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alvojake · 2 months

Note

heyy can you write about ab riding smut of any member(s) you'd like

「note」 : anon I wanna kiss your beautiful brain! Gamer Heeseung has a death grip on me and so I present to you the cliche riding gamer boyfriend Heeseung while he games.

On The Downlow | L.HS

「paring」 : gamer!bf!heeseung x fem!reader 「word count」 : 2.2k

「synopsis」 : your boyfriend had a hard week at work, and you wanted nothing more than to pamper him and help him relieve his stress. but you barely made it past lunch when he went running to his video games. so you come up with a new plan that involves a new little lingerie set you bought just for him, but it doesn't exactly go as you planned it.

「genre」 : smut with little plot, a tinge of fluff, and crack

「warning」 : riding, unprotected sex (just don't), dom!heeseung x sub!reader, cursing, slight orgasm denial, exhibitionism, petnames (baby, babydoll, beautiful, brat, slut...), praising, degradation, heeseung spanks the reader like once, mentions of porn, lmk if I missed anything!!

“God dammit Jake I said your left!!” Heeseung shouted at his friend as his fingers furiously smashed on the keyboard keys. He had been at this since about noon when he got a message from Sunghoon telling him to hop on.

It was almost midnight now and the dinner that you had made for the both of you had long since gone cold. He had promised that he would only be on for a few hours then he was all yours. You knew better than to believe him because the outcome was always the same. He’d be on it for so long that you eventually just fall asleep.

However, you wanted to do something nice for your boyfriend seeing as he had a long week at work. You were going to try and help him relax, but he ran to the animated characters on the screen instead.

You sat on the edge of your shared bed, knees tucked under you as you watched him intently. Watching as his eyebrows furrowed when things took a wrong turn, the way his bottom lip would get stuck between his teeth during an intense match. You could feel the need getting stronger, the heat that was pooling in your gut was now turning into a raging fire.

“Hee.” You called out to the dark-haired male but got no response. Standing from the bed carefully you made your way over to the closet.

You were going to save this until you two could finally have some fun together, but now you had another plan in mind. Looking over your shoulder you could see Heeseung was still absorbed in his game so you quickly and carefully grab a shopping bag you had hidden. Peeking inside you made sure everything was still inside before tiptoeing to the bathroom.

With one glance at your boyfriend, you quietly shut the door and started to quickly strip out of your sleep clothes. You had bought a cute purple lace lingerie set just for Heeseung because you knew how crazy he got when he’d see you in purple.

Once it was completely on you looked at yourself in the mirror, the fabric hugged your breast perfectly and the garter belt accentuated your waist beautifully. Your fingers grazed over the embroidered flowers as you smirked. You knew he’d absolutely love it.

Walking back into the room you were met with Heeseung screaming at Sunghoon about missing a shot which got him killed. You had to be quick otherwise he’d turn and look over to check on you while he was down. Sitting on the bed you grabbed the blanket, wrapping it around your body completely just as he looked over.

His eyebrows scrunched together as he pulled one side of the headphones off, “Baby what are you doing still awake?”

You met his eyes with a small pout, “I was waiting for you.”

Heeseung smiled softly with a shake of his head, “I’m sorry beautiful, I’ll be done soon I promise.”

“That's what you said a few hours ago, Hee.” Your bottom lip jutted out and oh how Heeseung just wanted to go over and kiss you stupid, but he promised the guys a few more rounds.

“Just a few more rounds and I’m yours I swear.” With that, he turned back around when the guys called for him.

A smirk spread on your lips as you watched him get back into the match, barking orders. Carefully you removed the blanket from your body, standing up and making your way over to your unsuspecting boyfriend.

You waited until he was in the lobby waiting for the next round to make your move. Heeseung jumped slightly when he felt your hand on his arm, his eyes throwing a quick glance at you before going back to the screen. You rolled your eyes before tugging his hand off of the keyboard and climbing into his lap.

Heeseung hummed softly as he placed his hand on your lower back to steady your body. His eyes were torn away from the screen when he felt the lacey fabric under his fingertips. “Are you oka- fuck baby.” Heeseung’s eyes racked your body, his dick twitching in his sweats.

“Heeseung dude, what the fuck are you doing?” You could hear Jay through Heeseung’s headphones and you smirked at him. He glared at you as his grip tightened on your waist.

“Sorry, I’m back.” He grumbled as he moved closer to the desk successfully trapping you between his body and the hard surface. You could hear the boys teasing him as well as feel the heat rushing up his neck as you placed small kisses against his skin.

Heeseung bit down on his tongue to keep any noises from slipping as you bit and sucked on his sensitive skin. His eyes still focused on the screen trying his best to ignore your little antics. Your hands roamed over his body before finding his hardening cock, palming it softly.

He quickly muted the mic before grabbing your wrist, stopping your movements, and gaining your attention. Your eyes meeting his dark and hooded ones, you couldn’t help but stifle a laugh which Heeseung did not find too amusing.

“Do you think this is funny?” His voice dropped an octave as he pulled your hand away from his crotch.

You just pouted, shoulders slouching, “You’ve been ignoring me all night.”

Heeseung had to bite back the smirk that was threatening to spread on his lips, “I told you that I was gonna play a few more rounds then I was yours.” You huffed before moving further up his lap, your core aching for some kind of attention. Heeseung watched your movements with a smug gaze, watching as you slowly rolled your hips against his, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. “You’re so impatient, baby.” A yelp left your lungs as Heeseung landed a harsh smack against the skin of your ass.

“Hee-” “Here’s the deal baby,” His hand grabbed your ass, squeezing harshly making you whimper, “since you want to be a needy little brat, you’re gonna ride my cock and you don’t get to cum until I tell you.” You whined knowing you wouldn’t last very long, not in the state that you were in now, but you nodded nonetheless. Heeseung chuckled before leaning closer to you, “Oh and try not to make any noise, you don’t want the boys to know how much of a desperate slut you are, right?”

You shook your head in protest because you both knew how vocal you were in bed, but Heeseung just ignored your protest as he unmuted his mic, apologizing when the string of curses from the boys came through.

It didn’t even take two minutes before you were scooting down your boyfriend's legs to untie his sweatpants. The need and lust started to cloud your mind, so much so that a whine left your lips when you pulled his pants and boxers down enough for his hard cock to spring free.

Heeseung gave you a pointed look causing you to mumble an apology. You bit your lip as you grabbed his dick in your hand, pumping him slowly. You started to tease him because it was only fair. After all, he left you waiting for so long, right?

Heeseung closed his eyes as he tried to concentrate on the game in front of him, but it was growing increasingly difficult as your movements sped up. Your thumb swiped over his angry tip, spreading his pre-cum causing him to hiss.

“Yo dude, are you sure you’re good?” Jake asked and Heeseung coughed out an ‘I’m fine’ before glaring down at you.

You just met his eyes, feigning innocence but he knew better than that.

“I’ll be right back, I ran out of water,” His words were rushed as he muted his mic once more, ignoring the guy's protest. He removed your hand from his shaft before pulling you flush against him, “it seems like someone doesn’t wanna cum.”

“No-” “Then stop fucking teasing.” He growled against your lips causing you to whimper, but you nodded.

Heeseung released you and you quickly moved back a little bit to slide your panties to the side. He watched you intently as you grabbed his cock to line his tip with your dripping cunt. You slid down him slowly, savoring the stretch he gave.

Growing impatient Heeseung grabbed your hips and pulled you down onto him swiftly, causing a loud moan to leave your lips, fingers digging into his shoulders. He mumbled filthy things in your ear as he rubbed circles on your lower back.

“Now be a good girl and ride my cock while I play.” Heeseung kissed your temple before leaning forward to unmute his mic. However, his movement caused him to push deeper inside you and you quickly buried your face in his neck to muffle the whines. “Sorry guys, I'm back.”

You slowly rolled your hips against his until you fully adjusted to him. Quiet, breathy moans left your lips as you started to slowly bounce on your boyfriend's dick. His free hand rests on your hip, helping to keep you steady as your pace picks up.

“Fuck Seungie I-” You bit your lip hard as his tip brushed over your sweet spot, moans threatening to slip.

As your pace increased you were sure that the guys could hear the wet, lewd sounds that were leaving your cunt, if they did they didn’t say a word. Heeseung was enjoying the way you tried to keep quiet, maybe a little too much. He knew that telling you to be quiet was like trying to tell a toddler to stop crying. It wouldn’t work, not for long at least.

So he had a new goal in mind, he was going to make you break and finally release those pretty sounds you make. He didn’t care if his friends could hear, no he wanted them to hear you. He wanted them to know that you were his and that he was the only one who could make you feel this good.

With that, his grip on your hip tightened before he thrusted up into you harshly causing a loud gasp to leave your parted lips. Your eyes met his, not missing the sinister gleam as he continued to thrust into you.

“Hee- fuck.” You cried out as his tip kissed your cervix, not really caring if anyone could hear you. The way Heeseung’s cock was reaching all the right places felt good, too good to care.

“Dude, what the fuck was that?” “Was that y/n?” You could hear the boys on the headset and instantly bite your lip, quieting your noises once more.

Heeseung chuckled before moving his mic and kissing your cheek as you continued to ride him, “Go ahead baby, let them hear how good I make you feel.”

With his permission, you released your lip as a choked moan tore through your lips, “Seungie I wanna cum, please.” You whined out as your movements grew sporadic, your thighs burning.

“Not yet baby, wait for me.” Heeseung’s voice came out soft, making you nod despite the need to cum. “Good girl.” You whined at the praise as your lips latched onto his skin, anchoring yourself so you wouldn’t cum too soon.

“Bro, are you for real watching porn right now?” Sunghoon groaned, causing the other guys to start laughing.

“Oh no, I’ve got something way better than porn on right now.” Heeseung chuckled before a groan tore through his throat as you squeezed around him. He couldn’t help but become amused when the guys all went quiet, realizing what was happening.

Heeseung moved away from the desk a little bit before leaning back in the chair. You removed your face from his neck when he grabbed your hips with both hands, watching with fucked out eyes as he helped you move along his cock.

“Go on, beautiful, let them hear how good Seungies cock makes you feel.” Heeseung groaned as you grabbed his shoulders, desperately trying to find your high.

“Seungie, it feels so good.” You whined out as your head fell back, “I wanna cum please.”

Heeseung’s dick twitched at your whiny voice and he knew he was close, there was no way he could deny you when he was almost there himself. He leaned forward placing harsh kisses along your jugular eliciting more whines from you.

“Cum for me babydoll.” He whispered huskily in your ear and that’s all it took for your orgasm to wash over you, cries of his name falling from your lips like a mantra as he continued to thrust up into you. After a few more harsh thrusts he painted your walls white, a throaty groan leaving his lips against your skin.

After you both came down from your highs you slumped against Heeseung, his cock still buried deep in your cunt. Your warm breath fanning his sweaty neck causes a shiver to go down his spine.

“YO WHAT THE FUCK HEESEUNG?!” Jay cursed at your boyfriend but the older male just chuckled as he rubbed your back soothingly.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.” Heeseung teased, causing all of the boys to start shouting different excuses to defend themselves which only further amused your boyfriend.

@alvojake | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @heesitation @riftanswhore @luvyong2z

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rogueddie · 6 months

Text

Steve wakes up to a beeping noise- a heart monitor. He struggles to open his eyes, turning to squint around the hospital room. Something about it feels off, though he can’t tell what.

A woman stumbles in, almost spilling her coffee. She looks familiar.

“Hey,” Steve tries, only to end up coughing. His throat is painfully dry.

“Steve!” She exclaims. She hurries over, swapping the coffee for a plastic cup of water. She carefully holds it to his mouth for him to drink. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you awake! I know we can’t talk here but… fuck, man, you really had us scared for a minute. Promise me you won’t do anything like that again!”

“I promise?”

“Oh! Eddie finally woke up too! Just the other week. He keeps asking about you, I should go-”

Steve is only more confused. There’s only one Eddie he knows and that Eddie wouldn’t be caught dead worrying about someone like Steve. Not unless...

“Munson?”

“Duh. Oh! Nancy! I was supposed to- you’re ok, right? I’ll just be a minute!”

“Yeah, sure.”

She throws him a thumbs up, darting out the room, calling for Nancy.

His head throbs. He’s not sure what is going on, what happened… maybe that thing in the Byers house did get him after all? Maybe this is just a dream.

"Ah, Mr Harrington," a nurse greets with a warm smile. "It's good to see you awake. I'm just going to check your vitals and all of that stuff, then we'll need to go over some questions. Does that sound alright?"

"Questions?"

"You've been asleep for a few weeks. We need to make sure that everything up there is ok." She lightly raps her knuckles on the side of her head.

Despite how light she's trying to be, Steve feels a sinking in his stomach.

"Is that possible? What- what could be wrong?"

"Nothing too serious. You're speech is clear and legible, you're conscious and cognitive." She lifts the clipboard off the end of the hospital bed. "You remember your name?"

"Yeah," he says. After a moment, he realizes; "oh! Right, sorry. Steve Harrington."

"Date of birth?"

"April 29th, 1967."

"Do you know what todays date is?"

"Um... how long have I been out? You said a few weeks, right?"

"Almost three weeks, yes."

"Three weeks, so that would make today... December 4th?"

She doesn't respond for a moment. The way she keeps her eyes on the clipboard feels too calculated.

"The year?"

"Uh... 1983?"

She only pauses for a moment, before continuing to ask simple questions about current events, how he's feeling, where he feels any pain or discomfort.

He lies when she asks if he remembers what caused him to be hospitalized. He's not sure what the story Nancy and Byers will give. He can't imagine people... involved, would want the truth out. And he's not willing to risk whatever consequences will come with that.

"I'm going to talk with your doctor," she finally says. "I'll be one minute."

"Wait! What- am I ok?"

"Your doctor will explain everything, don't worry."

Amnesia, his doctor explains.

Three years of his life, gone. They try to reassure him, say that it's still early days and he could completely regain his memory, no problem.

But they don't know. Not really. It's all 'possibly's, and 'maybe's. No guarentee. There's still a chance that he may never remember.

The woman who ran in when he woke up, sat by his bedside and holding his hand in a death grip, doesn't look anymore reassured by their optimism than he is.

"We're... close?" He asks her.

"Yeah," she says, forcing a smile. "Platonic soulmates. It's, um... Robin, by the way. Robin Buckley."

"Do we have that... Mrs Click, you sit behind me, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did." She looks stunned, almost dazed. "I didn't think you remembered, or even noticed me."

"How could I not? You're hilarious!"

"What? We never-"

"Oh, uh, you're muttering. Behind me. It wasn't exactly, um... quiet."

"Oh my god," she slaps a hand to her mouth, eyes wide. "You heard me talk about you!"

"Yeah, like I said; you're funny."

Luckily, someone else bursts into the room, interrupting whatever epiphany Robin is having.

"Steve!" He yells.

The guy looks like a kid, barely out of middle school. But he rushes to Steve, eyeing him up like he's Steves babysitter.

"Uh, hi?"

"Oh no," is the kids response. He turns to Robin. "How much does he remember?"

"He is right here, you know."

"I think some time in 83?" Robin replies, ignoring him.

"Before or after the whole... uh..." He glances at Steve with suspicion, then pointedly to the door.

"Jesus," Steve mutters, rubbing at the crease between his brows. "Did Nancy and Jonathan tell you, or what?"

"Tell us about... what?"

He rolls his eyes at them, pointing to the kid. "Whatever has short stack paranoid. The thing with the-" he flops one hand around, raised towards the ceiling, "the lights."

"Do you remember anything that happened after that?" The kid quickly asks. "At the hospital, and Will?"

"You mean the Byers kid? Isn't he, like... dead?"

"So you... don't remember me."

"Sorry?"

"It's fine," he lies.

Steve hates how sad the kid sounds. He glances between the two of them, both seemingly wallowing quietly about the situation.

"Which room is Munson in?" He asks, breaking the silence.

"What?" The kid frowns. "Eddie? Why?"

