded all of your senses, refusing to let you touch, taste, or feel anything that wasn't him.

Your upper body twisted to the best of its abilities until you could tangle your fingers into his hair. The kiss was deepened, his tongue pushing past your lips first to begin the fight for dominance over your mouth. There was something familiar about all of this, almost like you knew exactly what to do to receive certain reactions from him. You knew that pulling his hair would make him hiss and rut against you - had you been in the correct position - and something as simple as biting his lip would have him turning you over and pulling you back against him in a matter of seconds.  

But how did you know that? That was the question now plaguing your mind. 

It didn't linger for long, though. It was impossible to let it when Noah’s hand mimicked your own, a handful of your hair now in his grasp so he could force your head back. You whimpered at the painful sensation that vibrated straight down to your core. His opposite hand again began a downwards trek, dropping into the water so he could force your thighs apart. 

“Look at me,” he demanded, his breathing just as labored as your own because of all the built up frustrations you both shared. “Fuck, I've missed those eyes.”

Your knees pressed into either side of the bathtub walls to allow him all the space he would need between your thighs. Skilled fingers traced slowly along the smooth folds that were almost begging for him to give you more. Your breath hitched in your throat and the need you felt for him showed dark within your eyes that he was still locked in on. Dipping in just a bit, his fingertips met with your own natural wetness - which he could easily feel despite being surrounded by water. 

“Maybe your mind doesn't yet remember, but your body does.” Noah smirked, then plunged the entire length of his middle finger into your cunt, just to prove how wet you already were for him. 

Your body tensed and your hips shot forward, rocking up against his hand with a desperate need. He wasted no time with finding that very specific spot inside of you, immediately placing a firm pressure against it to accompany his stroking motion. Your eyes fluttered closed and your lips parted once your jaw fell slack in response to how one mere finger could make you feel. 

“Noah…” you whimpered as your slick walls tightened around him, drawing him in deeper. 

“That's it…you can do it.” He again pulled your hair to bare your neck to him, his teeth sinking into your sensitive flesh before soothing the area with a kiss. A second finger soon joined the first inside of you, and you knew it wouldn't be long before you were a goner. 

There was just something about being fingered in a bathtub stained with your own blood that really did it for you. 

Your breathing began to increase, your chest rising and falling at a rapid pace that seemed to match the same one Noah kept inside of you. He was still stroking that special spot with a maddening pressure, the ball of his hand rubbing against your sensitive clit, and the mixture of the two sensations had you teetering right on the edge. 

“Just give me one and then I'll allow you what I know you truly want.” His words were whispered at your ear as he pushed his long fingers deeper into your cunt, working you over in ways that only he knew how to. 

You knew what he meant, though, and oh, how badly did you want what he had in store for you next. You could only imagine how hard he was right then, his cock straining against the black pants he wore, begging for some sort of relief. Noah was patient, though. Much more patient than you were. After all, he spent over two hundred years waiting for you to appear again. He could wait another few minutes. 

Noah again slipped his left hand down to your chest where he began to pinch and pull at your nipples, the added stimulation being exactly what you needed. With his fingers making that damned 'come hither’ motion inside of you, your thighs suddenly clamped down around his hand from the intensity of the orgasm that rushed through your body. 

“Oh…Noah! Right there, yes!” You cried out as your pussy fluttered wildly around his fingers, that of which he had yet to cease the motions of. No, he was going to draw it out for as long as he could, really let you ride the high of your first time together again. 

His head turned to press his lips to the nape of your neck, the breaths he let out almost as heavy as your own. “You're so beautiful when you cum for me,” he exclaimed. “I could watch it again and again, which I plan to do.” 

The come down from your orgasm had left your head spinning and foggy. You barely even noticed when you were no longer encased in the water of the bathtub, your body now being tossed upon the most comfortable bed you had ever felt. Opening your eyes, you gazed up at Noah through your post-orgasm haze, admiring him with no shame as he began to unfasten his belt. 

“It's all starting to come back to you, isn't it?” 

The clanking metal sound of his belt sent chills through you, and you had the faintest memory of him using that belt of his for other things that made you scream in pleasure. Noah smirked, well aware of what you were thinking of, but he slowly shook his head. “Next time,” he promised. 

He then leaned forward and grabbed you beneath your knees, forcing your body a little closer before managing to turn you over onto your stomach in a swift motion. You were still very much drunk on all that he was, all that this was, so you allowed him to maneuver you however he pleased. 

Strong hands slowly ran up the sides of your thighs and then gripped tight to your hips. He pulled them up and back, your ass now angled upwards as your upper body remained down on the bed. You smiled, your fingers grasping onto the soft sheets that he had laid you upon. 

“Fuck…” you heard him hiss, the sight of you on display for him causing his cock to twitch. His hands were then on you again, this time massaging into the flesh of your ass cheeks, fingertips occasionally grazing against the wetness between your thighs. You knew he was doing it on purpose just to tease you. 

You huffed in frustration, your body rocking back just a bit as a silent demand for him to give you what you wanted. He chuckled lowly to himself, his hands retreating from your overeager body. 

There was a quick moment where you tried to lift your head to see back at him, but he immediately tutted in disapproval. “Stay down,” he demanded in a tone that was both soft and firm. 

You whined in protest as you dropped your head back down to the bed. Each passing second had you growing more and more impatient, like you were going to literally explode if Noah didn't give into your desires. You wanted him inside of you. You needed to feel the burning stretch as he claimed your body. 

The bed then dipped with his added weight and you finally felt the warmth of his cock gliding between your folds. You heard him take a sharp breath as one hand held your hip, the other guiding himself around all of your sensitive areas. A shudder moved through you when the head grazed along your clit, the sensation immediately causing your eyes to close and your fingers to tighten on the sheets in preparation. 

“You feel like Heaven,” he murmured, the tip of his cock now pressing against your entrance. “So much better than I could ever remember.” 

Finally, he was easing himself inside of you, pushing through your tight walls until his hips pressed flush against your ass. His fingers flexed along your hips and you knew he was trying to control himself - a task that was much easier said than done. The feeling of being so full already had your toes curling and your breath exiting in pants. It was an addictive pleasure, the way your body reacted to him. How your cunt stretched to its limits around his thick cock, a slight pain mixing with your ecstasy, though that only made it so much better. 

Noah’s hips pulled back until only the tip remained nestled inside, just to force every inch back within your depths with a quick thrust forward. He groaned your name, his noises mixing with your own coming from beneath him. He repeated this a couple of times as if he was trying to commit every inch of your cunt to his memory, and the way it felt to have you wrapped so tight around him again. 

Tattooed fingers pushed and pulled your body along his length, his pace quickening. He would thrust forward a bit harder each time he made it as deep as possible, just to give you that extra little  punctuation that he knew had you seeing stars. 

“Fuckfuckfuck!” Your moans echoed through the room, joining the likes of your bodies colliding and his satisfied groans. “Oh my god, Noah. Don't stop…I'm getting so close.” 

There was a sudden shift in his thrusts, each one becoming a bit more rough than the last. His hand traveled down the expanse of your back until he could find your hair within his grasp. Noah forced your head back and then your upper body as well, the rhythmic motions of his hips pausing with him deep inside of you. You smirked despite his now serious demeanor, because you could feel his cock twitch and throb inside of you. If only you could touch your clit, you would've came just from that alone. Something told you that Noah wouldn't allow it, though. Not unless he said for you to. 

“Believe me, God isn't here.” He sternly explained through his heavy breaths before he was pushing your body back down to the bed. His fingers locked around your wrists and trapped them against the mattress, leaving you helpless to his maddening desires. “He has no part in all the sinful things I want to do to you.” 

The pressure of his body weighing down on your own, mixed with the increasingly rough motion of his hips, had your moans erupting one after the other in quick succession. You didn't know how much longer you could keep your orgasm at bay, that task always proving to be difficult when Noah fell victim to his dominant side. It was clear that you had zero qualms with this based off your body’s reaction. 

“Please…” you whimpered, the beg reminiscent of your last moments as a living being. It was so funny to you how things aligned like that. 

Noah lowered himself more until his chest was touching your back, his hips slowing as well. Each thrust remained hard, though he took his time stroking your inner most walls. He wanted you to be able to feel every pulse of his cock, just so you knew the things only you did to him. 

“What was that?” He kissed along the side of your face until his lips were at your ear, this being where he murmured the taunt. “Was there something that you wanted? Go on, tell me.” 

You nodded, your lips folding in as you attempted an act of composure - one you both saw through. There was no such thing when it came to Noah 

“I need to cum, Noah, please!” You impatiently exclaimed while trying to press back into him with every thrust forward he made. The strength behind his hips nearly prevented you from doing so, but you both also knew that deep down he couldn't deny you a single thing you wanted. 

Noah smirked, his broad shoulders lifting away until he was sitting up on his knees behind you again. He was squeezing your hips so tight that you assumed bruises would be there tomorrow - can the undead bruise? That was one thing you didn't remember, but the answer would surely come soon enough. 

A lithe inked hand snaked around until his fingertips were on your swollen clit. Your body jolted from the sudden electrifying sensation that caused you to tense. No sounds came from you now, since the intensity had your breath catching and halting in your chest. Those skilled fingers of his rubbed your clit in perfect time with his thrusts, driving you right to the edge. Occasionally he would pinch at the overly sensitive nerves, only just hard enough to make your thighs tremble and eyes roll back. 

“Then cum.”

Those two words were uttered as a demand; he allowed you exactly what you wanted while making sure you remembered who was in control. How could you ever forget? 

Waves of pleasure began to crash within every inch of your tense body. Your cunt collapsed around his cock and soon you were erupting, each nerve in your being firing off all at once. It was the most amazing thing you had ever felt, being able to cum around him as he also gave into his own climax. 

Noah's hips jerked out of rhythm before stilling inside of you, thick ropes of his cum coating the aching walls of your pussy which he had just thoroughly claimed. Not that there was ever any question of its ownership. All of the moans and other sounds of strained delight that left him was your favorite song - nothing but music to your ears that you were eager to press 'play’ on again and again. 

As he came down from his high, the dominant side slowly began to drift away, though only for the time being. It could easily be back with a snap of your fingers. His body enclosed around yours again since he knew you enjoyed the weight of him, greedy lips pressing light kisses along your shoulders and the back of your neck. 

“Say it.”

You smiled through the heavy breaths that remained, which were accompanied by slight twitches in your hips from the after effects of your Earth shattering orgasm. 

“Say what?” The tone you used gave away that you knew exactly what he wanted from you. 

“Don't make me beg.” 

“Hmm…” you softly hummed in feign thought, briefly getting lost in the way his fingertips grazed your sides. “Did I say it last time?” 

The answer was something you were already aware of: you did. You just couldn't pass up the chance to tease and mock him. 

“You say it every time.”

Shifting beneath him, your upper body turned enough so that you were able to look up into his dark eyes. There were still a lot of things that you couldn't yet recall, but old memories were making themselves known with each second that passed. Soon, you would know everything, just as he did. 

“I love you,” you murmured in a near whisper. That same gleam you had witnessed in his eyes several times that day returned, making you begin to believe that he hadn't possessed it for the entire duration you were separated from him this time. 

“Maybe the ninth death will be the charm.” 

× × ×

#bad omens #bad omens cult #noah sebastian #bad omens band #bad omens fan fiction #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fan fiction #noah sebastian fic #smut #bad omens smut #noah sebastian smut #smut with plot #god of death complex #one shot #noah sebastian one shot #bad omens one shot #noah sebastian x reader

[rynwritesreid]

You were my everything| Spencer Reid

Summary: Reader finds out JJ admitted that she loves Spencer. Just angst with some fluff involved. I think its GN, there might be some pronouns mentioned but I tried my best not too.

Masterlist || requests are open | Navigation

Dr Spencer Reid was your everything, you loved him, and he loved you. But then him and JJ got taken hostage.

He was honest with you from the get-go, he used to have feelings for her, but he moved on.

But then she admitted she loved him, and she always had. Why the fuck would she say that she has children and a husband, but she says this to your boyfriend. You had talked to her about your relationship with him and she always seemed so supportive.

You were so mad at both of them, you hated having to look at them, having to see them talk with each other, laughing with one another. You hated both of them.

You tried your best to be civil, but every time you saw them together, your blood would boil. You didn't trust JJ and you didn't trust Spencer around her.

 

One day, as you were walking to your car after work, you saw JJ and Spencer walking together. They were laughing and joking like they didn't have a care in the world. You felt a searing anger build up inside of you as you watched them. You couldn't take it anymore.

 

You marched up to them and confronted them. "How can you two be so goddamn happy together after what she did?!" you yelled at Spencer. "She admitted she loves you, but she has a husband and kids! Did you even think about how that would make me feel?!"

 

Spencer looked at you with a pained expression. "I know, I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't know how to handle it. I love you; I swear. But I also care about JJ.”

 

“No. You don’t just care about JJ, you love her. You are fucking in love her because she said she loved you.” You spat at him. You then turned you attention to JJ.

 

“And you. I trusted you as a friend, I talked to you about everything, and you admit to my boyfriend that you love him.” You paused to look at them, they were both looking at their feet.

 

“You both lied to me and went behind my back. I hope you’re happy JJ. And Spencer, I’m glad the girl you love, finally loves you back.”

 

You turned away from them and walked into Hotch’s office. He could tell you were mad, no one else knew what had happened.

 

“Y/N are you okay?” He looked concerned; his voice though had not changed.

 

“I would like to take some leave. Spencer and JJ, they love each other, and I can’t be in the same room as them right now.” You tried to sound calm, to sound like you weren’t on the verge of tears.

 

Hotch looked at you for a moment before nodding. "Of course, take whatever time you need. Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, his voice full of concern and worry. You looked at Hotch like a father.

 

You shook your head. "No, I just need some time to...process everything," you said, your voice breaking slightly.

 

Hotch gave you a small smile and reached out to pat your hand. "Take all the time you need, Y/N. We'll be here when you're ready to come back," he said, before turning back to his work.

 

You walked out of the BAU building, tears streaming down your face. You had lost the two people you cared about most in the world, and you didn't know how you were going to move on.

 

As you drove away, you felt a searing pain in your chest. You loved Spencer more than anything, but you couldn't be with him if he still had feelings for JJ.

 

For the next few days, you stayed locked up in your apartment, not wanting to see or talk to anyone. You ignored all of Spencer's calls and texts, not wanting to hear his excuses or apologies. You were hurt and angry, and you didn't know if you could ever trust him again.

 

You wished he was a simple man to hate, so that you could turn off the love for him. But he wasn't a simple man. He was complex, with layers of intelligence, kindness, and love that you had fallen for. You couldn't just turn off your feelings for him no matter how much he had hurt you.

 

After a week of wallowing in your own misery, you decided that you needed to confront Spencer and JJ. You couldn't keep avoiding them forever, and you needed to know the truth about what was really going on between them.

 

You arranged to meet Spencer at a nearby coffee shop. As you sat across from him, you noticed how tired and defeated he looked. You wondered if he had been feeling as miserable as you had been.

 

"Spencer, I need to know the truth," you said, looking him straight in the eyes. "Are you still in love with JJ?"

 

Spencer took a deep breath before answering. "No, Y/N. I'm not in love with JJ. I thought I was for a while, but no I’m not. It’s you. You’re my everything. You were my everything and you will continue to be my everything.”

 

You felt a glimmer of hope inside of you at his words. Maybe there was a chance for your relationship after all.

 

“So why did you ignore me at work? Why did you hang with her so much and why did you stop kissing me or telling me that you loved me?”

 

Spencer looked down at his hands, a guilty expression on his face. "I didn't mean to ignore you, Y/N. I was just so confused and didn't know how to handle my feelings. I was afraid of losing both you and JJ, and I didn't want to hurt anyone. But I know now that what I have with you is real, and I don't want to lose you."

 

You studied Spencer's face for a moment, trying to gauge his sincerity. Despite your anger and hurt, you still loved him and wanted to believe him. "Okay," you said finally, nodding your head. "But what about JJ? What's going on between the two of you?"

 

He looked you in the eyes and reached for your hands. “Nothing is going on between. I promise. There was a gun pointed to my head and the guy asked for her to admit a secret, a secret nobody knew, and that was her secret.”

 

You listened carefully to Spencer's words, trying to process everything he was telling you. It was hard to believe that JJ's admission of love had been coerced, but you wanted to believe Spencer's version of events.

 

Spencer squeezed your hands tightly. "I know I messed up, Y/N. But please, give me another chance. I love you and I want to make things right."

 

You looked into his pleading eyes and felt your heart soften. Despite everything that had happened, you still loved Spencer with all your heart.

 

“Spencer, I still need space. I can’t just ignore how you treated me and how you acted around her.”

 

Spencer nodded understandingly. "I know, and I'll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. I just want to show you how much you mean to me."

Join my taglist

#criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #jennifer jareau #Rynwritesreid

[the-guilty-writer]

LOVE LOVE LOVEEE SPENCERS DAUGHTER WITH POTS!!! could I request more pretty please 🙏🙏

Spencer Reid x daughter!reader with POTS

Most people thought that dysautonomia was just your heart rate rising and falling at rapid rates and the occasional syncope, but it was far more than that.

Today, it was the brain fog that was giving you the most trouble. Your thoughts were hazy and slow, as was your vision. The sensation itself wasn't just annoying, but had reached the level of being borderline painful. To make things worse, you had homework to finish and a clouded mind wasn't ideal when learning pre-calculus.

Your dad sat in the large leather chair in the corner, rapidly reading a book in a language you recognized as Russian. Normally, Spencer got lost in his reading, but he couldn't ignore the long, drawn-out groan coming from the direction of the kitchen table.

You had placed your arms on the table to cushion your head, hiding your face from his view. All around you were papers with problems that would have been complex for the average person, but were nothing more than simple mental math for your genius father.

He set his book down and made his way over to you, setting a gentle hand on your shoulder once he reached you.

"Do you need help?" he asked kindly.

"You already explained it to me earlier today," you said, voice muffled by your arms. Your brain fog was normally intermittent, but this week it had been persistent. It made retaining information difficult. When you got home from school, your dad helped you with your studies - explaining things again, sometimes at a slower rate, with breaks in between to rest and recharge. It was normally very helpful in ensuring you didn't get too far behind, but your brain seemed to be too full of fog to make room for any new information.

"Why don't you take an early bed time?" Spencer suggested. "You probably need it."

"This is due tomorrow morning." If you had the energy to cry, you might have, but even shedding tears was too much for your body to handle at the moment.

Spencer looked down at the papers scattered about the table. It was obvious to him that you'd been trying and you understood the work. Nothing was wrong with you; the brain fog was getting in the way of execution.

He kissed the top of your head gently. "Don't worry about it. I'll write you a note."

"Are you sure?" you looked up at him with exhausted eyes.

"I'm sure." Your dad helped you get out of your chair and to your bedroom, giving you a tight hug before saying goodnight.

He scrolled a note on a piece of paper, explaining the situation to your teacher, and leaving his number in case they had any questions. Even though Your dad valued academics, he valued your health and happiness far more.

#spencer reid x daughter!reader #spencer reid x teen!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x daughter!reader

[plutonianeris]

ᴘɪᴄᴋ ᴀ ᴄᴀʀᴅ: accepting where people see you as the villain ⛓𓌹*♰*𓌺⛓

this is a general reading & for entertainment purposes only, take what resonates and leave what doesn't. scroll through the images & choose based on your inner guidance and gut feeling. 🖤

♱☾pile one☽

sometimes it feels like you can never win because one way or another, theres always someone criticizing you. People are nervous around you and its not necessarily anything you do. I got a lot of scorpio and plutonian energy in my cards/ the oracles. People in your daily life make you seem like the villain because either 1) you don't share too much of you and they are craving for access or 2) you are equally as suspicious of them. Regardless, people can be kind of intimidated of you (but never publically admit it, more like hide it behind shady comments). lol the lyrics of the song playing right now in the background "make everyone hate me if that makes you feel better, your girl talks shit about me just to feel better" as you keep climbing up in your career/ reputation youre going to feel like a lot of more people are judging you. Accept that you cant control that. And if it makes you feel any better, it is envy/ hate but its to hide some jealousy and even some admiration as well.

