#nothing too much but there was some implications so to be safe | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sweet-as-an-angel · 1 year

Note

Hiiii, I loveeeee ur work ❤️

I was thinking about a head cannon of how some of the mw2 characters (ghost, soap, König, etc) would react to their partner sending them a nude photo?👀👀👀

Sorry if you did this already but I’m pretty sure you haven’t tho cuz I definitely would have read it already 😭

MW2 Reaction to Receiving a Special™ Photo from Their S/O

Warnings: 18+ (just to be safe), Non-Specific/Explicit Implications of Smut, No Pronouns used for Reader except 'You', Singular Mention of Graves Throwing Himself off a Cliff, Dominant! MW2, Submissive! MW2, Dominant! Reader, Submissive! Reader, Profanity, etc.

Ghost

He will literally stare bug-eyed at the picture you’ve sent him like 👁️O👁️

Since it’s a physical photograph, he keeps it on him like a chapstick, which is to say all the time.

He isn’t risking ANYONE besides himself seeing it.

And when he’s about to embark on a mission, he keeps it tucked into his vest right where his heart is so that it’s practically part of him.

He likes to think that, somehow, you can hear – feel – his heart beating, know that he’s still alive and fighting so that he can come home and see you.

And when he returns from a mission and goes to his quarters, he has some…alone time.

You know, to really study the picture.

Not that he doesn’t know every curve and edge of your body already.

But that doesn't stop him growling your name into the pillow as he rocks against it, a hole cut into the bottom of it – a poor imitation of you.

A makeshift lover.

If anyone ends up seeing that picture – if they stole it from him, if by some act of God (because that’s what it’ll take) it slipped out of his vest or pocket – they are in for a World of Pain™.

There won’t be a time they won’t flinch upon hearing Ghost’s name, or when they see his shadow like an omen on the wall as he commandeers the halls. Prowling.

He’d feel pretty guilty about someone else seeing you how he does, even if it was only for a fraction of a second.

So he’s definitely going to make it up to you when he gets back <3

König

His heart can’t take this kind of torment.

He’ll be looking down at his phone, the image of you burning into his skin like a holy artefact.

He definitely gets more jumpy around people when he has his phone on him.

Will literally clam up and shove it into the deepest recesses of his pocket if someone comes too close.

Even when your picture is safely stored behind a password-protected photo album.

He has to excuse himself from training or other commitments whenever his mind wanders back to you, and subsequently that image (which is basically all the time).

Sometimes he calls you while he’s sorting himself out.

He just needs to hear your voice – to feel closer to you.

It’s the only way he can finish.

“Engel,” he rasps, his breath stuttering, “I need you,”

And everyone just looks at him like he’s grown a third eye when he returns because, unbeknownst to him, König can’t keep quiet, and everyone who has never heard even a peep from him is suddenly aware of the carnality that lies beneath his skin, wired into his soul.

And at the centre is his love for you, boundless and overflowing so that the rest of his teammates know it, too.

Not that they mind all too much.

They all sit and think that you must be one beautiful person to evoke such a response from König.

Soap

Will tease you back.

Sends a mirror pic of him in a tight black shirt, saying something like ‘You’ll see the rest when I get home.’

Is absolutely ravenous when it comes to you.

No cap, goes absolutely ham in the shower when the image of you in nothing flashes in his mind.

His low moans are enough of a warning for the rest of the 141 to stay away for the next half an hour or so.

Aside from that, he’ll just look at the picture because he finds you beautiful.

Stares at it while he’s in bed. Laments on how much he misses you ☹️.

He’s counting down the days until he can see you again, and with each that passes, he can feel your silhouette becoming tangible in his hands, as if you were stepping out of the photo.

Sometimes, he dreams that you’re there with him, nestled between his arms.

Other times the dreams are a little more…graphic.

But Johnny can’t help it.

He just can’t contain himself when it comes to you.

Valeria

If you thought her violent tendencies could never extend to you, prepare to be amazed.

The second this woman sees what you’re trying to do – or, rather, what she thinks you’re trying to do – she is not happy.

You could have sent that image with the purest (within reason) of intentions; just letting Valeria know that you miss her, wishing her a good day – whatever.

What she sees is you trying to manipulate her by using your body as an instrument of destruction.

Dramatic, yes. But Valeria has never been one to take chances.

She’ll be deceptively calm over text: ‘Don’t tease me, Darling. You know what happens when you do.’

All day, all she can see is that image.

Whenever she turns a corner, you’re there; whenever she’s talking to someone, you’re peering at her over their shoulder; when she’s alone, you’re sat with her – on her – trying to take her attention away from her paperwork.

Redemption is a baseless concept when Valeria returns home that evening.

You will not know rest until she’s done with you.

Price

“Fuckin’ Hell, Love,” he’ll say, the darkness hanging on his voice tangible even through the voice note.

“What’ve you been up to while I’ve been away, hmm ?”

Will not rest until he knows he’s got you hot and bothered.

This entails him sending increasingly risqué images of himself; first, just one of him flexing, his arms thick and crawling with veins.

The next is of his shirt raised just below his chest, the dim light of the room keeping enough of him shrouded that his identity is unknown to all but you, his wide silhouette taking up most of the picture.

And, if you decide to be resilient against his attempts to make you feel as you have him, you’ll receive a series of menacing messages.

‘Don’t get too comfortable, Angel’, he’ll say.

‘You never know when I’ll come through that door–’

He grins as he sees you’ve read his message, hanging on his every word.

‘And ravage you.’

And you know he means it, too.

Meanwhile, he’s multitasking; keeping a clear, professional head and giving orders while resisting the primal urge to drop everything and find you.

And no amount of pleading or tears will spare you from his wrath when he returns.

Horangi

Regardless of how well the military life trained his self-discipline, nothing can dampen the sheer need Horangi feels whenever he receives a special picture from you.

I’m talking: he will literally sit in silence for ten minutes because he’s got a raging issue he needs to take care of but can’t risk anyone else seeing it.

Will thunder down the hall to the nearest bathroom when the meeting’s over and take out his frustrations there.

When he calls, you’d better pick up the first time.

If you don’t, you’ll have Hell to pay when gets home.

“Baby,” he breathes down the phone, the fog already making his mind frost over, his body burning up.

“What have you done to me–”

These brief encounters are the only thing keeping him sane while he’s away; they make him feel closer to you.

And, repaying you in kind, he returns one night, in the silence of the moon hours.

He finds you, pulls you to him, clutching on tight as you begin to wake.

And, between delirium and consciousness, his voice is all you can hear.

“Shouldn’t have tested me, Sweetheart,” he says, whispering as though partaking in a secret.

“Now I’m going to have to challenge you.” His arms are snakes as they constrict you.

“Fall asleep before I’m done with you, and I promise there will be no end to your suffering.”

Alejandro

Teasing a man as passionate as Alejandro is not going to end well for everyone involved.

Expect to receive a barrage of very choice texts back.

‘You have no idea what you’re doing to me’, he’ll say, followed by a photo of the tent in his trousers.

And a sinister: ‘But you will’.

If he’s away on business for even just a few days, he’ll go practically feral whenever he sees that picture of you.

To everyone else, he’ll be the leader Alejandro Vargas they all know him as – ruthless and righteous.

Yet, there’s something different in the way he walks as he excuses himself from the table, his destination unknown.

His gaze is narrowed and his teeth are grinding, rabid in disposition.

And when he gets home, no matter how long of a day it’s been, you’re in for a very long night.

He’ll appear behind you, a spectre, clamping a hand down on your shoulder.

“You shouldn’t test a soldier, Love,” he says, his grip tightening.

You don't turn around, an exhilarating fear keeping you frozen.

He leans down, his mouth just at your ear, his breath hot.

“Because you never know when he’ll snap.”

Rodolfo

This man is usually rather quiet and submissive when it comes to the more personal aspects of your life together.

But when you send him a picture that makes him question how long he can keep his composure for, you’re in trouble.

You’ll be receiving a phone call from a very exasperated Rodolfo, who, despite his best efforts, has succumbed to your charm.

Definitely a growler when he’s in a dominant mood.

More of a whimperer when he’s not.

At times like these, you get both.

“Darling,” he breathes, the back of his head pressed against the cold cubicle wall. “Look what you’ve done to me…”

His whining is more than enough to let you know the effect you’ve had on him.

And it’s what he says next that makes your blood run cold.

“I won’t let you get away with this.”

The husking baritone in his voice tells you he’s being truthful.

And if you try to clap back with something witty, or even an apology, Rodolfo just laughs.

“The time for mercy is long past, mi Amor,” he tells you.

“All you can do now is prepare for the Reckoning.”

Graves

This smug idiot.

Definitely smirks to himself when he gets that picture.

Has to resist the urge to show it off to everyone in the boardroom because he’s just that proud to have you as his partner.

Yes, he is hard. Yes, he’s still going to give this presentation in front of all the major shareholders.

Why ?

Because he’s Graves. Also, because he knows he has more money than everyone else in that room, and, consequently, more power.

Will shoot you back a text like: ‘Mighty fine work, Babydoll’, followed by, ‘You’re getting a promotion when I get home.’

Yes, he uses corporate jargon when discussing intimate matters.

He’s a businessman at heart, he can’t help it.

Definitely more playful than most of the others on this list.

The type to take his time with you and make you laugh while he does so.

But when he wants to be rough (and when you want him to be), he can be.

And he gets mean when he’s like that.

I’m talking hair-pulling, name-calling – basically just bullying you, but consensually.