"Which room?"

"He's two doors down to the left," Robin answers. "Why- woah! Don't get up! You're still-"

"I'm fine," Steve gently pushes her away, ignoring both of them trying to plead for him to get back into bed.

Despite the bandages, bruises and sick look to him, Munson somehow looks better than Steve remembers him looking. The longer hair definitely suits him.

"Steve?" He frowns. He tries to sit up but, grimacing, he soon stops. "What the hell are you doing up? You're gonna freak Dustin out."

"Dustin? That the kid?" He asks, grunting as he sits on the edge of his bed.

"What do-" he pauses, expressions slowly twisting with the horror and realization. "Yeah. Yeah, man, Dustin is the kid."

"Right. So... um... we're friends now?"

Eddie winces. "We haven't exactly had time to talk about... that."

"What? It's been years!"

"It's not that simple."

"Are you saying that because it's true or because you don't-"

"Because it's true," Eddie rolls his eyes. "A lot has happened since then, Steve. You fell in love with Wheeler."

"What?" Steve can't hide his confusion. "Nancy?"

"Yes, Nancy. You made sure everyone fucking knew about that."

Steve snorts, having to grab at his side with a wince. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing.

"So you're still easy to rile up?" He asks, smirking.

"Wh- you-" Eddie gasps. He tries to sit up again, grunting when he flops back down. "You were trying to make me jealous?!"

He's looking at Steve with disbelief, but he's also smiling.

"Are we friends now?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, Stevie. We're friends."

"Just friends?"

"I don't... Steve, how bad is your amnesia?"

Steve quickly looks away, wincing. "Not... that bad? I remember that- the first time. This, um... monster shit. Falling out with Tommy. And the doctors are optimistic- they're pretty sure I'm going to remember."

"Alright... maybe it'd be better if we talk then, instead of rushing into it now."

"Jesus," Steve frowns. "I really have missed a lot. When did you get mature?"

"Hey-"

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #robin buckley #platonic with a capital p #steddie fic #ficlet #hurtcomfort

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tripleyeeet · 8 months

Text

PAINFUL VULNERABILITIES (5)

SUMMARY: When your past begins to blend into your present, you find yourself longing for Astarion's comfort.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,648

WARNINGS: ANGST, hurt/comfort, body horror elements, descriptions of torture involving a knife, panic attack, sort of made up Illithid lore??? (I promise there's comfort in the end, I'm sorry!)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Day 5 literally doesn't have a prompt because this idea got terribly out of hand so let's just ignore that and enjoy the angst, shall we?

(Also again, a lot of people's tags weren't working so next time if you haven't fixed it I will be taking you off the list because taglists are a bitch!)

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

The nightmares start a few days later.

At first, they’re subtle. Wisps of darkness cloud your thoughts, leaving no memory behind. Silently it lingers, creeping through your skull in waves that inevitably crash against the shore, ripping you awake —leaving you breathless each time you’re left gasping for air in your dishevelled bedroll. When it happens, it always makes you jolt up to look around, trying to find the cause of your plague. The reason why you’re suddenly so wary to lay your head each night.

When you reach the Underdark they only get worse.

What were once forgotten memories become recurring torments. Endless onslaughts of clawed hands that scratch at your flesh, pulling back skin in massive chunks that pluck excitedly at your insides.

Thanks to the powers of the Illithid you feel every movement. Every poke and prod slips through you like a knife, cutting you down piece by piece until you’re nothing but a shell. An empty carcass of bone that’ll inevitably be harvested for a purpose far greater than yourself.

Or so she says. As you lie there, writhing in pain, blinking to shield the teeth that bear witness to your torture, you hear her whisper cool and quiet, telling you of your death. Of your fated downfall, and then of your—

You always wake up before she finishes.

Before you can hear her utter the words you’ve heard a thousand times. Feeling the burn of your lungs, you stretch your fingers across your chest in remembrance, breathing in and out as the skin beneath your digits runs hot and you’re forced to forget the experience all over again.

When you reach camp that night, sore from the seemingly never-ending mushroom forage, you find yourself dreading the prospect of such sleep. Even through the exhaustion, the last thing you want to do is rest your head lest she arrives tonight, so you fight the urge, settling in against the edge of the fire.

“You look tired.”

You turn to look at Gale with half-closed eyes, offering him the softest grin you can muster before turning toward the flames. They seem brighter than usual. A decorative flash of warm-toned hues that make you blink and rub your eyes, somehow feeling even more languid.

“Mushroom hunting take it out of you?”

You hum, making no move to look his way as you pull your knees to your chest, curling in on yourself for comfort.

As much as you’ve grown to like Gale’s company, all you want right now is silence. A moment of peace where you can just stare into the fire and let your eyes burn from something other than the lack of sleep. Especially after spending the day alongside Lae’zel and Shadowheart as some poorly trained mediator. Just the thought of opening your mouth to speak feels like a threat to your vocal cords. The prospect of speech too much to handle, even as Gale begins to fill you in on his and Wyll’s misadventures with a nearby myconid colony.

“They’re truly such interesting creatures. Did you know…”

His voice falls on deaf ears, earning you nothing but a confused sigh once he realizes you’re not listening. Mostly because it’s not normal for you to just blatantly ignore your peers.

“Are you alright? Need anything? Perhaps a drink or a—“

You’re standing upright before he can even finish his sentence, brushing the ass of your leathers before walking away, paying no mind to the curious wizard as he looks around the camp, catching the eye of Wyll who merely shrugs.

It’s not like you to leave. To ignore a friend mid-conversation but your voice is gone. Lost to the void of constant intercession and a brewing anxiety that sits in your chest. As you walk towards your tent you can feel it shifting. Starting at your gut, everything twists to form a sickly sting. A stabbing pain that throbs within your abdomen, threatening to grow as you part the fabric and crawl inside, plopping into bed face first.

Despite your better judgement, you let out a low groan you’re sure at least someone hears causing you to frown, knowing that you’re better than this. Better than neglecting your health because of some silly nightmares. Better than letting the fear of your past get the better of you. Better than brooding about it.

Turning to lie on your back, you palm the sockets of your eyes in frustration, letting your mind wander. Allowing yourself to feel everything you’ve been suppressing over the last twelve or so hours.

Aside from exhaustion, it’s mostly Astarion that surfaces. His face in the darkness looking at you as you left camp that morning, barely awake enough to give him a nod. In an instant it was as if he was there and gone, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place before shifting out of view alongside an overly excited Karlach. It was the kind of look that made you question its intentions. Its knitted brows and pursed lips rising and falling through your memories between the scuffles of your two companions.

As you walked along the edges of the Underdark’s cliff sides, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it represented. What emotion it was trying to convey in such a small amount of time before it disappeared completely?

As you lie there now, once again imagining its form you feel it’s something bordering on pity. A showcase of solidarity in your obviously failing quest for sleep.

Astarion may not say much about your struggles —unlike him, you don’t complain about the endless problems that you face on the road— but you know he’s still aware of them. He’s too perceptive not to be.

So why hasn’t he said anything?

A heavy breath escapes. A shaky one damaged by speculation. Ruined by the assumption that it’s because he doesn’t care. That perhaps you aren’t worth the trouble of a little bit of worry despite previous actions.

You may have killed for him —had his back long before anyone else, but have such feelings ever been reciprocated? Has your worth been proven now that you’ve slain a man in his honour? And if so, how much worth do you truly hold? Is it substantial enough to ask you how you are? Big enough to look at you with any semblance of fondness? Or is it all just for show?

There’s a part of you that hopes it is. That the moments filled with kindness are nothing more than lies told to keep your attention. If he were lying, it wouldn’t necessarily make the way you feel right now any better but it’d mean that there’s an end. A barrier to stop you from getting in too deep. An excuse you could use to explain the naivety of thinking he may care.

Because it wavers —his care. Some days it’s obvious, sometimes it’s not. You can never guess when the care will appear, only that when it’s there and eventually dissipates you’ll be left alone again, wondering why he puts the extra effort in at all. Why he reels you in only to let you go, forcing you to question his intentions as you watch with careful eyes for those moments of reassurance. Moments that you can never prepare for. Ones that gnaw at your heart with pointed teeth wrapped beneath hungry lips, starving for the truth.

You’re not too sure you’re ready to take that leap yet. To push him for the answers you know he’ll just avoid. He’s never been quick to trust and even when he does allow you in there’s still a blockage of sorts. An obvious resistance that sits between you, forcing you to settle regardless of the fear you hold inside your chest, wondering what would happen if you tried to push.

You assume it’d ruin you. That, more than likely, pushing too hard would only create an even deeper wedge, making the truth that much more unattainable, leaving you with less than what you started with.

Shooting upwards, you groan again and breathe, resting your face against your open palms in irritation.

All you want to do is sleep, knowing the only reason you’re thinking so much is because you’re avoiding it. If you think you can’t drift which means the nightmares can’t come, leaving you with two bad endpoints you know you have to choose between.

It makes you want to scream just thinking about it but instead of giving in to such desires you merely settle back down, pulling the fabric of your bedroll up to your shoulders before closing your eyes.

You’re going to get some sleep whether or not it kills you. Whether or not you have to endure the pain of a thousand deaths all at once before you’re inevitably woken up in a stupor of suffering.

It doesn’t take long for you to drift. One minute you’re lying there, counting your breaths like sheep and the next you’re out, filtering through a darkness that feels all too familiar. At first, it’s just there, coating your skin in nothingness. Lost to the void of slumber, you’re at peace for the first time in forever but as expected eventually the shadows unfold. Part to reveal a body of pale skin wrapped around viscous veins full of the blood of many.

It beckons you almost immediately. The flutter of that icy voice saying your name over and over until you come to call, allowing yourself to move. Letting your feet guide you to her presence, you feel the waves and how they threaten to spill over as you kneel before her, feeling her grab your throat.

Her fingers twitch and curl but never grip as she leans forward, offering you a grin. “You’ve been avoidant.”

You don’t speak. For a moment your lips part, feeling the presence of her thumb glide across the base of your throat but you don’t dare speak.

“You know it’s coming, my dear. You can’t avoid it.”

Your tongue moves to wet your lips while you blink, trying your best to let the visions of her angular face blur into the night that surrounds you, realizing she looks just as you remember her. All papery and washed out —a mere shell of herself now that you’ve gone missing. Her features drying out with each passing day you find yourself separate.

“Come back to me. Let me protect you.”

You swallow hard and turn your head, feeling the nails of her fingers dig into your neck prompting you to cry out.

She doesn’t let you do much else. Quickly moving on from the one-sided conversation to grab her knife, you watch as she mumbles under her breath, turning the blade between her fingers with a grin. “In untimely death comes timely renewal, remember?” she says, letting it ghost across your bare chest, pushing the edge against it until it breaks the skin.

You barely feel the first insertion. As the blade dips through the layers of your flesh, the only thing you feel is her breath. The pattern of air that puffs against your face as she recites those aforementioned words, taunting you as she pulls it down.

In untimely death comes timely renewal. In untimely death comes timely renewal. In untimely death comes timely renewal…

As the knife moves lower, you repeat the words in unison like a mantra, struggling to get them out through gritted teeth as she works to cut you open. To slice your torso from the sternum down revealing countlessly re-healed bones and slimy organs that lie in waiting for her to pluck.

Hovering above you, her hands move to survey such handiwork, her fingers stroking the edges of your open skin before they inevitably dive right in, ripping you awake.

You feel the pressure of her inside your gut before it really hits that it’s done. Shooting upward, you cough and double over in an instant, pressing your hands shakily to the ground in front of you.

It’s the worst dream you’ve had yet. Longer than all the others, you can feel the adrenaline of it all penetrating your thoughts. Overthrowing every single anxiety you’ve ever felt as you sniff back tears, pushing yourself towards the entrance of your tent.

Pulling it open, you look around the camp in desperation, catching the eye of Wyll who raises his brow, watching as you shake your head, slipping further into the ground.

Before you can even think he’s on you, reaching for your shoulders, asking you what’s wrong and how he can help. In response, you make no effort to reach back. To remedy your pain as you continue to shake and cry, sobbing out the cursed mantra through heavy gasps that leave him panicking.

“Guys! Something’s wrong!”

As he calls out to the rest of the group, you quickly find yourself surrounded by familiar faces. All of them looking down to see your hysteria unfold.

“What happened?” Dropping to her knees, Shadowheart’s the first to your side, moving her hands to cup your face before you swat her away, mouthing the words over and over and over again.

“I don’t know!”

“You don’t know?”

The two of them continue to bicker. As Wyll explains the way you crawled out of your tent, mumbling something about death, you force yourself to shuffle back, maneuvering your body so that you’re half sitting inside your tent again, watching it all unfold. Focusing on the confusion as Lae’zel and Karlach stand in the wings, muttering to each other words you can’t quite hear while Gale stares down at your mouth, watching the words you speak only to yourself as your eyes start to dart around.

Surveying the rest of the camp, you wipe away your tears and try to breathe, forcing your mouth to stop its repetitions once you remember the ache inside your chest.

Because of the Illithid, you can still feel her handiwork. Beneath your sweaty tunic, you can sense its edges burning —stinging from the aftermath as you press a hand to your sternum, making sure you’re still intact. Making sure your organs aren’t on display as you catch sight of Astarion coming up the path.

He’s nose deep in a book when you see him, scanning the pages with interest before his eyes inevitably raise to see your nervous frame, curling into your tent. Then his interest fades. Evaporating into thin air before it’s replaced with fear. Genuine, heartbreaking fear that has him moving so quickly he fades out of view before reappearing in front of you.

“What happened?”

Just like Shadowheart, his hands cup your cheeks, gripping the plush as he lowers himself down, moving his forehead to yours.

Unlike before you make no effort to push him away. Instead, all you do is frown and try to suppress the tears, clawing at his shirt with desperate pleas, begging him to stay. Begging him to tell you that everything’s going to be okay. Begging for him to lie and say he’ll protect you just like you did for him.

Using your tadpole you beg him over and over again, letting the tears silently fall from your face, not caring that the whole party is watching.

All you need is him. In falseness or in truth, you don’t care. You just need him to ground you. To call you darling and to make you laugh. To make you feel like you’re something more than a vessel of organs one day destined for harvest.

As your chest begins to heave, letting all the nightmares unfold all over again, you feel the tadpole behind your eye squirm in response, asking you to let him in. Without hesitation, you close your eyes and swallow hard, feeling his thoughts start to overthrow the visions of her and her knives and the mantra that sticks haphazardly across your brain matter.

I’m here, you’re safe.

For once it feels like a promise. A silent vow meant only for you as he ushers you further into the tent, saying something to your peers before closing it up. After that he readjusts the bedroll with gentle hands, always keeping a single palm against the small of your back, even when he guides you to lie against his chest.

It’s the first time in weeks that you’ve felt safe. Resting a cheek just below his collarbone, you can feel your breath begin to return to its normal state. No longer ravaged by the panic of your dreams, it moves in and out, fanning the fabric of his shirt.

“Was it a nightmare?”

You nod. Unsure how to explain it because, while it is a nightmare, it somehow feels so much more.

“Of the past or?”

“Sort of.”

He hums curiously, glancing down to see your hand slide up his chest to grip his shirt.

“It feels like I’m answering a call.”

“A call?”

“Like there’s a person trying to reach me and when I answer I can… I can feel them.”

“Feel them?”

You can tell he doesn’t quite understand. Not that you blame him for it. The whole concept of these nightmares still vexs even yourself. Leave you stumbling in confusion each night you find yourself awake, struggling to remember what’s real and what’s not.

The nightmares are not as easily explainable as the actual torture you’ve endured. Especially considering that up until now there had been periods where the memories had died. Days where her face was nothing more than a splotch of white against a backdrop of black, slowly fading away.

It doesn’t make sense why they're suddenly returning. Why your mind is forcing you to relieve these memories night after night.

“Does your tadpole make it hard for you to dream?”