♡‧₊˚🕸 TIP JAR ‹𝟹 ∙ 🕷

♱☾pile two☽

I heard "theres just no way in hell that this is all on me" the people you live with/ family (and in your hometown) could see you as the villain in those moments you are trying to express your emotions. You could get called being too "emotional" I heard "crybaby" or maybe even being called a hothead & impulsive when you try to talk to your loved ones about how you feel. You could be known for having a short temper or being very emotional (like the type to cry after seeing someone in pain or reading a sad news article). In reality, people close to you can get irritated with how emotionally intelligent you are. When you're angry/ upset about something your'e always determined to do something about it, and you start off by allowing yourself to feel your feelings. Accept that some people dont want to make room for you needs/ emotions. But then know when its time to refuse to give people more access to your energy and make sure you are meeting ur own needs. I just heard "I am worth more than these poor experiences you are trying to give to me"

♡‧₊˚🕸 TIP JAR ‹𝟹 ∙ 🕷

♱☾pile three☽

you could find that people in your neighborhood, apartment complex, or even the school you go to tend to turn you into the villain on the forms you communicate/ ask questions/ express yourself intellectual point of view. If you have siblings you could find that you get into frequent fights or bicker a lot. Youre eager to learn new things and that could throw other people off as you rush past them, ready to know more about the world. this pile reminds me of a curious child lol touching the "dont touch" sign. Out of all the piles this one feels more playful. Its like people suck their teeth and roll their eyes but youre so resilient. you bounce back in a way that feels so efortless that they dont stay too mad. its like even the people that see you as "the villian" at times are still secretly rooting for you? idk lol this pile was weird but also kind of endearing. Again, it reminds me of the way a child falls and quickly gets back up. Even if people judge you, you know that you have to keep it pushing. I just heard "in 5 years... shit, in 5 weeks none of this bs is gonna matter"

♡‧₊˚🕸 TIP JAR ‹𝟹 ∙ 🕷

♱☾pile four☽

people you get into close relationships with (friends, but especially lovers or even your crushes) can make you the villain for your "eccentricity." this pile gave off big Aquarius energty (it reminds me of those with aspects between venus and uranus). lol like your beauty and ways of being are very unique or quirky. honestly, those qualities (your forms of dress, taste in music, the weird things you say, random facts u know) are actually what makes people interested in you and start crushing on you. but then at the same time they judge you for not conforming to societal norms. It's like "I think you are unique and brave, but god cant you just be normal sometimes?" thats annoying! My advice to you is don't EVER let people treat you as if spending time with you was a burden and don't let people pick and choose when to hang out with you. watch out for when you have big groups of friends, you could find that 1 or 2 could be hating behind your back. You always stand out in the crowd and sometimes that leaves insecure people with a sour taste in their mouth. You could be someone that has a different religion/ ethnicity/ background in comparison from the rest of your peers (whether it be at school or work). lol alien superstar is playing in the background rn "don't ever waste your time trying to compete with me... no one else in this world can think like me'

♡‧₊˚🕸 TIP JAR ‹𝟹 ∙ 🕷

© plutonianeris🕸️🕷️

#pac #pick a deck #pick a photo #pick a picture #pick a pile #astro tarot #astrology #intuitive reading #pick a pile reading #pick an image reading #self help tarot #tarot #tarot spread #tarot reading #astrology readings #plutonianeris

[malewifesband]

Here is a Labru fic I wrote over the last week or so. Post-canon. Extremely sexually explicit, 18+ only please. Trans male Kabru, and yes, Laios is a little chasery about it--be honest, you should expect this of him. 7.5k words.

Summary: With Marcille and Falin both gone temporarily from the castle*, Kabru and Laios have had a high workload, and the stress has started to get to them. Kabru has an ingenious solution to relieve stress, but Laios is not so sure it's a good idea: his feelings for Kabru are confused enough without adding the concept of platonic dick-touching to the mix.

*Will be followed up on in its own fic.

This and future fics will be filed under the tag #the compendium; because I dont like any fanfic sites.

Lots of things seemed to demand Laios' time: a deluge of common folk with grievances and indignant nobles angry at their recent vassalage and farm owners who didn't like whatever ordinance Laois had passed to increase food production because they didn't want to milk minotaurs and still more peasants complaining about the farmer he just saw, and on and on, forever, without end, it would rain pissed off subjects for forty days and forty nights and Laios could drown in the all the information they wanted him to track. Kingship was a nightmare.

He could and would say it was worth the pain to see when his plans succeed and happy faces of people whose lives were improved, but in honesty what actually made it bearable was the company and help of Falin, Marcille, and Kabru. Falin and Marcille were wonderful court mages and fantastic researchers, who made all his stupid ideas into real, actionable policy, and Kabru… Kabru helped him get even that far. It was incredible how quickly he would catch onto complex social dynamics and dissect them, remix them into something Laios could parse, and whisper it to him on the throne. All without missing the next beat.

And for the past month, he’s been over-relying on Kabru, and neither of them have been able to get away from the castle. Marcille and Falin have been having a rough patch, and decided they needed time together away from the castle. Which of course, Laios let them go take a vacation–he owed them that much. But while they've been away, tensions have exploded. The resurfacing of the Golden Continent has lead to droughts across the land as crop fields used to an abundance of rain from the coastline suddenly found themselves far inland, and foreign land holders were demanding compensation, and of course their rulers backed them as it meant they would not have to pay to feed the victims of an impending famine. (And no one seemed willing to farm monsters to eat despite their abundance. Close-minded jerks–it’s a necessity!)

The ordeal has been taxing on them both, and Maybe Kabru more than Laios. He’d been taking dinner in his quarters the last two days, and he's been standing about a foot further from the throne than he was before. Odd little distances from Laios he didn't take before. Laios feels like he's barely seen him in a week. He’d reminded him to eat and sleep plenty, and Kabru insisted that he had been. Laios wasn't sure what else he could really do.

A line of delegates had been leaving the dining room, a late meeting over dinner that perhaps no one wanted to have, one night when Kabru leaned in again, just as the door closed, and said, “Laios, can I talk to you about something, man to man?”

Laios was not sure how else they were meant ro talk, being as they were both men and thus couldn't talk, say, woman to woman or dog to dog, but he replied, “Sure, what's up?”

Kabru’s face darkened. “Not here. Let's talk in your chambers. I’ll meet you there in 30 minutes.”

It didn't feel like a long wait. He’d only really started to settle down when Kabru knocked at the door.

“Come in,” He called, kicking off his boots. Kabru entered, smiled at him, and then turned to bolt the door behind him. He took a deep breath and turned back to face Laios.

“You know I love this job,” he says.

“That’s great–” Laios starts to exclaim, but Kabru holds up a finger to silence him

“BUT. I have no time for women anymore, and it's been… frustrating.”

“What about Rin? She's a woman,” he said. She was pretty and they seemed pretty close.

“That's very true, Laois, Rin is a woman, but she's also like a sister to me. I could never date her.”

“Do you want time off?” He couldn't imagine running things without him, and Yaad insists that because he doesn't know how long he'll last in this world, that he should refrain from interfering so they do not depend too much on his service when he finally passes… Surely though, he’d be okay with filling in for Kabru for a couple of days? Maybe best not to tell him it's so Kabru can go on dates.

“No, it's not a real solution,” he says. He takes a deep breath, and his face flushes, getting darker again. “I don't think I could get away enough to meet my needs, I’d still be sexually frustrated.”

People get mad at you if you suggest they just go to a brothel for an hour or so, so Laios doesn't say that. Instead he tries, “You could invite a girl over for dinner, that seems like a cool date: dinner in a castle!”

The flush darkened.

“That's too serious. I’m not really looking for a girlfriend right now, not with how much work there is to do.” He averted his eyes from Laios' face, and crossed his arms.

“We could have an informal dinner–”

“Laios.” he said, firmly, like calling on a misbehaving dog. Something about that thought made Laios' heart flutter.”I’m trying to ask something of you. Please don't make any suggestions yet.”

He looked sweaty.

“Okay.”

He took another deep breath.

“I think it'd be easiest if we masturbated each other.”

Woah. Laois’ face fell into shock, open mouthed and wide-eyed like a fish gasping on deck.

“C-couldn't you just do that alo–”

Once again, Kabru cut him off, this time by touching his elbow.

“You’ve been pent up too,” he said softly, a small smile on his face, which had an odd effect with him still being flushed and sweaty.

Laios had been trying to pay attention to Kabru the way Kabru pays attention to others (it seemed fair to do that for him when he does it for everyone else), and so he knew this was the manner he talked to people he wanted to convince of something they already said they didn't want. In 15 instances of him doing this, Laios had seen him succeed 11 times. It seemed to work by making himself seem nonthreatening–he leans forward in a way that makes him smaller and exposes the neck, and his voice becomes quieter, almost like a purr, and he always smiles but never broadly in a way that shows his teeth.

He was starting to wonder how instance 16 would turn out. So he went quiet while Kabru went on.

“You’ve been as moody as I have, and I know what incredible stress you've been under with Marcille and Falin away, and your other friends unable to visit… We need to find a way for you to relax, and I promise it’ll be more satisfying if you let someone else touch you.”

That much, Laios knew, was true. Like trying to give yourself a hug, there was a certain sensation that was lacking–maybe the warmth of another person, or the fact that you can feel both the skin of your hand and the skin of your penis/body pressed together that makes it less powerful. He didn't have a ton of experience though, none of it with other men–though maybe that was for the best, since Kabru was not like other men and Laios was unsure what exactly to expect from him, genitally speaking. And all of his experiences had been transactional. And not that great.

Honestly, trying to navigate this strange social experience sounded far more stressful than a good orgasm could relieve. Just the thought of trying to figure out where to put his hands and at what point is it sex and can you have sex with your friends and just be friends and and and–

The hand at his elbow slid up to his bicep, and Kabru's other hand slipped around his opposite wrist.

“Tell me what's on your mind, Laios,” he said, gentle and firm.

“Do you have a cock? I’ve never held another man's cock and wouldn't it just be sex either way?” he answered all in a rush, heat rising from his neck to the tops of his ears. Kabru's grip tightened and then relaxed again.

“Yes and no to both,” he said.

“Wait, yes or no to which?”

“Yes and no to both,” he repeated, “If I have a cock depends on what you're asking for, and it's only sex if we say it is and we are saying it's not! It's not as complicated as you're making it out to be.”

Laios disagreed–this was already complicated. It seemed it would only get more complicated if they went through with it. And maybe even more complicated than that if they didn't after this conversation.

“I’ll be gentle, Laios, you're not the first virgin I’ve been with,” he said with a little laugh.

“Hm? I’m not a virgin,” Laios stated.

Kabru's eyes widened a bit, eyebrows raised.

“You… aren't? You had a girlfriend?”

Laios shook his head. “I had a fiancee, but I didn't really know her.”

Kabru exhaled loudly.

“You know what, it doesn't matter. You just need to tell me if you want to try it out.”

Laois really wasn't sure. Something about the whole concept seemed off, but maybe it was just that it felt so sudden and out of the blue. Maybe Kabru had been thinking about it a while, and this really was his best solution. He pictured Kabru calm and content, like how he looks when he takes his tea in the morning before the stress of the day creeps in. If it was really what would make him happy, it didn't seem right to deny him.

“Kabru…” he said low, unsure how to voice what was on his mind.

Kabru's hand slid into his. It was warm. Comforting.

“Yes?”

“Is this really what you want? You're not just asking me because you think I’d want it?”

This question was apparently very funny. He chuckled, then let his face spread into a grin, and laughed heartily. His hand stayed in Laois' and the one at his bicep grabbed at his shoulder now as if to support him.

“I am doing my best to convince you this is a good idea, and you're worried I just think you want it! Do you see how silly that sounds?” he said once his giggle fit wore down.

“I guess,” Laios replied, “But you lied about wanting to eat monsters.”

“I wasn't the one convincing you to eat them, though.”

“I still don't get how it's not just sex though.”

“Think of it as platonic sex between friends if you must then, just don't go telling people we're having sex or they'll get the wrong idea. Actually, please just keep this secret in general.”

Why does sex always have to be some secret thing no one should know about?

Content that Kabru really did want to have not-sex with him (and now discontented with many other things), Laios was ready to give his answer: “Okay, we can do this.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Kabru started leading him to the bed.

“Oh you meant now,” he said.

“Did you… did you want to wait?” Kabru said cautiously. Their hands were still held together. Warm. Comforting. If none of the rest of this was fun, Laios would like to start holding hands with him more at least.

“Now is as good a time as any,” he answered.

“Because it’d make you nervous anticipating it otherwise.”

It wasn't a question, because if Kabru says something about what you think, it's usually because you did and he knows it. And it would make Laois nervous, sitting on his throne, listening to all those people, and having Kabru lean over him all day knowing what they'd be doing later. Which makes it sound very erotic, too. But in that romantic story way where you can just skip over the part where you have to do a lot that day and it'd be weird and honestly kind of strenuous to just be horny all day long: i.e. not actually all that erotic.

Then again, that last hour of waiting…

“Laios, sit on the bed, please.”

He sat on the bed as commanded, while Kabru put out the lights. Perhaps the dark made it less like sex. He left one dim candle and returned.

There was a poof as Kabru sank into the feather mattress beside him. It was quiet for a second.

It felt like Laios should say something, but what? It felt like all the thoughts had emptied from his brain, it was overwhelming, something was about to happen and it felt as dark inside his head as it did in the room. Like a flickering something in the back of his skull that he couldn't look straight at or it would blind him, but it was too dim to reveal anything else on its own.

“I’m going to undress. You should too, let's not overtax the launderer.”

Commands were good. He could follow commands. He stripped off his doublet and shirt sleeves–he had already ditched his finery as soon as he could get away with it–and started unlacing his breeches. His eyes were quickly adjusting to the dim glow, and now he could see Kabru’s outline.

His shirt was off, and he was bent double to remove his own shoes, showing off his back. He was lean, but you could see the strength in him, like a runner or a gymnast. He sat up, shoes tossed aside, and suddenly bucked his hips, and his pants and underwear dragged down his legs. With a little kick, they too lay discarded in the dark and leaving Kabru’s crotch exposed. Thick pubic hair shined there, but no external genitalia that Laios could see, at least not at this angle.

He was actually very curious about it. Certain monsters endogenously change their sex, such as Basilisks and some varieties of Merrow, under certain environmental or social pressures. Sometimes even due to unique genetics not found in others of their species! Kabru had said that he’d been taking a masculinizing hormone since he was old enough to start puberty naturally (apparently elves were rather accepting about such change), so he didn't develop breasts, but what effect that has on human genitalia, Laios was uncertain of. The monsters he knew of that could transition naturally did not have human-analogous genitalia, so he couldn't really conjecture.

“Your breeches are still halfway down your thighs, your majesty,” Kabru said. He laughed.

“Um. Sorry…” Laios hurriedly finished undressing.

And then it was still again.

“We don't have to do this if you don't want to,” he said. They were almost shoulder to shoulder, close enough that Laios could sense his nearness of him by the radiating warmth alone. He felt cold sitting there naked. He wanted to get closer. He didn't know how.

“...I do want to. I just…” he muttered. Kabru didn't prompt him to continue. Instead he put his arm around his shoulders and waited. After a second, he found the words to say, “I feel like I don't know what to do here, or what you want from me. I don't –I don't want you to not like it.”

“You can start by not trying to ogle me,” he replied.

“O-oh, sorry! I just want to know about how sex transitions work for humans! You see, a basilisk hen can become a rooster under specific circumstances, but they have cloaca, so their external genitalia remains the same, and it's similar for merrows, which you might know as the fish-type of merman–though I suppose you could use certain kinds of healing spells to create a penis and testes if you wanted one–”

“Laios, my friend, can we please focus on the task at hand?”

He sounded angry but didn't pull his arm away.

“Sorry! I’m nervous!”

Kabru sighed deeply again.

“If you need me to tell you what to do, then I will. But you better do it the way I tell you. And if you do…” he leaned in closer, the whisper of his breath grazing Laios' ear, “then I will enjoy it. Understood?”

A lump had just formed in his throat, so Laios could only nod once, animated enough for three.

“Good. I’m going to start by touching you. Try to stay still or lean against me.”

The hand at his shoulder began kneading there–at first it was a dull ache, but it soon began to melt into that warmth-comfort that being held by Kabru felt like. He groaned. Kabru's other hand snaked around his waist, more caressing than the deeper massage at the shoulder.

“You carry a lot of tension lately.” Kabru's voice was so quiet, and spoke directly in Laios' ear now, not an inch between them.

The kneading hand moved from the flesh of his shoulder to his neck. His fingers would press gently against his carotid, and the intimacy of it felt exciting. Like a wolf exposing his neck to his packmates, an ultimate show of trust. ‘You could kill me, but I know you wouldn't because of how much I matter to you.’

His nails dragged against his skin, just barely catching as he pulled his fingers back.

Kabru rested his head against Laios' back, nuzzling the nape of his neck, making his hair stand up. The caressing at his waist became firm, then Kabru dug his thumb into the hollow of his hip. Laois' cock twitched.

With excruciating langor, Kabru pushed that thumb down towards his groin, to the crook of his thigh. His knuckles brushed against his shaft as he began rubbing his inner thigh. The increasing tightness in his groin was becoming impossible to ignore.

“Should we kiss?” Laios blurted out.

Kabru paused his ministrations. And that was agonizing too.

“You want to kiss me?” he asked.

“It feels like we should be.”

He started rubbing his thigh again, but on the top of it, not the hypersensitive area near his half-erect cock.

“...We can try it,” Kabru answered. He spoke so slowly and softly, it was more like he was talking to Laois' shoulder than to Laios proper.

He pulled his hand away from Laios' thigh and cupped his jaw instead. Laios turned towards him, and tried to mirror him, bringing a hand to cup Kabru's face too.

It felt incredible to touch him, it made him feel silly that he hadn't been touching him before now. His skin felt so soft, with a hint of the roughness of stubble down his jaw. He rubbed his thumb over the apple of his cheek, where the flesh was plumpest. He wondered how Kabru's lips would feel.

He didn't wonder long.

Kabru pulled him closer by the nape of his neck until their lips pressed together. The feeling was difficult to describe: Kabru's lips felt soft against his, pillowy, but also a bit rough because they were a bit chapped, like he hadn't had enough water, but it wasn't really those qualities that seemed to matter most–it was this almost electrical feeling, like a static shock that surged through him through his heart to the base of his spine. Laois threaded his fingers into the hair at the back of Kabru's neck, enjoying the silky texture, and tried to deepen the kiss, get more of this feeling–

Clack!

Their teeth clashed and Kabru drew away quickly. He took his hand back from Laios' thigh to tend his teeth.

“Try to walk before you can run,” he hissed behind his hand.

“What does that mean? You're trying to have us masturbate each other and I’m just trying to kiss!”

“If you want to stop–”

“No, I don't want to stop! I just want you to make sense!”

“You are so frustrating!” he cried and fell back on the bed.

It just doesn't make sense! There was some essential divide between the way Kabru was acting and what he was saying and it bothered Laios. For once, he didn't feel like he’d done something wrong here. Except hurting his teeth (his own ached a little too).