Does his best to take care of you, though.

If he found out that he’d actually upset you, he’d literally jump off a cliff – he wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

Expect many lavish gifts if this happens, though.

But don’t tell him that I told you that 👀.

Gaz

Will nearly drop his phone – it turns to butter in his hands.

He looks over his shoulder at least fifty times before he’ll allow himself to look at the photo again.

Poor boy’s face is turning red, his palms are sweating, he can’t think straight.

Paranoid 24/7 that everyone knows he has that picture of you.

But it doesn’t intimidate him enough for him to even try to keep quiet in the barracks when he has some alone time.

Similar situation to Soap; everyone knows to steer clear of whichever room Gaz was last spotted walking into for a while.

It would take him a few days for him to send a picture back.

More than likely, it’ll be of him in a scarcely lit bathroom in nothing but his boxers with a very prominent outline in them.

Followed by a text with something to the effect of: ‘Been thinking about you all night, Sweets’

And God forbid you send him another image of yourself. And definitely do not send a message saying ‘Aww, has my good boy been behaving himself ?’

Will literally send him over the edge.

The rest of the 141 can’t commandeer the bathroom for the rest of the day after that.

And when Gaz gets home, just know that your phone screen can’t protect you anymore.

Not when you have a man made of pure intellect and solid mass running full-force at you with all the pent-up energy seen only in a nuclear reactor.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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joelsgreys · 5 months

Text

safe and sound

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: Your daughter has a nightmare—her daddy makes it all better.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. set in Jackson. slight canon age deviations (Joel is 56, Ellie is 17) READER’S AGE IS NOT SPECIFIED. she’s a child bearing adult woman so do with that information what you will. established relationship, reader and Joel have a toddler (her age is not specified in fic but she’s 3 ish years old), reader has NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION and neither does their child except she has Joel’s eyes and his dark curls, no mentions of her skintone. Joel and Ellie are fine bc he deserves it, Joel’s an overprotective girl dad, reader is the chill parent. implications of a toddler being told about clickers, bad dreams, almost smut, Joel and reader get cockblocked, SOFT Joel who comforts his babygirl, mention of Sarah towards the end. very minimal editing.

word count: 2.3k

a/n: listen, i love me some daddy joel but tonight i needed a bit of actual daddy joel. this was whipped up last minute bc i haven’t had the best weekend and needed some comfort. also i didn’t have the mental capacity or energy to come up with a moodboard, so gif it is.

Joel looks down at the old, worn book in his hand.

Winnie the Pooh.

He never would have imagined it. This.

Reading a bedtime story to a toddler. His toddler.

He’s in his fifties—he shouldn’t have a toddler.

He shouldn’t have a teenager, either.

Yet, he has both.

The toddler has his blood, the teenager doesn’t.

But that doesn’t matter to him.

Joel still considers her to be his own kid.

Only, she’s not a kid anymore, not really.

She’s seventeen now. She doesn’t need him much anymore, not the way that his toddler needs him.

“Ellie’s not coming home tonight,” you’d said from where you stood at the stove, stirring in chunks of potato and chopped carrots into the pot of stew in front of you. “There’s a birthday party down at the bar. She’s going with Dina and Jesse.” You can feel the look of disapproval on his face and add, “I said she could go, Joel. She asked me permission.”

“She didn’t ask me,” he’d gruffed. He looked down at the little girl sitting in his lap, scribbling away on an old state map. He had given it to her along with the pack of crayons he’d found during patrol when his group stumbled across a schoolhouse. Though crumbling on the outside, the inside had remained untouched throughout the last two decades—little coats hanging over the back of little chairs, papers scattered all over little desks, little lunch boxes still stored in their cubbies at the back of the room. He instructed the group to search for anything useful, anything that Jackson’s teachers could use for the children in their classrooms. Joel knew that taking without trading was against the rules, but that did nothing to stop him from secretly slipping the box of crayons into his jacket pocket when no one had been looking.

His daughter’s squeals of delight when he’d gifted them to her had been well worth the theft.

“Because she knew you’d say no to her.”

“I would have. Kid’s got no business going to a bar at her age. She’s fuckin’ seventeen years ol—”

The little girl had gasped and stopped coloring.

“Daddy said a bad word.”

You’d turned around and glared at him. “He did.”

She looked up at him with her wide, brown eyes.

Those she’d gotten from him. His dark curls too.

Everything else?

Her smile, her nose, her softness?

That was all you.

“M’sorry, babygirl,” he apologized, sheepishly.

“S’okay, daddy.”

And back to coloring she went.

“Joel, let’s face it. Ellie’s growing up. She’s turning eighteen in a few months and truth is, she has one foot out the door.” Crossing your arms, you leaned back against the counter. “She was telling me how she wants to turn the garage into her own space.”

“There a reason she ain’t talkin’ to me ‘bout this?”

You’d smiled wistfully at him.

“Because she knows this is hard for you, Joel.”

It is hard. Because even though she isn’t his, she’s his and he’s afraid to lose her somehow.

Joel manages to snap himself out of his thoughts.

Rosemary’s now fast asleep, her well loved stuffed bunny rabbit wrapped in her arms. She’s a handful for him during bedtime—she has too much energy and most nights, you have to step in and help him. But tonight, after her bath, he had warmed a glass of milk for her to drink and it seemed to have done the trick because within minutes of him reading to her, her eyes fluttered closed.

Joel sets the book down and leans over to brush a kiss onto her cheek, quietly whispering goodnight. “Sweet dreams, babygirl.”

He switches off the lamp on the bedside table and steps out of his child’s bedroom, being careful not to wake her as he closes the door behind him.

“I still can’t believe she fell asleep within minutes,” you say, staring at him in utter disbelief. “How?”

“Gave her a glass of warm milk before I tucked her into bed,” Joel explains, tugging on a pair of faded black sweatpants. He peels off his shirt and tosses it onto the floor before climbing into bed. “Worked like a fuckin’ charm. She’s out like a damn light.”

You set your book down and raise an eyebrow.

“Joel, I brushed her teeth before her bath.”

“I brushed them again after she drank it, darlin’.”

He outstretches his arm, beckoning for you.

Grinning, you scoot closer to him, draping an arm over his bare chest. “It’s only nine,” you tell him. “I have no idea what we’re going to do with all of this free time we have. Rosemary’s asleep, Ellie’s gone for the night.” You slowly drag your hand down his chest and over his stomach, a finger skimming the waistband of his sweatpants. You hear the way his breath catches in his throat and tease, “I guess we can actually get some good sleep for once, huh?”

Groaning, Joel rolls over and pins you down to the bed as he positions himself on top of you, his eyes glazed over with lust. “We can sleep,” he murmurs as his mouth hovers over yours. He reaches for the buttons of his flannel you’re wearing and begins to single-handedly pop them open only to find you’re not wearing anything underneath. He groans once more. “Or I can make you feel good. S’your choice, baby.”

You gasp as he nips at your chin and starts trailing his lips lower, peppering kisses down the length of your body. Heat blossoms in your lower belly as he settles himself between your thighs. Hooking both arms around them, he nibbles at the soft spot that is right below your navel, the spot you hate, but he adores. Having a child had changed your body and while you two seldom had time to yourselves to do anything of this nature, when you did find time, he never failed to make you feel like you were still just as beautiful to him, if not a thousand times more.

“Fuck,” you whimper. “Please, Joel.”

“Please what, sweetheart? What do you want?”

His voice is low, husky.

Your hands reach down and tangle in his curls.

“Your mouth, Joel. Please. I need your—”

The sound of a teeny knock at the door makes you both freeze on the spot.

“You heard that, right?” you ask him breathlessly.

There’s a second teeny knock.

It’s then followed by an even teenier voice.

“Mommy? Daddy?”

“Fuck,” Joel hisses, scrambling off the bed. “What the hell is she doin’ out of bed?” Picking his t-shirt up from the floor, he quickly throws it on, ignoring that he’d put it on inside out. Watching you as you fumble to button his flannel, he calls, “Just give us one second babygirl, alright? We’ll be right there.”

“I’m decent,” you tell him, getting the last button.

Nodding, Joel opens the bedroom door. His knees protest when he squats down, lowering himself so that he can meet Rosemary’s tearful gaze.

“S’matter, Rosie Posie?” he asks her in a soft voice that he reserves for his girls. “What happened?”

She sniffles. “I—I had a bad dream, daddy.”

You sit on the side of bed and wait patiently.

Joel has it handled. He always has it handled.

He never stopped knowing how to be a father.

“You had a bad dream?” he repeats, frowning.

Rosemary nods, clutching her rabbit to her chest.

A single tear slips down the side of her little face.

Joel reaches out, gingerly wiping it with his finger.

“M’sorry it scared you, babygirl. Tell you what, just for tonight, how about you sleep with me and your mama in our bed? That sound good?” With a small labored grunt, he scoops her into his arms. She is getting heavier and you often tell him it’s not good for his back—he can’t care less. He’ll keep picking her up until the moment his little girl decides she’s a big girl and doesn’t want him to pick her up. Joel carries her over to the bed and sits her on your lap and reminds her, “But this is just for tonight, Rosie Posie. Tomorrow night you’re back in your own big girl bed, alright?”

“Okay,” she nods again and leans against you, tiny shoulders slumping.

“Rosie? What was your dream about?” you ask her gently, wrapping your arms around her. She hardly ever has nightmares—she’s too young to know the world outside the commune’s walls, smart but still too little to understand why she cannot go outside the gates. “What did you dream about, honey?”