There's no hesitation when he says yes. No moment thought before his answer, making you wonder if maybe he too is experiencing these dreams.

“I feel like it amplifies everything.”

Looking up to gauge his response, you can see the worry clouding his eyes. How his expression sort of fades into the abyss as his eyes focus on yours.

“I dream of the past a lot. Of my life before this and… and I can feel it. Everything that ever happened I can feel all over again and it’s—“

“Painful.” His voice is broken. A crack in the mirror, shattering the often joyous image of his face as he looks away, blinking.

Without even processing your movements you prop yourself up on your elbow, reaching over to grab his cheek and pull him back in. “I wish you didn’t understand how it felt.”

There’s a flicker of hurt that hits his face, enveloping his features before the previous sadness kicks in again and he’s reaching for your wrist, tightening around it. “Yes, well, not all of us get the luck of the draw when it comes to good lives.”

“You should’ve,” you tell him.

He scoffs and closes his eyes, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “You’re probably the only one that thinks that.”

You let your thumb explore his cheek. Let it move in soft circles, taking in the way it shifts beneath your touch.

It feels strange to be this close to him even after all of the other intimate moments you’ve shared. Something about it feels softer, more honest than the rest of them, making your heart beat rapidly against your chest, threatening to burst.

“I know it’s not my business but if you ever want to talk about it—“

He places a kiss to your hand, letting his lips linger against the pad of your thumb as he closes his eyes, reaching around to grip your waist.

In an instant, the words drift out of your mind once you feel it; lost to a touch you didn’t realize you longed for.

Swallowing hard you lay back down to look away, feeling a bit overwhelmed at the tender image that unfolds as his arm shifts again, accommodating your movement. Making you feel that rush of comfort return as he pulls his mouth away and clears his throat.

“I’m, uh… I’m not good at this kind of thing.”

“Vulnerability?” you joke, earning yourself a snort.

“I suppose that’s a word you can use.”

“To be fair, neither am I.”

You feel him shift to meet your gaze, looking at you with surprise. “Really now? I think breaking down in front of the whole camp just so that you can find me is quite the effort of—“

Before he can finish you clamp your hand around his mouth. “I was in shock, you bastard. I wasn’t thinking about my dignity.”

Flexing around your palm, you feel him smile before he pulls away. “That’s good because there was absolutely nothing dignified about the way you looked at me back there. It was…” He trails off, his words catching in his throat for a moment before he clears it again. “You scared me.”

There’s a moment of silence after that, lasting far longer for it to be deemed comfortable as you lay there, wide awake, wishing you could get him to talk to you. Hoping that maybe if you reach out with the Illithid he’ll answer your questions.

Closing your eyes, you feel his presence in your mind already, vying for your attention in a way that has you both moving in closer, tightening your hold.

Show me the dream.

It isn’t a question or a request but a simple command that has you obeying —letting him enter your thoughts. Letting him stand along the sidelines as she guides you to the ground and cuts you open all over again. Letting him listen to the recital of words that are spoken behind two frozen expressions as Astarion pulls you tighter against him, placing his mouth to your forehead to stop himself from crying.

TAGLIST: @poohxlove @gaiasmight @sassy-stupid @novarex @v-gremlin @sapphiccloud @lipstickghoulie @kuroitsukyo @jjfchk @idiotsatan @kay24sstuff @bluestuesday @mopeyghost @bloopthebat @art-by-greenie @heneralmoon @80spuppetfantasy @sukunababe @dreamingaboutyousworld @ranfithegood @haniscrying @ghostys1mp @liadamerondjarin @the-lake-is-calling @marina-and-the-memes @rookieoftheyear @zraloci-cpr @kaetmo @snickerdoodle-daydream @wowowwild @d1anna @raswiet @conniesbbymama @sweetrollgal @venus-wrts @demonicthorns @kihten @deadglamsheep @sanscas @spammypasta @leighsartworks216 @rose-gold-blue @p1ssmagg0t @hellish-writes @tea-a-holics @ghostinvenus @theenadaa @otayz @sexysquatch @sleepyeclair @colorful-anxieties @alina-exe @ilana-the-lasagna @lillifer @geektarts

(if you'd like to be added to the taglist fill out this form)

#painful vulnerabilities #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

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writingwithcolor · 9 months

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Avoiding the white savior of the kingdom

@ceo-of-angst asked:

Okay so I'm writing a fantasy series. There's two main kingdoms though there is a third but that one doesn't have to do anything with this ask. Both of them are likely as big as a continent each so there are different climates everywhere, therefore there's a lot of diversity even within one country. The issues mostly is between the two kingdoms nationality wise, as there's a war. The prince of one of the kingdoms kills his older brother to gain the throne. This is where the issue starts. They have a younger (half)sister who ends up leading a revolution bc of her brother's bad rule (famine, war, dictatorship and incantation or sentence to fight to the death in war to anyone who doesn't obbey the government etc), she's white, she's helped by my main cast who are all poc (one of them also from nobility) from the other kingdom and I don't want to accidently make it a white savior She's not my main character though if anything we only see into her pov bc of a difference between kingdoms in book 2. Most of the pov is on my main cast so I don't know how this could pay out.

Add diversity to the kingdom

There is a simple solution: don’t make one kingdom all-white or all-BIPOC. Add in diversity and mixed race. You seem to already be doing that, and it’s not an issue of race but rather tyranny. White saviorism is when only a white character can solve a problem for BIPOC and they’re seen as the hero. If it’s a team effort, where your protagonist is fallible but well-intentioned, you should be fine. -Jaya

Questions to ask yourself

This critique got levied at Tamora Pierce’s Trickster series, and it’s a pretty valid critique of the books—every time you have a white person as a figurehead of an otherwise-diverse movement, you’re going to start getting into why this white person, and why then?

It’s especially salient if you have the person come into an already-established rebellion movement. Is her involvement the thing that gets the privilege necessary to make the movement valid? What about her makes her the ideal top person in the organization?

Why is she white?

My first question is: why is she white? Is it related to colorism and classism? If yes, then why are you automatically making the leading group white if there’s so much diversity and so many other groups can trend extremely pale?

Why are the kingdoms so big?

My second question is: why are the kingdoms so big? It’s actually frighteningly hard to run a continent-sized country. If you’re attempting to make these single groups so big simply for ease of worldbuilding, and for diversity’s sake, know that a country does not have to be large to contain a multitude of groups. You are allowed to have political rivalry in a small area and still maintain diversity within it.

How much privilege is she willing to give up?

My third question is: how much privilege is she willing to give up? Is she trying to take the throne for herself, or is she trying to destroy all of the structures that gave her status in the first place? Because that question will determine how willing the PoC around her are going to be. Why would they support a ruler if they’ve been subjugated by that family, with no real promise she’s going to be any different once she gets in power?

On the flipside, why would she be willing to give up any of her privilege in the name of removing her brother from the throne, and what stops her from going off the deep end once she has the ability to control others?

It’s likely doable to make this situation read as less of a white saviour, but in order to do that you’ll likely need to wask yourself a lot of hard questions about your motives and the character arc you want to have with her.

People may see a white savior, regardless

And you’ll also have to ask yourself if you’ll be comfortable with never really being able to avoid some people calling this a white saviour plot. Even if you do “everything right” and follow every bit of advice you can, there’s always going to be some people who aren’t too thrilled that the person saving everyone is white.

So examine your motives, really nail down what you’re trying to show with this, and come to terms with not making everyone happy no matter what you do.

~Mod Lesya

#white savior #tropes #Fantasy #power dynamics #asks #writing advice

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hikarry · 4 months

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Badass Aziraphale is fun. We love to see him with all the divine wrath and playing the protector he was meant to be, blinded by love and duty. Eyes everywhere and flaming sword at hand ready to smite or confront anyone that dares step his way

And that's the version we see the most in the fandom. Vengeful angel Aziraphale Guard of the Eastern Gate raining righteous fury over anyone who dares harm Crowley

It's beautiful. Poetic even. I love it

BUT

There is nothing in this whole fandom that's more powerful and gorgeous than protective Crowley

That man knows what is like to lose the love of his life. He has lived it, for as brief as it might have been. All the despair, the lost of hope, the absolute loneliness. He has been there and that's a place he refuses to go back to

All the fear turned into rage. Ready to burn down Heaven and flood Hell to protect his angel. He might not be the strongest and he might not be a match for more than one archangel at a time, but he would rather die than let anyone take Aziraphale away from him again

He would become so blindsided by terror he wouldn't stop to think about the consequences. His only target is Aziraphale and Aziraphale only and he would pull any stunt to make sure he was safe and, do you wanna know the best part? This is canon

We have snippets of protective Crowley all throughout season 2 but this scene? Oh boy, this scene

Crowley doesn't trust Gabriel. He tolerates him because he promised Aziraphale he would help, but he is on high alert

As soon as Shax shows up and threatens Aziraphale, he redirects his fear turned rage towards his main target: Gabriel. Because this is his fault. Beelzebub is looking for HIM. They/Heaven indirectly threatened Aziraphale with being erased from the Book of Life because of HIM. If something happens to Aziraphale because of this stupid charade he got himself involved with because he promised to protect Gabriel, Crowley will hold no punches

He's already full to the brim with the stunt Gabriel pulled during Aziraphale's "trial". Oh no, Crowley hasn't forgotten his words and his righteous smile while he condemned the man he loves to death even though some years have gone by and he is still furious about it

He is a wrong step away from exploding and destroying everything that presents itself as a threat to Aziraphale in the moment.

He is so scared of everything (Gabriel, Beelzebub, Shax, Heaven in general, the Book of Life) that he spends most of the season compressed like a spring ready to pounce at the minimal real show of danger

The only reason he leaves Aziraphale with the demons in the bookshop to go and try to figure out what the absolute fuck is going on is exactly because the demons can't enter said bookshop and he trusts everyone present not to be stupid enough to let them in (I'm sorry, Maggie. I still love you babes)

The worst part is: all his fury, all his rage and fear are useless in the end because Aziraphale walks into the danger willingly and Crowley would face anyone that tried to hurt his angel, but the angel himself

Don't get me wrong, he sees the danger. Maybe a tad to late. After the demons are gone and so is Gabriel and Beelzebub, he let's his guard down and allows himself to truly relax, planning their little breakfast at the Ritz

Because he thinks it's over. He was completely blindsided by Metatron. He himself says "Go angel. No problem. Can't get weirder than whatever the fuck just happened". Oh my poor sweet summer child

But he does see the danger eventually and goes on high alert again, but it's too late. He would never hurt Aziraphale, but he pulls all the weapons on his arsenal to try and stop him from going where he can't follow. Where he can't protect him

And he fails. Like he always feared he would. Not only showing his hand to Aziraphale in a desperate attempt to protect him but also losing him in the process with nothing he can do about it but watch his angel go until the very last second

#im feeling angsty today dont @ me #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #david tennant #michael sheen #anthony j crowley

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mochiajclayne · 1 month

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I will never stop talking about Five Kage Summit arc. It's my favorite because everything is happening simultaneously and Naruto doesn't catch a single break.

Starting off, everyone at Konoha treats him like a hero after saving the village from Pain and he deals with the conflicting feelings brought upon by the shift of treatment that he received. He finally got the acknowledgement he aspired for but he couldn't revel in it.

Next, the news of Sasuke being involved with Akatsuki and the Raikage pretty much deciding to get rid of him. What is Naruto's course of action? Meeting up with the Raikage and begging to spare his friend.

Then, hearing the truth about the Uchiha massacre after Obito paid them a little visit at the inn. Adding more cherries on top is Sakura confessing that she loves him as a way to let go of the promise made three years prior (Naruto retorts that saving Sasuke is a personal choice and he'd do it regardless of the promise) and Gaara told him about what transpired in the summit, that Sasuke can no longer be saved, and to think about what he can do for his friend. The last straw is definitely Sai snitching and informing everyone that Sakura plans to kill Sasuke.

Naruto going through a panic attack, too overwhelmed with the realization that everyone wants his precious person dead and they don't even try to understand him (but let's be real, only Naruto can understand Sasuke) and that's not even the most dramatic part.

Enter Sasuke: batshit blind, going off the rails unhinged, driven mad by hatred, still processing the truth and grieving about Itachi. Abandoned his personal policy of not killing aimlessly, not even willing to hear out Sakura or Kakashi but he listened to Naruto. They talked in their gay mind plane and Naruto went ahead and really said with his full chest that every single action that Sasuke did is valid, he knew the truth, and he'd carry Sasuke's burden and they'd die together. Also made a promise on the freaking spot that he'd handle all of his hatred and to not kill anyone in Konoha, then Sasuke kept that promise. He is unstoppable at that point, mind focusing on getting revenge but after that conversation with Naruto, his priority changed from destroying Konoha to fighting Naruto.

An unpopular discussion about Sasuke in this arc is the emptiness that he felt after achieving his goal. Dealing and processing grief. It left an impact to the point that he awakened his Mangekyou, coming on terms with the confusion about his feelings regarding Itachi after witnessing his death. Obito definitely used it to his advantage to manipulate Sasuke. I might explore the parallels shared with Naruto in a separate post.

I couldn't get enough of this arc and I think we wouldn't go through tough times if Naruto just said I love you. Lmao.

#naruto #naruto shippuden #sns #uzumaki naruto #uchiha sasuke #sasuke #sasunaru #narusasu #mochiajclayne.txt

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alastor-simp · 8 months

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How Do You Cheer Up/Apologize To Them After Making Them Upset - Azul Ashengrotto

"LET ME GO FLOYD!!!" You said as Floyd was squeezing you tightly in a bear hug, preventing you from entering Azul's office. You were in Mostro Lounge, wanting to speak to Azul about yesterday, and before you could knock on the door to his office, Floyd caught you and refused to release you. "Ehhh~ Why? Shrimpy-chan made Azul-chan upset yesterday, so I'm keeping you from making even sadder." Floyd tightened his hold on you, restricting your airflow and making you blue in the face. "That is enough, Floyd." Craning your head, you spotted Jade making his way towards the both of you, and thankfully, Floyd had released you from his death hug, allowing you to breath again. "Floyd, it is clear that the Prefect wants to meet with Azul to express their apologies for whatever had happened, and they can't do that with you hugging them." Floyd just shrugged and said whatever as you thanked Jade for helping you. Floyd and Jade went back to performing their duties as you knocked on the door and heard an "Enter".

You entered into the room and saw Azul sitting at his desk, working on his papers, not bothering to look up from what he was doing. "Azul?" You came closer, but Azul turned his chair around to look away from you, giving you hints he was still upset. Feeling dejected, you thought to leave, but you came to apologize and thats what you were going to do. "I understand you are still upset, but I wanted to apologize about yesterday. I know you dislike photos of yourself and I'm sorry I had taken one when you were in your Octopus form. I know how sensitive you are about your octo form, but I didn't take the photo of you to use it as blackmail or as a way to tease you". Tears started to fall down your cheeks as you continued your apology. "I took the photo because that was the first time your true form. You looked beautiful, and I panicked thinking I was probably never going to see your form again, so I took a photo, so I could keep it with me forever and make sure no one else saw it." Azul still had his back turned to you, but he was listening as his hand that was holding a pen stopped moving. Digging into your pocket, you placed your phone on his desk, that contained the photo. You told Azul he could do whatever he wanted with your phone and even lock it in his safe as long as Azul knew you were being sincere with your apology and not using the photo for wicked intentions. Stepping back, you began to head towards the door, until you heard a voice saying, "D-did you really find me b-beautiful?" You turned back to look at Azul, who had turned his chair back around, with tears staining his face. Smiling, you walked around his desk and approached him, and then slowly, you placed your hands on his cheeks, wiping his tears with your fingers and leaning closer to kiss his forehead. Azul jumped in shock, and his face turned flushed from the sensation of your lips on his forehead, then he saw you move back away and stare into his eyes. "You are beautiful to me Azul, inside and outside. I adore all of you, your smile, your hair, your voice, and especially your octopus form that you detest so much." Azul's mouth was agape like a fish, as he was left speechless by you, but his heart was melting at your sweet words. After about a few minutes of calming down his racing heart, Azul got up from his chair and hugged the daylights out of you, placing his head on your shoulder. "You are the most interesting human I have met, Angelfish. I also owe you an apology for my behavior over a simple photograph. I won't ask you to delete that photo, but I do want you to promise me one thing, and it doesn't involve a contract, I swear." You hugged him back, "Sure, anything?" Azul lifted his head from your shoulder and stared into your eyes with a loving expression. "Stay by my side … please." It took you a minute to process what Azul had said, but then after a few minutes, your hand had made its way to his cheek. "I will always be by your side, Azul." Azul flashed a smile and leaned closer, as his lips finally made contact with yours. Snickering sounds could be heard as the two eel twins had managed to open the door a crack, spying on your sweet moment with Azul.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst disney #azul #twst azul #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto #azul x reader #twisted wonderland azul #octavinelle x reader #octavinelle #azul ashengrotto fluff #twst fluff #🐙

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cuubism · 10 months

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based on THIS shitpost. nsft below the cut. inexplicably 7k.