“I’m sorry I hurt your teeth,” he said.

“It's fine.” He didn't sit back up.

“Can you please tell me what it is you actually want? None of this makes sense to me. You say you're sexually frustrated, you need to get laid, but we don't tell me to touch you or how you want it–”

“I was going to when I was ready.”

“You couldn't wait to do this, I don't believe that if your goal was quid-pro-quo orgasm, you wouldn't want to go first.”

“And why is that so unbelievable that I’d want you to cum first?”

“I don't know, it was just weird how you were making it all romantic and sensual but you say you don't want it to be romantic.”

He still wasn't getting up, so Laios fell back with him. Now they were both laying down with their legs hung over the side. Laios' erection flopped onto his belly.

“I can't believe you're still hard right now,” Kabru huffs.

“I can't control it, it does what it wants,” he answered.

Kabru chuckled, but then went quiet. Laios wasn't sure what to say. He hoped he hadn't ruined it–he really was enjoying it.

Laios turned towards him on the bed, to look at him, and said, “It’s fun, even though I feel like I don't understand you.”

Kabru didn't turn to face him, he stayed on his back, looking up at the ceiling. But he did talk again.

“I’m sorry. I–I don't know why I thought this was a good idea.” He sounded upset.

Laios grabbed his hand, and hoped that it felt as nice to Kabru as it felt for him.

“Laios…” he said, squeezing his hand, “I think I like you. Romantically, not just as a friend. I’m sorry I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

And that… That made more sense.

“Why didn't you just say something?” 

“I’ve tried so many times and the words just die in my throat! Do you know how hard this is? I’ve never liked guys before and now I do and it's you! You, who I spend so much time with and none of it alone–the few times I’ve gotten you alone and tried to flirt or drop a hint or anything, you just don't seem to get it! And then I get so nervous about how to get through to you, I feel ill.”

“You weren't actually sick?!” 

That made Kabru turn around. He slapped his hand to Laios' cheek and pulled. 

“Focus, stupid!” he said.

“Okay, okay!” 

His hold released. But the hand stayed. Laios couldn't help but smile: it really was nice.

“I like it when you touch me,” he said, realized how that sounded, and corrected, “Not just sexually but all the time,” realized how that might sound also, “But I’d like it if you touched me more just maybe as like a boyfriend instead of whatever it is you were doing before!”

Kabru pulled closer to him again–another kiss. This time, Laios let him do what he wanted. It was tender, it sent a shiver through Laios to try not grab him like he was trying to devour him whole, but he couldn't stop himself from cupping his hand over Kabru's and squeezing tight.

Too soon, Kabru pulled away again. He pressed his forehead to Laios' so the tips of their noses touched.

“I’ll fuck you as a boyfriend then,” he purred.

The blood rushed back to Laios’ dick so fast that it left him dizzy. 

“Just lie like that a minute, I need to grab something.”

He did as he was told, but he did peek. 

The candlelight only offered a glimpse of Kabru's silhouette as he got up and knelt by his bag–Laios hadn't noticed he'd brought one. He dug around, and Laios heard the clink of glass against glass. When he stood back up, he held a bottle, some larger, translucent object Laios couldn't make out, and what looked like a bunch of leather straps, and he held something else behind his back. He placed the leather straps and the glass bottle on the end table, and held out the larger object. It was a glass phallus, complete with textured bumps and a tapered end to keep it in place once inside someone. It was fairly small, as phalluses go, but it looked like it would feel perfect inside you. 

“Get up on the pillows, and lie on your back.”

He scooched up and fluffed the pillows.

“Can you guess what I'm going to do with this?” he asked, very cheerily.

“Um. Put it in me?” He’d typically used his fingers when touching himself, and didn't have something as nice as this. 

“Wrong! I'm putting this one in me–though if you ask nicely, I might let you do it. But this–” he pulled his hidden hand from behind his back. Held in his grasp was something Laios had never seen before. It was certainly also a phallus, certainly human shaped (complete with balls), but of a material he’d never encountered–not glass, nor the stuffed leather ones they sell in sex shops with the irritating looking stitches, but something stiff yet flexible enough to bend with the incredible girth of the thing. Maybe rubber? You couldn't easily get rubber on this continent since the trees won't grow here–it must've been expensive. 

“This is the one I want to put in you.”

Laios gasped. 

“That thing is massive! Are you sure?!”

He put the smaller one on the end table, and dropped the big one on the bed, letting it fwump and roll into Laois' side as he got busy putting on his harness. Laios was quickly coming to understand what he meant by ‘I have a cock depending on what you're asking for’. He meant to thrust it inside him like any guy with one growing out of his crotch could.

“Calm down, Laios. I’m not going to just shove it in there. I'm just putting it on, for the feel of it. We’ll stretch you out first.”

Laois could feel himself blush from head to toe. His unattended cock twitched painfully, but he didn't dare touch himself before Kabru got back on the bed and touched him first.

Thankfully the buckling and snapping came to an end. Kabru leaned over to grab the massive dildo, and secured it in place. The straps dug into the flesh around his hips and thighs, and wrapped around the base of the cock and the balls, almost fusing it to him. He uncorked the bottle and poured some of the liquid into his palm, then began stroking himself with it.

“The natural rubber can catch skin and hair if left dry, and it's really uncomfortable. This will help it feel more natural, and we’ll apply more once you're ready of course.”

“Can you get back on the bed now?” Laios said impatiently.

“Ah, now that you're thinking of me ‘like a boyfriend’ you know exactly what you want?” he said.

“Yes! I thought we were clear on that. Do we have to talk more? I’d really rather you touch me again,” he replied, increasingly aggravated every second Kabru was keeping him waiting like this wasn't his idea.

“I don't think I understand you,” he said, but to his credit he was on the bed now, “Any time I try to tease you and flirt with you, it blows up. I say the most humiliating thing I’ve ever said, completely lose my composure, and that's what works. Everytime.”

Laios huffed. He really thought they'd gotten over this by now. He grabbed Kabru's wrist and pulled him closer.

“Just say the thing that you mean first, and you won't be so embarrassed later. Fucking hell,” he said as Kabru toppled on top of him.

Kabru got back up, supporting himself by one elbow as he readjusted his cock, which was currently trying to rut itself into the crease between Laios' thigh and hip.

“Fine, here's my true feelings: you are such an ass.” He slapped his dick down on top of Laios' and dropped down, squeezing them between their bodies and winding Laios. He tried to moan, but with all the air pushed out of his lungs (on purpose!), all he could manage was a gasp.

“You still *gasp* like me though, right?”

He didn't answer, he just nuzzled into Laios' shoulder, kissing the skin where it joined the neck, and then slowly rocked his hips. He wasn't really expecting what it felt like–maybe it would've felt like a handjob did, but it didn't. It felt gentler than that, gentler than the constricted feeling of penetrating someone, yet with firm pressure on his sensitive shaft and head. The weight of Kabru on top of him, pressing their bodies together, felt incredible. He whimpered, his arms moving on their own to hold Kabru around the waist.

“Now you're the one who doesn't make sense. Be more confident that I like you even though I think you're a stupid asshole.”

Laios gasped again and turned to putty–Kabru picked up the pace and kissed his neck in earnest. Laois wanted to wrap his legs around him too, just take every part of him into himself, just absorb him, but Kabru's hands at his hips were locking him in place, and it would take an extreme force of will to try lifting them when it risked Kabru letting go. He went faster, and faster, kissing and tonguing his neck, until–

Kabru stopped abruptly, panting a little (Laois panted a lot). His dick throbbed with need.

“Don’t stop now…!” he whined.

Kabru sat up on his heels.

“I have a mission, Laios,” he said. He leaned over to grab the bottle of lube. He uncorked it, poured more in his palm, recorked it one-handed and put it back. With much squelching and spurting, he lubed up all five of his fingers and the palm too. He positioned himself so that his thighs created a wedge pillow for Laios' hips to rest on. Then, he pulled him up. Kabru's strength was always impressive–but maybe it was more his familiarity with the human body and how it moves, and how to use its natural points of leverage against someone–or for them, if he was about to fuck them in the ass–and that was even more impressive.

It was lucky that Laios tended to keep himself clean to facilitate his own masturbation, because Kabru didn't seem to think about that at all. He took a deep breath and got ready for what he expected next.

Probing finger number one entered, hooked upwards to seek out his prostate. He stroked in and out until he found it, and hit it hard. Precum shot from the tip of his dick. His sphincter clenched from the sudden excessive stimulation.

“Agh! Don't be so rough!”

“Sorry,” he said in his sweetest voice, “I was having fun.”

With a much gentler hand, he stroked it slowly. Once Laios relaxed again, he inserted a second finger. He rubbed at that hollow of his hips as he stroked, then began scissoring his fingers, a little wider each time. he was methodical, trying to work him out as fast as he could. Laios grabbed for his free hand again–he missed how comfortable it was beneath him, and it felt like all he could do was anticipate when Kabru would decide to come down to him again. He put in the third finger.

All of this felt so new, mostly because it was. He’d never had anyone else inside of him, even if he’d done it himself regularly. He’d had sex, but not with a close friend, not with someone who he enjoyed clinging to like slime. It was nerve-wracking, it was exciting, it was a fourth finger squeezing inside.

Kabru whistled.

“To be honest Laios, I was not actually confident I’d be able to get it in tonight, but it seems we will. Good job.”

“Th-thanks,” he said hoarsely. He’d been moaning nonstop for the last ten minutes, so his voice was about spent.

Kabru kept thrusting his fingers, brushing Laois' prostate on every third plunge in exactly, never really letting Laios lose himself in the rhythm of it, or letting him go ahead and cum. He got down to the last knuckle of his hand, and stretched all four fingers inside wide.

“You have definitely done this before,” he said.

“Um, just–ahhh–just to myself.”

Slowly he closed his fingers and withdrew them.

“I think you're ready. Now you get to get me ready.”

Once again, he returned to the end table, pulled the bottle of lube and the much smaller dildo. He handed them to Laios, who had sat up to see what he was doing.

Kabru laid back on his elbows, and lifted his legs to give Laios better access to his crotch.

“Put some lube on that and stretch me out a little so you can put it in,” he said.

Laios rubbed the dildo with the lube, making sure to coat his fingers as he did so.

“Bend down to get to me,” he instructed.

So Laios bent over, ducking the monstrous cock he was going to be taking very soon, and at this angle he could get a good look at Kabru's anatomy.

He had been wrong about the lack of external genitalia–his clitoris hung outside of the labia majora, engorged and standing at half-attention despite the weight of the skin and fat sitting above it.

“Yours is huge,” he said, awestruck. He touched it, holding it between two fingers, stroking it not unlike how he would the tip of his own and eliciting a moan from Kabru. He wondered what it would feel like against his tongue. “Could I suck it? Just for a minute?”

Kabru went very still for a second.

“Please do.”

Laios dove for it, using one arm to support himself, and the other to feel what he couldn't see in the dark, and letting the showy dildo flop onto his head. He took it into his mouth, licking the underside with the flat of his tongue and pressing it into his pallet. He had neither sucked dick nor eaten pussy before, so he couldn't truly compare, but he liked that Kabru's…–well, it should be fine to call it a cock even if there was a much larger artificial one above, dirtying his hair right now–Kabru’s cock was almost exactly a mouthful. It made it easy to loll it about on his tongue, testing the weight and density of it. And all his play seemed to be working wonderfully for Kabru–his thighs shook and his breathing was a bit shallow. He found a rhythm he liked and focused on using his fingers now. He spread apart the lips, and tried to finger him.

His head was unceremoniously pushed away. The heavy dildo flopped down onto the bed.

“You haven't fingered anyone before, have you?” Kabru asked, voice a little shaky.

“Ummm… No.”

Kabru just nodded.

“I’ll show you another time. You won't stay stretched forever,” he said, scratching at Laios' scalp for a second before continuing to push him away, “Go on, lay back as you were.”

He picked up the smaller dildo–which Laios had forgotten in his eagerness–and slowly worked it into himself. Once it was in, he left it there, no further fussing with it. He instead turned his attention back to Laios and his splayed legs. But instead of wedging himself under Laios again, he climbed over him, straddling one of his thighs, and said, “You still have to finish lubing it up, though.”

With a sweet smile, he passed the bottle to Laios again, who uncorked it while he stared down the massive, heavy battering ram strapped to his royal advisor. He poured the viscous substance directly onto the shaft of it and passed the bottle back to Kabru to deal with. He took it in both hands, pumping it slowly, being sure to fully coat it. Kabru hummed in contentment.

“Can I ask something?” Laios said, careful not to stop his work as he talked.

“Hm? Sure, go on,” he answered. He sounded almost blissful.

“If you can't feel it, why do you enjoy this?”

“Um. I suppose…I just like to watch.

“So you’d like it if I sucked this one too?”

Laios could see his Adam's apple bob in the dim light.

“Yes. Yes, I would. But stay focused, please,” he said. He stayed Laios' hands.

In a few swift motions, Laios' ass was back in Kabru's lap, the head of his dick pressed against his sphincter. That slim and strong body holding him in place, readying to fuck him–Laios figured he could understand why Kabru liked watching his partners. It felt good to know you made someone else enjoy themself; it made him feel sexy to see Kabru so focused on him.

Man, he really didn't get to feel sexy often. People didn't seem to really desire him like that. Granted, it's been uncomfortable a lot of the times he's noticed someone else was interested in him, though he wasn't sure why. Why should they be interested in a body like this? There was nothing cool or special about it. It just was. It didn't feel sexy.

So then why did Kabru liking him feel different?

The head pressed past the ring of his asshole, spreading him wide all at once. He inhaled sharply, his legs reflexively tightened around Kabru, forcing him in deeper. Kabru caught himself before he pushed too far too fast. He kept his pace slow and Laios tried to hold his legs still, but couldn't stop the way they twitched. Soon, the head brushed against his prostate. The sheer girth of it as it moved past made it feel like it’d been getting hammered. And still it kept coming for what felt like hours before Kabru finally bottomed out.

When he did, he leaned forward, pushing even deeper, forcing a deep moan from Laios. He couldn't reach Laios' face, but he could press his face to Laios' chest and pepper it with kisses. He ran the tip of his tongue around a nipple, and it made Laios shudder. So he locked his legs around Kabru, squeezing their bodies together.

“You can start thrusting; I’m ready,” Laios said, voice husky with desire. His cock ached for release.

Kabru complied, slowly and carefully at first, but gathering speed each time. The pressure on his prostate on the up-stroke was immense, and as the strokes came faster and faster, the ripples of pleasure coursing through his body were becoming crashing waves. Small gasps and moans too were becoming louder, and if he didn't control himself, the whole castle was going to hear him getting his back blown out. He bit down on his hand to muffle himself.

Soon, he came: thick ropes coated him and Kabru's bellies. He expected Kabru to slow down and stop, but he kept up his feverish pace. The sensation left him feeling dizzy, fuzzy in the head and weak in the limb. It certainly wasn't bad but he was going to pass out if he kept this up.

“Kabru,” he tried to say, but it was so hard to speak like this. He tapped him on the shoulder.

Kabru responded, his own voice hoarse and gasping now, “I’m close, I’m so close!”

No stopping him now–Laios clung for dear life onto Kabru's shoulders. He was flaccid now, but every stroke past his prostate forced more seminal fluid from the tip of his dick, milking him dry.

With a moan and a shudder, Kabru finally relented. He rested his head on Laios' tits, just a moment, giving a few soft kisses while he caught his breath. Laios rubbed his shoulders, keeping his touch light, not wanting to risk arousing him again (he could not handle it if Kabru tried to rut him again so soon).

“Kabru,” he mumbled, too tired to talk properly.

Kabru looked up. His face looked blissful and sleepy. “Hmm?”

“You gotta pull out, man, I am so tired.”

He pushed himself up back to the kneeling position and carefully pulled out. And so Laios immediately fell asleep.

A few moments of sleep later, he woke to Kabru climbing back in bed with him, holding a warm towel.

He was dressed in his night wear, and more candles were lit again so it wasn't quite so dark.

“Here,” he said, pressing the towel into Laois' hands, “Get cleaned up, and put your bed clothes on.”

Laios took the towel and began to wash up what he could. He couldn't have been asleep for very long, as the mess on his stomach hadn't completely dried down, but the feeling of the lube was starting to itch. It was kind of awkward with Kabru just sitting there, and it seemed Kabru felt the same, since he decided it was a good time to talk.

“So… you're feeling alright? No pain?”

Laios hadn't been prepared to talk yet. His mouth felt sticky.

“Mm. Mostly. Just feel kinda sore.”

“Well, let me know if you need a healing spell or anything.” He drummed his fingers on his legs, pointedly not looking at Laios. For his privacy, Laios guessed, though that did feel silly to be concerned about with a guy you were just inside of.

“Water would be nice,” Laios answered.

“Of course, let me grab your glass,” he said, springing back to his feet. He was just acting kind of weird in a way Laios couldn't place.

Kabru had brought in a jug and a couple glasses when he'd come back, along with the hot towel. If anyone saw him passing by, they’d probably think Laios had been sick–at least that's what Laios would think.

Laios finished cleaning himself off and bunched up the towel to put in the laundry later just as Kabru turned back to him with the water.

“Thanks,” he said, taking it and gladly chugging it.

Kabru sat on the bed in an awkward silence while Laios picked up discarded clothes and the towel and got himself into something clean, and he was still waiting like that when Laios sat down with him again.

“Are you, like, okay?” Laios asked, trying not to yawn. But fuck was he still tired.

Kabru exhaled hard. He was sweaty again–he was sweaty a lot though.

“What exactly did you mean by saying you wanted me to ‘touch you like a boyfriend’?” Kabru said politely, his focus entirely on Laios. Scanning him, almost.

Laios had not thought of the statement as ambiguous, but pressed to answer he wasn't now sure what he did mean by that. Why the hell did he say it that way?

“I mean that…You're my friend, and I care about you a lot, and I couldn't do any of this kingly mess if you weren't here…” Kabru's stare was intense, and it was making him nervous, “and… You know you're really handsome? And…” he was turning red and sweating, talking was getting physically more difficult, “and… tonight, that was nice? We should… again. Sometime.”

‘Be more confident that I like you…’

Why couldn't they talk about all this before milking his prostate and continuing to fuck him for like ten extra minutes?

An arm snaked around his waist, pulling them close. Laios just wanted to go to sleep like this, pressed against him. He rested his head on top of Kabru's–his hair smelled nice, probably some perfume he used inbetween washes.

“Would you like to be my boyfriend, then, Laios? Is that what you're trying to say?”

Laios dared lay a kiss in that bed of curls; he dared to wrap his own arms around Kabru.

“Yeah, it is.”

“We’ll have a lot to discuss if we want this to work,” he said.

“Probably. Being king doesn't help,” Laios answered, “But let's worry about that in the morning. I just wanna sleep with you now.”

Kabru squeezed him tightly, nuzzling his neck again, breath against his pulse, speaking softly.

“You should phrase that differently–I could go for another round.”

Locking Kabru in a hold, Laios fell back on the bed.

“You're insatiable! Let me rest!” 

They laughed together for a minute as Kabru broke the hold and got up to put out the candles. Laios yawned deeply, and got under the covers, and made space for Kabru. He pushed a pillow over for him. When Kabru climbed into bed, he laid face to face with Laios.

He looked so beautiful in the moonlight, soft and happy, and his eyes seemed to sparkle. Being with Kabru made him happy, even if they didn't always understand one another. He could trust him, and he felt like Kabru trusted him too. He wanted to kiss him again, fall asleep close that way. So he did. They lay curled around each other, lost in dreams.

All that mattered that night was that they wanted each other's company: Everything else could wait.