She hesitates, then answers, “Monsters.”

“Monsters?” Perplexed, you glance at Joel.

He seems to be just as confused as you are.

“Who did you hear that word from, babygirl?”

“Robbie.”

Your neighbor’s unruly, troublemaker son.

Joel’s jaw clenches slightly. “Thought I told you he ain’t allowed to be around her. The kid is nine, ain’t got no business bein’ around Rosemary. Little brat ain’t nothin’ but a bad influence. He’s always up to no good.” He shakes his head at you. “Said I didn’t want that boy anywhere near our daughter.”

“The kids were out playing in the snow today,” you remember. “He must have been there too. It’s kind of hard to tell who is who when they’re all bundled up and flinging snowballs at each other, Joel.” You shoot him an apologetic look. “Rosie was having a blast playing with everybody—I’m sorry. I suppose I should’ve paid more attention to who was around her.”

He bites back a sigh. He knows it’s not your fault.

Rosie’s too good of a girl, too pure and innocent to know that not everybody is her friend.

“Rosie, what did Robbie say to you?”

Again, the child hesitates.

“He said—he said monsters live outside. They bite people and turn them into monsters too. He said it happened to his daddy.” Rosemary’s eyes flit from you to Joel. “He said it would happen to you, too.”

Your eyes widen in shock. “He said that to you?”

Hands curling into fists, Joel reminds himself now isn’t the time to let his anger take over. “S’not true at all, babygirl.” He reaches over and slides her out of your lap and onto his. Like you, he wants to lie—tell her those monsters she was told about are not real, that they don’t exist. But they do exist and as much as he wishes he could keep her from finding out about all that lies beyond Jackson’s walls, Joel knows that one day, she will. “Listen to me. M’real sorry to hear ‘bout Robbie’s daddy, baby. But I can promise you, that ain’t gonna happen to me.”

She points a chubby finger at you.

“What about mommy?”

“Ain’t gonna happen to her either.”

Rosemary drops her hand, fear clear in her tone as she asks the both of you, “What about me?”

“Of course not,” you say, smoothing back her dark curls. “You’re safe here, honey. As safe as can be.”

Joel nods. “Your mama’s right, darlin’. You’re safe,” he reassured her. “You’re safe and sound.”

“I am?”

He gives her body a warm, gentle squeeze. “Mhm. Always will be. Y’know how I know that, babygirl?”

“How?”

“‘Cause. As long as daddy’s around, he will always protect you,” he promises her. “He’ll never, ever let anythin’ bad happen to you, Rosie. I swear it.” Joel kisses the top of her head, his gaze meeting yours. He murmurs his oath quietly, “On my life.”

Flashing him a small, grateful smile, you reach out and touch his forearm and he places his hand over your own.

“And mommy too?” Rosemary questions him.

“And mommy too.”

“And Ellie?”

“And Ellie,” he nods, firmly. “M’always gonna keep my girls safe. S’long as I’m around, you’re all safe.”

Rosie tiredly snuggles into his chest, yawning.

“What about you, daddy?”

“Huh?”

You squeeze his arm. “Think she’s asking you who is supposed to keep you safe, Joel.”

The little girl nods sleepily. “Yeah. Who?”

“Well.” Joel’s throat bobs nervously. He knows the moment he says what he’s about to say, there’s no going back. Not that he never planned to tell Rosie about her sister, but he’d always imagined doing it when she was older and understood death. “I—uh, I have an angel in the clouds who looks out for me. She watches over me, keeps me safe and sound.”

Rosemary’s curiosity is all that is keeping her from completely passing out in his arms.

“Really? You have an angel?”

Your heart squeezes tightly in your chest. “Joel—”

He lightly shakes his head.

“S’fine sweetheart. I don’t mind tellin’ her.”

Rosie’s fighting to stay awake just a little longer.

“Daddy? What’s your angel’s name?”

Joel answers in the steadiest voice he can muster.

“Her name was—her name is Sarah.”

“Sarah,” she mumbles, her eyes closing. “S’pretty. Your angel has a really pretty name.”

“The prettiest name,” you agree, softly.

Rosie yawns again. “Daddy?”

“What is it, babygirl?”

“Will you tell me stories about Sarah? Please?”

Joel chuckles, rubbing her back. “I sure will. I have plenty of them to tell, Rosie Posie. But not tonight. I’ll save them for tomorrow ni—”

You cut him off. “Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“She’s out cold.”

He glances down and sure enough, she’s asleep.

Moments later, the three of you are in bed. Rosie’s in the middle, curled up against Joel’s chest—your chest is pressed against her back but you’re being careful not to sandwich her in too tight in between your bodies.

In a beam of silvery moonlight shining through the bedroom window, you meet Joel’s gaze.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He chuckles. “For what? Doin’ my job and soothin’ our daughter after a bad dream?”

You smile at him.

“For being so good to her. To me and Ellie.” Lifting a hand, you reach over and cup the side of his face in your palm. “You’re so good to all three of us and I can’t even imagine what we’d do without you.”

Joel turns his face, brushing a kiss into your hand.

“I mean it,” he says, quietly. “S’long as I’m around, you girls will always be safe and sound.”

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #fic: safe and sound

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fangswbenefits · 4 months

Text

The Arrangement (11) - First Light

Chapter summary: A much needed discussion takes place and it ends with Astarion coating his daggers with poison.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Mentions of past trauma. Mentions of oral sex. Blood drinking,

Word count: 4.3k

Author's note: I am still unable to reply to comments (I'm waiting for tumblr support to fix this... I read all of the, I promise. You can also send and ask or head to ao3 so I can reply there. Thank you!

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Ao3

Wyll Ravengard was the picture-perfect of integrity.

Well, if you were to exclude his past dealings with the half-devil Mizora. But even then, he had been mostly justified in his assessment of the situation.

So it came as no surprise when you weren't able to find a single trace of judgement on his face.

Only evident concern.

Shadowheart had quickly filled him in on the Waterdeep situation as well as provided him with enough context when it came to Ava.

“Well, this is a… mess,” Wyll eventually drawled out.

Astarion, who was sitting to your right, immediately snickered. “Understatement of the year.”

Shadowheart, who was sitting to you left, promptly quipped, “I wonder whose fault that is.”

He leaned forward to glance at her. “Darling, all that pent-up frustration must–”

You heaved a deep sigh as you nudged him with your elbow, not in the mood to moderate their venomous exchange. “Enough!”

Wyll took a seat across from yours as a Fist stood by his side, hand clasping the handle of his sword in a silent warning.

“You should have told me about your arrangement with Ava,” he said, locking eyes with you. “I know all too well how some propositions are just rotten from the start and doomed to fail.”

Tension and guilt settled in the pit of your stomach.

Not even half an hour ago, you had been able to momentarily push aside the chaos that had been hurled at you in such short notice.

“It seemed like a fair exchange – if her words are to be believed, that is,” you said.

Wyll tensed up. “There is nothing fair about offering your blood to bloodthirsty fiends as an exchange.” He then glanced at Astarion. “No offense.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “None taken, darling.”

But Wyll did have a point even if your arrangement with Astarion was nothing akin to the one with Ava.

Yet…

“Nothing is set in stone. I don't have to go through with any of it.”

From beside you, Shadowheart managed an irritable look. “I cannot be the only one who finds all of this rather convenient. Even if there is someone connected to Cazador after you, why would she withhold that information? Doesn't she need you safe and sound, Astarion?”

“I suppose so, but who's to say? I would need to talk to her,” he said, eyes on Wyll. “I have to talk to her.”

Wyll immediately understood the implication in his words. “Now?”

“Well, obviously not now,” he said indignantly.

The sun was still up and dusk was hours away.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” you intervened, heart racing in your chest. “We need to find out first if there's something that links all of this to Ava.”

“Regardless of that, she still needs to answer for her deranged proposition,” Astarion replied.

Shadowheart scoffed. “You were the one who endangered her in the first place with that bizarre deal.”

He was on his feet faster than you could blink, scowling. “Do not make the idiotic mistake of thinking you are the only one here who cares for her.”

She rose from the sofa, matching his defyance. “Oh, I am sure you care for her – in your own twisted way.”

“Can you two stop it?” you half-shouted, coming to stand in between them before he could retort. “This is pointless!”

They glared at each other in silence for a moment before parting ways, with Astarion sinking down on a chair whilst Shadowheart began pacing around the room, evidently distressed.

“My friends, we need to think critically here,” Wyll spoke again. “Arguing with each other is the last thing we ought to do right now.”

Silence followed as tension dispersed.

“Now, as we wait for Lae'zel and Gale to return, I must ask a few questions, Astarion.”

He crossed his arms. “Oh, this should be fun.”

Wyll ignored his snarky remark, assuming a more serious demeanour. “Why would you resort to her in the first place? Was her promise more solid than the Wish spell?”

“There were no promises made,” he said acidly, a nerve clearly having been struck. “She’s merely experimenting and the prospect seemed too good to pass.”

“So, your blood for a way to lessen your vampiric hunger? That was the deal?”

A cold shiver ran down your spine and you watched as Astarion tensed up slightly.

He had never shared with them just how deep the horrors he endured under Cazador's command truly twisted inside him.

How all of it had taken a toll on his ability to be intimate with someone without feeling tainted.

How it had ultimately driven him into striking a deal with someone like Ava as despair took root.

And it wasn't your place to reveal any of it.

So you merely sat back and observed him in silence.