Dream had promised Hob, since reuniting, since agreeing to see each other more often, that he would let Hob introduce him properly to human experiences. "It'll do you good," Hob had said. Dream thinks Death would agree with this also. He is now wondering, however, if this had been folly.

"I think I've given you the general rundown now," Hob says, leaning back in his chair, swirling his bottle of beer—mostly empty—idly in one hand. "The highlights. We'll be here for ages if you want to hear all of it."

Dream is surprised to realize he is curious to hear the stories of all of Hob's lovers. But he does not feel it is quite appropriate to press, no matter how open Hob has been in speaking of it. Dream is most interested, after all, in people Hob has loved, not just those he's had carnal relations with—stories of love are of much more interest to him than stories simply of desire, and Hob has already relayed these stories to him, each a glimmering jewel on the long chain of his life.

Each sticks in Dream's mind now, glittering in his peripheral vision. He cannot tell precisely what they want of him—the corners of his being are blurred, his thoughts wavering, at points clear and ringing and at others indistinct. A consequence of allowing alcohol to affect him, at Hob's bidding. It is... pleasant. Loose. Warm. Though Dream thinks, anywhere outside of Hob's flat, it would feel disconcerting instead.

It's this folly in allowing Hob to ply him with wine, perhaps, that has him saying, "Do you wish to hear of my own?"

Hob's expression sharpens. He is, perhaps, less drunk than Dream is, despite being on his fourth beer, while Dream has only had— ah. That bottle of wine is three-quarters empty. Hmm. "You mean, you want to talk about it?"

"I believe it is customary for friendship to involve a mutual sharing of stories?"

"Sure, if you want to." Hob's gaze on him is intent, curious, but still fond, always fond. "Usually you're like this." He draws his fingers across his lips in a zipping motion. "So of course I'm curious."

"Am I so reticent?" Hob is right, though. Dream can acknowledge it. He would not usually care to speak of these things. He could blame the wine, today. But.

Hob laughs. "Took me six hundred thirty-three years to get a name. You are the king of reticence." He dips his head as if bowing to this "king." "I would be honored to hear your stories, my friend."

Dream tucks his nose into his glass. He should perhaps not drink any more, but the smell is still pleasant, rich and sharp. "They are not so happy."

"Still. If you want to tell."

Dream is not like Hob. He does not have casual dalliances. Each collision was as bright as a falling star. He doesn't know if he has the strength, now, to relay all that terrible history.

Instead, he shares with Hob the early days of burning. Each of those bright, glowing moments. And glosses over the fall.

He thinks Hob sees it, though. He considers him from under his brows as Dream speaks, understanding in his eyes. Doesn't ask him about it, perhaps sensing that Dream does not have the wherewithal for telling and asking in the same evening. "Thank you," he finally says.

"Why?"

"For sharing."

Dream looks back down at his glass. It's empty again. Perhaps that is for the best. It is not often that he... shares. Particularly about this. But Hob is generous in not prying. In wanting to listen, for the simple sake of, as far as Dream can tell, understanding Dream.

When he looks up again, Hob is tapping the mouth of his beer bottle against his lips in thought. "Can I ask you something? It'll probably be utter silliness to you, though. Being this... beyond human entity that you are."

Dream's shoulders tense where they'd gone relaxed with drink and Hob's company. "Go ahead."

"Were all of your lovers women?"

And Dream relaxes again. Ah. This is just... factual. Not... digging in to his many relational failures. "I suppose. Yes."

"Is that by design, or...?"

Dream frowns. "I do not... understand."

"Well, since we've established that I'm an indiscriminate slut—" always so crude, but something about the click of Hob's tongue makes Dream shift uncomfortably in his seat on the couch— “I was wondering whether you were the same way." Then he winces. "Not the slut part. The indiscriminate part."

"Do you mean to ask if I care about the gender or sex of my lovers?"

"Yep. Knew I should have just been straightforward with you."

Dream thinks about it. He has never made a pattern of his relationships, the way humans do. He simply... does what his foolhardy heart commands. Usually with poor results. "I suppose I do not. Care, that is. But. My lovers have been women, yes."

Hob tilts his head. There's a new gleam in his eyes, now. He goes to finish his beer, but it’s empty. Dream watches the drag of his lips over the mouth of the bottle.

"Does that surprise you, Hob Gadling?" he asks. "That my amorous pursuits have been so much narrower than yours?"

"Mmm. Little bit? It's just, even if I hadn’t—how can I put it politely—fucked my way across half of London already by the time we met, I can't imagine making it six hundred years without ever at least experimenting?" He grins. "I could be straight as a nail and curiosity alone would've got me in some bloke's bed at least once. Hmm. Maybe three times just to be sure."

"It is good that you cannot die, for I believe curiosity would have sounded your death knell twenty times over by now."

Hob raises his bottle in Dream's direction. "True, that." Then he leans forward on his knees, eyes bright with, of course, curiosity. "But weren't you ever curious?"

"I contain the collective memory," Dream reminds him. "All fantasies. And dreams. If I need to understand an experience, I can simply consult that breadth of knowledge. I do not need to 'wind up in some bloke's bed.'"

Hob's leaning so far forward now he might come toppling off his chair. "But do you wanna?"

Dream frowns. "I do not..."

"Do you want to experience it yourself, though?" Hob repeats. "Cuz I could watch porn—" Dream wrinkles his nose at this crude analogy for his relationship to his dreams, but the offense is swiftly banished as Hob continues— “but that's not the same as—” his hand lands on Dream's wrist, fingertips pressed to where he would have a pulse— "that."

Dream freezes. Under Hob's fingers, his heart jumps once, quick as a mouse.

"I've no doubt you understand it, Dream," continues Hob, and perhaps he had drunk less than Dream had thought, for he seems very lucid now, "but that's not the same as being there."

Dream fixates on where they are touching. His skin feels very hot, at that point. "And what. Is being there like?"

Hob's fingers slip a little higher, just under the sleeve of his coat. He is still wearing his coat, yes, why is that? He feels very warm. "Could find out?"

"Are you suggesting I should find some man to bed me?"

"Some man," Hob repeats, jaw working. His gaze is hovering somewhere around Dream's collar. "Some man who knows what he's doing, yeah."

"And..." an echo of a breath is frozen in Dream's lungs. Some instinct saying, be still. A pulse at his elbow, in his thigh, at his throat. Hob still has his wrist pinned. "Do you know what you are doing, Hob Gadling?"

"Never in my life," says Hob, and leans in and kisses him.

He has to get out of his chair to do it. Has to lean down over Dream, taking Dream's cheek in his hand. Has to tip Dream's head back, and sweep his tongue into his mouth from above, or perhaps Dream only tells himself that he has to rather than acknowledge that it is Dream himself baring his throat, opening his mouth to Hob's.

If he wished to know what it was like to be kissed by a man, now he knows: strong and lingering and hungry. Or perhaps that is just Hob Gadling. Hob's stubble brushes his cheeks. He can smell Hob's cologne, rich and sweet like whiskey. He wraps a hand around the back of Hob's neck so he can't pull away far.

Hob's eyes are heavy-lidded when he looks at him. Dream touches his own lips, and Hob follows the movement. "I'm not certain I understand," Dream says. "This is not enough data to make a determination."

"Definitely not," says Hob, and kisses him again, pushing him into the back of the couch. The strength of his hands sends fire racing all the way up Dream's spine, curling around his neck, burning in the tips of his ears. He bites experimentally at Hob's lower lip, and Hob groans low in his throat.

"We're not—" Hob pulls away, lips shiny and wet, "we're not doing this here. Come on."

He stands upright again, and Dream will deny to the end of the universe the dissatisfied sound he makes when Hob's warmth leaves him. Hob smiles, soft and fond now, and takes his hand. "Come on, love."

Love.

Some man, Dream thinks, as he lets Hob pull him up. Join some man in bed. As he follows Hob down the hall to his bedroom. For curiosity's sake. As Hob kneels to help pull off his boots. Just to understand. As Hob divests him of his coat.

Experimental.

"You're so buttoned up." Hob smoothes his hands over Dream's shoulders, his bare arms under his t-shirt. "Let me know if it's too much, okay?"

"Yes." Too much, yes, it is too much, to see Hob look at him like that, with care and with hunger, for Hob to touch him gently, it makes his skin prickle, his cheeks heat, his throat terribly dry. It is too much; he will not tell Hob to stop.

I want to understand, Dream thinks. I want—

Hob smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Come on, then."

Hob is already barefoot, being less guarded than Dream, and he leads Dream up onto the bed. Dream follows, chasing his hands, and Hob does not deprive him. He leans against the headboard and lets Dream settle in his lap, immediately framing his face again between his palms. For the sake of learning, Dream pushes all the dreams of this aside, so that it is just him and Hob. New. Theirs.

He looks into Hob's eyes, very close now, and he feels light, floaty, good. Perhaps the wine was a bad idea. Perhaps it was right.

"What d'you want, darling?" Hob asks. Brushes his lips to the corner of Dream's mouth. "Tell me. This is for you, after all."

Yes. For Dream. A scientific exercise, he must remember. It will help him... understand. It will help him create more vivid dreams. That is all.

He can feel Hob's growing erection pressing against him. His own jeans growing tight. "I would like. The full experience."

Hob laughs, but it's a friendly laugh, not at his expense. Dream can recognize that, now. "There's no full experience. Sex counts as sex if you say it does. But if you're trying to say penetration, we can do that."

Dream shivers at the word penetration, sitting so matter-of-factly on Hob Gadling's tongue. "Yes. I believe that is what I meant."

"Alright." Hob may be matter-of-fact, but he does not sound unaffected. His voice has gone rough, his eyes dark, a flush along his cheeks. His hands fall from Dream's face to brace his hips, thumbs sweeping under the hem of Dream's shirt to touch his skin.

But he doesn't push Dream down into the mattress. Instead he pulls Dream closer by the hips, saying, "C'mere then," and Dream goes back to his mouth. Sinks into Hob's kiss, and the searing heat of his hands on Dream's hipbones. It's different. It's already different. But he can't yet determine if it's different because Hob is a man, or because he is Hob.

Hob, who has been a friend to him even when he couldn't recognize it. Who wants him to enjoy things. Wants to share with him.

Hob pushes Dream's shirt up over his head. Dream has not been bare in front of someone since his escape, but he doesn't think he minds, when it's Hob. When it means he gets Hob's broad, strong hands on his back, pulling him close, and Hob's lips on his shoulder, the crook of his neck, kissing and leaving marks.

"You know, once upon a time I thought you were above all this," Hob murmurs. He touches Dream's belly, his chest, his neck, holding lightly. "You were so... untouchable. Couldn't imagine you lowering yourself to engage in such—” he bites at Dream's earlobe— “such base activities."

"'Untouchable,' Hob Gadling?" Dream says. Hob's hands are cradling his throat now. Hob catches his point and flexes his fingers; Dream swallows under the grip.

"Always wanted to know," Hob murmurs, "if anyone'd touched you at all."

Not in a very long time, it is true. Dream burns with it, now, everywhere Hob touches him is alight. "What would you have done with an answer?"

"Dared," says Hob. "I expect."

"Always daring," Dream says. Indulges himself and slips his own hands under Hob's shirt, feels out his stomach, his hair, his back, all the strong lines of him. Hob's shoulders are pleasing, and his hips where Dream squeezes with his thighs, and these are not things Dream has thought of much, before. He wants to see more. To feel more. "Daring to be the first man to have me."

"Don't say things like that if you want me to keep my sanity." The words are rough like Dream has reached in and touched him instead of just spoken, and Hob's chest rises and falls heavily under Dream's hands.

"Maybe I don't."

This makes Hob chuckle, and Dream feels the rumble of it through his body. He wishes there was not the barrier of their clothes to dampen it; more than seeing Hob, he wants to feel Hob, his skin is prickling with it, his mouth is tacky and dry with it.

"How do you want me?" he asks, and whatever change Hob hears in his voice has him stiffening up, going serious. Dream doesn't know how he feels about it—he enjoys Hob's ease and laughter, but the intensity is... he feels it like a touch.

"How do you want to be had?" Hob counters, and before Dream can contemplate the myriad possible answers, adds, “Do you want to be? Is that what you meant? Only I would have thought— but then again—”

Dream does not interrogate the rambling path of Hob's assumptions. He says, "I would like to know. What I have not. Personally. Experienced, yes."

Daydreams poke at Dream's awareness as the image flashes through Hob's mind. Dream doesn't touch them, but the awareness of their existence alone has him shifting where he straddles Hob's lap. Hob's cheeks darken, and he says, "Strangest way anyone's ever asked me to fuck them. Yeah, alright. Budge up, love?"

Love. Again. Dream climbs off Hob's lap, kneeling beside him as Hob strips off his own shirt, flinging it somewhere--Dream doesn't see, for he is looking only at Hob. The solidness of him, where Dream often feels made of wind; the warmth of his belly, where Dream touches him, while Dream himself often feels cold. So made of earth, Hob Gadling.

Hob lays a hand on Dream's chest as if to push him down to the bed. No strength behind the touch, but the impression of it. "Need you to tell me if it starts going wrong. I'm serious, Dream."

Despite himself, Dream bristles. “You think me incapable of conveying my displeasure?”

Hob huffs. “I think you’re just prideful enough not to. Just be direct with me. You don’t have to prove anything.”

Perhaps... Hob is not entirely wrong. “…I shall," Dream vows at length. Hob nods, and smiles at him again, that warm smile. Dream can’t help but feel pleased to have made him smile so. Hob pushes, and Dream goes, lies back against the pillows, and Hob kneels between his legs. Hands sliding again to his hips, to the waistband of his jeans. Dream watches with fixation, caught on Hob's fingertips.

Hob has apparently decided he does trust Dream to interrupt if he doesn't like something, for he doesn't ask again before unbuttoning Dream's jeans. But Dream can tell Hob is still paying close attention to his reactions, and it's heady to be attended to so.

He lifts his hips for Hob to pull off his jeans, and then gets to bask in a look he can only interpret as adoring. Hob looks upon him that way, and strokes up and down his thighs, over his hips and belly. Dream's skin jumps at the touch.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Hob says, sounding wounded by it. "Everyone who sees you must go home wishing you were going with them, I refuse to believe otherwise."

Dream smiles, despite himself. "This may be a particular bias of yours, Hob."

"Yeah, maybe. I'm right, though." He leans down, hovers over Dream, kisses him. Dream pulls him down so their bodies are pressed together. Hob's skin is so warm, his hair softer than expected, the fabric of his jeans a rough counterpoint where it scratches Dream's inner thighs, rubs against his cock lying hard in the crook of his hip. A wealth of sensation. A pleased, wanting sound escapes him, before he can stop it—but Hob catches it, looking delighted to do so, kisses it right out of Dream's mouth. "You've left broken hearts in your wake. Still can't believe this is your first time doing this."

"Revel in that victory if you must."