#the compendium #labru #kabru #laios touden

[hybbart]

Heya! I was wondering how medication and medical devices work in the ranchers au. Most devices need replacing quite often and after five years, many medications would be out of date and useless or even dangerous.

I definitely get if it's just a case of, they don't go off, since medicine is confusing but I was curious since it could lead to plot.

I should say that I specifically don't get into this stuff much just because I don't know much about it and I would rather keep things vague than accidentally impart incorrect information. As well as the fact that it is ultimately a biopunk setting with differences to our world. That said, have more rambles than I expected.

Right you are, there's in fact not a lot of medication left. People hoard anything they find but most is long expired. The hospital is lucky to have two doctors and Scar who know a bit more about medicine than the average person, but a lot of whats kept is just praying it still works.

Cleo thanks to being a gorgon is also in the drug development business, though she specialized in developing antivenom, but she not only knows but can help develop certain medicines. She and Scott have made quite a thing of their inn and I kinda wanna touch on it in the future.

Shubble, Katherine, Gem, Impulse, and Pearl know home remidies for a lot of things and have specifically been growing and creating them. These aren't going to replace complex modern drugs for specific conditions obviously, but they work and its easy to pass it around with the help of the radio station.

Overall, on bad days, Tango generally has to grin and bear it with homemade pain killers at most. It's rough and it contributed to the second wave of population decline after the first wave of zombie deaths. It's Scar's goal to specifically help survivors with this sort of thing, though.

As for medical equipment, it's a bit grim but since there's such a small population now and the hospitals were the first to go there was a lot of spare equipment from storage and patients left behind. In part because of Scar's own medical needs and in part for their desire to help others, Scar and Cub, and later Grian, collected what they could from abandoned hospitals and care homes.

It's obviously not going to cover everything, materials break down and as far as replacing them or things that need customization there isn't a factory just down the road that makes it all in house.

This is where I take the most artistic liberties, but Tango, with Doc and Zed, is the one to maintain Jimmy and Scar's equipment as well as his arm. Whether that's patching the existing, altering replacement, or crafting new parts. He knew a good bit from his job and hobbies but he's spent the past 5 years learning specifically how to diy for Jimmy and himself. It's not perfect but it's the best they have.

This is still a bit of a soft biopunk setting at the end of the day with mutliple species and genetic modification, I imagine it might be a little bit easier to get hold of certain things than it would be in real life. I also think they live in a very different economy, and its probably easier to find sturdier and custom made items due to the variety of their society making mass production more difficult. This leaves the problem of certain species not responding to certain medicines though and needing more specialized treatment.

The degredation of materials is something I do try to take into account, which is the reason gas power is nearly nonexistent, but it's hard to take everything into account and sometimes I would rather not, simply because it allows more stories to be told if something is available but difficult to get rather than impossible. I'm not great with drawing or knowing technology so it's easier to just say something is jerryrigged than it is to actively illustrate how they did it. If it seems it might be possible I allow it.

The important thing to me is to consider the types of people who would think about these things first and if anyone might be that person. You know, someone with asthma is going to think of medication and figure out how to get it, a truck driver might know where to go for storages of specific supplies instead of raiding malls, and a historical reenactor might think of how to get and create sustainable materials. Everyone leads a life that puts certain things at the forefront of their mind that other people probably wouldn't think of at all. Especially going from a modern specialist society collapsing into a society that requires generalized knowledge. And the saved knowledge of these things didn't turn to dust the second the apocalypse hit.

Life's not as rough as it might be in other apocalypse media, just because I guess I generally don't really care for the unrralistically cynical outlook a lot of american apocalypse stories are made in for drama's sake. This is a story about people caring about and helping one another, and developing a new life for themselves. If they don't have access to something, people work together to make due with what they have.

#raau ask #raau notes: technology #raau notes #raau notes: setting #raau notes: character #raau notes: ranchers #raau notes: art

[100hearteyes]

The reason why I love Saskia so much and think she's hands down the best character of Class of '07 (in a cast full of really great characters) is that she's never just one thing or the other.

She was an awful bully and queen of the school, yet that school is also where she lived her biggest trauma. But the show never uses one thing to negate nor excuse the other; only uses it to inform and deepen Saskia's character.

Going back to the role of Queen Bee is torture and eats away at Saskia, because that's a side of herself she worked very hard to leave behind, and she only does it because she truly believes it's their only way of surviving. And we see it in those moments where she says people have no idea how much it hurts her to revert back to her mean girl persona and how much she resents Amelia for making her do it. She hates it.

However, she also almost revels in it, as it comes oh so easily and naturally to her. And she admits that she doesn't feel anything when she sees Laura collapse, she "murders" Sandy, manipulates conversations with Zoe and Teresa, shuns Genevieve, etc because she's doing what she has to to survive, keep riding, like he said, but also... It's like something in her shut off. And also came alive at the same time (we see that happening in real-time when she breaks in front of Teresa - who had just lost a toe, but that was also Saskia's thing until later in the season, how her pain seemed to matter more or something - and then when T bursts at her she shuts down and back into mean girl). And she hates that more than anything, as she admits, that she worked so hard to leave the mean girl behind and then it's so damn easy to be her again.

And then, she explodes. She goes ballistic on Renee and Phoebe, and when she's finally caught for "killing" Sandy she's willing to take her punishment. Relishes the opportunity to finally leave the mean girl behind. But then, she's confronted with just how much she hurt all the girls in her class, and she understands that her pain doesn't negate that, and she fully accepts her punishment. Becomes numb to everything that's happening to her, even.

I think Saskia only truly starts healing when Sister Bicky shows up and they have that conversation about him and how the faculty should have done more to deter him.

She's never just the bully, she's never just Queen Bee, she's never just the girl who was taken advantage of my a teacher, she's never just the byproduct of her trauma. She's never just sad or angry or guilty or cold. She's never just either victim or perpetrator. The villain or one of the heroes. She's all of those things all at once, and she can and does change from one facet to the other in a fraction of a second.

Speaking of whom, Saskia's complexity also shows in how she (rightfully) blames him for fucking her up, but also still remembers him in key moments (that line, "I don't understand how the person who fucked you up so badly could also be the voice of encouragement that you need to go on," is brilliant) and gets jealous when she finds out this other girl lasted longer, and still relies on her memories of him to find the strength to keep up the mean girl persona, for the sake of the group. Those are normal - and heartbreaking - consequences of that type of trauma, of course, but they also show just how layered Saskia is and how up to a point - and even if, like Genevieve said, she was a bully before year 12 - her trauma informs her mean girl bullying, and the bullying and inhabiting the mean girl skin again deepens the trauma.

She's possibly my favorite pseudo villain ever.

Anyway, Saskia is a fantastic character and that's thanks to the writers and Caitlin Stasey.

#now all she needs to do is kiss girls #long post #analysis #class of '07 spoilers #class of '07 #class of 07 #spoilers #saskia vanderbeek #saskia van der beek

[ollypopwrites]

From Depths Unknown ; Part 6

Part 1 ⚜️ Part 2 ⚜️ Part 3 ⚜️ Part 4 ⚜️ Part 5 or Read on Ao3

Rolan x F!Tav (AFAB, she/her) *Tav is a Storm Sorcerer, but no actual reference to her appearance.

Rating: E

Tags & Warnings: [18+ MDNI] Smut (PiV sex, fingering, wizards and their mage hands am i right?), confessions, background Bloodweave being dysfunctional (i love you boys but u are a mess), familial banter, Rolan being Rolan, and Tav's savior complex.

Notes: I said six chapters.... but i got carried away again. Next chapter will be the last I promise lol.

Chapter Summary:

Rolan felt the walls closing in on him. The thought of her packing her things to leave the city behind had created a painful clawing sensation in the center of his chest. He had quickly realized that were he to give any input, Rolan would be near begging her to stay. Tav should do what she wanted to, and without him being so openly upset at the prospect of her departure. But it had been days of agony keeping quiet as she played with ideas of what she ought to do and what she wanted to do. He was not sure he could contain himself any longer.

“Engaged? As in…  to be married?”

“What other kind of engaged  is there, darling?” Astarion took a sip of wine. “Do we not have our fearless leader’s blessing?” 

Tav rolled her eyes at his pout. “No, it’s just… fast.”

“Our bond was tried by illithid fires, a more harmonious matrimony couldn’t be forged,” Gale grinned. 

“Point taken.”

“Will it be a spring wedding?” Shadowheart smiled only half teasing, “with calla lilies and hydrangeas? Oh, who will be the ring bearer? I think Scratch would love to do the job. We can make Minsc the flower girl.”

“A role he would fill honorably, no doubt,” Gale chuckled. 

Astarion seemed to be mulling over the idea of an actual ceremony. Then shook his head and turned back to his glass. It was still an adjustment, his new life amidst the living. He kept forgetting he actually had to eat, and as a result Tav had started slipping rations into everyone’s pockets to offer him regularly. Any spot they settled into, he would find a pocket of sunlight from a window and sit in. 

After decades of hiding from the sun, and without the tadpole to preserve his formerly-undead skin, there was a slight pink tint to it. Tav watched as he pressed his fingers against the slightly sunburnt skin, the pressure making it lighten until he removed it. It warmed her heart to see him adjust, but she would never embarrass him by saying so.

“After we return to Waterdeep there will be much to do,” Gale said, “the tower will need adjustments, now that it will be our home. Once things get settled, and I face my mother’s ire, we can start to consider the details.”

“Gods, I’ll have a mother-in-law ,” Astarion realized.

“She will love you,” Gale assured him. 

“I think it might be Tara who is the harder sell,” Tav said. “She’s protective.”

“As many tressyms are,” Gale hummed. “Discerning and erudite.”

“I can catch a few pigeons, maybe that will soften her up,” Astarion smiled. 

“Good to know you’re still the same,” Shadowheart laughed. “What will you do in Waterdeep? Become a magistrate again?”

“No,” Astarion scrunched up his nose. “It’d be too hard now to get my pockets lined with all this Saviors of the Gate talk.”

“An easy solution would be to simply not accept bribery,” Gale pointed out.

“Where’s the fun in that, my sweet?” Astarion purred. “I have a very needy wizard to support now. How else will I pay for your quills and ink?”

“I’ll remind you I was a very established Archmage,” Gale smirked. “I have no shortage of means to supply myself with materials and whatever else you may desire.”

“Trying to buy my love now, are you? Go on, it’s working.”

“Gods, I wish you two would get your own room,” Tav grimaced. 

Astarion winked at her, his smile still managed to be dangerous despite the new lack of fangs. 

“Speaking of rooms.” Gale was considerably pinker, seeming to realize again they were not alone. “There’s more than enough space, should you wish to join us.”

The topic of conversation Tav kept avoiding and yet could not seem to get away from. What was she going to do next? Halsin had extended an offer to have her join him in the new settlement, and Shadowheart had made it clear she would welcome some company on her new adventures. Gale and Astarion kept insisting they take her with them like she was some kind of stray cat that needed a home. Her mother and Lottie were still in the city, but they couldn’t keep the inn closed forever. They would have to go back to business as usual, now that they knew she was alive and well after going missing.

She was overwhelmed with the options, but more than that a deep feeling of sadness came with them. Leaving her family behind again felt unconscionable. If anything she would probably have to go back and run the inn, take care of her mum and sister, and extend her offers of an always open door for her new friends. Everytime she thought of it she realized how much she wanted to do anything else and was plagued by guilt about it. 

“I’ve been dealing with you two making eyes at each other for months across camp,” Tav joked, “I hardly want to stumble upon you two mid-romp around your home.”

“Your loss, darling,” Astarion grinned. 

“It really isn’t,” she laughed. 

“But what are you going to do?” Shadowheart asked. 

“My mum and Lottie need me,” she shrugged. “I’ll probably put my hero days behind me and run the inn.”

“They seem fine to me,” Shadowheart commented. “If anything Alan needs them with how much they’ve helped him recently.”

It was true. The Elfsong was one of two pubs left standing in the area, the other being the Blushing Mermaid, and both were incredibly busy in the aftermath. But there were a couple new places that had popped up in the lower city, and things were calming down as shops reopened and homes had been rebuilt. But being the last two standing spots with food, ale, and room, both generously offering what they could back to their city, they had become even more popular than ever before. 

“They won’t stay,” Tav shook her head. “That inn was my father’s legacy, humble as it is.” She played with the pearl around her neck.

“I’ll have to stop by and see it for myself,” Shadowheart said. 

“You better have a good story ready,” Tav said, “you get drinks on the house if you impress the owner.”

“I helped you save the world, I think you can spare me a drink without a story.”

“We run a business, Shadowheart, not a charity.”

Rolan felt a strange sense of awe and fear as Gale held out the pieces of the Netherese Crown. He thought nothing could surprise him anymore but being presented the broken pieces of a historical relic of that nature had him speechless. The two of them had spent days trying to find the crown. Tav had been helping them earlier, but she had run off to find something else to do after using up her stores of magic for the day. It was nearly nightfall, and they had finally gotten it out of the Chionthar.  Gale seemed to be hypnotized by it, and Rolan tried to find a way to break his reverie. 

“Mystra will be pleased.” 

The comment was purely meant to fill the silence, and not be inflammatory in any way. However, Gale’s nostrils flared and a strange half-snarl passed over his face for a moment. Quickly, he seemed to come back to himself with a tight smile but still said nothing. 

“Surely it’ll be safer in her hands than here,” Rolan offered at the lack of a response. 

“Yes,” Gale said quietly. “Surely.”

He felt uneasy about Gale’s mood, but he knew Gale and Mystra’s history was complicated at best. Even so, he never liked the look in the older man’s eyes when it came to anything Netherese. Rolan knew he was the last one to cast stones when it came to untamed ambition and poor choices made in its pursuit — but there was the added potential of Gale actually pulling off any insane scheme he put his mind to which made Rolan wary. 

A yell had Rolan looking up, seeing Tav running up to them. “Did you find it?” Tav said as she got closer. She bumped into Gale’s side, leaning close over the crown in his hands, “weird isn’t it? It was the source of all our problems and now it’s just… trash.”

“This is a highly volatile artifact, it’s not trash ,” Gale’s musing was interrupted by his need to correct her. 

“No,” Tav frowned, “I know all about highly volatile,” she poked at the orb mark on his chest to make her point, “this is just… a nuisance. ”

Rolan knew their relationship was nothing more than platonic. Still, he couldn’t help but wish she felt as comfortable invading his space as much as she did Gale’s. It was hardly inappropriate, but they were just at ease in each other’s space and he found himself wanting the same. It was not the first time he felt the sting of jealousy when it came to her companions.

“Nuisance. Its power is enough to transcend mortality and you call it a nuisance,” Gale muttered, putting the crown away in his pack. “You’re being purposefully bothersome”

“And you’re  being weird about the crown again,” she said back. “Don’t let Astarion see you moon over it like that. He’ll get jealous.” She clapped him hard enough on the shoulder that he grunted and then turned to Rolan with a bright smile. “I ran to get us some food but Mum and Lottie are off for the night. Cal thought it might be nice to host dinner at the tower so they don’t have to cook.”

“You can’t just commandeer my tower for dinner parties,” he replied, but his irritation was mostly for show. A dinner with her and the others was far from disagreeable to him. 

“But we did anyway,” she scrunched up her nose with the petulant tone. “Cal lives there too, if he wants to make everyone dinner he can.”

“I’ll remind you that you're not the hero calling the shots in my home,” he rebutted. 

“Seems my wizards are in quite the mood today,” she crossed her arms over her chest. “You,” she pointed to Gale, “stop obsessing over that crown and come enjoy a nice dinner with your friends. And you,” she shifted her extended finger over to Rolan, “can join us or sulk in your study. The tower is big enough for either.”

With that she started her walk back to the city from the docks without them. Rolan watched her go, heart rate spiking at being called one of her wizards. He almost forgot to be offended that she was getting too comfortable calling shots around the tower, as if it were also her own home. And that was also a jarring thought. Not for the first time since her mother had arrived, he found his mind chanting at Tav in a desperate plea like she was some detached deity who could hear his prayers: stay with me, stay forever, my home – my heart is yours . 

But she was walking away, and Rolan called after her, “you don’t get to order me around!” 

“I think you’ll find she doesn’t have to give orders for you to do exactly what she wants,” Gale was grinning a little as he said it. “After you,” he gestured to begin walking, “your lady awaits.”

Rolan rolled his eyes and started walking, cheeks burning the entire time. They made their way through the city, passing through the streets which had started to become bustling again. They made it back to the Tower before night fully fell, and Lia was closing up shop with Tolna. Minsc had taken it upon himself to help out. Rolan was not sure if the ranger would do more harm or good, but Lia seemed confident enough in him. At the bottom of the stairs, Jaheira was waiting with her arms crossed in her usual stance of aloof authority. 

“Ah, there is our host,” Jaheira said with a wry smile. “And Gale, looking ‘miles away.’ Did you find your crown?”

“It’s completely destroyed, but yes. The crown is in our safe hands.”

“Safe. Right.” She arched a brow at him. “You two are needed upstairs, and I need a word with the cub.”

“ This is my home ,” Rolan found himself reiterating in bewilderment. 

“And you are a gracious host,” Jaheira bowed. 

“How many times am I going to be ordered around in my own tower tonight?” 

“Go where you please,” she held up her hands in amused resignation, “but your brother is asking for you and I still need Tav alone.”

Rolan rubbed at his face before heading up the stairs in defeat, Gale following his lead. Of the hills to die on, his friends bossing him around was one that was ranking lower on his list by the day. It was a lost cause, really, with Cal and Lia always taking their side. Truly he didn’t mind it, but it was annoying to be Master of a great tower, now well-known and revered in his city, only to be strong armed by a geriatric vigilante and forced into socializing by his little brother. 

“Does a wizard good to have obstinate friends around his tower,” Gale told him, “keeps us humble.”

Rolan had no reply aside from a slight noncommittal grunt, and made his way to the kitchen. There was a dedicated dining room with an impossibly long table made of some ancient wood from an enchanted forest and an ostentatious seat at its head for the master. It was a beautiful room with large lavish paintings and floor to ceiling windows. Him, Cal and Lia never ate there, however. The kitchen was big enough to put a table large enough to seat them and all their friends. 

It just felt cozier, more like a home. Inside, Cal was running around the kitchen throwing something together. Of the three of them he was the best cook, and judging by the smell, tonight would be quite the meal. Astarion was sitting in a corner, eyes looking down at the city through an open window that was framed by sun dried herbs. As usual, Gale’s attention went to the elf first and he made his way over. Halsin had gotten Yenna to join them, the young girl watching Cal cook with interest while Halsin dozed in bear shape nearby her. At the table Lottie, Tatianna and Shadowheart were looking over a map.  

“There you are,” Cal said. “Where’s Lia?”

“Closing up shop, she’ll be up soon,” Rolan replied. 

“Did Tav not come with you?” Tatianna asked. 

“Jaheira needed her,” he sat down next to her. “What are you three up to?”

“Charting our journey back home,” Lottie said. 

“I want to mark down the location of the inn,” Shadowheart said mostly to herself. “After Reithwin I may make my way towards Waterdeep to visit the House of the Moon – and Gale and Astarion, of course,” she said excitedly, “your village is on the way isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Tatianna said with a nod. “Give me your map, I’ll mark a trail you can get to from there. Fastest and with the most beautiful sights,” she said excitedly. 

“Are you planning to leave already?” Rolan asked. His stomach turned with discomfort at the thought. 

“The inn has to reopen sometime,” Tatianna shrugged. 

“Again, I can offer teleportation,” he said. 

“Lottie wants to see a few places on the way,” the older woman smiled. “We don’t get to travel often.” 