“It seemed good enough back then,” he said coolly. “Besides, it could also be helpful to the spawn in the Underdark.”

That had Wyll arch an eyebrow. “The spawn?”

“Petras has been sending letters to report back, and – well, let's just say that dealing with 7,000 hungry vampire spawn isn't an easy feat,” he said. “I figured that if her experiment were to be successful, then it'd be beneficial for them as well.”

Oh.

Shadowheart waggled her eyebrows as her feet came to a halt. “So you weren't merely thinking about yourself?”

“Initially, yes. Of course.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

“However, I was the one who doomed them to eternal hunger, so it seemed fitting I'd help.”

“They were doomed either way,” you quickly pointed out. “And it was Cazador's doing.”

His head turned to you. “Be it as it may, their hunger isn't sated for long. I know that all too well.”

Astarion wasn't exactly the epitome of selflessness, but you knew he had come to change some of his ways in the past few weeks after all the events that had unfolded.

And when it came to his own hunger, you figured old habits did die hard.

His eyes then landed on your neck for a moment before looking away.

“I reckon I already know the answer to this, but did you even plan ahead?” Shadowheart said, crossing her arms. “How would you even make this feasible for thousands of spawn with just your own blood? Or were they really just an afterthought?”

Astarion narrowed his eyes. “Ava was handling the … logistics, shall we say. My blood would be the starting point, but not a requirement.”

She scoffed in utter disbelief. “And you took her word for it… blindly. You simply trusted some monster hunter with a blood fetish? This is ridiculous even for you.”

He was definitely a passionate admirer of the ‘laugh now, cry later’ school of thought, which also meant that when the consequences hit… they would hit hard.

“It's not like progress was being made with the Wish spell, sweetheart,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

A chill rushed through you like a knife. “Only a few weeks had passed, Astarion. All you had to do was wait–”

And then he snapped. His seemingly calm demeanour finally cracking open and revealing the hurt underneath.

“For centuries, all I did was wait! There were times I wished he would just destroy me once and for all to rid me of the burden of being ‘alive’ under such conditions,” he snarled, rising from the chair as he faced you. “I turned away from all that power I could have – the ritual… everything! I – I just…” His voice faltered and he heaved a sigh, reining back his outrage as his face softened into that expression that just broke you. “Is it such a crime that I want better for myself?”

You shook your head, feeling for him, but… “These things take time. Despair leads to rushed actions.”

He grimaced. “So you'd have me turn to hope?”

“Yes.”

He clicked his tongue. “There's nothing quite as cruel as hope, darling.”

You heard Wyll let out an exasperated sigh from across the room. “Astarion, I will not judge you for the decision you made to mingle with Ava – you had your reasons. But the consequences seem severe enough even if she isn't involved in either of the killings.”

He remained silent.

“It's not just about you anymore. She took an interest in her blood and is now using it as a bargaining chip,” he said. “That is unacceptable.”

“I fully agree with Wyll,” Shadowheart said as she came to sit next to you once again.

“And that is why you'll let me go to her,” Astarion said.

“You're still under house arrest. The Council of Four will–”

“To Hells with them all!” Astarion said through clenched teeth, fangs peeking through. “We're your friends, are we not? And since you're so adamant about my fault in this, allow me to set things right.”

“A good call,” Shadowheart chimed in with a nod.

Wyll seemed taken aback by his words and his frown deepened. “I may have the final word as the Grand Duke, but I cannot consciously go against a collective ruling.”

“The circumstances have changed,” Astarion retorted simply. “I will go to her and you're free to have your Fists point a thousand stakes at me along the way if it eases your mind.”

You could tell Wyll felt torn between duty and reasoning, and you didn't envy him in the slightest.

“You don't understand the consequences of–”

Astarion's face darkened and a devious smile tugged at his lips. “Oh, darling. I do understand. I simply do not care.”

Wyll took a deep breath, clearly realising he was fighting a losing battle.

He turned to face the Fist by his side. “Send word to the Council.”

The tall and broad man nodded before exiting through the front door.

“You can't be serious,” Astarion scoffed. “You should have kept this between us. They don't have to know.”

But Wyll merely shook his head. “We can do things your way and my way.”

Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan.

“I'm coming with you,” you said, fully determined..

Shadowheart immediately gripped your arm firmly. “No.”

Wyll rose from his seat. “He shall not go alone, but you don't need to get more involved in this than you already are.”

Astarion turned to face you and raised one hand. “Absolutely not. You stay.”

That made your blood boil almost instantly and a flash of anger crossed your face. “I can fend for myself. Just let me–”

But your words were muffled by a deafening swirling and pulsing sound that came from outside.

In no time, the door was slammed open as a visibly irritated Lae'zel stormed inside.

“Tsk'va! Mages and their nauseating portals,” she grumbled before closing the door shut and plunging the room in candlelight once again. “Almost spilled the contents of my stomach. Twice.”

Both you and Shadowheart flocked to her side and you spoke first, “Are you alright? Where’s Gale?”

She nodded dismissively, placing her esteemed greatsword on the long table. “He stayed behind to converse with a few of his acquaintances, trying to make sense of what happened.”

“Well? What happened, then?” Astarion asked as he approached the three with you with Wyll right behind him.

“The man succumbed to a multitude of slashing wounds.”

Your eyes widened as you gasped.

“Slashing wounds? Was it an animal? A monster?” Wyll immediately pressed.

“We do not know. It was a rather brutal sight even for someone like me,” Lae'zel said with a frown.

A shiver spread across your body and you felt nauseous all of a sudden.

“Was there anything odd about it?” Shadowheart asked.

“Because a man being brutally shredded to pieces isn't odd enough?” Astarion said with a scoff.

She ignored him. “Were there traces of necrotic magic?”

Lae'zel arched a brow. “No. What's with this interrogation?”

Shadowheart was definitely trying to find a common element between the two deaths… and Ava.

And it seemed that there was nothing there.

Yet.

“We are trying to figure out if Ava could have had a hand in this.”

Lae'zel didn't budge. “Who?”

“Ava.”

Lae'zel turned to Astarion. “Your hairdresser?”

This time, Shadowheart clicked her tongue impatiently, hands on her hips. “Astarion struck a deal with some monster hunter turned blood merchant and got her involved.” She extended one arm to at you. “This Ava woman now wants her blood for whatever nefarious reason and might also be the one to blame for the death that led to them getting arrest and – quite possibly – the one from today.”

Your eyes widened, quite astonished that she was able to spill all that information in one swift breath.

If the circumstances weren't quite so dire, you would also have chuckled from how she sounded like a child who was telling her strict parent on her misbehaving sibling.

Astarion was obviously offended. “Conveniently leaving out the part where I am entitled to mingling with whomever I want, and that I was completely oblivious to Ava's finding and her proposal.”

Lae'zel glanced at you. “What proposal?”

“It's fine. Don't worry. I won't go through with any of it,” you said reassuringly, placing your hand on her wrist, knowing fully well she was itching to swing her sword on him. “This is all one big mess, but he truly didn't know.”

Shadowheart growled. “You do not have to keep defending him!”

Wyll spoke before you could. “Shadowheart. I understand your indignation, but we need to move on from the constant pointless bickering. What is done is done.”

Astarion clapped thrice. “Ah! The voice of reason!”

She threw him a death glare before crossing her arms and tapping her foot irritably on the floor, but not uttering another word.

Lae'zel, on the other hand, had her narrowed eyes set on Astarion. “You are fortunate she adores that pretty head attached to your body.”

“Was that a compliment, Lae'zel?” he taunted.

“Your ability to turn any remark into an opportunity to feed your ego is truly astounding, Astarion.”

He smirked happily in response. “I do my best – or worst, depending on your taste.”

“Enough of this,” you interjected as you stared at Lae'zel. “When is Gale returning?”

She shrugged. “Unclear. He is also trying to find another contact who might help out with the Wish spell.”

“No.”

All heads turned to Astarion.

His brows knitted together. “No. No one else is getting involved until we figure out what is happening.”

Your eyes met his in mingled surprise and confusion.

Even Shadowheart was stunned silent as her face softened.

“I thought you wanted this more than anything,” Wyll asked.

“Well, yes. But not when people are turning up dead all around me.”

Lae'zel frowned. “So, all of this for nothing? Had a sudden change of heart about your inability to walk in the sun again?”

He rolled his eyes. “Heavens forbid I'm the one pointing the moral compass in the right direction. Don't act so surprised, darling. I still know what I want and what I need to do.”

You closed the distance between you and him, worry brewing in your heart.

“Astarion, the Wish spell isn't easy to come by. It's not easy to find someone willing to teach it and Gale is a powerful wizard and strong candidate,” you said, trying to reason with him as you placed a hand on his arm. “I understand your reluctance, but we might have to wait even longer if this opportunity is disregarded.”

He didn't even flinch. “This is ultimately my choice, and I choose to wait. I've had it with others dictating how I should feel and act. This is the sensible thing to do.”

For centuries, he had belonged to everyone – to anyone – but himself.

Both in body and mind.

So, if this was what he truly thought was best for him, who were you to deny him of it? Maybe you would have chosen differently, but this wasn't truly about you, was it?

He would tell you otherwise, of course. That you had been the stepping stone to his healing process since the nautiloid crash, but you couldn't and wouldn't take full credit for it.

This was a joint effort and you would empower him all the way through.

“I stand with you,” you said eventually said, breaking the silence.

He gradually relaxed under your touch.