"No victory," says Hob. "Only privilege."

And he kisses Dream again even as he works a hand between them, takes Dream in his grip. Dream gasps at the touch, breaking the kiss. Hob's hand is warm and rough and very sure, and Dream can't help the way his whole body tenses with that simple touch.

He feels Hob's smile against his cheek. His voice drips with satisfaction. "Are you sensitive?"

Dream does not get a chance to answer. Hob strokes him again, hums as Dream bucks up involuntarily into his grasp.

"Oh, I'm going to make you feel so good," Hob muses, his voice a warm rumble in Dream's ear. "I know I can. You deserve it."

"Hob—"

Hob kisses his own name out of Dream's mouth, a deep, biting kiss, and this confidence, rather than being offensive to Dream's station, is riveting. Dream feels spelled.

"Just let me take care of it," Hob says, and moves away, and Dream groans at the loss of his body heat.

"You will take what you want now?" Dream complains, knowing full well even as he says it that it is nonsense. But having Hob's touch and then losing it is making him insensate; truly, he had not thought he could fall so far. "Is that what this is, Hob Gadling?"

Hob chuckles. "Oh, no." He kisses Dream's sternum, and down along his abdominal muscles. Mouths at Dream's belly, where Dream shifts under him, ticklish and affected, skin jumping, and then Hob noses at the base of his cock, and Dream realizes what he's gotten himself into only right before it comes to light.

"No, Dream," Hob says, lips now brushing the head of his cock, and like that he looks up and meets Dream's eyes. "I serve at your pleasure."

He takes Dream in his mouth, strangling Dream's response before it can even reach his throat. Not that Dream knows what he would have said. It's whited out instantly in the rush of pleasure that is Hob's mouth, and tongue, the generosity of his body, the vision of him between Dream's legs.

He's voiceless as Hob bobs his head, takes Dream deep, laves his tongue over his slit, applies what Dream must concede is his considerably greater experience to breaking Dream's ability to speak entirely. He grasps mindlessly at Hob's hair, it slides soft between his fingers, head tipped back against the pillows and thighs jerking restlessly, and still he knows this is but a precursor to what Hob truly intends for him. What he's... asked for. Folly. What had he been thinking?

Hob lifts his head to look at him, a line of spit dragging from Dream's cock to his lower lip. "Dream, you with me?"

Dream nods. His hand is still in Hob's hair. He pets at Hob's forehead, his temple, and Hob smiles. Like Dream is the one being indulged.

"Good?" he says, and Dream nods again. Hob takes his hand from his hair, kisses his knuckles, and Dream does not think this is how casual experiments are meant to go. He does not know what he is learning, except that Hob's kiss is soft and reverent, and the look on his face even more so.

"Is this," Dream asks quietly, hyperaware of how he's laid out on his back, Hob between his legs, "how you want me?"

Hob releases his hand. Drags a fingertip maddeningly up and down the crook of Dream's thigh as he considers. "Probably be a bit easier for you on your belly, but I don't want to make you feel vulnerable."

Dream is not certain there is a version of this that would not feel vulnerable. That it does not already. "I defer to your better judgment."

"Stay there, then." He moves away, and Dream takes the moment to gather himself. He's not certain he succeeds. He's spinning pleasantly, buzzing with the echo of Hob's touch. He wonders what might happen if he gives up on trying to right himself.

Hob comes back with lubricant, situations himself between Dream's legs again. Runs his hands up and down Dream's thighs and Dream spreads them wider on instinct. Hob swallows hard, Dream watches the harsh bob of his throat. He's still wearing his jeans, and Dream wishes he would take them off, he wants to pet at Hob's thighs in turn, he wants to see.

"You're a holy vision," Hob says, still studying him with that look, raw and strangled. Find some man to bed you, Dream thinks, feverishly. Some man.

He plucks at the fabric of Hob's jeans. "Hob—“

Hob chuckles. "Sorry, sorry. Bit unfair of me, isn't it? Got too distracted looking at you." He unzips his jeans then, pulls them off, and then is sitting there only in his underwear—something which Dream does not bother to manifest for himself because his clothing is made already of dream stuff, but perhaps he will start because Hob bare before him, his cock heavy and hard in his boxer briefs but still obscured by the fabric is—

"Dream?" Hob asks, as Dream pushes himself up on his elbows and reaches for him, mesmerized, cups his hand around Hob through the fabric, feels the warmth and heft of him, "did I break y— ah fuck."

Hob pushes into his hand, bends down over him again to kiss him as if summoned to it, and it is thrilling, sparkles along every vein, to get such a reaction. To have Hob caving to him. "Fuck, Dream."

Dream indulges himself further, slips his hand under Hob's waistband, takes him in his grasp, and Hob jerks against him. Dream's mouth waters at the weight of him, he has to swallow thickly to clear his throat, his own cock is heavy and straining, and he parts his thighs further for Hob. Vulnerable. Yes. This is vulnerable, and especially so in the waking world, and he wants, he wants Hob in him. A new feeling.

"Hob. I want—"

"I know, darling. Fuck, you're beautiful. Your hands—" He shakes himself. "Right. Right."

Hob sits up again. Strips off his underwear properly. His hair is hanging loose and messy now, eyes ever so slightly glazed with pleasure, chest rising and falling, his prick hard and ruddy at the tip. He is arresting.

He pushes Dream's legs up so his knees are bent, finds the bottle of lube where it's fallen into the sheets, pours some out into his hand. Leans in to kiss Dream’s belly, pleasant and tickling, and in the same motion drags a finger over Dream’s entrance.

Dream catches his wrist, inhuman pulse peaking in his throat, like a burst of dream stuff. “You do not need to put in such effort. This body does not have these human limitations.”

Hob tsks and taps his hand away. “You said you wanted the full experience. And the full Hob Gadling experience includes proper prep and aftercare, even if you're made of whims and fantasies. Free of charge, by the way."

"Oh, indeed?" This comes out significantly less teasing, and significantly more affected, than Dream had intended. "And what will the rest cost me?”

Hob winks at him. "Only your pleasure, darling."

This time, he leans over Dream, takes Dream’s wrist and pins it to the bed by his head. Dream lets out a choked gasp. The sudden pressure of Hob’s grip makes something stand out sharply within him, and then collapse again in relief. Hob makes a considering noise, and holds him there as he presses a finger lightly to Dream’s entrance with his other hand.

Dream shudders as Hob pushes his finger in, one knuckle, two, as he works in and out of Dream’s body, stretching him— it is an odd sensation, one he half-feels he should shy away from, but Hob’s grip on his arm is grounding, and Hob kneeling between his spread legs is tickling something in him that wants very badly.

Then Hob crooks his finger and pleasure rushes through him like a windstorm. Dream arches off the bed, grabbing at the sheets, and Hob laughs. “Thought you might like that.”

“Hob.” Dream thinks he means this to come out admonishing but it’s far more strained. Hob doesn’t give him time to recover, he drags his finger over Dream’s prostate again and Dream bites down hard on his lower lip. Hob slips his finger out, returns with two, and now it’s a stretch. Dream grinds down on him, resists the urge to whine as Hob works him over on his fingers, rubbing over his prostate on every other stroke.

“You are unbelievably gorgeous,” Hob murmurs, watching where his fingers slip in and out of Dream’s body, and then back up at Dream’s face with awe and fixation.

“Even,” Dream struggles over the words as sensation washes through him, Hob’s fingers in him, filling him, so much and yet he wants more, “spread out, like so?”

“Especially then. The way you move on my fingers,” he twists his hand to emphasize the point, and Dream shudders, "the fact that you let me. D’you know how long I’ve looked at you and wondered?” Saying this, he kisses Dream, sliding his hand up Dream’s wrist to clasp their fingers together. “Passing Stranger, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only. Fuck, I wanted to see you like that.”

You give me the pleasure of your eyes, Dream thinks, but doesn’t quote the poem back to him— Hob reels him away again by the touch of his hands. He pushes a third finger into Dream, and now it is tight, it is so much, but Dream pushes himself back onto Hob’s hand. Hob’s fingers move gloriously within him, touching every part of him, and he starts speaking again in his low, honey voice, that’s it, darling, good, feels so good, yeah? and Dream needs Hob inside him. Hob has pulled him by the throat from inexperienced to grasping, and he is grasping.

Hob keeps fingering him, spiking his pleasure higher, his cock hanging heavy and teasing Dream with each move he makes. Dream himself is painfully hard, and it sharpens the feeling of Hob in him from maddening to agonizing. Hob kisses him, licks into Dream’s mouth, and Dream opens to his tongue. He opens to him. Like a yawning, cavernous thing.

Wanting Hob in him has shifted to needing Hob in him has shifted to lacking Hob in him, that Hob is a fundamental part of him and without him Dream is bereft. “Hob,” he whines, mortified by the sound of it but unable to drag himself back to that place of control he had surely—surely?—started the evening with. “Please—”

Hob’s head jerks up and he looks at Dream in shock. And. Oh.

Shame rushes through Dream’s body. Who has he become, begging a human to fuck him? Is he not the Lord of all Dreaming, is he not above this? Once, Dream was a skillful and assertive lover, he could bring the full power of the Dreaming to bear for his lovers’ pleasure, he could craft every moment exactly as needed— and now—

But Hob doesn’t draw away in disgust. Or gloat over the position he’s maneuvered Dream into. He smiles down at him, a soft look that goes just a bit pained at the edges as Dream tenses. Then he presses his lips to Dream’s cheek. Even that simple touch makes Dream shiver.

“It’s alright, darling,” Hob murmurs, so gentle but the heat of it still winds through Dream’s insides. “Don’t you know I’ll give you what you need? You don’t have to beg for it.” He slips his fingers out and back in, only two now, working them as deep as they’ll go. “But you sound so pretty when you do.”

“Please,” Dream says, the words again dragged from him unbidden, unspooled by the feeling of Hob inside him, there but not enough. Hob kisses him, swallows his plea like sweet wine, works him on his fingers, grinds his cock in tantalizing lines over Dream’s thigh. And gradually something unlocks in Dream’s ribcage, each piece turning itself open in realization. Hob likes when he asks, begs even. But he isn’t going to make him.

Asking, then, feels less like a wound rent in him, showing all his torn pieces, and more like a spell that will draw Hob to him. Speak, and he will come.

“Please,” Dream says again, and this time the words don’t tear. He speaks into Hob’s mouth, and the wet warmth of Hob’s lips and tongue soothe him where asking might start to chafe. “Hob, I need—”

“Do you need my cock, love?” Hob asks, rough low and rough and burning. “Feels empty, doesn’t it?” He slips his fingers free, and Dream whines. “I know. I know. You’re just starving for it, aren’t you?”

Starving, yes, Dream would like to take Hob in his mouth, but right now he’s feverish for something else. Hob is so close, every touch of his skin already has Dream singing, but he still wants more. He tangles his hand in Hob’s hair, wraps one leg around the back of Hob’s thighs to pull him closer, and Hob laughs, breathless.

“Fuck, Dream, you’re so—” Hob sounds spun around, now, and it’s gratifying to knock him askew in the way he’s done to Dream.

“Hob Gadling,” Dream says, putting the weight of sleeping desire into his voice, “I need you. I’m waiting.”

“Fucking hell,” Hob groans. “I’ve created something terrifying.” He doesn’t sound displeased about it. In fact, he kisses Dream again, lets Dream pull him close by the hair, smiling into his mouth. “Gonna make it so good for you, I promise.”

“I can plague your sleep with eternal nightmares if not,” Dream says, with no intention of doing so.

“See, I’m so confident in my ability to fuck you” —Dream's skin prickles at the word— “that I’m not even worried about it.”

He makes Dream lift up so he can push a pillow under his hips, takes Dream’s leg and maneuvers it over his shoulder, bending his body back. Dream shivers at the vulnerability of the position, the way he’s pinned. Hob kisses the bend of his knee with a little smile, and then Dream watches down the length of their bodies as Hob takes himself in hand. He’s so hard, glistening with pre at the tip, and Dream swallows jerkily.

“Alright, love?” Hob asks, meeting his eyes. He has always had the brightest, loveliest eyes. Dream holds his gaze and nods. He is not certain that he is, in fact, all right, he feels strange and spun about and immersed in the waking dream of Hob’s bed and Hob’s touch, but he does not want Hob to stop, he wants Hob to fuck him.

Hob presses into him, slowly, pausing when just the head of his cock is sheathed. And Dream— Dream was not prepared, Hob’s fingers did not prepare him for the all around pressure of Hob’s cock, the way it would fill him. It dances on the edge of pain, but he wants more. Already, more.

“More,” he finds himself saying, and Hob chuckles, bracing a hand around the back of Dream’s neck as he complies. This time, he pushes all the way in, not stopping until he bottoms out, groaning at the feeling. Dream clutches at his shoulders, no doubt leaving indents in his skin, body clenching convulsively as he gets used to the feeling of Hob in him.

Hob is inside him. Hob is inside him.

“Dream, you alright? You’re… breathing,” Hob says, petting through his hair. He sounds awed.

Breathing. He is breathing. And he hadn't commanded it so. Hadn't even meant it. Normally Dream forgets to affect such human mannerisms, even when it might be advisable to do so. But now he is breathing. Each one is choppy, three steps up three steps down, somewhere between a breath and a sob.

“I am fine,” he says, and Hob shushes him, kissing his cheek.

“I know you are. It’s alright to get a bit overwhelmed, yeah?” Hob is still in him, Dream can still feel every centimeter of him everywhere, but he doesn’t move. Simply lets Dream settle.

Dream tries to stop the wretched breathing, it makes him feel human and mortal and out of control, but he can’t, this temporary body affixed to this plane by Hob’s weight, his touch. Hob kisses his cheek again, nuzzles at his ear, and gradually Dream finds himself subsiding, relaxing in increments. It occurs to him, through the distant knowledge of the Dreaming, that this softness would not be characteristic of a temporary, experimental experience with a stranger, should Dream have simply wanted to know what it was like. It occurs to him through his own knowledge that this vulnerability he feels, this ability to ease him, is characteristic only of Hob.

He does not yet know what to do with that, but he turns to find Hob’s lips. Hob meets him easily, smiling into the kiss. “With me?” he asks, and Dream nods.

“Yes.”

Then Hob starts to move, slow measured thrusts at first. Dream breathes through each, and perhaps breathing is not so bad, after all, for it settles him, and settling lets him take Hob in, and he wants to take Hob in. It is so good, the slide of him sends sparks all along Dream’s limbs, builds inexorable and tantalizing heat through his body, none of his many dreams conveyed to him just how good it would be, when brought from dreams to reality. From memory to the body. More, even, than this is the sense of Hob’s body over him, the heat of him, and the strength, the breadth of his shoulders, the drag of Hob’s belly over Dream’s prick, the way he moves, expertly pushing Dream higher and oh-so-much faster with each thrust, tapping against that edge of pain-and-too-much without ever letting him fall over it.

Dream is starting to think that, in addition to his general experience, Hob has become quite an expert in knowing what Dream, specifically, might like.

“Good, darling?” Hob asks against his jaw, and Dream means to respond but all that comes out is a whine. He feels Hob’s smile against his skin. “More, then?”

Dream evidently doesn’t have to respond. Hob braces himself more firmly over him, and then he’s moving much faster, and then Dream really loses his senses. Hob bears down on him, levering Dream’s leg back further and deepening the angle, and each thrust hits before Dream has recovered from the last, and Hob’s mouth is on his throat, right over his pulse, which is also hammering—

Hob hits his prostate, and Dream keens as lightning arcs through him. Hob is talking to him now as he does it again and again, saying through panting breaths something like, you’re so good, does that feel good? is’at good for you? fuck you’re gorgeous, but Dream can’t parse much detail. He feels he should be participating more actively, but the wherewithal to do so has slipped away from him, all he can do is take what Hob is giving to him.

Probably that is what Hob wants. Perhaps he has fantasized over their long acquaintance about having Dream bent in just this position. Many might wish to have the Dream Lord at their mercy. Hob’s mercy, however, is a burst of pure heat straight to the soul.