“Maybe you can make one of your fancy teleportation circles here anyway,” Lottie said. “So when Tav starts shacking up with you in the tower we can see her whenever we want.” 

Teleportation didn’t exactly work like that, but his brain was split between correcting her and feeling a rush of some emotion at the teasing. Hope, it dared to name itself, and he immediately tried to chain it back up. 

“Lottie,” Tatianna scolded, but her smile was mischievous. 

“Is she not going with you?” Shadowheart asked, sparing Rolan any embarrassment by not acknowledging the teasing. “She’s made it seem like she is.” 

“She hasn’t said,” Tatianna looked at Rolan pointedly. “But she better decide soon.”

“Is everything alright?” 

Jaheira’s expression had turned serious after Rolan and Gale made their way up the stairs. She guided Tav far enough away that none of the specialists in the shop nor Lia could hear them. She looked around to ensure they were alone and offered her a soft smile. 

“Rest, Cub, there are no villains that need smiting just yet,” she said. “I simply wanted to speak with you.”

“Alright.” Tav frowned. 

“Your story has spread, not unlike mine or Minsc’s, and you will feel the pressure to live up to that story,” she began. “If I am right, this journey has shown you what you are truly capable of.”

“Oh, Gods, a pep talk. Are you dying? Did the years finally catch up?”

Jaheira let out a short laugh. “Watch it,” she warned with a mirthful smile, “I’m offering you a chance to use your capabilities. My numbers have dwindled, but the Harpers never stay down long. And I hope to add you to their ranks.”

“Oh.” 

“You will get to stay in Baldur’s Gate, there is still plenty to do. Though I’m sure the chance for running around Faerûn will present itself again,” she told her. 

“Aren’t Harpers spies?” Tav frowned. “Hard to do much spying when everyone in the city knows your name.”

“A challenge both Minsc and I have managed to overcome,” Jaheira smiled wryly. “We don’t just collect information, we act on it. Your skills would be invaluable, not to mention your influence.”

The idea of having influence over anything as serious as the Harper’s dealt with made her chest squeeze with nervousness. It was, she supposed, nothing  new given the final battle against the Absolute, but Tav still had trouble wrapping her head around it. Jaheira seemed to sense her trepidation.

“Do an old woman a favor and simply think about it. You would do good here.” She put her hand on Tav’s shoulder with a slight squeeze. “Now, let’s grab some food.”

As they made her way up, she had questions. And a strange sensation of excitement. Since the defeat of the Absolute she had thrown herself into rebuilding the city, not sure what else to do in the face of no longer having a goal. This was an opportunity, a purpose , and she felt the possibility of it like a strong beacon of hope. She could build something for herself in the city.  

When they walked through the doors, everyone was in full conversation as Cal started serving. She sat between Gale, who seemed uncharacteristically quiet, and Lia who was chatting with Rolan about the store. She locked eyes with Rolan, seeing his slip away from hers the moment he was caught. Lia turned to glance at what had his attention while she was still talking and smiled. How she resisted the urge to tease her big brother was beyond Tav’s understanding, given the way she normally tormented him. 

Cal’s impromptu dinner had been a success, the younger tiefling beaming about it with every compliment. From what Tav knew, for a while it had just been the three siblings, and she could see Cal’s joy at a gathered group around a table. It was very domestic, she realized. The ease in which everyone seemed to settle in, the welcoming way everyone had greeted her mother and sister — it made her quite happy. 

Her companions she expected no less from, if she was honest. Gale was always welcoming, Shadowheart’s change over the past few months had made her less suspicious and more inclined towards the warmth that had always been lurking beneath. Astarion was still Astarion, and more recently quite retrospective with his new mortality but her mother was easy to get along with. Lottie was just enough of a smart ass to make him giggle, and Tav knew he didn’t mind their presence. 

The tiefling siblings, however, had been an unknown concept. Cal was very open hearted, always the least of her worries when it came to interpersonal interactions. Lia could be brash and maybe a bit intense, but she was at her core kind. Rolan had been her biggest surprise. 

Even now he was chatting almost easily with her mother. When he had shown up to the Elfsong with them in tow she was shocked, and a little nervous. Rolan, as much as she adored him, took some getting to know before his charms made an appearance. But it seemed her worries had been for nothing: Lottie teased him easily, and Tatianna was never put off by his sometimes brusque tone or his facade of extreme pride. 

Tav thought she may like to see more of them all gathered around a dinner table. 

Her musings were interrupted by Astarion abruptly stepping away from Gale and walking out of the door. Gale had a frown on his face, lost in thought, clutching his bag with one hand. No one else seemed to have caught whatever lover’s quarrel the two had, but old habits die hard and Tav was out of her seat to make peace before she even realized it. 

Rolan’s eyes flicked over to her, and she smiled at him. It was a regular occurrence, he seemed to be hyper aware of her presence whenever they were in a room of people. As comforting as it was frustrating, since he never seemed to act on this magnetism that had pulled at them. But she had a former-vampire to check on. 

Astarion moved nimbly, even without his inherent vampiric attributes. Silently and quickly he was walking out of the tower, and Tav realized how loudly her footsteps were as she ran to catch him. She said nothing as she caught up to him, and he rolled his eyes when she did but said nothing. They made their way out of the tower and went back to the Elfsong, where it was bustling with the night time rush. 

“If you insist on following me around like a puppy you may as well buy the drinks,” he said haughtily.

“You really know how to charm a girl,” Tav said back as they passed the bar. “Mermaid whiskey, Alan, please.” 

“Oh, you are trying to butter me up,” Astarion said. 

“You seem like you need it,” she replied while Alan disappeared to find the expensive bottle. “The drama of walking out like that, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“Surprised you noticed,” he crooned. “You’re always so busy making eyes at your wizard. Have you ever considered bedding him or do you simply enjoy being pined over?”

“That’s harsh,” Tav’s eyebrows flew up. “Don't talk about my wizard when you're obviously crossed with yours.”

Alan came back with the bottle and some glasses. Tav dug into her hip purse and tossed more gold than it was worth, but she hardly cared. Neither of them acknowledged that she had called Rolan hers , but she did feel a little embarrassed. No one else was there to hear her, yet she wondered if that was too presumptuous. She led the way to their usual spot, away from the crowd and secluded as could be in a busy pub. Astarion sat down and shot back the first pour of whiskey much too fast, he hissed slightly at the burn. 

“Gods, I have to remember not to do that,” he said. 

“Could you not taste it before?”

“It was like it was a ghost of a flavor,” he looked at the brown liquid when she poured him another glass. “The only thing that ever had any real taste was blood.”

Tav hummed curiously. “Lots for you to adjust to then.”

“I keep scaring myself when I walk by mirrors,” he mumbled. “And you were right, I do have laugh lines.”

“And they’re very becoming,” Tav smiled. 

Astarion scowled. 

“It’s okay to be a little overwhelmed,” she told him. “So much has happened in the past few weeks alone.” 

Astarion didn’t answer.  Tav sipped the whiskey, grimacing at the taste. Sure it was high quality but she much preferred wine. Astarion seemed to enjoy sipping at it, however, his pale eyes darting around the room. She let him take his time, let him decide whether or not to share his feelings. Early on Tav had realized simply being present seemed to be enough for Astarion to open up eventually, pushing him to have a genuine conversation almost always backfired.

“It’s the damned crown.” He said without preamble. 

“You’re telling me you don’t want to be a god?” Tav asked in shock. 

“We discussed it,” he said. “We discussed it.”

“And?”

“I don’t want the rest of our time together to be about getting back at Her .”

Tav offered a soft hum of understanding.

“But now that he has it…” Astarion trailed off, his eyes looking as if he were somewhere else entirely in his head. “What if he does it? What if he leaves me here?”

A pang of hurt stabbed at her heart, all of his quietness made sense now. Tav cautiously put a hand out, palm up, letting him decide if touch was on the table. Astarion looked at it, then placed his hand in hers. She squeezed gently. It was still strange to feel warmth in his hand.

“That’s not in his nature, he would do anything for you,” she said with a soft smile. “But even if he does, you won’t be alone. You will always, always have a place with me, I’d never let you go through that alone.”

Astarion looked at her for a long while. “And what’s your nature? Naive, trusting, bleeding heart fool that you are.” His lips quirked up a little as he teased, only emphasizing the genuine way he added, “we really were lucky to have you through all this, you know. 

“I would have been long dead before I even got to the grove if it weren’t for the lot of you,” she countered. 

“Are you sure you won’t come to Waterdeep?” He ignored her comment. 

“To visit, of course, but I… “ she sighed. “I can’t be your crutch every time you disagree, Star. You two are getting married . You’re going to have to learn to talk it out without me.”

Astarion made a face like he could wretch. “It’s all so new. I’ve never had anyone like this before.”

“You’ll make it work.”

“More than that,” he said. “I’ve never had anyone… to miss.” He scrunched up his face. “I don’t want to say goodbye to you or to Shadowheart or even Halsin.” He drank some whiskey, she suspected he needed something to do besides feel vulnerable. “It’s not just having a… fiance, I have friends . What am I going to do without you?”

“Make new ones?”

“Gods forbid.”

“I get it,” she laughed. “Almost everyone in my life besides mum and Lottie have just passed through. All I’ve ever known is back in some small village no one knows the name of. Now… now everything is just different.”

“If Gale leaves me for Godhood we aren’t staying in some pub,” Astsrion muttered. “We’ll adventure. Go see the world.”

“We still can even if he doesn’t ,” she squeezed his hand again. “But we just saved the world, we deserve some rest. Some time to figure out who we are now.” Tav grinned, “hells, you’re mortal . You still haven’t figured out you need to eat at least three times a day. Take a moment, enjoy it.”

“I keep thinking of Karlach,” he nodded. “All she wanted was this. She’d be furious if we wasted it.”

“And Wyll,” Tav said, “he’d be so happy for us. And so proud of you.”

“Lae’zel would be horrified at the idea of rest and relaxation,” Astarion mused, “all the more reason to do it, I suppose.”

“Keep your daggers sharp in her honor,” Tav shrugged, “she left that damn whetstone. Take it with you, never know when you may need to stab someone.”

“Oh that does sound fun.”

His mirth was back, the mischievous glint in his eye. Gods, she would miss him. 

She lifted her glass, “to friends.”

“Ugh,” he rolled his eyes but clinked his glass to hers. ”if we must.”

The suite was far too big to house what few of them were left. Wyll, Karlach and Lae’zel left so urgently that their stuff was still by their bunks; no one had the heart to go through it yet. With most everyone gone and busy, Tav had taken it upon herself to start. 

Karlach’s best weapon had been on her person, as had her toughest armor. There were a few enchanted weapons left behind but Tav figured Halsin’s group of refugees could make use of them on the road if there was trouble. She saved Clive the Bear, not willing to part with it. There was no part of her that believed they would be stuck in the hells forever, and Tav would be sure to keep Clive safe for Karlach until she got back. Things like spare armor and blankets could be donated or sold. 

It was much the same for Lae’zel, who had no keepsakes from their journey. Which, although was somewhat sad since Tav wanted something to keep of her, made perfect sense for her Gith friend. The only thing Tav felt she should keep was her stuffed trophy heads; the illithid one was particularly important to her, she knew. 

When she made her way over to Wyll’s things it occurred to her that he was the only one who had family to receive left behind belongings. His map of the sword coast was notated, and she found herself delicately rolling it up to keep. Perhaps Shadowheart could make use of it on her travels. He had letters and journals, but it seemed he packed as lightly as the other two. It made sense. He was running around the coast being a hero before the tadpoles got inserted, he would have needed to travel lightly. 

She kept only one of his journals. It included their journey, but she was sure not to read too much of it for the sake of his privacy. The last entry was from the night before the final battle. He had full confidence they would all make it, and that they would be victorious — Tav felt tears sting her eyes. Wyll’s clothes, his tales, his small trinkets could all go to Ulder Ravenguard, but the story of their journey through his eyes she wanted to keep. The book still had empty pages, and she wanted to be able to give it back to him for continuation. 

The scratch of tiny claws on wood grabbed her attention. She looked over to see a rat, scurrying across the room. Despite her first instinct to launch a firebolt in its direction in order to scare it off, she watched as it climbed over to Jaheira’s bunk and deposited a folded up paper. It met her eyes, tilted its head, and then ran away again. Probably a good thing Tav didn’t incinerate it then, it would be hard to explain that she had immolated one of Jaheira’s spies. 

It was welcome, if it was there on Harper business. 

Maybe one day she would have her own informants, Tav found herself thinking. Immediately after she shook her head, she was going back home. She had to go back home. There was no way she could abandon her family again. Last time it had been completely beyond her control, she could never do it of her own volition. 

As if to further prove the point to herself, she set aside the chest of Wyll’s belongings to send off to the Ravenguard estate later and moved toward her own bunk. Unfortunately, she was a bit more of a collector than most of her companions. There was a lot of stuff to go through in her own personal belongings, and the camp chest would also need to be dug through. To her credit, she did try to focus on the task and not let her mind give way to fantasy. But it was not long before the idea of the offer Jaheira had her thoughts running away with excitement. 

A Harper, in Baldur’s Gate, working alongside two legends and a small army of just as heroic everyday people who didn’t want their names in any ballads. Tav could only imagine what she would see and learn as Harper, what places she would go to before returning to the very city which brought her into the world of adventuring. How much good could she do? How much tyranny could she thwart? And all with good friends to come back to. 

In her mind’s eye she could imagine coming home to Rolan and his siblings. Cal and Lia would embrace her, they would trade stories about what they had been up to while she was away. Rolan would wrap her up in his arms, kiss her like she had been gone a hundred years and scold her for any new bumps and bruises and scars she got from playing hero. Oh, and wouldn’t it be so fascinating to have those three on an adventure with her. 

Packing up her things suddenly felt impossible. How could she leave? But she had to. She was sure she had to. 

Looking out of the open window, she caught the glimpse of the tower she could see from there. She looked at it often at night, after everyone was asleep and her mind wandered. Rolan was just there, she could imagine, and then her mind went to imagining what things he could be doing up there alone or with her. It hardly mattered, it was enough to get her through a lonely night. 

With a frustrated huff she closed her trunk and walked away. Nothing would get done while her mind was oscillating between dreams she could never claim and the one person it would be the hardest to say goodbye to. Gods, besides her companions he was the only one who understood what she had been through. The only one who knew her shame and her fears and her flaws and never seemed to let it change how he treated her. A hard earned closeness that was different from the one she had with her traveling group, one that had to be forged by actively choosing vulnerability and trust. 

Thinking of leaving that bond behind, leaving him behind, it made her feel so hollow. 

She needed air. She needed a distraction. Her feet took her down the stairs and out into the street. There were still plenty of books on the hells she could read back at Ramazith’s tower, where her path seemed to be leading her without really thinking. She still had a mind to find something worth reading on infernal engines, even if she could not understand it, maybe she could work with Dammon to find something. Just a few hours of reading, then she would go back and start packing her things. 

Tav waved at Cal behind the counter before making her way up to the portals. Rolan was going to eventually stop using them in favor of the arcane elevator, but for now it was the quickest way to the study. It was empty when she got there, a small pang of disappointment making her sigh before she began looking through some of the books.

There was a loud whoosh and footsteps on the tile. 

“Please, let yourself in, make yourself at home,” Rolan said sarcastically. 

“I always do,” Tav said lightly.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“I just needed some time out of the Elfsong,” she shrugged. “I was packing and I got overwhelmed.” 

“Packing?” Rolan repeated. There was an unusual look on his face, his jaw working overtime grinding together. It looked painful. “So you’ve decided?”

“Yes,” she said, then reconsidered. “No? I don’t know.” Tav heaved a sigh, “I won’t be going to Waterdeep, that much I know. I could go with Shadow, I suppose but… Jaheira offered me a position in the Harpers, here in Baldur’s Gate. I keep thinking — just can’t get it out of my head. Me , a Harper.” She shook her head in slight disbelief. 

“Seems apt, given your enjoyment of swooping in to save the day.”

“She seems to think so,” Tav said, noticing the abruptness in his tone.  

“So,” he said expectantly, “what do you want to do?”

“I should honestly just,” Tav winced, “go back and take care of mum and Lottie.” 

“I didn’t ask what you should do,” Rolan said harshly. “I asked what you want to do.”

“What I want is hardly the point,” she shook her head. 

“That is entirely the point,” Rolan insisted. “It’s your life, Tav, no one else’s.”

“That’s — why are you getting angry with me?” 

“I’m not,” Rolan bit out. 

“You are,” she frowned

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” he snapped. 

“I — “ she flinched a little at the tone. 

As normal as his tendency towards harshness at her had been once, she had not been faced with it for some time. It hurt. Especially when she had no idea why he was behaving that way. What had she done to make him upset?

At his resounding silence she huffed, “is it because I came up without asking? I just thought —“

“No, that’s hardly it,” he cut her off.  He grimaced slightly, “You’re welcome here anytime.”

“Then what is it?” Another beat of silence. His tail was flicking behind him in sharp movements she knew to be a sign of barely repressed anger. “Okay,” she sighed resignedly, “I’ll leave. I came here to clear my head, not to deal with whatever the hells this mood is.”

Rolan said nothing, a pained look on his face. Tav put the book in her hand away, painfully aware of the silence in the room and the intensity of his gaze on her. Avoiding eye contact she made her way towards the portal through which he just came in. She only made it a handful of steps past him before he spoke again. 

“Don’t go.”

Rolan felt the walls closing in on him. The thought of her packing her things to leave the city behind had created a painful clawing sensation in the center of his chest. He was trying to do what her mother had asked, to let her decide what to do. He had quickly realized that were he to give any input, Rolan would be near begging her to stay. Tatianna was right, Tav should do what she wanted to, and without him being so openly upset at the prospect of her departure. But it had been days of agony keeping quiet as she played with ideas of what she ought to do and what she wanted to do. He was not sure he could contain himself any longer.

“Don’t go.” 

She turned towards him. “If you want to be alone, that’s alright. You don’t have to —“

“No!” He said urgently, he kept cutting her off but she was just not understanding him. And how could she? He had hardly made himself clear. “I mean — don’t leave Baldur’s Gate,” he pleaded firmly, keeping his eyes locked on hers. “I’ll make it so you can visit home whenever you like - I’ll figure something out. Just don’t — Don’t go so far from me.”

Tav’s shock was written on her face. But she did not say anything.

He winced slightly, but his mouth was going before his mind could stop him. “ I think it’s what you want too — I  think you want to join the Harpers: you love stupidly risking your safety to help people and the Harpers will give you that and more. You’re so good at all of this, Tav, you shouldn’t waste it. I may go gray prematurely worrying about you but if that’s the price for you to be here and happy I’ll pay it, with minimal complaining. Only minimal, mind.”

It was a poor attempt at levity since he was completely off his footing, half-ready to scream and unsure what to do since she was just gawking at him. Rolan knew he was neither disarming nor would many find it fit to call him charming, but gods was he trying. 

He barreled on, “I won’t pretend it isn’t selfish of me to tell you stay — I’ve tried to give you space, to keep all of this to myself so you would choose what you wanted but there is no avoiding it: I am in love with you and the thought of you leaving —” He finally cut himself off, forcing a self-deprecating short breath of a laugh when the admission tumbled out of his mouth, “it’s agonizing. I don’t know what spell you’ve put on me but it can’t be avoided any longer. You have to know the truth, or I will never stop thinking about what could have been if I was brave enough to say it.”