Shadowheart spoke next, “I respect your decision, Astarion. We need to see if there is a link between the two deaths. I can go ahead through the portal and ask Gale to return.”

He nodded.

“Very well,” she said with a curt smile.

Wyll approached the door. “I will inform the guards to accompany you once dusk hits, Astarion.”

He nodded again. “Thank you.”

Lae'zel then cursed and left the room with a loud bang behind her as the door closed shut.

Your hand came to his shoulder and his crimson eyes were on you again. “Let me come with you.”

“No.”

You scowled. “I'm not some frail sorcerer. I can stand by your side and help.”

This time, he chuckled. “Sweetheart, you are more capable than most of us combined here. My reluctance doesn't stem from my lack of faith in your abilities,” he said, voice firm and collected. “If anything were to happen to you because of me, I'd never forgive myself. Allow me to handle this.”

Your heart was hammering fast in your chest from his words, and even though you wanted to argue with his decision, you held your tongue back.

In truth, you were mostly scared Ava would have something up her sleeve and hurt him. That was what was eating at your nerves.

But still, you nodded

It was settled then.

You made your way down the corridor, coming to a halt as the faint glow spilled from inside his room.

The door was open for a change.

A comforting smile curled your lips, knowing you'd find him inside.

As you approached the doorway, you spotted Astarion across the room, flicking through a few pieces of cloth placed on the round table.

You knocked twice on the wood “May I?”

He nodded. “It's your house.”

“Well, it's your room,” you retorted. “For now, at least,” you quickly added, not wanting to seem overbearing. After all, he wasn't ultimately here on his own volition.

“You don't have to keep asking,” he said with a faint smile.

Your eyes landed on his bed as you walked in, causing your heart to skip a beat.

A few hours ago, the two of you had been lost in each other's pleasure on that very same spot. Now, the bedclothes had been laid sprawled across it, no creases or any remaining proof of your earlier endeavour.

The two of you had been robbed of after care and a much needed talk about what had happened.

Even if he had seemed quite content during and after all of it, you found yourself always hung on the fear that you had rushed through it all.

So, you needed the affirmation. You needed to hear his thoughts on it and to ensure no boundaries had been crossed.

You approached the table and your gaze roamed cross the clear vials that he had placed by his twin daggers.

Odourless.

Colourless.

Poison.

“Lethal?”

He dabbed a selected piece of cloth on the clear liquid. “No.”

An uneasy feeling began to take root. “Do you think she'll try to hurt you?”

“It would be rather foolish of her,” he mused, dragging the damp fabric along each blade, coating them in a fine layer of poison. “But I've been wrong before about people, so – as they say – better safe than sorry.”

It wasn’t the reassurance you were seeking, but Astarion was more than capable when it came to self-defence.

“Besides, she needs me more than I need her,” he concluded, inspecting the glinting blade close to his eyes. “And if she fails to provide satisfactory answers, the Fists will deal with her.”

You nodded, but still failing to push your fear aside. “What if there is really someone after us? What if she's not connected to any of this?”

You had purposefully let out the faint implication that maybe there was a connection to Cazador. He didn't need to be troubled with that in case Ava was bluffing.

Astarion sheathed both daggers on either side of his waist before his eyes landed on you. “If that is the case, then she will tell me who it is. And she better have a godsdamned good justification for why she thought I would allow you to be involved.”

You absentmindedly bit your lip and he smiled warmly, coming to stand in front of you, wiping his hands clean from any trace of poison.

Silently, he leaned to press a lingering kiss on your forehead, his cool lips making you flinch slightly.

It was as if a surge of lightning had been cast throughout your body, setting you alight.

“About earlier…” you said, swallowing your nervousness.

He traced your jawline with his thumb before tipping your head back so you could properly meet his gaze.

“Darling, already back for another round?”

You broke into laughter. “No! No… that wasn't what I trying to say.”

He tapped your nose lovingly and it was as if the two of you were long-time lovers, used to each other's teases and mannerisms.

Your heart skipped yet another beat.

“I know. Just couldn't miss the opportunity to have you all flustered for me again,” he said with a devious grin. “But do go on.”

“I just want to make sure… it was alright… what we did, I mean,” you said in a whisper.

Astarion's brows furrowed together. “I thought that was pretty much evident…”

A lump swelled in your throat.

You truly didn't want to overstep any lines.

But you had to know. You had to hear it.

“I am talking about… up here,” you said, pressing a finger softly to his temple. “I… just want to make sure you're truly fine. That we're truly fine.”

You held your breath for a moment, dreading a worrisome reply.

He caught hold of your hand and pressed your finger to his lips. “I will always tell you if it's too much.”

A wave of relief washed over you and you allowed yourself to breathe normally.

Still…

You swallowed again. “Promise?”

“I promise, sweetheart,” he said, using your own finger to tap the tip of your nose, earning a heartfelt giggle from you.

“So… it wasn't too much?”

“No,” he said truthfully.

You nodded as he gripped your chin. “How did it feel?”

He paused for a while, pondering. “It felt… right.”

Your stomach turned and your heart sped up from how close he was to you.

How close he felt to you.

“I want to kiss you,” he said all of a sudden. “May I?”

You felt as though you would melt into a puddle from how desperate he sounded.

“You don't have to always ask,” you said truthfully.

He then pressed his cool lips to the corner of your mouth and you instinctively gasped. “I just adore the sound of your voice when you let me in.”

His lips moved to the opposite side, lingering there, and a rush of heat pooled in your cheeks.

“May I kiss you, darling?” he asked once more, pulling back just enough for his lips to barely touch yours. “May I taste you?”

Gods…

“Please do.”

He didn't need to be told twice.

The kiss started off slow at first as his lips molded into yours. But as soon as you made way for his tongue to slide inside, Astarion became the image of hunger.

He cradled your face in his hands and pressed both thumbs on your chin, so you'd open up wider for him.

A flash of memory filled your mind and you recalled how he used to do the same whenever you were on your knees, struggling to fit his thick cock in your mouth.

“You can take more of me, can't you, my sweet?” he'd say, voice dripping with lust.

You'd always struggle at first. Always. But he was such a caring lover and he would always ensure you took your time.

You quickly shuddered as your clit began throbbing evenly.

His tongue was as relentless against yours as his cock had once been, but his eagerness and hunger had his razor-like fang nip at your lower lip, drawing blood.

“Shit,” you groaned from the sharp sting.

Astarion immediately pulled back and you stared at him in confusion.

You felt a few drops dribbling down your chin.

Why wasn't he tasting you?

His eyes were fixed on your lips and his eyes narrowed with bloodlust.

“You're letting it go to waste?” you asked, swiping your finger across the bleeding wound.

He swallowed with a strained smile.

Oh, he was struggling to hold back…

“Well, darling… I don't intend on leaving the house with my cock hard with your blood.”

You clenched so hard you felt a gush of wetness being squeezed out.

But there was only so much Astarion could withstand, so you couldn't fight the moan that tore through your throat as he placed the softest kiss to your lip.

“Just before I go,” he whispered. “So I can take you with me.”

You clenched again and you could feel your clit swell up with each throb.

He eventually parted from you, licking his blood-stained lips as his eyes held that lustful gaze you adored.

“I'll be back soon.”

You were left petrified in place as he swiftly made his way out.

It wasn’t fair how soaked you were.

How soaked he had left you.

You glanced over your shoulder and realised the door had been left open all along and you rushed to the window, tugging on the curtain.

The sun had set as he appeared down below, followed closely by two Fists.

And the single mage slayer.

The three of them trailed after his steps and darted off into the distance.

And you realised that without a mage slayer around to keep your magic at bay, you could simply vanish.

You glanced at the vials of poison on the nearby table and smiled.

TBC

Series masterlist

Ao3

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x female tav #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x female reader #astarion x you #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #the arrangement #astarion smut

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lazycats-stuff · 7 months

Note

Hello, I was wondering if you could do a Ra's Al Ghul x eldest son reader, where the reader is being courted by Ra's and the Batfamily's reactions to seeing their brother receiving gifts from Ra's

Okay, I have screamed when I got this. If anybody wants me to write about Ra's, when I open my requests, please do send them. Pretty please. I just love Ra's. Also, 2.8k words! My fingers hurt, but I love it.

Summary: Ra's is courting (Y/N). (Y/N) really doesn't know how to feel.

Warnings: Ra's is sending gifts to (Y/N), Bruce is protective, everyone is protective, implications of smut, stalking(?), Ra's is a gentleman, dinner, first date, Alfred has a shotgun ready for Ra's

(Y/N) has known Ra's for a very long time. A little over 11 years now. Ra's has in a way see him grow up from being a little Robin, a little, defenseless child to a brave vigilante by the name of (V/N). He had, alongside his family had run ins with Ra's.

Ra's has tried to kill him a few times, tried to destroy Gotham City just to cleanse it again, kidnapped (Y/N) once to try to brainwash him and has an unhealthy obsession with Bruce being his heir.

He has heard it in many of his monologues through the years. It made Alfred roll his eyes and just cock his shotgun in response. It was a scary sight once, when (Y/N) was just a teen. (Y/N) knew that Alfred doesn't have a no kill rule like Bruce.

Somehow, Alfred is now the main rival of the infamous Ra's al Ghul. Over Bruce. At first, (Y/N) was concerned for his grandpa, but Alfred assured him that nothing will happen to him.

Now, (Y/N) has just started college, paid for by Bruce who made a college fund when he adopted (Y/N) officially. (Y/N) cried when he got accepted and then told that it was paid.