“Hob,” he’s saying when he comes back to himself enough to notice, “Hob, Hob—”

“You’re beautiful like that,” Hob says, voice rough. “Dreamed of it— ha. You make the most beautiful noises.”

They are, in fact, wholly undignified noises, but Dream can’t seem to bring himself to stop; Hob punches each sound of pleasure out of him. He floats. Holds onto Hob’s shoulders. Presses his face to Hob’s and feels the scratch of his stubble. The rough calluses of his hands. The rhythm of Hob’s body is sublime. The kiss that he presses to the corner of Dream’s eye is more so. He is… crying there. Tears spilling over and down his cheeks. Dream has crafted the heights of euphoria within the Dreaming. But. Has any of it ever been as good as this?

He has Hob close to him, around him, in him, and still he wants more. Never again will Dream be able to disdain the office of Desire, not without looking away in shame at the lie.

His release washes over him in a wave that he doesn’t even notice until it peaks, so great is the rest of his pleasure. He gasps as he comes, not even needing Hob’s hand on him, tips his head back on the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open. Chest heaving. Hob slows, cups Dream’s cheek—until Dream urges him on with an ankle hooked around the back of his thigh, do not stop do not stop do not—

“Alright.” Hob nips at his lower lip in admonishment but he does start fucking him again, clearly chasing his own release now rather than pushing for Dream’s. That edge of pleasure-pain now tips closer to pain but Dream relishes in it. Each stuttered motion of Hob in him is blessed.

“I want,” he manages, throat dry, voice scraped rough from his cries, “to feel you come. In me.”

“Oh fuck,” Hob swears. “Dream.” And that apparently is enough. Hob’s hips stutter quick and he comes, hot spurts in Dream’s body, he can feel it. When Hob's tension eases, when his breath catches up to him, he moves to pull out—but Dream drags him back in. He wants— wants to keep Hob inside him, belly spine lungs throat, bring Hob in and in and hold him there, wants that warmth with him always. He could live like that, with Hob close to him.

Hob helps him lower his leg from his shoulder, stretch out sore muscles, and then lets Dream pull him in close, hold him there, in him, even as he’s going soft. He turns them on their sides, tucks his face in against Dream’s shoulder. Breathes the same air.

“So,” Hob says, after several, very long moments where they’ve been lying quietly together, tacky with sweat, Dream’s limbs all wrapped around Hob and Hob running his hands up and down his back, “how was that?”

“Mm?” Dream is still floating. It’s very pleasant.

He can feel Hob grinning against his shoulder. “You wanted to know what it was like to sleep with a man.”

What it was like. Dream is not certain he knows. He knows that Hob’s arms around him are strong, the touch of his skin pleasant even with the combined heat of their bodies. That he smells of sex and sweat and Dream wants to mire himself in it. He knows that, as Hob does finally, carefully pull out, he can feel Hob’s come dripping sticky over his thighs and rather than being discomforting, it only reminds him how he was wanted. His own come is smeared over Hob’s belly in disorganized lines, and Hob’s hair is ravaged by his fingers. There are still tears drying on Dream’s face. He knows that Hob has had him, now, and is still holding him. That the force of his lovemaking annihilated Dream’s dignity. That Hob wants to kiss him during sex. That at his prolonged silence, Hob looks up, finds his gaze, questioning.

“I am not certain that’s what I studied,” Dream admits. “Or. Learned.”

“Oh? What’d you learn, then?” Hob touches his cheek, as if even parted for a second, he wants to be close to Dream again. “Least tell me if you enjoyed it.”

“I did.” Dream must look ruined, and still Hob must confirm he enjoyed it? “What I learned is not what it is like to be with 'a man'. But rather.” He brushes his thumb over Hob’s lower lip, and Hob’s mouth opens at the movement. “What it is like. To be loved. By a very good friend.”

Hob’s expression crinkles into the softest smile at loved. “Oh, a very good friend, hm?”

“Very good,” Dream says. Presses his hand flat to Hob’s heart. “Uniquely so. Uniquely good to me among friends.” Not that Dream has… friends, plural. Better, then, that Hob is so singular. Singular enough to have nestled somewhere within him, between one meeting, one drink, one kiss and the next, and Dream would no longer be without him. His heart is surrounded by a hazy warmth much softer than the sharp pang of desire, and Hob's bed, Hob's touch, is soothing to him, a blanket he has finally pulled over his shoulders after trying to brave the lingering cold. Like so much this evening, it feels strange, and like so much this evening, it feels too good to shy away.

Hob leans in to kiss him, a soft drag of lips over his. “Good. Can I convince my friend to go in for a shower? Tea, maybe? Can I convince him to stay the night and keep exploring that friendship?”

Hob has taken care of him this evening, has not yet lead him astray, and so Dream lets him pull him out of bed and to his feet. In the shower, under the rushing hot water, Hob kisses him, kisses him, kisses him, rough, inelegant, consumed by feeling, hands curled around Dream’s hips. Dream will not make dreams out of this night, after all, he thinks. Selfishly, he wants to keep it to himself.

Peerless among friends, Hob Gadling, he thinks, as Hob makes him tea. As Hob tugs him back over the threshold, into the bedroom, into the mess they’ve made of the sheets. Peerless among friends.

Among lovers, too, perhaps.

#tfw ur having casual sex with ur homie to learn what its like to get dicked down then oh no youre having a gay awakening oh NO youre having #a romantic awakening about your homie too. we've all been there #my writing #dreamling #dreamling fic #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream x hob #you best believe 'i serve at your pleasure' plays over and over and over and over in dream's mind for weeks after #btw the poem hob quotes is 'to a stranger'#nsft

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pedgito · 1 year

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Ooh ooh I have an idea! Perv!Eddie losing his mind when his girlfriend admits she has a choking kink...but what he doesn't realize that her kink involves choking him. - @munson-blurbs 💚

author’s note: i put this off for so long and i’m sorry!! this idea was rattling around in my empty ass brain for ages and i finally decided to sit down and write it, i hope you enjoy!

cw: 18+ (minors dni), choking/breath play, degradation, dom!eddie (mentioned), slight perv!eddie, unprotected sex, eddie being so subby it’s ridiculous, if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 1.1k

“Come on now,” Eddie says patronizingly, crawling up the bed by his knees in nothing but the dark jeans he dawned almost every day, belt forgotten in a corner of the room, “out with it.”

Eddie’s never steered away from anything—the nastier, the better. He was almost always controlling the dynamics, which you didn’t mind at all. But, the thought that was floating in your head, what you really wanted, it was almost terrifying to say out loud. Eddie wouldn’t judge, he never did—but there’s a small part of you that thinks he might be completely turned off by the idea, regardless of how badly he always wants you.

The most power you have is riding him until he’s begging you to come, hands on your hips like a death grip and aiding in the hurried rock of them.

“Yeah—need you to come all over my cock, baby.” Eddie begs, “Fuck, always squeezin’ me so tight.”

And it works every time, but even then, you never really feel like you’re in control.

“Promise not to laugh?” You swear him to it, pinky held up as a binding contract. Eddie smiles darkly, teeth peeking through.

“Promise.” He replies, linking his larger finger around your delicate one, rough against your soft skin.

“I…was thinking about like, breath play.” You tell him, words feeling foreign as they fell from your mouth.

“Choking?” He deduced, hooded eyes widening at the idea as he leans in a little further from where’s bearing the weight against his open palms on the mattress, nose rubbing yours teasingly before he leans back, mourning a quiet, “Oh baby, we can do that.”

In his eyes, you can see that he’s definitely not on the same wavelength. You offer a shy shake of your head, tipping your chin up to look at him, puffing your chest out figuratively as you counter him with—

“Not me, Eddie.” You explain. “You.”

Eddie pulls back slightly, surprised.

“Me? You wanna—“ Eddie breaths out a laugh, teeth dragging against bottom lip as he sizes you up, eyes dragging over you enticingly, “think you can handle that, sweetheart?”

You tilt your head in annoyance, eyes narrowing at him.

“I think you should be asking yourself that.”

And Eddie is truly, woefully unprepared.

He’s always got an edge to him, an advantage in most of your sexual situations, both in strength and experience, but he’s never been this easily subdued, and willfully so.

You sink down onto him with a careful calculation of your hips, muscles already shaking from how thoroughly Eddie had lapped at your cunt, devising you to nothing but sounds, words failing you completely. It was almost his favorite thing, second to being buried inside you so deep, squeezing desperately at the apex of your hips, flesh bruising under his fingers where his rings pressed in a little too hard.

He gives a soft slap to your ass, a reminder that he still had every chance to flip you over and take you how he wanted.

Your touch is soft at first, fingertips rubbing against the skin of his neck, slight stubble there from his lack of shaving that week. He tipped his chin up, giving you more room—challenging you.

“Don’t be afraid,” Eddie says menacingly, “I can take it.”

And that’s where the pressure gets tighter, following all the right steps to keep things safe, but definitely enjoyable—and based on the way Eddie’s eyes light up, you’re mimicking it perfectly.

You rock your hips slowly, letting out a purposefully depraved moan as slap your hand against the wall, aiding in the assist to keep you upright, otherwise you’d have already fallen against him and let him fuck himself up into you the way he liked—fast, hard, leaving you breathless.

His lips are parted slightly, flush and red from how he’d abused them both with your mouth and your pussy, glistening with a mix of spit and you as he grunted softly, barely audible if you weren’t so attentive to the sounds he was making.

“More.” He encourages, your eyes connecting with him briefly as you nod, applying more pressure. “Oh, fuck—“ He forces out, eyes squeezing shut momentarily. His hips snap up harshly, creating a brutish rhythm as he lets himself feel consumed by you.

“Like you when you look like this,” You comment hotly, voice thick with arousal, “fucking pathetic.”

Eddie nods knowingly, the words spurring him further.

Your hand leaves the wall momentarily, body straightening as your fingers find their way to his lips, thumb pressing gently over the bottom one until he lets you in, mouth closing around the digit to suck.

“You’re worse than me,” You laugh softly, voicing ringing in his ears like an angelic melody, “and so much fucking needier.”

“God, it’s—“ His voice is garbled, strained against the hold you had on him, thrusts faltering quicker than you expect, “gonna come baby, I’m so sorry—so good, I can’t—“

“Yeah?” You tease, nodding when he finally opens his eyes, face contorted in a mix of anguish and pleasure, groaning desperately, the rock of your hips quickening ever so slightly, his touch burning hot against your skin, “Fuck, wanna feel you come inside me, Eddie. Can you do that?”

He nods quickly, obediently. His fingers wrap around the wrist attached to the hand squeezing his neck, giving one last final thrust before he’s moaning out loudly, mumbling a weak warning as he comes, sounding more like a weak plea.

“I’m ruining you,” Eddie notes through heavy breaths, “and thank fuckin’ god for that.”

You lift yourself off of him ruefully, gasping slightly at the loss of contact, moving up his chest, his cum dripping out slightly and pooling against his skin—Eddie doesn’t even care, too mesmerized by the idea of you—that he had you.

“More of that, please?” Eddie asks sweetly, hands traveling up your body until they cup around your face, cheeks heating up underneath his touch, “Mmm, there she is.”

You shove at his face playfully, turning your head to kiss at his palm lightly.

“Don’t go shy on me now,” Eddie says with a smirk, “not after all that.”

“I just wanted to try it out,” You admit, glancing at him briefly before you eyes fall to his chest, tracing the tattoo there, “s’not your thing, I know.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Eddie shakes his head, looking far more elated than usual, “I don’t need control all the time.”

You smile, huffing out a soft, pleased noise.

“Besides, it would break my heart if we never tried that again.” Eddie admits, “I don’t think I’ve ever come that fast.”

Plus, Eddie’s just a little too greedy when it comes to seeing you fall apart above him.

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson blurb #my writing

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gideonisms · 7 months

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I'm sorry harrianthe is NOT the most toxic tlt relationship even if you completely take anyone involved in dios apate out of the picture. Let's look at the sequence of events here:

Ianthe helps harrow save gideon's soul in return for harrow's promise to protect coronabeth + carry out an unspecified favor at a later date

Harrow kisses ianthe

Ianthe stabs her in the palm

ianthe spends the rest of the book creeping on her but is also the only lyctor at all willing to take the threat against her life seriously

harrow fixes ianthe's arm sexual style

ianthe saves john which debatably was kind of a dick move

When we next see her she's besties with harrow's other ex, also kind of a dick move but within the realm of things that happen at your average college lgbt group

Now let's look at some of the things that happen in other tlt relationships:

Broken bones + 18 years of imprisonment

One person pushed the other out an airlock

Seduce a vulnerable 18 year old, kill all her new friends then attempt to kill her ♥️

Suicide so the other person could ascend to power which left them grieving for 10 thousand years. This happened multiple times

Now if we are including dios apate well mercy and john simply exploded each other

cannot emphasize enough that john used alecto's death (which he sped up considerably) to kill all her siblings, then stuck her in a body she hated, trapped her in some type of relationship with him by splitting her power between them, AND stuck her in a tomb for thousands of years. I guess she did also stab him or whatever but she's allowed

I honestly didn't bother describing what's going on with jodybeth and campal because it's largely self destructive and doesn't have galactic consequences but in conclusion. if we look at ALL the horrors of love harrianthe rates pretty low on the scale

#griddlehark is more toxic tbh

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l0v3tast3 · 1 year

Note

can we have more hcs w young!reader :o they were so cute, do u think you could write like sparring w them or something, ty!!

✎ of course omggg <3 i love this concept whenever i see anyone else write this kind of thing with platonic young reader i eat that shit up !!! also merry christmas and happy last day of hannukah to all who celebrate!!

✎ tags : gender neutral!reader, written with 19 y/o reader in mind, all platonic relationships, fluff, young!reader is stereotypical gen z kinda, this is probably the most light-hearted thing i've ever written but there's separate angst at the end because i can't stop myself, as usual it's not really proofread

♡ so of course it takes awhile for you to come out of your shell around the rest of the 141. the previously youngest one of the group, kyle, is 7 whole years older than you, so it's a bit awkward at first.

♡ but once you're comfortable around them, you let your guard down a little and start letting your "regular" personality show instead of the "work" one. this involves bouncing-off-the-walls levels of energy and constant jokes and references that only kyle gets, and that's only sometimes. the other three guys just exchange a look and move on.

♡ you're constantly doing little dances and just fidgeting around, playing with anything you can get your hands on and always bouncing a leg (also never actually sitting like a normal person, price doesn't understand how you're comfortable most of the time). once, when it was just you and soap, you taught him a dance he thought looked fun, but made you promise to never tell anyone else. you told ghost as soon as you saw him next, and that was the first time you ever saw ghost smile (under the mask, of course, but you could tell).

♡ you don't really respect the more "arbitrary" boundaries; you would randomly take food off of the other guy's plates without asking and you always had to be invading someone's personal space. after lots of scolding and you acting like they were denying you a fundamental human right, they learned that it really was easier to just accept it and give up. you don't take food from ghost's plate, because you may be a little dumb sometimes but you aren't stupid. sometimes he shoves his leftovers in your direction if he notices you aren't eating as much that day.

♡ when you aren't terrorizing one of the 141 members, they keep an eye on you while you focus on whatever your latest interest is with an intensity that they'd only expect from you on actual life-or-death missions. it always causes soap some actual concern for you, but you just think it's because he can't sit still, ever.

♡ once, after you had all returned from a mission, you went into your room to shower, came out, got something to eat, then went into your room and proceeded to spend the next 3 days completing the newest pokemon game. full pokedex, awesome outfit, full level 100 team, you had it all, and you proudly shoved the switch screen in their faces to show them your achievements once you deemed yourself done. they learned you were a perfectionist pretty early on, while they took turns checking on you every few hours.