“Rolan —“

“It doesn’t even have to be for me, you could tell me to sod off and I’d still think you should take Jaheira’s offer,” he added quickly, not ready to hear a rejection or any kind of let down. “If you force yourself to go back you will regret it. I know it.” He heaved a breath, trying to steady his heart beating so wildly in his chest he could hear nothing but its heavy thumping, “Tav, please, think of yourself just this once”

Rolan felt emboldened now that it was out. There was every chance he had made a fool of himself, she liked him, surely he didn’t doubt that. Love was another thing altogether, he knew. But that was fine. As long as she was happy, he didn’t care if he looked like an idiot.

“Did you just say you’re in love with me?” Tav licked her lips.

“I did - I am,” he shook his head, “I couldn’t hide it, even if I wanted to.” He gestured widely at the study, “I only have any of this because of you, Cal and Lia would have been trapped in Moonrise, I would have been dead on the side of the road.” He swallowed hard, “I really tried to talk myself out of it. You’re nosy, meddlesome, absurdly soft hearted and idealistic not to mention sentimental — I only just learned your full name, and you seem to make it your life’s calling to bother me —“

Tav gave a bewildered breath of a laugh. “Only you could manage to insult me in a moment like this.”

“Sorry,” he said with a wince. Gods, he was horrible at this. 

Tav came up to him, grabbing his hands in hers. All Rolan could do was watch at first, letting her take his hands, the warm glow of hope raging violently in his chest beyond his control. She ran her thumb over the tops of his knuckles, looking at them as she seemed to gather herself and figure out what to say. It was impossible to not bring their joined hands up to his lips, to duck his head and kiss her skin gently. 

“You don’t have to say it back,” he assured her quietly, lips just barely pulling away from where they were pressed against her hand. “I — I couldn’t let you make this choice without knowing the whole truth of it. Whatever you need to lessen the burden, I’ll do it. I swear. Stay, please.” 

The last bit was a truly desperate whisper, but he could never let pride get in the way of saying what he needed to. It was as liberating as it was terrifying, to have it all out. Spurred on by her gentle but firm grip of his hands, and the fact that she was not pulling away: he could not find it in himself to be embarrassed. 

“Are you done ranting at me?” Tav smiled a little.

“I’ve held my tongue for weeks,” he breathed, closing his eyes. 

“I can tell.”

Despite the words her tone held nothing but softness. Even after his fumbling she only met him with gentility and understanding, he could only begin to hope he could strive to deserve her affection. When she pulled one hand away to cup his cheek he sighed, turning his face into her palm. Gods, that alone was enough to satisfy him. Such a soft and gentle touch, enhanced only by her thumb brushing over his cheekbone. He kissed her palm, eyes still closed against the onslaught of comfort and ease her touch inspired in him. Rolan was half certain he was dreaming, that he would wake up and she would still be in her suite at the Elfsong – the entire scene a fanciful imagining. His eyes were still closed when he felt her lips against his, an experimental but firm kiss. He felt a cut off sound leave his throat as he gripped her hand tighter. 

“Say it again,” she whispered against his lips. 

He replied automatically, not needing any clarification on what she needed to hear. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

Rolan’s eyes opened abruptly, searching for a hint that she was lying - looking for signs of pitying him or simply appeasing him so as not to hurt him. Instead he just saw her smiling, eyes sparkling with happiness despite the slight bewilderment in her expression, but she was being earnest. Some kind of euphoric urgency took over him, moving him to kiss her. His lips half formed on another apology when their teeth clacked sloppily together, but they found an easy push and pull quickly. 

At first it was just kissing, him pulling her as close as he could, with her tugging at his hair and his tail curling around both of her legs. Despite being pressed directly together, he wanted her closer. His grasp on her was desperate, and frantic. There was the slightest tingle of electricity on her tongue when it touched his for the first time, not enough to be painful but enough to make him exhale in surprise. How excited must she be for her powers to slip like that?

His hands reached to grab at her, cupping her bottom and pulling her closer so her breasts pressed tight against his chest. Tav gave a high pitched noise of surprise and a slight jump. Instantly he pulled his hands away. He was getting far too ahead of himself. 

“I swear I had no other intentions — do you want—? We don’t have to—” he quickly tried to find the right thing to say, sentences stumbling out half formed as he tried to recompose himself. 

“I was just surprised,” she assured him with a soft laugh. 

“I’m sorry — I should ask, I shouldn’t just be pawing at you,” he scolded himself with a wince. 

“What a gentleman,” she teased. There was the slightest hint of mischief in her eyes as she tugged him back to her lips, kissing and then taking at his lower lip gently between her teeth as she pulled away. “Do you want to stop?”

“Gods, no,” he shuddered. 

“Good.”

Tav guided him to step backward, her body pushing his back with small steps and he let her lead. They shuffled backwards until his back hit one of the bookcases. His tail was still wrapped around her legs, tripping her up at the last moment. She fell into him gracelessly, with a squeak and a laugh. He grunted at the wood of the shelf digging into his back with her weight shoved so abruptly into him.

“That’s what I get,” she laughed as she righted herself, “for trying to be some smooth fairytale heroine, whisking her prince off his feet in his high tower.”

Rolan laughed too, cupping her face. “I’m hardly princely.”

“No,” she hummed in agreement as she kissed his jawline, “you’re the grumbling, reluctant damsel, more like.”

“Oh, that’s cruel.” He grinned. 

Using his tail to his advantage, he shifted his body, tugging at the back of her legs as he did. It was hardly seamless, but he managed to spin them so she was now the one with her back pressed into the shelves. Tav had gasped in shock, gripping him tight for fear of falling. Just when she was about to say something, Rolan dove into the crook of her neck. He loved the way she squeaked when his breath tickled the skin of her throat, and the taste of her skin as he dragged his teeth over her, ever mindful of his sharp canines.

“I assure you I’m anything but reluctant.”

She gave a sharp gasp, her grip on his arms tightening, and he felt his confidence soar. Slotting his thigh between her legs, he pressed into her, the evidence of his eagerness already pressed against her stomach. He sucked kisses into the skin of her neck until she tugged at his horns to get him to kiss her again. Her hips rolled, grinding her against his thigh and she gave the slightest whimper. 

Immediately his hands dug into her hips, gently pushing and pulling her over him. Tav broke the kiss, head thunking gently against the books behind her as she tilted her head back with a slack jaw. 

“Good?” He asked. 

“Very.”

It felt like some urgent cannibalistic hunger, the way he wanted to taste her skin, pulling aside her shirt to get more access to her chest. It was messy and intoxicating, as they were grinding against each other against a bookcase in his study, like something out of a dream. And it was tantalizing, the friction between them enough to make them both grunt and moan but not enough to truly satisfy with all the clothes in the way. 

Her shirt was half off, the plain cream bustier she wore exposed and she tugged at the fastenings on his robe. He was hardly going to stop her, only pulling his hands away to shrug it off, leaving him in only a thin sleeveless tunic and his trousers. 

Tav’s hands slid up his bare arms and he shuddered. Such an innocent touch but he was always so covered up, it had been so long, too long, since anyone had seen this much of his skin. He surged forward, hips grinding into hers to roughly it was almost painful. Tav was panting, fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt, he let her remove it and tilted his head back in bliss when she leaned forward to press open mouthed kisses to the skin of his chest. 

Her tongue traced over infernal ridges before sucked at the flat expanse of skin, making his nails dig into her clothing until he felt the fabric split beneath them. Scrambling to pull her tunic off, he was blindly grabbing at her, maybe too roughly, he thought in the back of his mind. But she never winced or flinched from his nails across her skin. When her hand slipped between the waistband of his trousers he gasped, going still at the feel of her hand wrapped around him. 

It was entirely too good, the feeling shooting down his spine, making him throb in her hand. 

“I can just barely see the tower from my room at the Elfsong, you know, just the stained glass windows of the study,” she cooed almost shyly, quite the contrast in tone given the way  she was stroking him, “after everyone goes to sleep, I make myself come — looking at the tower and wishing it were you touching me.”

By the Gods, he nearly finished there in her hand. 

“Zurgan ,” he hissed. “A bed. I need you in a bed.”

“No, next time,” she insisted. “I want you right here.”

In the back of his mind, he knew that if she ever found out he could deny her nothing it would prove to be very troublesome for him. The concept of there being a next time had him momentarily stunned. He barely had time to banish the portal that allowed essentially everyone they knew access to the study before she stopped stroking and started unlacing his trousers enough to pull them down his hips. 

He tugged down the bustier, just as she was slipping off her own pants, only getting one leg truly free before he was on her again. There was too much of her to touch, he wanted to be in between her thighs, he wanted to grab and grope at her breasts, to make her come on his fingers before he took her. 

He didn’t have enough hands. 

Murmuring the spell against the skin of her lips, without warning, two mage hands hovered on either side of him. He had one lift a leg, with her surprised chuckle being drowned out by a kiss while the other slipped the other leg of her trousers and underwear off. When she was naked from the waist down, both mage hands hoisted her up by the thighs, lifting her up against the bookcase so he was at the perfect height to put one of her nipples in his mouth. 

“Show off,” she gasped as he teased the peaked bud with his tongue. 

For the first time, Rolan had the upper hand. 

If Tav was honest, she could do without the foreplay. She felt how wet she was and knew he could slip inside of her easily, but she felt no need to stop him either. The mage hands supporting  her thighs were just corporeal enough for her to feel them holding her, but it still was akin to floating nearly helpless against the onslaught of his attention. His mouth was hot on her breast, tongue moving over her in ways that had her cunt throbbing. 

He only broke away to kiss the soft, pliant swell as she arched her back to press her breasts out towards him. A sharp sting on the flesh of her breast had her hissing slightly, just painful enough to catch her attention as he sucked on the skin.

At the sound she made he unlatched his mouth and murmured something she could still barely hear with him so close, all she caught was,  “…forget myself.”

He kissed the same spot gently, a wordless apology. When he pulled away she was surprised not to see blood, but a shiver of excitement had her rolling her hips when she realized there were indentations of his teeth in her skin. 

All she could do was hold on. One hand gripping the edge of the bookcase, the other firmly wrapped around one of his horns, she was unable to do much else. And he seemed to like it that way as he bit into her skin over and over again. There may be marks on her skin for days, she realized, but it occurred to her that he may have been trying to make sure there was.

Nails dragged down her stomach, just light enough to make her entire body break out in goosebumps, for a moment she saw him sigh at the full bodied shudder it created in her. Without saying anything, he ran his fingers through the hair between her thighs before impossibly warm fingers cupped her cunt. Rolan moaned, the sound muffled by his lips pressed to her chest, before he looked between them. 

He watched, and she felt his fingers spread her lips apart before experimentally rubbing. “You’re so wet,” he whispered. “Gods, you —“

The way he looked down at her while he rubbed his fingers through the slick folds of her made her swallow hard against a needy moan. His pointer finger danced over her clit, and the sharp jolt of sensation had her tugging on his horn in surprise. Her mouth practically began to salivate with the desire for more, and the abrupt reaction seemed to take them both by surprise. 

“You’re going to break my neck, doing that,” he said but he hardly seemed to mind. 

“Sorry,” she breathed, letting go of him and grasping instead at his hair. It was soft, she thought, as it slid easily between her fingers. “Please, don’t stop.”

At first he was slow and gentle, mindful of his nails, feeling out what had her writhing. Tav was certain he was doing it on purpose to tease her, but when she looked down at him he was watching her, intent and focused. Studying. She could have laughed, and made a joke about his studiousness but he found a rhythm and pressure that made her incapable of more than a pathetic whine. 

“Like this?” There was the slightest hint of pleading in his tone, not teasing her but searching for approval.

“Yes,” she quickly said. “Yes, like that, you’re –ah – so good – pulling me apart.” 

Rolan moaned, hiding his face as he leaned forward. The hot swipe of his tongue over one of her nipples made her shudder, his free hand keeping a tight grasp on the other. Despite what he said earlier, there were no complaints when she grabbed one of his horns again, desperately trying to keep him exactly where he was. His eyes flicked up to her face and she felt herself start to tip over the edge. She warned him best she could, moaning out that she was close, pleading with him not to stop.

For the first time since they had met, he heeded her orders without complaint. Twitching she felt the wave of anticipation crest and crash, her skin warm and thrumming with each heavy roll of her hips against his fingers. Giddiness bubbled up in her, a sense of satisfaction that had been lacking when she touched herself making her so thoroughly pleased that she could have started to giggle. 

Rolan slowed his fingers at a sharp jerk of her hips, her clit sensitive and cunt twitching. “Too much?”

“Need more,” she breathed, tilting his head up so she could lean down and kiss him. “Want you inside of me.”

A full body shudder passed over him. The mage hands lowered her enough that she could meet his lips easier, and the ridged length of his cock rubbed against her. They both moaned into each other’s mouths at the sensation. His magic did most of the work to keep her up but she tilted her hips still as he rubbed against her, his forehead pressing against hers as he panted. 

“I’ve wanted — “ he started, “I’ve wanted this so badly,” he breathed, “can hardly believe it’s real.” He laughed a little, “you love me?”

“I do,” she breathed. “I love you. I’m staying. I’m here.”

Rolan slipped inside of her, a slow but steady push with a little resistance that had her eyes rolling back a little. The last time she had anyone inside of her was a one night stand on the road months before being taken by the nautiloid, the stretch at first was overwhelming. Rolan seemed to be in a similar state of being overtaken by the sensation, his hips pressed hard against hers as he started to pant against her. For a moment, his hips were only twitching as if on some uncontrollable instinct and when he started to move consciously he thrust slowly, and evenly; brows drawn together and upwards in a quiet reverie. 

“Is this okay?” He whispered. 

“It’s perfect.” She said back.

He buried his face in her neck, breath tickling her sweat sticky skin. Pressed so close to her she could feel the ridges on his skin, and see the freckles that painted his shoulders. Her arms were wrapped around him, legs doing the same, ankles resting on the base of his tail. At the pressure he whined, and she shivered at the sound. 

The slap of their bodies made the books behind her shake, the sound of their skin colliding echoing slightly off the vaulted ceiling. The sun was going down, its light shining through the windows in a technicolor glow that made the entire place look hazy like a dream. But the weight of his body against her was so real, she was in a state of rhapsody, torn between the illusory feel of the room and floating by the mage hands with his very tangible body pressing into her. 

When she came to the tower that day she hardly expected it to end up like this: Rolan laying his heart out for her and eagerly offering hers in return. Only to end with her back pressed into a bookcase with him rutting into her. His thrusts were becoming more urgent, his hand coming away from the needy embrace to grip the side of her head and guide her to kiss him again.

“I want you to co - fuck- come with me,” he grunted out, “ please .”

Tav felt her cunt clench around him, her body threatening to let the waves of another orgasm flow over before she could stop it. She loved him like this, raw and open. The feeling must have been too much for Rolan, his sudden expression of awe making him slack jawed. But it also broke his concentration. 

The mage hands disappeared, dropping Tav so suddenly she almost didn’t get her legs underneath her in time. Luckily, Rolan shoved forward keeping her upright against the bookcase, as she found her balance. He had slipped out of her, and the shock of the near fall made her giggle slightly. 

“I’m sorry,” he said with a self-deprecating smile and a wince. “You — I can focus on nothing else when you’re near.”

“Don’t apologize.” She kissed him. “You’ve been doing all the heavy lifting, lay down.”

Rolan tugged her hand so she came down with him, and she straddled his hips as she removed her bustier. It was only fair she removed his trousers past where they had settled on his hips in their haste. Both fully naked in the rainbow glow of the stained glass windows, she climbed on top of him. Tav rubbed herself over his ridged cock, breath catching as she did. Her mind conjured up the idea to simply  grind against him like this until he spilled all over his stomach and the friction against her clit made her see stars. 

But Rolan’s nails dug into the flesh of her hips, a gentle bite of pain, and he sucked in a sharp breath when she planted her hands on his chest. She needed him inside of her, and she knew he felt the same.

Lifting her hips, lining him up again, Tav sank down. Full once again, she sighed happily as Rolan’s head tilted back, eyes closed while his hips tried to thrust up into her slightly. Giving him what he wanted, she started an easy rhythm up and down. It was satisfying to a point that nearly scared her, his length rubbing so sweetly inside of her and hitting her at a truly sinful spot in the new position. 

When Rolan looked at her again, his sharp teeth were worrying at his lower lip, needy little grunts escaping him. One of his hands came up to grab at her breasts, bouncing with each of her movements. The other dipped between them, rubbing over her clit making her lose her pace for just a moment before she chased the sensation further. 

“Beautiful,” he grunted out, “so fucking beautiful, Tav.”

“Gods,” wass as all she could utter as body grew tense and her mind blanked out to anything but chasing the high that was quickly approaching. 

“I won’t last — “ he warned. Shaking his head, eyes full of awe. “You’re — I’m going to —“

“Fuck, Rolan,” she gasped. 

He toppled over first; hips thrusting upwards harshly, making Tav lose her balance. She tipped forward onto his chest, just as quickly feeling his arms come around to hold her close. She ground out her own release, the ridges of his skin seeming to do just as much towards stimulating her clit while he pulsed inside her. Tav hit her peak with abrupt intensity, and she heard her moans echo off the high ceilings until they deteriorated into truly pathetic whines against his skin, as she rode her orgasm out as long as she could. 

“Oh, oh ,” Rolan choked, the sensation of her clenching around him making his eyes shut at the overstimulation after his release. 

“You okay?” she murmured, going to lift herself off him. 

“Yes,” he tightened his grip on her. “D-don’t move, please.”

For a while it was still, as they caught their breath. Tav was a little nervous whatever bubble they had created was going to burst as their bodies calmed down. She felt him lift his head and press a kiss atop her head, fingers dancing over her back.  

“I was here when the nautiloid got me,” Tav said quietly. “Just another passing traveler in a city of more faces than I had ever seen in one place.” She lifted her head to look at him, leaning into the hand that came up to her cheek. “Do you believe in fate?”

“Not particularly,” he said. 

“Me neither,” she smiled. “But it’s strange isn’t it? I’ve come full circle, and… what were the odds of me finding you time and time again?”

“The gods did do me the greatest favor ,” he murmured, “keeping me intertwined with your madness.”

“Don’t give them the credit,” she said. “It had to be something more.”

“More than the gods?” Rolan’s lips quirked up. 

“Yes,” she nodded. “They’ve never done me any favors.”

“Don’t go inciting any more godly intervention, my dear,” he rumbled. “I’ve just gotten you exactly where I want.”

“Naked on the floor of your study?”

“Yes,” he said with pure self-satisfaction. “One of my many  achievements, having the hero of the city whining my name.”

“Oh you’re going to be insufferable about this,  aren’t you?”

“Of course I am.” He grinned. “I am the master of a world famous tower, a wizard of great renown — as I predicted — and now have the object of all my desires right on top of me.”

“I’ll have to get creative about keeping you humble,” she laughed. 

“I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

“We should start now,” Tav licked her lips, “I think you mentioned something about a bed?”

Thank you for reading!

#rolan x tav #rolan x reader #rolan fic #bg3 fanfiction #holy rolan empire #olly writes #rolan bg3

[chainofclovers]

Ted Lasso 3x12 Thoughts

I have always loved, and still love, that Ted moved to London and loved it. He acclimated, or more than acclimated. The three years was a story about new places and people and experiences and old ghosts that followed him there. I understand that the one thing in the middle—a kid, not a ghost, who still exists in the place left behind—necessitated him making a painful decision. I am mourning that because Ted had to make the decision to leave London, the magic of arriving in a place and never wanting to leave has been broken. He had to re-outsider himself, and I can imagine many complex (and realistic, damn it) futures for him, including futures that would involve him spending significant time back in that place, but there's a real sadness in just...the leaving. He's doomed to return (or not return) instead of just getting to exist there, after we've gotten used to seeing him in an environment that suited him.