He still lived at home while he was looking for a job to work while in college and to get his own place and officially move out of the manor and be independent. Bruce advised him to save all of that money and use it when he starts officially working after college and to get a head start on his future apartment.

But for some reason, (Y/N) has seemed to forgotten about Ra's. He has been quiet and the family's attention was always on Gotham rouges for the last year so Ra's was not even on his mind at his point. But it has all changed one random day.

(Y/N) walked through the doors of the manor, tired from working. He took his shoes off and quickly went to the kitchen where his family was seated, looking confused, worried and angry. (Y/N) was confused and Bruce quickly walked over to his son, shielding him from the kitchen.

" Hey (Y/N), how was work? "Bruce asked and (Y/N) just raised a brow. He wasn't fooled with anything that they were trying to pull. He is an adult, not a child.

" Bruce, you know I love you, but whatever it is, I can handle it. " (Y/N) said, crossing his arms. Bruce wanted to sigh, but choose not to. He stepped aside to let (Y/N) see what was the fuss about.

He stopped when he saw flowers, a big bouquet light purple flowers. The boys stepped aside too, letting him look at the flowers. (Y/N) leaned forward, sniffing them. They were fresh, that much was obvious and they were safe to come close to them.

(Y/N) noticed a small card on the kitchen island next to it. The little card was emerald green with his name written over it in beautiful golden cursive letters. (Y/N) got an uneasy feeling, but still took the card to read through his contents.

To my (Y/N),

A sign of my love and courtship,

and a perfect gift for an elegant and dainty person.

Yours, Ra's al Ghul.

(Y/N) blinked a few times before opening his mouth, but he closed it quickly. Is this a game? A psychological trick for (Y/N) to let his guard down?

Ra's al Ghul is everything but a liar, but that doesn't mean that he won't trick you into a false sense of security.

" What the hell is this? " (Y/N) asked, turning to his family. Bruce wanted to say something, but he didn't know what.

" We don't know. It has been here when we all came back. " Damian said and he looked disturbed. He walked over to (Y/N) to hug him and (Y/N) wrapped his arms around him.

" Damian, don't take this the wrong way, but your grandfather is nuts." (Y/N) said, looking back at the card.

" These are called Asteria. They are meant for expressing the love in subtle ways. " Damian said, just hugging his older brother a bit tighter.

" Well, that is nice to know. " (Y/N) said and Jason looked outright disturbed.

" Whatever it is, I don't like it. " Tim and Dick agreed with him, voicing their agreements with their own opinions.

" Master (Y/N), I always have a shotgun ready in case of an emergencies. " Alfred said and (Y/N) chuckled at that.

" I will keep that in mind Alfred. " (Y/N) said and Bruce sighed quietly.

" I don't think I need to tell you to stay more vigilant... And I need to upgrade our security system. How do they keep breaking in? " Bruce wondered and Alfred just glanced towards the pantry.

His beloved shotgun is always ready.

" Al Ghuls can break in anywhere. " (Y/N) said, glancing at Damian with a smile on his face, trying to show Damian that he wasn't mad at him. Damian just sighed quietly, hugging his brother tightly.

" Okay, when we are out somewhere one of us will escort you. Same goes for patrol. "

(Y/N) sighed, shaking his head. " Bruce, I don't need bodyguards. " (Y/N) protested, but Bruce shook his head. " (Y/N)- "

" I can be with him father! " Damian chimed in and (Y/N) nearly gave in an urge to coo at him. Nearly.

" Dames, my baby brother, I love you, but you have school. " (Y/N) explained and then turned back to Bruce.

" I'm not having anybody tag me. " (Y/N) stated firmly.

" Okay, how about a compromise? " Bruce suggested and (Y/N) nodded, waiting for the proposition.

" You can switch to online classes until we figure it out. " Bruce said and (Y/N) shook his head.

" No. I won't stop my life because of him. " (Y/N) said and Bruce knows that there won't be a compromise with him.

" Just promise me you will be careful then. " Bruce said and (Y/N) nodded.

" If you need me too, I can drive you to college. " Jason chimed in.

" I can drive you back. " Dick added.

" And I can make sure that your phone is impossible to track. " Tim said and (Y/N) nodded.

" And I can give my blades. " Damian said and (Y/N) now cooed at Damian.

" Oh my sweet dear Dames, I knew you loved me. " (Y/N) joked and Damian grumbled something before letting go of (Y/N).

" I tolerate you at best. " Damian grumbled and (Y/N) smiled at his brother.

The next thing that has happened was a very expensive looking suit made in his measurements and in Ra's signature color, emerald. It was hanging in his room and (Y/N) simply went to Alfred who took his beloved shotgun to clear the manor.

The others were quick to ditch work or school and came home. Bruce closed off (Y/N)'s room as a crime scene and Tim quickly went down to scan the cameras. Alfred made some tea for (Y/N) who was a little bit shaken up.

He still held on his shotgun, watching his oldest grandson like a hawk. (Y/N) was shaken up because his room, his space, was defiled in a way. Sure, he didn't look for anything specific, he just left the suit, but it still felt like he has been defiled. It's the sanctity of the room.

" How are they breaking in? " Jason asked as he walked in from the garden. He scoured the area around the mansion. He didn't like this at all.

" Master Jason, they are Al Ghuls, they can break in into almost everything. " Dick said from the outside as he was still searching for clues.

" This is insane. " Damian admitted, walking in with a tablet in his hands. " Nothing on the footage. " Damian said, putting the tablet down.

(Y/N) took a sip of his tea, trying to not really think about this.

" Was anybody at home? " (Y/N) asked and they all shook their heads. (Y/N) sighed quietly.

" He has to monitor us then. " (Y/N) said and Jason clicked his tongue.

" More like he monitors you. " Jason said, making Dick smack him at the back of his head.

" Hey! "

" Don't make the situation worse. " Dick said and Jason grumbled something that (Y/N) couldn't make out.

" He is getting ballsy. " (Y/N) muttered and Alfred nodded, shotgun still in his hold. (Y/N) glanced at Alfred who was holding the shotgun over his shoulders, looking like cowboy.

" How long will you hold on? " (Y/N) asked Alfred who just shrugged.

" Until master Bruce clears your room. And until we know what the old bastard wants. "

Just the person that Alfred mentioned walked in.

" No sign of a break in, I scanned for any type of drugs, there are none, no listening devices and that's about it. " Bruce said, rubbing his face. What does Ra's want with his son?

" When he comes to Gotham, I'm going to maim him. " Bruce growled out and (Y/N) knew that it was just a matter of time when Ra's came. The others are aware of it too.

(Y/N) won't be going on patrol alone anymore.

The day when Ra's came to Gotham came about a week later. (Y/N) finished everything he needed for the day and was walking down the college stone stairs. He went to the parking lot to get his car, but stopped when he saw Ra's standing next to his car.

He looked great as always. A dark green suit, similar to the one he sent to (Y/N), a few rings on his fingers. He smirked in his usual way when he saw (Y/N). (Y/N) just clicked his tongue in annoyance.

" Ra's... "

" Did you like my gifts? I have one more on the way. " Ra's said, walking closer. (Y/N) stood still, allowing Ra's to walk closer to him. My God, Ra's since when did Ra's become so good looking? Wait... What the actual fuck is happening? Why is he thinking that way?!

" I don't know what you are playing at, but all of this has to stop. " (Y/N) said and Ra's tilted his head.

" I know you still have the flowers and I know you have the suit I have sent you. If you really wanted me to stop, you would make a point to burn them habibi. " Ra's said ever so smoothly, using the pet name. (Y/N) knows a good amount of Arabic thanks to Damian and he blushed.

" Ra's, it's wrong. I have known you since I was 8. It's fucking wrong. " (Y/N) tried and Ra's shook his head with an amused smile.

" I can see you don't really mean it. And why not give it a chance? You know I pick my partners carefully. I know you very well and I know you are strong. I want a strong partner and I know you can be that. "

" This isn't a ploy to make Bruce or Damian take over the League? " (Y/N) asked and Ra's shook his head.

" It's not a ploy habibi. " Ra's started, something shining in his eyes. (Y/N) saw the sheer sincerity and honesty behind the eyes. Those two qualities are often replaced with coldness.

" Ra's- "

" How about we give it a chance? I promise you we will be in Gotham and won't leave the city at all. " Ra's said, now in (Y/N)'s personal space, taking his hands into his, still looking into his eyes. (Y/N) swallowed as he looked down at their hands. He knows that he should say no to these feelings that started surfacing during the week.

He should say no.

" Okay. I will give it a chance. " (Y/N) said and Ra's smiled. (Y/N) looked up to see a sincere smile, the one that gave him wrinkles around his eyes.

" Can I kiss your cheek? " Ra's asked and (Y/N) nodded, not trusting his voice right now.

Ra's kissed his cheek so gently that (Y/N) wouldn't believe that he is an assassin.

" I will see you tonight habibi. Wear the suit I sent you for tonight. I will pick you up at 6. " Ra's said, glancing behind (Y/N)'s shoulder. (Y/N) turned around where his dad was and he seemed pissed.

Ra's was already gone and (Y/N) knows he will hear no end of it.

Nobody could stop him from going on the date. Damian was conflicted, but if it made (Y/N) happy, then sure. But he will go after his grandfather if he hurts him.

The rest of the family tried to get him to stay home, but (Y/N) said that he will go. Alfred said that if he gets hurt, Ra's will be dead by sunrise and won't be able to come back to life with the pit.