♡ you'll do the thing of casually dropping something horrible that happened to you into a conversation, as if it was just some silly thing that happened the other day. they all just kind of do a double take, because none of them actually talk about that stuff. you just look up from whatever app you were absently fiddling with on your phone and wonder why everyone went quiet; they just move on, as usual.

૮ ’• ˕ •` ა here, have some sparring headcanons now!

♡ when you and ghost sparred for the first time, you swore up and down he was out to break every bone in your body. he told price that it was the easiest he'd went on a recruit in years (he did also say you did much better than he expected). despite your complaints, you got back up every single time he knocked you on your ass, and you quickly adapted to the way ghost fought. you still didn't win a single round, but that was more of a him-being-really-big thing.

♡ soap only goes easy enough on you to not break any bones, but it doesn't take much to get him fired up, and sparring is no exception. you spend the entire session on the defensive, just trying to keep yourself all intact. you always lecture him that you aren't the actual goddamn enemy before you spar with him now while he rolls his eyes and says you're being dramatic.

♡ kyle claims he isn't going easy on you but everyone knows he is. he can't help it; usually he doesn't care that much when he accidentally actually hurts someone when sparring, but the thought of leaving a scar on you rubs him the wrong way. he doesn't ever tell anyone this, but everyone sees how he always acts like an older brother to you.

♡ you only actually spar with price once, mostly as a joke, after you're all more acquainted. you're acting all cocky, basically just saying he's old and you'll put him in the retirement home a couple years early. you're on your back in less than five seconds with him looking down at you, a loud laugh booming out of his chest.

♡ one time, ghost must have been sick or something, because the match ended with you making what would have been the killing blow in a real fight. you had stared in amazement at your achievement, then started yelling at the other guys to ask if they had seen what you had done. ghost let you have your victory, finding your astronomical excitement funny (on the inside, of course).

♡ kyle is your easiest target. usually he doesn't even want to spar with you anymore, because he knows you'll probably end up throwing him to the ground with your full strength and saying you don't need to go easy on him, he's a grown ass man. you've mastered how to use his weight against him, and he knows it. he also knows the look you get when you're walking up to him to ask to spar, and at this point he just points you to soap or ghost and shoos you away. one time he actually said "go on, git!" to you; his british accent made it much more funny than he had intended.

♡ fighting against soap kind of has 50-50 odds of you winning. if you're not afraid to start bleeding in multiple areas that day, you'll most likely be able to pin him. if you don't feel really like it, then you pretty much just have to run away. your before-sparring lecture for him eventually gets accompanied by an after-sparring lecture from you while he helps you put band-aids on the new cuts and scrapes.

₍ᐢ.᎔.ᐢ₎ okay a couple angsty ones because i can't help it,,,

♡ price knows how young you are, and you know he does without him having to tell you, because sometimes you catch him looking at you with sad eyes that see a lot more than you do. usually, if the conditions are just right, you're all for attempting to get the team members to open up to you, but this is what you and price don't talk about. instead, you tell him not to worry, that you'll at least outlive him.

♡ they're all waiting for that one day that, on one of their missions, you'll see something or have to do something that you won't come back from, because it's inevitable in this line of work. but you find a way to smile, even after the worst days, and you always say it's because someone has to.

#call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #john price #john price x reader #gender neutral reader #sfw #fluff #angst #— lilly writes! ♡

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xan-izme · 10 months

Text

Get through me first (Dad!Miguel x daughter/Venom!Reader)

I have been a little too into the Miguel fics, especially when there is angst involved. So now you all gotta deal with it.😊

Summary: You were one of the Spidey's that was transported into Earth 1610. You helped Miles save his universe and was able to go back home. That's when your father who you hadn't seen in 3 years recruits you to help keep the multivers in balance. You join, but it doesn't mean your ready to fight him if it means protecting Miles.

TW: Child neglect, death, mentions of death, violence, cursing, angst, lotta angst, daddy issues, issues in general

You stared down the big portal, after everyone jumped in one by one. You were the last one left. You turn to Miles you looked sad, but happy and satisfied that things are done, and everyone is able to go home.

"Guess this is goodbye." Miles spoke. You sighed and nodded your head.

"We should stay!" Venom's voice was loud and clear for you. Nearly jumped yourself at how loud he was.

"We can't." You responded sternly.

"WHY!"

"We'll die if we stay any longer, you little parasite."

Miles looked at you, with that same look he had when you seemed to be talking to yourself. But he smiled fondly "I'm goanna miss the two of you."

You and Venom were a little taken aback. Some wouldn't refeur to you and Venom as two. Forgetting Venom and leaving him out of the equation fully. "You're a good kid Miles, if you ever need help, me and Venom will be by your side. Promise."

Your words comforted him. Miles doesn't know fully why, but you didn't seem like someone who breaks a promise. And you don't.

"This is no fair. I will make you cry now! cry Y/n, cry." Venom took over your emotions and was forcing you to cry. You quickly pull down your mask and cleared your throat.

" Be safe out there, Miles Morals." You leap off and dive in headfirst into the portal.

It's only been three months since you returned back home. You and Venom back to the routine of saving people and you preventing Venom from wanting to bite heads off and from eating too much chocolate.

One day, while you and Venom visited a restaurant that you and Venom would go to frequently, even before Venom, you were a constant costumer.

"Hey Malik." You greeted the young man in the front counter.

"Hello Ms. O'Hara. table for two as usual?" Malik grabbed a menu, ready to lead you to your usual table.

"Yup." You responded shortly before he took you to your table.

"I want food! give me the ribs! oh oh! Tater tots. Get us Tator tots!"

You chuckled as you looked at the menu to get yourself a few drinks for you and Venom. As you were doing that, you hear someone take a seat in front of you. Your brows furrowed, looking up you take a glance of a man you haven't seen in a long time.

You sighed and kept your eyes back on the menu. "Didn't know you were back in town." You spoke dryly.

The man in front of you inhaled sharply, relaxing himself before opening his mouth.

"I wanted to talk to you."

You hummed, unamused and pulled out your phone and slide it towards him. "I'm a little busy right now. So just put your number in there and we can speak later."

The man sighed. "Please, mi hija."

You slammed the menu on the table. Finally staring him in the eyes.

"Miguel, this is my mealtime. A time of peace, and right now you are not making me feel peaceful. So, I suggest you take my first offer and just put your number in." You were firm with your words, almost threatening.

Miguel paused for a moment, between the phone and his daughter. Seeing that you were reasonably mad at him, he took the phone and entered his number in. He stood up, ready to leave "I'll see you later."

As Miguel walked away, you hear a very displeased Venom.

"What a dick."

You huffed and brought the menu back up to your face.

"Agreed"

"Why are we here. I don't like it here." Venom was complaining about being in the little spider club house, Miguel was walking by your side, he would be getting a little too close to you here and there. Making you scoot further and further away from him.

"We are here to protect our world. You want what happened with Miles happen to us?" You hear Venom groan and shut off for the moment.

"Y/n, I'm really grateful for you being here. We need the help." Miguel stared down at his daughter with a soft smile. You stayed staring straight ahead.

"I didn't do this for you. I got people to protect Miguel." You wanted to make sure he understands that he didn't see this as a daddy daughter bonding moment. The situation he explained to you was serious. No distractions within the workforce.

That will disrupt everything.

"I see. . . Y/n, I just wanted to- to apologize for what I had done. I was wrong, very wrong." You could hear the sincerity in his voice, the regret and guilt written all over his face. You paused and stared at him.

Venom was practically screaming at you to not forgive him. To punch his face. But you didn't. And when you didn't, Venom got upset and took over your arm and punched Miguel hard.

"Oh shi- Venom what the hell!?"

"He does not deserve our kindness; he does not deserve our LOVE! Now bite his head off!" You ignored what Venom was saying and ran towards Miguel's side. "You good? My bad, Venom just gets like that sometimes."

You helped Miguel up. "It's alright, mi hija. You've gotten strong." Miguel had blood running down his nose. But he continued to smile softly at you.

You were quick to remove yourself from him. Clearing your throat and told Miguel to continue.

Being a part of the Spider-society was actually a big help for you and Venom. Being able to capture anomalies before they cause too much of a wreck for your universe. You kept a good distance from Miguel.

Even though he tried to offer time alone together that didn't involve the work as being a Spidey, you rejected those advances.

"Come on Y/n. He really does care about you. He just wants to make up for lost time." Jessica Drew, Miguels right hand woman was trying to convince you to at least try to be with Miguel.

You hummed, clearly uninterested in the conversation. Typing away on your laptop, working on some homework you had to finish for school.

"That sounds amazing- oh, hey can you pass me my cup please?"

Jessica frowns and grabbed your cup, as she handed the cup back to you. She takes a glance down to your bag that you brought and see multiple bracelets, handmade.

"Oh, those from f/n? how's she doing?'' Jess leaned on the wall as she watched you pause for a moment. You were quick to get back to typing.

"She's dead." You say with a slight cringe. Knowing the awkward atmosphere, you were making wasn't one your good for.

Jess was taken aback, not knowing of this news before hand.

"Oh . . . I'm sorry." Jess walked towards you and took a seat next to you. You stayed focused on your screen. Jess gently laid her hand on your back "What happened."

You took a quick glance down to the ground, pausing your typing. Taking in a deep sigh, you continued working "The bridge was falling apart. And I had to choose between a bus with 29 passengers or my best friend . . . f/n ended up having to choose for me. She said her goodbyes then cut herself off from my web."

Your mind drifted to the look on your friend face when she realized it was her time.

You sighed and changed the subject quickly.

"So, like . . .Don't ya'll got paternity leave or something cuz . . ." You looked down to Jessica's baby bump. Jess laughed as you moved on with your work.

"Yo, you needed help-" You froze in place as you saw Miguel in the room Jess. You frown "You wanted me, Jess?" You gave the pregnant woman a look. Jess had said she and she only needed you.

"Oh yes! I wanted you to look over these anomaly cases with me. But I'm not really feeling good." Jess rubbed her baby bump. You gave her a deadpan look.

"So, you'll be working with Miguel!" Jess was quick for someone who wasn't 'feeling well' and got out the room. You sighed and looked to a nervous smiling Miguel. You were displeased with this outcome, but this was going to happen, minus well get it done with.

You walked up next to Miguel and immediately got to work. An awkward silence overcame the air around the two of you.

Miguel kept glancing over to you. Taking in small details, like your suit and how it was in a way some comparison to Venoms when the alien takes over you. The way your fingers fidget when taking a small pause.

The silence soon became too much for Miguel to bare and he decided to speak "So, ho-how's school? Still playing basketball?"

Your brows furrowed "No."

"Oh! Stopped liking it?"

"No."

"Umm . . . did you get benched.?"

"No."

"Are you just going to say no to everything I say?" Miguel had his hand on his hip, a little frustrated by your blunt replies. You took a moment before turning your head to him.

"No."

"Ay dios mio- I'm tying here mi hija. Please I'm begging you. Make this easier." Miguel turns his full attention to you while you were still focused on the multiple screens in front of you.

"And why should I do that?"

"Because I want this family to be happy--"

"Family?" You scoffed.

"--And I want us to be happy together."

"Okay compañero, you threw this little family out the fucking window when you ran off to raise a child that wasn't even yours."

"Language niña." You ignored his warning and kept going

"And you have no right. No fucking right to waltz into my already shitty life and make it worse!"

"I SAID LANGUAGE!"

The two of you were already in each other's faces. Unphased by the others raging expression.

"No trates de reparar algo que está más allá de la reparación"(Don't try to mend something that is beyond repair.)

You walked away from the man. Leaving him the room. Once you got to your dimension, you began to wreck everything in the room. His room to be specific. Not like he even comes back. Too busy with work Too busy with the life that didn't involve you.

You couldn't take it anymore. You began sobbing uncontrollably.

"Y/n, we can't be upset about him now of all times."

"Why is he being worried now!? it's not fair Venom! it's not fair!" Your spoke between your cries. Venom took over your arms to try and wipe your tears. But it just kept coming.

All Venom could do was be there for you, as always, in your time of need.

You stared down at the mini hologram of you cradling your dear friend's limp body. begging he not to leave you.

"You too?'' Miles voice broke out. You looked at him with glossy eyes. Once your eyes met with his sad puppy eyes, you had to look away.

Miguel went on about the canon. And how it keeps everything in balance. If a canon is broken, then a world collapses. That's when it hit Miles, his dad was next. The boy refused to let the spot take yet another precious's person in his life.

But when Miles expressed his displeasre of the canon, Miguel trapped him, you were quick to bang on the forcefield.

"Oey! let him out!"

"He'll destroy the multiverse!" Miguel argued back. Peter B. and Gwen tried to convince Miguel to let Miles go and that he was going too far. suddenly, Miles was able to break the forcefield. You didn't waste time to grab the boy's hand and make a run for it.

The chase was hectic, but you finally got Miles back to HQ.

"Alright niño. This is as far as I can take you. But me and Venom will hold Miguel and the others off." Miles stared up at you with a look of confusion "Wait, you're not coming?"

It was clear he didn't want to do this alone. And you didn't want him to go through its alone ether. You brought Miles close to you and brought your foreheads together. You had Venom exit your body and enter Miles body.

"Venom will give you as much help as you need."

The two of you hear the others approaching. You hugged Miles for the last time and put him in the Go Home machine.

You quickly made yourself placed far away from the machine. You looked back at Miles one last time and smiled.

"Be safe out there, Miles Morals"

Once Miguel came through the doors, he was met with you in his way.

"Just give the kid up Y/n!"

You laughed as your own claws came out. Your set of fangs came in

"You want him? You got to get through me first."

The last thing Miles saw was you and Miguel running at each other.

#mental health #miguel o'hara #platonic miguel o'hara x reader #x daughter!reader #miles morales #atsv x reader #gwen spiderverse #jessica drew #miguel o'hara x daughter reader #venom reader #slight angst

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kangen-wanshi · 11 months

Text

Recorded Proposals ft. Trey Clover, Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ashengrotto

"I'm glad that that whole mess is done now.. Though I guess it's kind of a shame that I didn't get to actually propose to the bride, huh. I practiced a lot, too..!"

"Oh, don't worry, Prefect! I have all of your practice proposals recorded!"

".. What? Wait, Ortho what do you mean you have it recorded — Ortho- Hey!"

Tags: Separate, proposals and daydream and all the sweet stuff, no gendered pronouns used but reader is mentioned to be wearing make-up and such in Trey's

Trey Clover

"I know that you're no longer alive.. I know that we couldn't enjoy the joy of mortal entertainment and woes, but.. Even after death, I wish to always stay by your side and go through whatever there is ahead and build a bright future with you! So please.. Marry me!"

Trey got the video from Cater. One day the orangette sent him the video through DMs with just a wink emoji and some teasing about his crush on you and he just sort of accepts it with a light blush.

Trey watches that specific part over and over whenever he is about to go to bed (he refuses to watch it anywhere else). Your words stuck to him - whether it is because of the oddly sincere look in your eyes when you speak, or your beautiful attire, or perhaps your styled hair and make-up — He doesn't know why he's so addicted to it.

It became a sort of charm for him to have a good sleep (which sometimes involves having you in his dream). Your words rang and echoed through his mind when Trey finally shut his eyes and cuddled his blanket at night, ready to dream about you after a particularly long day.

Sometimes he likes to daydream that you were saying those words to him, as cringe as it sounds to his opinion. Trey always ended up a blushing mess with a lovesick grin on his face whenever that specific thought came up randomly throughout the day. He always hides himself with a hand over his mouth or his hat being pulled just a little lower. He's blushing? No. The weather probably just got a little warmer..

He's a sucker for anything that involves 'building a future together'. He's a big family man, he wishes to have his own family one day, preferably with you in the picture of course. As his partner. Domesticity is just sort of his thing at this point and he's not even denying it.

Maybe he should come clean to you.. Maybe you managed to spur out these specific words that tug on his heartstrings because you, too, want it for yourself. Perhaps in those silly proposals, you let out a small speck of your desire, which is why it seems so genuine in his eyes..