Something I'll love when I'm able to be more mature about all this is that Ted doesn't argue with Rebecca when she tells him she wants him to consider the possibility that Richmond is his home.

Something I love now--as painful as it is--is that Rebecca seems, in a lot of ways, like she's in love with Ted. He's slipping away, and instead of wailing about how much she'll miss the biscuits, she sits herself down in front of some croissants. (And while I don't particularly like that the Dutch man has returned to her life in such a magical, serendipitous way that only timed out because of her tremulous, seemingly to-the-wire decision not to get on that plane or say anything more to Ted, a charitable and practical part of my brain is glad she'll have companionship if she couldn't have what she spent most of this episode seeming to believe she wanted. Even if what she wanted wasn't actually romantic. Or wasn't supposed to read as romantic. Even if it did.)

The immediacy of Ted's emotions in 3x11, when he has the fight with his mom and it's so clear that he's got to go back and face what he's run away from, reminded me of how sharply he can feel. So it was really hard to watch him be almost stoic throughout this episode in the way he pulls away. He leaves everyone well, but everyone else's feelings are so big and he's kinda glazed over, and I didn't expect to feel the wind knocked out of me with the force of Rebecca's longing for him to stay.

(And I'm so glad that Rebecca didn't sell all of the club, instead taking her ownership down to just 51%, but I'm also glad she cares enough about Ted to have genuinely considered it. I'm so glad she and Keeley are going to work together to form a women's team. I'm so glad she promoted Roy to head coach, and that he's actually going to work on himself now that he knows he'll be working to be his best self rather than someone else. I am glad Ted was only dreaming about Beard and Jane marrying at Stonehenge--Ted has never understood how seriously bad that relationship is. I'm glad life is moving on, but it's just. So. Painful.)

I know a lot of people will talk about how this was a disappointment after all--a savior story with a pat, happy ending, rather than a true love story. But my feeling is that it genuinely was something better and sadder than a savior story...a narrative about choice with a tragic end. (And I don't mean "tragic" to imply that he shouldn't have gone to be with Henry, because I think he needed his reconnection with Henry to take place in Kansas, very essentially. It's just that everything else about the ending is tragic.) Maybe Ted spent the last three years at home, and maybe it won't hit him until much later, the magnitude of all that he's left. I like that it wasn't a happy ending, even if there are happy parts. I don't like that people will mistake it for a happy ending, even if a happy ending that angers them. I don't expect people to feel good about this paragraph, but it's the thing that's saving me where this show is concerned.

This is my favorite show. I've never obsessed over or connected to a piece of media quite like I have with this. I don't particularly care about the better things out there, and I'm not particularly curious what my next obsession will be because I'm still in this one. The finale didn't ruin the show for me, but I feel like I'm being stabbed by the last ten minutes, by the pain of the end really being about that impossible choice feeling impossible for as long as our eyes were trained on his face.

#ted lasso #ted lasso s3 spoilers #ted lasso 3x12 #meta by me #ted lasso meta #hot dork club #ted x rebecca

[padfootastic]

Hello I have come to you with another Prongsfoot thought: James absolutely losing his mind when he comes home one day (or comes back to the dorm one day) to find Sirius wearing his jersey (and perhaps nothing else hehehe.)

oh but i’ve got just the thing for you, miss imp 😉 this is a headcanon i’ve had for the longest time, because james is absolutely the kind of person who loses his mind when his partner wears his name on them. and we already know anything sirius does is maddening for him sooooooo this is. a deadly combination.

(i’ve posted this before but it’s gotten lost in the Great Tumblr Archival System so i’m reposting it hehehehe)

“Alright, James, this can’t go on anymore,” Sirius said, voice firm, arms crossed across his chest. James blinked, eyes dragging up from where they’d been fixed on his collarbones, unusually exposed in the large jersey, to focus on furrowed brows and suspicious grey eyes.

“What can’t go on anymore?”

“This—whatever’s going on with you!” Sirius threw one arm out in emphasis. “You’ve been acting off the entire day, do you realise?”

James tilted his head in question, silently asking for him to elaborate. He knew he’s been…a little distracted, but it couldn’t have been so much as to call for this intervention, surely?

“James!” Sirius says, exasperated and really, that’s one too many times he’s called him by his full name. He can’t even remember the last time Sirius did that. “You crashed into a wall twice, tripped over Mrs. Norris’ tail and had to hide inside a suit of armor to avoid her claws—then you fell over in the damn thing and got a bump the size of an ostrich egg on your head. Five seconds ago, you almost plummeted off the staircase to your death and now you’ve been somewhere Not Here the entire time I’ve been talking. Seriously, what gives?”

Okay, maybe, put it that way, it sounded quite bad but James didn’t intend to be so scatter brained! He was having a perfectly decent time, had his head screwed on straight and then Sirius had to go and mess all that up! He was not prepared for the sight of him walking out of the shower, a cloud of steam escaping behind him. His hair was half wet and pulled back, cheeks flushed red from the heat and most importantly, he was wearing James’ Quidditch Jersey.

The one that was at least two sizes bigger than Sirius usual clothes. And the one that, when his best mate turned around, had POTTER emblazoned in huge letters across the shoulders. James had just stood there, jaw slack and fingers clenched around his tie, taking in the sight. He knew what his jersey looked like, had worn it hundreds of times, but he never knew it could be like this.

And that had just been the beginning. It seemed like with every passing hour, Sirius looked better in the damn thing than before which—shouldn’t be possible considering how extremely good he looked in the first place. Seriously, if James wasn’t as…confident as he was, he would’ve definitely gotten a complex by now. As it was, Wormtail always looked a bit peaky around Sirius. Just before their first class, Sirius’ had dried into his usual perfect curls, loose strands framing his face. By the time second rolled around, the jersey had slipped off one shoulder, exposing sharp collarbones. James didn’t even know bones could look so- so obscene but here he was, proven wrong. Right after lunch, Sirius had gotten frustrated with how much the fabric was flapping and had casually used his hair tie to knot it in the back.

This led to two things. First, his hair was now free to tumble around his face, leaving James with the strongest urge to run his hands through it, or perhaps even tick strands behind one ear. He only avoided doing so by utilising pressing his fingers into his palms to the point of pain. The second, more maddening, one was that now, it wasn’t just his unnervingly attractive shoulder but also his waist that was on tantalising display. Every time he stretched, or raised his hand in class, or ran a hand through his hair—the jersey would ride up until Sirius’ pale skin peeked through and honestly, was it really a wonder that James almost walked off the moving staircases the first time he got a glimpse of that happening?

The entire day was an exercise in making him lose his mind, he was certain. Somewhere, he had pissed off a deity and they wanted him to suffer because there was no other explanation for this. James had never been one to feel possessive. In fact, he loved sharing everything he had with the people around him. Their joy was his joy and all that. Hell, Sirius and him had been wearing each other’s clothes since first year when Sirius hadn’t had anything except uncomfortably formal robes for Christmas morning, which was an atrocity because everyone knew you wore ugly sweaters on the day so he’d given his to Sirius and DIY’d one for himself. Of course, as James started playing Quidditch and bulked up harder and faster than anyone could’ve predicted, it had decreased until the only things they really shared were robes and ties.

But seeing his name on Sirius? Plastered across his body, marking him as James’? He just knew, right there and then, that he could never go back. Now that he’d felt what it was like, that burning heat deep in his gut, the dizzying feeling of seeing Sirius look so…delicate—there was no way he couldn’t crave more of it. In his head, James had already started making plans for now he could, inconspicuously, get Sirius’ in his jersey more often. Because it absolutely has to happen again, James hasn’t had nowhere near enough of the sight.

“Jamie? James!” A hand waved in front of him, ripping him away from his pleasant daydreams of seeing Sirius in nothing but his jersey. His face flamed red, not even realising the direction his thoughts had travelled in until he blinked and saw Sirius standing in front of him, looking bemused and dressed perfectly respectably (James was trying very hard to ignore the skin visible just above his waistband.

“Er—sorry,” James said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Went away for a second there.”

“That’s exactly what I mean! You’ve been drifting away quite a bit today.”

“It’s not—Seriously, nothing’s wrong—“

“I never said it was,” Sirius said, shrewdly, making James immediately choke on his words as he tried to backtrack.

“No—That’s not…I mean—“ James’ teeth snapped shut with an incriminating ‘clack’ as Sirius steps closer to him, toed shoes touching at the tips. Close enough that they were breathing the same air, for James to see the shades of grey in Sirius’ eyes. Close enough that he could feel the movement of Sirius’ chest as he breathed deeply.

“Si?” he croaks, throat too dry all of a sudden.

“Won’t you tell me what happened, James?” Sirius’ voice was soft, pitched low and James had to strain his ears to hear him properly. He gulped unsteadily, eyes tracking the way Sirius tongue slipped out to wet his bottom lip, leaving a maddening shine behind.

“Si,” he said, again, tone matching Sirius’. One of his hands had, without his permission, travelled to the waist he’d been eyeing for the better part of the day. It was featherlight, barely even a touch, really, but the way Sirius shuddered when his hand made contact with warm skin was entirely too much for James’ already fraying self control. His fingers twitched, hard, in an attempt to stop but in the next second, they’d wrapped themselves entirely around the body in his arms. James’ forearm was pressed tight against Sirius’ back, their noses were mere inches away, and Sirius’ eyes were more than halfway shut.

James took a deep breath himself and let his hand press imprints into the curve of Sirius’ waist. The only response he got was the feeling of Sirius’ forehead pressing into his shoulder, arms wrapping around him in return.

It was then that James let his own shoulders unclench, let himself relax like he hadn’t the whole day. A soft smile lifted his lips as he thought about where to go from here

“You’ll wear this for me again, won’t you, darling?” he asked, pressing the question into Sirius’ dark curls with a kiss. He didn’t get a reply but he didn’t need one. Sirius’ hitched breath was enough of an answer for him.

#sirius black #james potter #bambibelle #prongsfoot #this is from months ago #but it’s one of my fav things #i’m so glad we’re on the same page here miss imp #bc james is just. floored. #also the light dom james vibes r *chefs kiss* #i love how shameless i am these days #not just reblogging but entirely reporting old stuff lmao #guess that’s what happens when ur in a ~dry spell #oh well #this scene of course leads into an established relationship where sirius stars doing this on purpose #WHILE wearing nothing else underneath #and bending over whenever possible (and even when not) bc he knows how much it affects james #especially in public #and love seeing him trying to hold onto his control (almost always unsuccessfully) #there’s a little vein that starts popping in his temple and his forearms flex delicious w how hard he clenches #yum #(miss imp pls never stop the asks/prompts—you’re my one source of inspiration lol) #pen’s asks #pen’s writing

[bangtanloverboys]

you’re good to me // myg

summary - finding himself under a duty of care, yoongi makes a vow to himself to keep you and your daughter safe. the only question is, can he keep that promise?

pairing - mafia-babysitter!yoongi x single mom!reader

genre -fluff, angst, minor nsfw; mafia au

author’s note - this one breaks my heart a lot because i really really did want to work on it more and share it. i do have a large chunk of it written out, but unfortunately, it just wasn’t meant to be. it’s the wasteland baby!yoongi spin off :(

How a slimy, orphan, lonely piece of shit like Yoongi went from bouncing around foster home to foster home, to being in the innermost circle of the Jeon family, one of the most notorious mobs of the city, he will understand. All he knew was he was grateful that he decided to pick the pocket of the wrong person all those years ago. That person being the son of the former mob boss, Jeon Jungkook. 

He had caught onto Yoongi’s quick sleight of hand and went back to confront him. Yoongi was a full head taller than him at the time, but Jungkook still managed to beat him bloody and bruised. But instead of killing him, he did something completely unexpected. 

“Work for me.”

Spitting out some more blood, Yoongi stared up at the younger kid like he was crazy. “Why?”

“Because you have guts. Not many people try to steal from me. Come on, I’ll take you to my doctor.”

For nearly twelve years, Yoongi served the Jeon Family strongly and proudly. As Jungkook took his father’s place, that only rose Yoongi from foot soldier to one of the closest people in the inner workings of the Jeons. For a kid coming from nothing, Yoongi still couldn’t believe his life. But he could never picture leaving it. This was all he’d ever known: blood, pain, sex, money, drugs, and power. He didn’t know anything else, he wouldn’t know what else he could want. He would live and die in this life, that’s all he ever expected. 

Until one day, he simply took a wrong turn, and found himself wanting more. 

Jungkook had mentioned offhandedly that he would be talking with a certain business type to help expand his empire. It was expected, of course, for Yoongi to be there. So there he was, 7:30 pm standing outside a run down apartment complex, staring down at the address in his phone. 

127 Ocean Street, Apartment 413.

To say Yoongi was unsure if this was the place was an understatement. Typically Jungkook liked to hold his meetings in upscale clubs he owned downtown. Not places that looked something out of his own childhood. But trusting his boss’s word, he started towards the building.

Once he was outside of the apartment, he knocked on the door in the pattern that was so ingrained into him, it was almost second nature. He frowned when the door didn’t open right away. He waited a few beats more before he raised his fist again to knock for a second time, when the door swung open before him and instantly he knew he had made a mistake.

Standing before him was you, dressed in a black cocktail dress, hair and make up all done. Like you were all ready to go out for a dinner date. You didn’t look at all surprised to see a stranger at the door, in fact you seemed almost relieved. 

“Thank god! You must be the replacement sitter.” You left the door open for Yoongi, who simply stared at you in shock as you stepped away from the door. “What are you gonna stand there all night? Come in!”

Unable to form words in his mouth, he followed your orders, stepping into the apartment, shutting the door behind him. He stood by the door silently as you continued to fiddle with your appearance in your hallway mirror, putting on earrings.

“Eunji is asleep right now, she shouldn’t be up for a while. There’s breast milk in the fridge, so if she wakes up hungry, there’s that. I should only be gone a couple hours, but I shouldn’t be home any later than midnight,” you rattled off as you slipped on your shoes. Yoongi opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to tell you that he wasn’t your replacement, that he had the wrong house. But before he could even attempt to fully form the words, you grabbed your coat and headed for the door. “I’m so sorry, I’d give you a tour but I’m already running late and my boss will kill me if I’m not there before eight. Her crib is in the bedroom, first door on the left. Bye!” 

And you were gone, with the lock of the door. 

Frozen, he couldn’t move, staring at the door you had just left from. It was too late now, he couldn’t leave. There was a child, and by the sounds of it a baby, left in his care. Turning on his feet, he followed your instructions and walked further into the apartment. It was sparsely decorated, but scattered around the floor were children’s toys and playmats in between all the well loved furniture. 

When he approached the bedroom door, Yoongi regarded it for a moment before opening it. Yellow light from the room behind him bleed into the dark room, only illuminated by the nightlight, projecting stars and moons onto the walls. It looked like you had converted half of your bedroom into a nursery, judging from the full size bed and desk that were pushed to one side of the room. The crib, as you said, was there, pushed up against the wall; as well as a changing table, a basket of children’s books and a rocking chair. Cautiously, Yoongi approached it, careful not to make any loud noises that could possibly rouse the child. 

Standing above the crib, Yoongi stared down into it and sure enough, there was a sleeping baby. Something happened in that moment as he stared down into the cradle, there was a tightening in his chest and he felt as if he couldn’t look away.

Reaching into his pocket, he went for his phone, dialing Hoseok’s number without a second thought.

“Yoongi, where are you-?”

“Cover for me.”

“What? Yoongi, where are you, Jungkook isn’t going to start anything-”

“I’m preoccupied at the moment. Tell him. . . I don’t know. Tell him something. I can’t make it.”

With a huff, Hoseok agreed. “Whoever he is, he better be worth it,” he grumbled as he hung up. Yoongi could only hope that his friend would figure out a plausible, believable explanation for his absence

Returning his phone to his pocket, he continued to stare down at the child. Yoongi pulled the rocking chair up closer to the crib, sitting down stiffly as he never let his eyes leave the child for a moment.

This is fine, he thought to himself. He’d been on stakeouts before, keeping an eye on anyone who didn’t pay their dues or following around anyone who needed a protective detail. If you were gone a couple hours, this would be done and over in no time.

Yoongi just sat there and watched the child with an unwavering gaze. The baby (Eunji, that’s what you said her name was, right?) slept soundly, on occasion raising her small fists as she dreamt. He could feel the corner of his lips begin to tug, wanting to smile at the small creature. But just as the smile was beginning to crack, a knock on the door brought his lips back into a frown. 

Quietly, he left the baby alone again, trusting nothing should happen to her in the few moments he would be away. He peered through the peephole and saw someone outside the door, suddenly he remembered that whilst you had mistaken him for a replacement sitter, he forgot that the actual one would eventually arrive. He opened the door, and there before him was a young man who looked almost similar to him. There were a few moles here and there that separated them from each other, and hair color was completely different. But he could see how you would so easily confuse him for your replacement sitter. 

“Uh,” the young man was confused, no doubt not expecting Yoongi to be the one to answer the door. “Is this- Y/N’s apartment? I’m here to watch Eunji?”

He could’ve used this opportunity to escape, to free himself of watching a child he had no business with. But he felt that tightening in his heart again. No, he couldn’t leave this child. He couldn’t confuse and scare you that you had accidentally given your child off to a stranger (you had, but he didn’t want to risk any chance you’d go to the police either)

“I got her, don’t worry.”

“But wait-”

Without a second thought, Yoongi’s hand grabbed his wallet, pulled out a wad of cash and shoved it in the actual replacement sitter’s hand. “Take it. Shut up. Don’t ask any further questions.” With that he shut the door on the guy’s face. 

The slam of the door shook the walls, causing a small thud to echo through the house and suddenly the worst noise he could ever imagine started.

The baby started crying. 

Quick as he could, he ran back towards the bedroom. Her once peaceful sleeping face was now all scrunched up, small screams emanating from her tiny little lungs. 

This is not fine. 

In a panic, Yoongi scrambled for his phone again, dialing for Namjoon. 

“What is it, Min?” He could barely hear his voice over the muffled base of the music. 

“Don’t ask me any questions and do not breathe a word of this to anyone: how do I stop a baby from crying without killing it?”

“I’m sorry?” Yoongi could hear the smile in his voice. 

“Answer the question!” He hissed.

“Well, usually picking it up and rocking it would help soothe it, if not, you could feed it,” he answered in an amused tone. 

“How do I pick it up?”

“I don’t know. You just. . . pick it up.”

“Namjoon-”

“Goodbye, Yoongi.”

“Motherfucker,” he muttered to himself once he realized that Namjoon had hung up on him. Remembering the child in the room and he had just swore, he hissed out another couple curse words before finally managing to shut himself up enough. “Okay, picking up a baby. Easy-peasy,” he said as he shucked off his leather jacket, tossing it somewhere in the room and rolling up his sleeves. 

As he leaned down over the crib, he suddenly became acutely aware of the gun tucked into his pants, of the pills he had packed into the jacket he just chucked across the room, of how much pain and destruction his hands had caused. Surely he was not capable of handling such a small and fragile thing.

But the longer she cried, the more he couldn’t take it. Swallowing his doubts, he swooped up the baby into his arms, tucking her close against his chest. “There, there. It’s- it’s okay?” He said as he gently patted her back, bouncing his body up and down. “Your mom. . . your mom will be home soon. She’s going to a- a work thing, I guess. But she’ll be back soon. I promise. Then you’ll never have to see me again, okay?” She only cried harder at that. 

The longer he stood bouncing her, the more his body seemed to ache from the action. Before his legs could give out, he lowered himself back into the rocking chair. Leaning all the way back in the chair, Yoongi started to gently rock back and forth with ease. By some miracle, it worked. Her loud cries quickly softened into small blubbering hiccups. Yoongi himself almost started to sob, relieved she had stopped crying. 