The others tried to agree with Alfred and Damian, but they couldn't. But they had to trust (Y/N)'s decision. And who knows? Maybe it will be a... Well, it will at least be a better story than Twilight.

And if Ra's is serious, Bruce will be make sure to test him. Damian too. Alfred will be ready with his shotgun. He has been dropping bodies for years before becoming a butler.

He is not afraid.

(Y/N) was picked up by Ra's at 6 pm on the dot. The ride was filled with a nice conversation and a lot of compliments from Ra's. The restaurant that Ra's choose was extremely fancy and (Y/N) knows that the food is good here.

The dinner was the best dinner that (Y/N) has ever had. The date went well too. Ra's and (Y/N) had a conversation about everything that came to mind and they didn't even touch on their... Other jobs, well, a better phrase would be their other sides.

(Y/N) loved it and then, Ra's took him to the hotel where he was staying. It was a penthouse, how could it not be? Then they kissed officially and then passion overtook them both.

(Y/N) opened his eyes, gently rubbing his eyes. He turned around and he didn't see Ra's next to him. He was alone in bed. Where is Ra's? He was wearing boxers and he was covered in love bites. Ra's saw how tactile he is during sex and would he leave him?

He tried to get up, but his hips were hurting. He hissed as he laid back down. He didn't want to strain himself.

After a minute, the door opened and Ra's entered with bags. He smiled when he saw that (Y/N) was awake.

" Good morning habibi. I just went to get us breakfast from your favorite place. " He said, sitting down next to him with the bags, showing him what he bought.

All of (Y/N)'s favorite things.

" Thanks. " (Y/N) said and Ra's saw something in (Y/N)'s demeanor.

" Did you think I really left you all alone without a reason? Oh habibi. " Ra's crooned at him, kissing him softly with a smile.

After they separated, (Y/N) sat up straight and started eating. It was nice and after they ate, Ra's cleaned up and laid back down with (Y/N). (Y/N) still remembers last night.

How Ra's treated him gently, kissing him gently, making sure that he gelt good throughout... And the aftercare was something that (Y/N) didn't believe that Ra's knew. He was cleaned up in the shower, then Ra's helped him with putting his underwear on and then led him to the bed where he embraced him tightly.

" So (Y/N), what do you think? " Ra's asked, hands gently caressing his body in a nonsexual way.

" I think I would like a second date. " (Y/N) said, nuzzling Ra's neck.

" And your family is okay with this? "

" Oh not really, but they trust me and if you hurt me, there will be hell to pay. " (Y/N) said, closing his eyes.

" Are you still tired? " Ra's asked and (Y/N) hummed in agreement. Ra's adjusted and (Y/N) fell asleep quickly. Ra's didn't fall asleep, instead he just watched (Y/N) and his face.

He didn't know when his feelings started for him, but he wanted to do this properly. If he did anything against (Y/N), Bruce would be there to destroy the League and Alfred would kill him.

He had no doubt about it.

But he didn't have any plans to hurt (Y/N). He will make sure to show (Y/N) that he genuinely loves him and that this is not a ploy for any of his schemes.

#dc comics #x male reader #dc x male reader #batfamily #ra's al ghul x male reader #batfamily x male reader

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masterqwertster · 5 months

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A difference between Ashton absorbing the Spark and Fearne absorbing the Spark that I haven't seen discussed is that Fearne had the ability to ripcord out until the end of the 6th round/start of the 7th round while Ashton only had to the end of the 1st round.

Now by "ripcord out," I mean they could have halted the absorption process by either removing the Quintessence Array or potentially pulling the Spark out of the Array's funnel. Essentially, the Spark's crystal vessel had to still exist and be a separate receptacle, much like how the Quintessence Array cannot fully transfer a creature's magical essence without proper absorption time.

For Ashton, the Spark's crystal crumpled to nothing by the end of the first round via CON Saves (Ashton's early rounds were weird in that Matt rolled multiple damages against him instead of just one, especially the second CON Save round). All they had were those initial moments where it didn't seem impossible, didn't seem like anything they couldn't handle, to back out. 36 Damage and unaware they had to go for 9 more rounds where one pulse of Damage could do up to 60 Damage.

Fearne, on the other hand, besides having a much gentler time of it with zero CON Saves and able to use her own magic to help keep herself up from lower Damage rolls, had until the end of the sixth round or the start of the seventh round before the second Spark crystal finished crumpling into nothing. She had time to assess if it would be too much for her to finish, time to say "No, this was a bad idea. I don't want it."

I'm sure part of that difference is Ashton jumped in on a bad idea and was being forced to deal with the Consequences while Fearne's was a much more measured decision and the "safe" route. You know, game mechanics and penalties.

But consider it narratively.

The way I read it, one of two things happened: Ashton's body is so attuned/ready to be a vessel of great powers that it just slorped the Spark right up, no hesitation. Or, Rau'shan was so eager to move in with his old partner, that he jumped right in (and later backed out because it was too crowded to be tenable). And honestly? Both have interesting implications.

If Ashton is just a higher power absorbing machine, that can mean some interesting things for how he ended up with the Shard of Ka'Mort. Like that the Hishari ritual wasn't meant to bestow the Shard to anyone, but through whatever fuck up happened, Ashton chomped it up. Or that it was about bestowing, but Ashton was such a better vessel that it fucked up the ritual. And the Potion of Possibility giving them a half-beacon brain just happened. There's no explanation as to why it didn't just give him a Mote of Possibility to essentially reroll a Death Save into stabilizing himself rather than die, which makes sense with what the Potion does. Instead it made Ashton a permanent well of dunamis. Maybe that happened because Ashton is titan-blooded. Maybe it's because they are uniquely suited to being a vessel of great powers, that they possess a body hungry to hold more power.

On the other hand, if Rau'shan wanted in to reunite with Ka'Mort with all haste, that makes Ashton his first choice of vessel. Then Rau'shan backed out because three's a crowd and a quality vessel does no one any good if it breaks trying to use that power (because Ashton did manage to contain it all). And maybe he goes a little slower when a second vessel attempts to hold his Spark, just to make sure she's not going to blow up on him.

Or even Fearne just doesn't have the same draw for the Spark as Ashton, so it crumbled at the rate the Quintessence Array drained it at instead of being sucked straight through to it's new home.

I'm just saying, it's a very interesting difference that didn't need to exist to show how much easier absorbing the Spark is for not-Ashton.

#MQ blathers #critical role #cr meta #c3e77 #c3e80 #ashton greymoore #fearne calloway

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obey-me-disaster · 1 year

Text

You're the one who should live

A/N: I am going through a terrible writer's block for a post so I decided to write about one of my older brainrots. !!This will contain spoilers for lesson 38!!

MC pointing the blade at themself when they had a choice to not point it at anyone all together makes for some fun implications

Warnings: mentions of death, MC contemplating killing themself, self depricating/low self esteem on MC's part.

Summary: After the night dagger incident Lucifer decides to confront MC about their choice in pointing the blade at themself and not at him.

Lucifer x gn!MC

Since the incident with the night dagger there has been something that weighed heavily on Lucifer's mind and that is 'why did MC pointed the night dagger at themself?'. He still has the image of the blade nearly stabbing their stomach, he could still feel how their hands slipped from his, with the knife being pointed at them. Just thinking of what would have happen if Simeon was even one second later sends shivers down his spine.

He went into their room that night to sacrifice himself and give everyone a chance to severe The Ring only to end up nearly losing the one he loves the most.

And that's what brought him back into their room, a few days later after the incident. He would have loved to confront them about their choice to sacrifice themself sooner, but he wanted to give them time to get used to the ring of light. Or at least that's what he kept telling himself.

Not wanting to think about it any longer he decided to knock on their door and get it over with. It was not long before MC opened the door for him. From the look on their face, they didn't expect for Lucifer to be on the other side of the door. It was rare for the avatar of pride to come into their room unannounced, especially since he would usually opt to call MC into his room.

"Lucifer, did something happen? You're not one to really come into my room out of nowhere, not that I mind anyway." MC moved away to let Lucifer enter their room and closing the door behind him.

"Is that weird for me to want to spend time with you? I don't have to always invite you over to my room to be with you." Taking a seat at the table in their room he motioned for them to take a sit right next to him. "But, I guess you are right, I do have something that I need to talk with you."

Making their way to the table, MC took a seat right next to him. Whenever Lucifer had something to talk it was never good. It didn't help that the demon's expression was unreadable, he was neither happy or mad. It was like he was waiting for something to happen, something to react to.

Both of them were on the edge, the silence was too loud and no matter how much they kept on shifting in their seats, they couldn't make themselves comfortable.

"I will get straight to the subject, why did you point the blade at yourself when I told you to use it on me?" MC's whole body went stiff at the mention of the incident.

They were not surprised that Lucifer wanted answers, after all, what they did was reckless and in his eyes, their decision was nothing more than a spur of the moment decision. It just that they weren't expecting to talk about it so soon, especially in their room. They thought they had more time to think about what to tell him.

"Do you really have to ask me why I didn't want to kill you? The same way you want to protect I want to keep you safe and stabbing you is the opposite of that." MC internally slapped themself at how nervous they sounded. They looked expectedly at Lucifer, trying to see if his expression changed somehow but all he did was close his eyes. He looked as if he was contemplating the next move.