Either way he still acted normally around you. He would bring up the topic of the video and the proposals every now and then to tease you - without outing himself about the fact that he has a personal copy of it.

Perhaps he'll invite you to bake more often. Perhaps he'll invite you to various normal 'dates' and activities together. You can study together.. You can watch movies together.. Oh hey look his hand found yours, did he just intertwine your fingers together? You don't mind if he stays there for a while.. Right?

Leona Kingscholar

"I know what other people may say. You and I are.. Different, in every aspect. Yet I couldn't help but be drawn to you. To your beauty, your flaws. The way you love and the way you hate.. All of it..! And I promise you, I'll love you through and through - no matter what people may say. No matter what you'll become. Will you.. Marry me?"

Not sure how he got the video.. Most likely asked Ruggie to get it for him in secret? He made a deal with Azul to get a copy? Who knows. He doesn't really care where he got it from - it's with him now.

Leona watches it in the middle of the night. He likes to snicker and chuckle at your other failed attempts. It's a.. Good pastime. When he feels particularly terrible after a day, he watches your silly acting trying to propose to a dead Princess as a way of entertainment.

He got attached to that specific line of your proposals without even realizing. Whenever he went to watch it, he would usually skip to that part specifically to hear you say those words again and again. Except this time he isn't laughing. Rather he looks quite intense listening to your words.

Why do you have to stare so intently at the camera..? It made the experience a little too realistic to his liking. Now he needs to deal with the hammering noises in his heart, heat that slowly pools on his cheek, and his tail which swish and flick around.. Darn Herbivore you're making his sleep a little more difficult this time and you're not even here with him!

Leona doesn't daydream, but some part of your words does strike a nerve in him. You said you'd love someone despite your differences and their flaws? What a coincidence. You and him have lots of flaws and you're pretty different from each other. Right? He just lets those words keep on repeating over and over in his mind whenever he feels like it.

Actually he listened to your voice so much in his head now that he couldn't handle not hearing your voice. Leona doesn't usually have his phone with him but Ruggie noticed that he's been carrying it with him a lot lately.. Even though Leona still doesn't answer any of his calls or texts. He brought them so he could listen to you when he knew that would have a particularly busy day. He even converted the video to mere audio so he can listen to it.

Leona is also another one who acted mostly normal around you. He doesn't really bring up the event - considering that he failed miserably himself with his proposal attempt, so he doesn't like bringing it up.

But you noticed that his stare has become.. Longer, and that his hold on you linger, followed by his tail which often would cling to you whenever you're within proximity. Hey, what did you mean by you'll love anyone despite your vast differences? Huh? What do you mean those were just fake proposals? Come on answer the question, he's listening.

Azul Ashengrotto

"I've seen all of you. Your past, and your current self. And I don't doubt that you still have many many sides of you that are hidden from the world. Sides that you love- sides that you hate. I wish to love all of them, all of you - including your future. And.. Well there's no other way than to tie ourselves with love and marriage so that I may achieve this dream of mine.. Right?"

Either he got it from Idia who got it from Ortho, or he straight up asked Ortho, Azul will have his way to watch that video. A determined one, and everyone knows how Azul is when he wants something to be part of his possession.

At first he keeps telling himself that this is for academic purposes. He failed his own proposal back then despite his careful calculation and thorough planning, he just.. he wants to know how you handle it since you're the charming Prefect of Ramshackle! Of course! You would be a great reference should anything similar like this arise in the future!

Azul clips every part that he deemed important (keeps telling himself that these are bookmarks for the highlight of your proposal but really these are just his favorite parts.) Which includes you giggling at yourself because of how stupid the proposal was, or you being utterly embarrassed because of what you said. He has them in short clips!

Although there is a clip which he finds himself constantly repeating. He found your words to be.. Comforting and flattering. At first he thought that maybe this is his ideal proposal. And then he nodded to himself before continuing his said research. And then he immediately snapped back and realized that Oh Sevens is this his ideal proposal?!

Azul finds the idea that you, perhaps, would be willing to love him no matter the amount of facades he has to put up for his business, to be extremely endearing and beneficial to him. He would have your affection, while he's still able to keep up with his Deals. Why would he hate the idea? If not, it made him want you even more than he already did. (Even though he knew these were probably just you sputtering some romantic nonsense to gain the Princess' heart.. He.. Likes to wish. He just hope he could fulfill this specific wish of his own now..)

Since then he couldn't watch the video seriously anymore. He would be blushing - not to that specific part but to literally every other proposal you practiced (although that has become his favorite).

Azul doesn't daydream. He wants things and he will have them. Including you.

He would become more bold in his advances. He keeps falling in love with you over and over whenever he watches or remembers the video - it's only fair that he should start making you fall for him over and over.

So, Prefect, Azul has this new business idea and it involves you.. Oh don't worry you'll gain plenty of benefit from it! Would you like to at least talk about it or consider it? You would? Brilliant! Meet him in the VIP room he already has everything prepared!.. What do you mean you saw a marriage contract on his table?

#x reader #reader insert #les does writing #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #trey clover x reader #twst trey x reader #trey x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #twst leona x reader #leona x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #twst azul x reader #azul x reader

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spacebarbarianweird · 6 months

Text

How dare you?!

Synopsis: years after Tav's death, Astarion manages to become mortal again. But sometimes good things happen too late. It was definetely inspired by this quote from "The Last Unicorn"

"I am here now," she said at last. Molly laughed with her lips flat. "And what good is it to me that you're here now? Where where you twenty years ago, ten years ago? How dare you, how dare you come to me now, when I am this?" With a flap of her hand she summed herself up: barren face, desert eyes, and yellowing heart. "I wish you had never come. Why did you come now?" The tears began to slide down the sides of her nose.

Tags: angst Since Tav is already dead, I decided to make them gender neutral (hope I didn't mess up the grammar). Astarion mentions them (of course) all the time. Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Drinking other people's blood feels like an utter betrayal.

The outlaw lunges at Astarion, a glinting knife in hand. The vampire responds with a sinister grin, savoring how terror swiftly supplants the bandit's initial rage.

"Vampire! Kill him, you idiots!"

But the bandit's final words dissolve into a chilling shriek as Astarion plunges his fangs into the man's throat, drawing a deep draught of human blood. It's a flavor reminiscent of cheap alcohol, perhaps a testament to the bandit's fondness for rum. The pungent odor and the taste of his sweat turn Astarion's stomach.

However, as the blood courses through the vampire's veins, its transformative power takes hold. The hunger begins to recede, replaced by a surge of strength. His senses sharpen, and Astarion can practically savor the impending wave of fear from the group of thugs at the cave entrance.

"Please," the man stammers weakly, his voice trembling and feeble with each passing moment, "Don't kill me —"

Astarion releases the wounded thug, and the man collapses to the cave floor. The vampire lowers himself in front of the man, idly toying with a dagger, his tongue touching the tips of the fangs.

"Tell your henchmen to flee," he purred. "Run, and don't ever dare to glance back."

Astarion straightens his posture and gazes toward the two thugs.

Dumb idiots, he thinks. They could quickly kill him. But they are so afraid of the undead creature they won't dare.

Astarion wipes his mouth as the wounded outlaw staggers away in retreat. Deep down, Astarion wants to vomit. He thinks he should return to sating the thirst with animal blood—bears, wolves, boars—anything but sentient beings.

He can't drink blood, which doesn't belong to Tav. Tav allowed him to feed on them for years. Whose blood tasted like heaven, whose touches were so sweet and caring. Years after they are gone, Astarion can still feel their gentle caress.

And the coldness of their body when life left it.

He cried, he begged, he cursed. It couldn't have been so soon, not like that. They were supposed to live at least a few decades more together. Astarion remembers the nights on the grave when he contemplated if he should stay there till sunrise and turn into ashes.

He didn't stay because he promised to keep living.

Living, he chuckles. It's not life. He is undead. He died many years ago at the age of thirty-nine. His heart doesn't beat. His skin is cold and pale. His eyes are red, and all the food tastes like paper and vinegar.

Tav believed there was a cure for vampirism. They thought Astarion's dead heart could beat again. Astarion didn't care. He was happy with his lover by his side. Living with them, sleeping, cuddling, having sex, drinking their blood. Talking, holding hands, reading books, helping people, fighting monsters. Astarion never cared what to do – if it involved Tav, he didn't need to be asked twice. He didn't need to be asked, but they never crossed boundaries, always making sure he was all right with their plans.

Can I kiss you? Can I hug you? Can I touch your pointy ears? Do you want to go and help these people? Can I help you with your wounds? What do you mean, "no"? Listen, I am not looking at you bleeding and suffering – sit!

Their voice is so real as they were still there, with him. He hates concentrating on these memories because he hears the sound of a broken spine when he does. And sees the loving eyes gliding over his face.

Astarion will never forget the moment when Tav's heart stopped beating.

Astarion's crimson eyes dart around, attempting to focus on the present moment, a challenge for a creature like him. He's aware that making friends or seeking a new lover is a distant dream, a notion that feels like blasphemy. There's no home, no sanctuary, only a nomadic existence along the nocturnal roads, finding refuge in caves and abandoned houses to evade the relentless sunlight.

As he ventures deeper into the cave, he stumbles upon the object of his quest—a chained older man in a wizard's robe.

"And who in hells are you?" the man inquires.

"I've been hired to save you from the thugs, and I expect a generous reward for my troubles," Astarion grins as he unlocks the handcuffs.

The wizard, now unshackled, examines Astarion curiously. "Are you a vampire? Gods, it's very unusual for your kind to play a hero."

"I am," Astarion responds. "And I don't."

The wizard muses, "I recognize good people when I see them. Good elf vampires, I suppose, in your case. Quite peculiar. How long have you been like this?"

Astarion shrugs. "A few centuries. Hurry up, old man. It's sunrise soon."

The wizard chuckles. "Old man? I'm only sixty, my friend. Let's make haste; my home isn't far from here."

"May I ask you some questions?" he inquires. "I've never had the opportunity to converse with someone of your kind."

"I'll answer if I find the questions agreeable," Astarion replies

Their conversation flows easily, delving into topics like feeding the transformation into vampirism. Engaging with a sentient being who listens is refreshing, and Astarion relishes the opportunity to share his experiences.

"You remind me of my friend, Gale of Waterdeep," Astarion finally says, looking at the horizon getting pink.

"You did know Gale of Waterdeep?"

Astarion nods. "I wonder where he is right now."

"He died twenty years ago, Astarion. Lived a very long life for a human," the wizard replies, his words sending a shiver down Astarion's spine. Another person he knows is gone. It's been so many years that he's lost count.

The two continue the journey in silence, eventually arriving at the wizard's house. The wizard ushers him inside.

"What are you waiting for? It's almost sunrise," he remarks.

Astarion hesitates for a moment. "I can't enter unless you invite me."

The wizard chuckles. "Oh, of course, I forgot. Come in. You are very welcome to stay until dark. Wait for me here. I will return soon."

Astarion steps over the threshold and watches as the first rays of sunlight wash over the fields and the surrounding forest, feeling a strange mix of longing and melancholy as he observes the world he can never fully embrace.

When Tav was alive, he often urged them to venture outside on such mornings. They would stand there, basking in the warm embrace of sunlight. Astarion couldn't tear his gaze away from Tav. After a few minutes, his lover would return inside, and Astarion would gently press his palms to their radiant skin, yearning to feel the sun's warmth that had touched them.

The ache is still there. Astarion misses Tav profoundly, a pain that persists no matter how many years have passed or how many more will come. They were the first and only person he truly loved. They were the first and only person who loved him.

He remembers how Tav would cup his face with their hands. "What are you looking at?" he sometimes would ask, and Tav would laugh in response. "I wonder what eye color you had. Blue? No, I don't think so. Hazel? Doubt. I know! They were green. They were green like a pair of emeralds." Then, Tav would kiss his forehead. "But I guess we will never know."

"Astarion, I want to reward you for saving me," the wizard declares as he returns to the dining room, holding a black magic scroll. "You sound like a good person, a really good person..."

"Just pay me, and we're even. I enjoyed talking to you."

The wizard, however, opened a black scroll and began reciting an incantation. Before Astarion can react, a dark wave crashes over him, hurling him to the floor and pinning him to the wooden boards.

"I'm sorry," the wizard says, his voice muffled as if behind a thick wall. "I fear this might be painful."

"What in hell have you done to me?!" Astarion attempts to shout, but an invisible grip tightens around his throat, choking the words.

His body withers and wraps. Astarion wants to scream, but his mouth stays shut. His body doesn't belong to him in this painful moment. It hurts. It hurts the same way centuries ago when he was lying in his coffin six feet deep under the ground.

The stomach turns inside out, and Astarion vomits the thug's blood he drank earlier. The lungs are rupturing, causing pain in the rib cage.

Then the skin starts burning. He scratches it with his nails as if trying to flay himself. He feels how his bones break and fuse. Or is it just his imagination? By this time, he can't say.

He was through so much torment and pain during the centuries of enslavement. He thought it couldn't be worse.

It absolutely could.

Astarion presses his hands to the chest. The dead heart weighs like a tombstone. He wants to rip it out.

Thump

The first heartbeat crashes through Astarion like a hammer blow in the Adamantine Forge, resounding loudly and painfully.

Astarion finds himself on his knees, utterly shocked. The wizard sits at the table, regarding him with a condescending gaze.

It's then that Astarion notices someone else in the room. He springs to his feet, prepared to confront this stranger, but the wizard laughs.

"It's just your reflection, my friend," the wizard says. "I think you've long forgotten how you look, hmm?"

Astarion stands upright and shifts his gaze to the mirror. There, he sees a young, silver-haired elf staring back at him.

"Shocked, aren't you?" the wizard chuckles.

Astarion approaches the mirror, studying the stranger. Silver curls, the attire of an adventurer, and scars from a vampire's bite on the left side of his neck. But it's the eyes that captivate him—the eyes are emerald green.

Just like Tav said.

He shifts his attention to his hands, noting that the skin is no longer pale. The feeling of a beating heart and an empty stomach churn within him. The fangs are gone, replaced by regular teeth.

"Congratulations, my friend," the wizard declares. "You are no longer a vampire. I wasn't entirely certain if the scroll would work, but here we are. You are mortal again. It's a small price for saving me."

Astarion's legs give way, and he collapses to the wooden floor again, tears streaming down his face, a maelstrom of emotions threatening to consume him.

"Where were you?!" he yells at the top of his lungs. "Where were you twenty years ago? Where were you thirty years ago? Where were you when I had hope?!" Astarion jumps on his feet and clutches the wizard's robe, making the old man stand as well. "How dare you, how dare you resurrect me now?!"

"I- I reversed your curse," the wizard stumbles, scared of the young elf.

"You reversed," Astarion laughs bitterly. "Of course you did! I wish I never agreed on rescuing you."

"But you are alive! You are a living creature, not an undead monster-"

"And what am I supposed to do?" Astarion's laughter takes on a manic tone. "Mortality—you can't even imagine how I dreamt of it. How Tav dreamt of it. But... they are gone," he sniffs. "I buried them with these hands. Where were you... Where were you when Tav was alive?"

The wizard, still taken aback, steps back, fearing another outburst.

"Then—then live. Enjoy your new life," the wizard stammers.

"I don't know how! I don't know how to live! You, cursed old man, what have you done?"

"Get out," the wizard mutters. "Get out, ungrateful bastard."

Astarion makes a short, bitter laugh. He feels lightheaded and dizzy. His chest is too cramped for the newly awakened heart, his skin burns, and the blood races through his veins too fast.

Stumbling like a drunkard, Astarion exits the house. The sunlight feels like the soft touch of cat fur on his fingertips.

Squinting, he gazes up at the sun, tears streaming down his face, and he doesn't bother to wipe them away.

Astarion's heart was beating fast, and he had no idea what to do.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #bg3 #astarion romance #astarion fic #astarion x tav #astarion x gn!tav #astarion fics #astarion angst #ressurrected astarion #Sometimes good things happen too late #spacebarbarian fics

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