After a few minutes, her hiccups had ceased. Turning his head to look at her, he wondered if she fell back asleep. He was surprised to see a pair of big eyes looking back at him. He felt uncomfortable under her small but steady gaze. “Uh, h-hi, Eunji.” He could’ve sworn there was a sparkle in her eye at her name. Could babies recognize their names at this size? How old was she even? He had so many questions that only you would have the answer to. He wondered if he would be able to ask you when you got home. Glancing down at his watch, it was only 8:15. Barely an hour since you’d left, but you’d be home soon enough. “I’m. . . I’m Yoongi.”

Whilst Yoongi had compared watching a sleeping baby to being on a stakeout, it was anything but. After she had cried her eyes out after being so rudely awoken, she had started crying again. He attempted to rock her back to sleep, but then he remembered Namjoon’s words: “If not, you could feed it.”

Keeping an arm tucked closely around Eunji, Yoongi lifted himself out of the chair, heading towards the small kitchenette. As you had said earlier, there were bottles of (what he presumed) was breast milk. Taped to the fridge were instructions on how to warm it to the perfect temperature. Following them to a T, he placed the bottle to Eunji’s lips and again, she sobbing stopped. Her small hands grasped at the bottle, tiny fingers grazing over his as he held the bottle steady. His eyes flickered down to her hands. How small and tiny her fingers were. Just barely he could feel the touch of her hand against his. 

“Never realized how. . . small babies are,” Yoongi found himself talking aloud. “Then again, never really encountered a lot of babies. . . Not since. . . not since foster care, I guess.”

When she finished her bottle, he set it down in the sink. He didn’t know what came over him but he laid her up right on his shoulder, patting her back gently to burp her. The action came on instinct, but he didn’t think to question it. 

All full, and tuckered out, Yoongi could see her eyes struggle to stay awake. Quietly, he made his way back into the bedroom, instead of laying her down in the crib, he settled back down in the rocking chair. Once she was asleep, he’d put her in the crib. That’s what he’d do. Yeah. 

Soon enough, small baby-like snores were emitting from Eunji. He could feel the small puffs of her breath against his neck. He smiled, never feeling so. . . so comforted by an action. He made an effort to stand but the moment she made a noise of discomfort, he stopped. Perhaps she wasn’t fully asleep yet. He waited a few more minutes before trying again, and again she stirred. Relaxing back into the chair, guessing he was stuck there. Unsure what else to do, he just held the sleeping baby in his arms, staring at the wall. 

It wasn’t until close to eleven when you returned home, and Yoongi was still seated in the rocking chair, his back stiff and achy.

“I’m home!” You softly announced, he could hear you taking off your heels in the entry hall.  

“Bedroom,” he responded, wincing at the way Eunji flinched when he raised his voice barely an octave. Within moments, you stood at the door frame, surprised but a smile on your face.

“Oh, wow.”

“She fell asleep and I didn’t want to move her. She wakes up so easily,” he tried to explain as you walked over to him. Yoongi stilled as you reached your arms around your daughter, gently lifting her out of his arms. He watched with awe as Eunji didn’t cry or fuss as you tucked her back into her crib, as if she knew by instinct her mother was home and she was safe again. 

Once she was laid down in the crib again, you turned to Yoongi, who still sat defeatedly in the rocking chair. Yoongi had stared down drug lords, gangbangers, and all other criminal sorts before, but sitting under your gaze as you just looked at him, he felt small. Unsure what else to do, he stood up, grabbing his jacket from the floor and putting it on.

“She likes you.”

“What?”

“She’s never fallen asleep like that,” you explained. “She hates when anyone besides me picks her up. You’re the first one.” 

Yoongi shrugged, unsure of what to say. 

You bit your lip before continuing. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Thank you.” He followed after you at a slow pace, a strange feeling of melancholy washing over him. You stopped just before the door, he watched as you grabbed your clutch, digging through it before handing him a couple twenties. He shook his head. “No need.”

You frowned at that. “Are-are you sure?”

“You don’t have to pay me, it’s fine.” 

“I-uh, okay.” You put the money away. 

Reaching past you, Yoongi unlocked the door, opening it for himself. “Have a good night.”

Just as he was about to step out the door, you grabbed his wrist. “Wait!” He stared at you in shock. You seemingly mirrored his expression, surprised by your own brazenness. “I actually was wondering if I could possibly get your number? I know Nuri sent you over, but she didn’t give me your number. But considering Eunji actually likes you. . . Could you possibly help me out again next week?”

Yoongi knew he shouldn’t. Every logical atom in him was practically screaming at him not to. But he could see in your eyes that you needed help, desperately. He couldn’t explain it, but he wanted to be that help. He wanted to help you. 

Silently, he nodded. 

You broke out into a grin, again that familiar pull on his heart was felt. “Perfect! Um, what’s your number?” You went for your bag again, scrambling to grab your phone. Slowly, he gave you the number of his phone. You typed out a quick message into your phone, pressing send. He felt a buzz in his pocket. 

“Got it,” he assured you.

“Great, and it’s Hyeon- right?”

Yoongi opened his mouth to correct you, but stopped himself. He shouldn’t give you his real name if he was to continue under the guise of the replacement sitter, he should use that name. “Yeah, Hyeon,” he said, stepping outside your apartment.

“Alright, get home safe!”

He couldn’t recall the last time someone told him to get home safe. “I will. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” 

With that, you closed the door. Yoongi stared at the door a few moments longer, still trying to fully comprehend that that truly did happen.

As it turned out, Hoseok had let it be known that Yoongi was at a different type of club and he was a bit. . . tied up to be there. He was relieved that Jungkook took it in good humor, ever since he’d come across Young, he’s been different. Still stern to the rest of his foot soldiers or business partners, but allowed himself to express more. Or as Yoongi had put it on occasion, ‘Not have a stick up his ass all the time’.

By the time Yoongi returned to his own apartment, he had an assortment of different texts from Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jungkook. But he ignored them all, seeing your message at the top of his screen. You’d already texted him the details for next week, Thursday morning, wanting him to watch over Eunji whilst you attended a three hour video conference. He could do that, he already managed to survive one babysitting gig. How hard could it really be?

The week flew by, having been full of running errands for Jungkook to make up for his absence. It ranged from watching over him and Young as they went on a date, collecting fees from loaners, and ensuring the distribution of product was getting out onto the street. 

With each passing day, he found himself looking forward to seeing you again. It was odd to him, having only met you once, but he felt a connection to you. Yoongi wasn’t sure if he should be scared or happy about it. 

Eventually Thursday morning rolled around and he found himself in front of your door again. This time prepared for what’s to come. He’d swapped out his leather jacket for a woolen pullover and his nice button up with a softer T-shirt. He had silently debated on whether or not he could bring his gun inside, but considering you would be home, he didn’t want to risk it, leaving it in the glove compartment. Taking a breath, he knocked on the door, not bothering with any specific code. In a matter of seconds, you swung open the door, a wide awake Eunji in your arms. 

“Hyeon, you’re just in time!” You exclaimed, a smile on your face. You were dressed a bit oddly. From the waist up, you looked picture perfect business casual. A pastel colored blouse, paired with nicely done hair and makeup. From the waist down, you were wearing sweats and mismatched socks. As if you’d noticed him taking in his appearance, you quickly explained. “Video conference, they can’t see me from here up so, didn’t bother looking all nice.” 

Eunji turned and looked at Yoongi, the small child’s eyes wide and curious. Yoongi gave her a closed mouth smile, unsure if she would even remember him. She smiled back, an opened mouth grin that was all gums and no teeth. 

“Can you say ‘hi’, Eunji?” You asked your daughter. She made a few happy sounding gurgles in response. “Good girl!” You cheered before looking back at Yoongi. “Come on in!” You stepped aside, allowing him space to enter. He shuffled past you, looking around the sunlight filled apartment. “So the meeting will just be a couple hours, I’ll just be in the next room. She’s already ate, so if she’s crying for a nap. If she scrunches her nose all funny, it’s time for a diaper change. In the meantime, just play with her. She likes Mozart, FYI.”

It took all his strength to not visibly grimace at the idea of a diaper change, but he nodded. “Diaper change, nap, play, Mozart,” he repeated. 

You revered Yoongi in an odd way, but said nothing about it. “Alright, the meeting is in five. Guess that means I’ll pass her over to you.” You began rearranging Eunji in your arms, ready to pass her off into his. He stiffened slightly as she made a small cry for you, but when she looked up at Yoongi, the noise stopped in her throat. “See, she likes you.” With that, you went into the bedroom, closing the door behind you.

Yoongi stood there for a moment, staring at the door, feeling different than the last time you’d left him. A small swirly feeling in his gut. Unsure what to make of it, he looked down to the small child in his arms. He felt awkward and stiff holding her, but she made no fuss. Only staring up at him with big eyes, did she recognize him?

“Okay. . . let’s get you to your toys, I guess,” he muttered as he carefully maneuvered his way over to the mess of toys beside the couch. At a snail’s pace, he lowered himself to the ground. He resituated Eunji in his arms, tucking his hands underneath her arms, holding her at arm’s length. “And sit,” he said, sitting her down across from him. Loosening his hold on her, he watched as she wobbled in place before leaning forward, pushing the boundaries of her abilities. Clearly, she wasn’t too strong to sit up all by herself yet as she leaned forward too far, almost falling smack on her face. Thankfully for his quick reflexes, Yoongi snatched her right back up. “Okay, you’re sitting here then.” He pulled her onto his lap, keeping one hand firm across her body like a seatbelt. “I’m bringing the toys to you.” With a stretch of his arm, he grabbed the nearest toy, a giraffe blanket type-thing that rattled as he picked it up. “Want this?” Yoongi asked, holding it to Eunji. She looked at it for a split second before smacking at it in his hand. “That’s a no,” he tossed the toy aside, grabbing the next one, a small plastic green keyboard with a butterfly on it. “What about this one?” Yoongi asked, pressing down on one of the keys, playing a note. Eunji’s eyes immediately zeroed in on the keyboard, making grabby hands for it. He brought the toy closer, playing it within her arms reach. She banged on it for a few minutes, uncoordinated and random notes of music filling the air. 

That continued on for the next twenty or so minutes, Yoongi dragging a toy close to her and waiting for her judgment. Sometimes she’d slap it away, sometimes she’d play with it for a few minutes before shoving it aside. He’ll admit, it was entertaining, listening to her babble and smack about toys. Never in a million years would’ve he thought he’d be doing this, something so soft and caring. He couldn’t imagine it, him with a child, yet here he was as if it was the most normal thing to him. 

It all went south about an hour in. Eunji was quiet for a long time, not quite interested in any of her toys anymore, no matter how much Yoongi dangled one in front of her eyes. Then he smelled it. “Shit,” he muttered to himself, picking up the child. “Did you poop?” Instead of that go-lucky smile she had on earlier, her face was all pinched. “You’re pooping,” he clarified, remembering what you said about her making a face. With a sigh, he lifted her up. “Diaper change, diaper change. . . I can change a diaper.”

Contrary to what he said, Yoongi could not change a diaper. He stood at the changing table, absolutely dumbfounded. He’s seen way grosser things; brains splattered against glass, cleaned up vomit and blood out of his car, stitched up wounds, and set bones. But he was frozen at the idea of changing an infant’s diaper. 

But he couldn’t back down now. He was in too deep. Holding his breath, he began to unbutton Eunji’s onesie, leaving her naked, spare the giant bag of cotton wrapped around her bum. “So you need a clean diaper, which are here,” he said as he sifted through drawers, easily finding them and pulling out a fresh one, “and wipes.” He grabbed the small box. Everything prepped and ready, Yoongi looked Eunji in the eyes. “Hey, look at me. Look at me. You stay still and let me clean you. You got that?” 

The baby only giggled in response. 

Ten agonizing minutes of struggling, gagging, mumbling curse words under his breath, and down a sweatshirt, Eunji was freshly dressed in a new diaper and back in her clothes. “I really hope you don’t retain any of those words, kid. Don’t want your mom thinking I’m a bad influence.”

Eunji was back in his arms, happy and content, and hopeful she’d remain that way for the time being. Yoongi returned to the floor, setting her down this time on her stomach on a blanket. He placed some of the various toys she was playing with earlier in front of her, hoping to entertain her. Yoongi sat off beside her, simply watching her bang away at the toy piano and strangle various stuffed animals when his phone buzzed in his pocket. 

Without a second thought, he answered it. “Min.”

“There's a situation going down at the pier.” Hoseok’s voice responded on the other end.

“How bad?”

“Just a couple Hwangs, caught trying to take inventory.”

Eyes still trained on Eunji. “I’m busy.”

“Busy with what? Min, we need you here, now!”

He knew he should go, it was his job, his lifestyle. But instead Yoongi found himself struggling, unable to depart from the small child that was placed under his care. “Doesn’t matter. Besides I’m on the other side of town, I won’t get there in time.”

“I swear, if you’re just getting ass-”

Yoongi hung up the phone before Hoseok could finish. 

It was another hour before you emerged from your bedroom, no longer half dressed in office clothes. You were wearing more casual clothing, looking far more relaxed now that the meeting was over. Eunji’s head immediately snapped in your direction, joyous sounds coming from her as you swooped down and picked her up. 

“Hi there, sweet girl. Were you good for Hyeon?” You cooed as you nuzzled your daughter. Yoongi’s heart swelled at the sight, before standing up from his place on the floor. “She didn’t cause you too much trouble?”

He shook his head. “She was fine, really. Although, uh, there was a bit of fall out changing her diaper.” Glancing at his discarded hoodie in the hamper. 

“Ah, I’ll clean that up for you. You can pick it up next time. That sound okay with you?” You said, casually. 

Again, ignoring the deep instinct to deny you, telling him to leave you and your daughter alone, he nodded. Yoongi could not fathom why he was so drawn to your family, how kind and compassionate you were to him, even if you only spoke with him a few times. He knew better than to get too involved, but for some unknown reason he couldn’t stop himself. 

These babysitting gigs continued on for the following months, each time growing closer and closer to you and Eunji. Before he knew it, he wasn’t even sure if these visits would even qualify as visits. You’d invited him to the zoo, to a children’s museum, to the beach, to a local pool. All under the guise of him supposed to be babysitting your darling daughter, but rarely did you leave him alone with Eunji, you were always there by his side. It wasn’t always going out though, there were days when you still needed him late to watch her, whilst you went out for some work dinner or meeting. But everytime you came back, you offered him to stay a while longer, have a beer or stay for dinner. Yoongi wasn’t an idiot, he knew why you would ask him to stay longer. It would be a bad idea to get any more involved with you than he already had. But each time without fail, he said yes. 

His times with you felt like a dream compared to his real life. Each time he had to say goodbye to you, he was reminded of the life he truly lived. Yoongi was grateful for Hoseok being able to cover him, but each time he had to make up for it by doing the most brutal tasks. With blood on his hands, Yoongi’s mind would wander to you, how disgusted you would be at his true self. He could almost hear Eunji’s horrified screams at his bloodied state. 

------- that’s all i had written ------

Overtime realizes that the reader likes him and hence why she calls him like every week just to watch baby for an hour and he’s like really awkward but he slowly catches feelings for her and is very protective of baby

One night she reads signals wrong and kisses him and is like “im so sorry i didn’t-” he cuts her off with a kiss “you’re okay” maybe they start making out and get busy, then baby starts crying and he’s like “i should go”

It's only hours later that he’s getting a call from the hospital that her house/apartment was set ablaze (enuji and reader are fine, because of smoke they had to go either way bc baby)

Yoongi slightly loses it, and goes over to the hospital and takes you to his home

Car ride is quiet to his house, when he explains everything, reader rightfully freaks out because he’s a mafia member, she trusted her baby with a literal killer and locks herself in his room and he’s like “okay”

He calls jungkook and he offers her the same thing he offered his boyfriend (now fiance bc he proposed) (be sure to congratulate them); she asks to think about it

For the next couple days, Reader stays with him because yoongi doesn’t want her to leave his sight 

Reader stays in yoongi’s room, enjoys the smell of his sheets

Yoongi tells reader that if she wants to leave, he wants to go with her. He’ll leave the mafia behind, he’ll go straight. He just wants to be with her, he sees a life and a future with her, something he never thought he’d have the chance before 

With baby in other room, maybe smut

Morning after he wakes up and she’s gone

Yoongi throws a fit because she’s gone, took the baby and left, not even a note. Yoongi blows up on jungkook for not telling him she had made the decision already, but he said “i can’t do this” and storms out. 

Cut to a few years later. Yoongi has been long since out of the, ending up in ireland. He’s sitting along the coastline, enjoying the ocean air. When a toddler bounces over over to him

He’s rusty with his kid skills, but he’s like “woah, where is your mother?” bc another korean person in ireland is like ‘ayo?’ but theres something about this baby that looks familiar?

The baby’s mother runs up to him like ‘oh my goodness, im so sor-’ and low and behold its the reader! She looks different, hair color and length, as well as some aging, but he knows her. He always will. He wants to say something but another voice from another person interrupts. He stumbles over his words before realizing he needs to let her go. They can never be. So he says goodbye to little enuji and reader, for the last time

The end

#dip outlines

[solitaire-sol]

Daily Prongsfoot Thought 008

"A Million Dreams" from The Greatest Showman is always going to be "adorable baby!Prongsfoot -> actual Prongsfoot" to me.

Imagine a young Sirius Black in that grim old house, more past than future, just one small part of the monochrome tableaux that is the House of Black. He's never lacked for material things, all of which is of course the highest quality, but there's very little he could consider his, very few things that mean anything to him.

Imagine James Potter, learning that his new friend did not in fact come to Hogwarts with a trunk spilling over with warm knits and hand-made toys and favorite odds-and-ends James couldn't bear to leave behind, because each colorful stone and piece of amber and mostly-crumbled parcel of cookies has a story attached that James can't wait to tell. Imagine James Potter, First Year, looking at his things, and then at Sirius' lack of things, and deciding to share, spending the rest of the year bringing Sirius interesting rocks from the lake-shore and the endearingly-malformed results of James' Transfiguration lessons (and then perfect versions that James made after intensive practice, because Sirius deserves the best).

Imagine Sirius, bewildered by this human magpie who seems intent on bestowing him with random detritus and extra desserts and little gifts courtesy of Effie, who of course James wrote to immediately because Black didn't even bring so much as a pillow! Or a plush toy! This must be remedied! Sirius, who arrived at Hogwarts with exactly what he needed and nothing that Walburga deemed unnecessary, returns with a small horde of James' gifts stashed in the bottom of his trunk, a secret treasure-trove he can look at and take out and examine when he wants to think about life beyond Grimmauld Place. Imagine Sirius' devastation when the thorough-on-pain-of-death house elves find James' gifts and throw them away, and Walburga is wholly unsympathetic because what was Sirius doing with this rubbish among his things?

Imagine Sirius dreading the return to school because he'll have to tell James that he lost everything, and James might be angry at him, or worse, he might be disappointed. But James is just confused by Sirius' confession. It's alright, he'll just give Sirius more!

The gifts change, as they get older, and the sentiment deepens and ripens into complexity like heady wine, but James accomplishes his goal: Sirius finds things he cherishes for his own sake, and his world expands beyond the monochrome realm of his family. One day, the gifts are worth its weight in gold; because that's the color of the ring Sirius offers in return, and they'll have a home of their own to fill with the tokens of their love.

However big, however small Let me be part of it all Share your dreams with me You may be right, you may be wrong But say that you'll bring me along To the world you see

#prongsfoot #bambibelle #starbucks #james potter x sirius black #sirius black x james potter #jirius #SBJP #daily prongsfoot