"That's not exactly what I asked you, but I suppose the fault lies with me since I was not specific enough." Getting up from his seat he moved to stay in front of MC, towering over them. "Why did you point the blade at yourself? If all you wanted to do was to not kill me then you could have used your pact to make me stay, throw away the knife and refuse to use but instead you chose to point it at yourself, why?"

If MC could be described as something, then it would be a deer caught in headlights. The air around them was suffocating despite Lucifer doing nothing but question them. Taking a slow deep breath they begun to explain themself "I mean, I don't really know?" Lucifer only raised an eyebrow at them but didn't dare to interrupt.

"Wait no...what I meant to say is that I don't know how to explain it. I just saw you guiding my hands into stabbing you and I acted out of reflex. I didn't even realize that I nearly killed myself in the process." It was bullshit, the excuse was bullshit and they knew it, Lucifer knew and MC was sure that Lucifer knew how fake the excuse was.

They were expecting Lucifer to continue pressing them for the truth, to directly call them out on their lie but he did neither of those things. He knelt down before, taking their hands into his. His expression was no longer unreadable and it was not full of annoyance at being being lied to either. Instead he looked tired, even sad if MC paid close attention to him.

"MC, don't lie to me, especially with such a lame excuse." Sighing, he started to gently run his thumbs over MC's hands. "I remember everything that happened during the time I had amnesia. That includes the night dagger incident and the look on your face when you switch the blade from pointing in my direction to yours."

His speech was soft, no longer did he resembled the Avatar of Pride, all powerful and intimidating. He just looked like someone worried about his lover and that's because he was. His love nearly killed themself in front of him and he wanted answers on why. "That was not the face of someone acting out on pure instinct. To some extent, you planned to use the blade on yourself so I will ask you again." He took a moment to look at MC before continuing. "Why did you point the blade at yourself?" Seeing Lucifer in that state nearly made MC burst into tears. It felt just like the moment where he collapsed and woke up with no memories of them.

"You see, when Diavolo and Solomon announced that the power within me is the cause of both your amnesia and the weird happenings around the three worlds I didn't know what to make of it at first. It only got worse when they said there were only two ways of stopping it, the night dagger and the ring of light." Looking at the ring on their MC continued to talk. "No one knew where the ring was at the moment, severing the pacts wouldn't stop my powers from going wild and possibly hurting those around me and we weren't sure if the night dagger would even work."

Seeing MC starting to tense, Lucifer squeezed their hands as a way to comfort them. "So I came to the conclusion that if things went south I would simply kill myself, that way The Ring would die out with me." Hearing them talk about killing themself broke his heart but he didn't interrupt them, after all they needed to let out this burden they have been carrying.

"When Solomon told me that the dagger would only work if I would stab you with it, that's when I made up my mind to follow my plan. After all, I couldn't possibly bring myself to kill you..." Despite stopping from talking, it was clear they still had something to say.

Bringing a gloved hand to their face, Lucifer stroked their cheek. "There is more to it, am I right? It won't do you good to keep secrets like that..." He was aware that he sounded like a hypocrite but he could care less. There was something eating MC from the inside and he would not let them continue on like that.

"There is also what Solomon said l, about 'sacrificing a demon for the sake of the human world'...if that was the case wouldn't I be the better choice. Outside of feelings and only looking at ranks, I am only a human that in a few decades would be gone while you're a ruler of the underworld and Diavolo's right hand man. If someone were to die it should have been me-"

"ENOUGH!" The hand that was gently caressing their cheek was now covering their mouth. "I will not have you downplay yourself in any shape or form. You talk about 'leaving feelings aside' but you talk from a place of low self esteem." Lucifer was angry but not at them. He was furious at the way they looked down on themself and with the fact that he never noticed this side of them.

He wanted to say more but one look at MC and he could see how tired they were and honestly, he was in no good shape either. "It's getting, both of us should get some rest. We will continue this conversation another time." Getting up from the floor he extended his hand to MC.

"You're right, it's quite late and you still have to go to your room." MC tried to go and open the door for him but was stopped by the demon holding their hand. "Why should I go to my room? Didn't I say earlier? I don't always have to invite you over to my room, I can spend the night here with you too."

Putting a hand on the small of their back Lucifer started to guide towards the bed. "Besides, I would not dare to leave you alone when you're like this. You've already done so much for everyone, allow me to return the favor."

#obey me lucifer #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me x mc #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer x mc #mc has a shit self esteem #but so do I #I'VE HAD THIS SCENARIO IN MY HEAD FOR MONTHS #more than an year actually #in my mind there was more anger between MC and Lucifer but soft Luci is also nice

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writefightandflightclub · 3 months

Text

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Two (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but can you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Series genre: a LOT of tasty angst, tasty smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+ / NSFW / MDNI. Minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. Posting schedule and series masterlist are here.

Author’s note: Thank you SO much for the response to Chapter One! And if you're still with it, I hope you enjoy chapter 2! It has been a LOOONNNNGGG time coming! 😆 This one is slightly shorter, with a bit of exposition to bridge between the OG instalment and the meat of our newly embarked upon continuation! The next chapters are where things really kick-off, but I do hope you enjoy this stoking of some tension, and, of course, finally seeing Santiago again - for the first time since the jarring conclusion to chapter one!!!!!!

Word count: 4.8k for this part

“It’s okay,” Frankie rumbles, looking at you levelly. “You can ask me about him.”

You sigh, squirming in place - on the rear porch steps of your sister’s home - as your game is finally unmasked. Your pretense dashed.

The hubbub of the lazy, Sunday BBQ is nothing but background to you now as Frankie zones in on your true wants, rendering you as an observer - rather than a participant - in the annual gathering you usually draw an abundance of joy from.

Not so today, despite your best efforts at going through the motions. At pretending like everything is fine.

Up to now, chatting idly with your bud in this safe little bubble, you’ve cycled through a gazillion conversation starters; each to emphasise just how interested you are in Frankie, and Whatever He Has Going On. Clearly though, you have failed to convince. Your friend simply knows you too well. Knows your weaknesses.

Your one true weakness. Santiago “Pope” Garcia.

You look at kind-eyed Frankie apologetically from beneath your lashes, sorry that your flimsy chat has failed to mask your disinterest in... um, whatever it was he was saying.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Cat.” Then, so help you, you ask the question you’ve actually been burning to ask all day. “How’s he doing, Frankie? Really?”

Confirming the shift in tone, Frankie sets his plate of food aside and nestles his bottle of beer on the corner of the lowest porch step. Now you’re having a conversation. The pilot tents his fingers together in his lap, giving your question the full merit it deserves. “Pope?”

Who else?

“He’s… fine,” Frankie nods, studying your face as he says the words. Noticing -no doubt- the way you chew on your lip as your gaze wanders, fixing on the man in question. As you watch him mingle comfortably, effortlessly, amongst the throng of people on the lawn. Making connections, as per usual.

Your stomach drops. An unease jostles in the pit of you. The niggle of regret.

You shouldn’t have invited the guys here today. Shouldn’t have agreed to have them be present at your family gathering. Shouldn’t have agreed to follow-up it up with a squad weekend at the beach house - no matter that it’s tradition. But, then again, who were you to disrupt the usual way of things? And, more so, who were you to pretend that you didn’t want to see him again? After all this time?

In truth, you had wanted nothing else but to see him again. That is, until you had laid eyes on him, and then, very quickly, you had pivoted. Wanted nothing more than to keep your distance.

Why?

Because by all accounts it’s true.

Santiago is fine.

Santiago certainly looks fine. He looks fine in all senses of the fucking word. He looks as though he’s thriving, in fact.

Your face falls at the implication: that he’s thriving without you.

With effort, you hum, schooling your expression into something neutral; however, Frankie’s already on to you. “Is that what you wanted to hear, chiquita?”

You turn your head towards your friend and exhale a small, pitiful laugh. Pondering Frankie’s question, you set your own plate and beer down too – a signal that shit’s getting real.

Is it?

Is that what you wanted to hear?

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I wanted to hear, Cat.” With a dejected sigh, you lean your head on Frankie’s shoulder, hooking your arm into the crook of his elbow. “Does that make me cruel? If I don’t wanna hear that he’s happy?”

Your buddy doesn’t answer rightaway, but he does rest a reassuring hand on your thigh in response, his plush bottom-lip protruding as he pouts – apparently mulling over whether or not to throw you a bone. “Okay. Look,” he begins - always a soft-touch for you - and you instantly perk-up just a little. “He had a rough spell when you left and-” Frankie huffs out air, shaking his head as though he might have gone too far in divulging already “-fuck, actually, you don’t wanna know.”

You head snaps up from Frankie’s shoulder as it begins to shake with mirth, your curiosity piqued.

“What?” you probe, as Frankie turns his head to look at you, a smile cracking his sharp features. Apparently, Frankie has a small part of him which is cruel too. “We stumbled upon his heartbreak playlist. And it was not pretty.”

“Come on now,” you protest, a little too defensively, your mouth suddenly dry. “I hardly broke the fucker’s heart.”

Frankie pumps his eyebrows. Shrugs his shoulders. Then, his bark-brown eyes mist over, just a little. “More likely than you think, chiquita.”

With that, your eyes flick right back to Santiago’s figure on the other side of the yard, as if trying to reconcile Frankie’s assertion with the reality you see before you. After all, Santiago “Pope” Garcia looks fine. In all senses of the word.

Right this second, for example, he’s engaged in a highly tactical water fight with your kid nephews. About to enter the killbox any moment, you wager, given that 5 and 7-year-olds don’t seem bound by those pesky rules of engagement. His cargo shorts are – naturally - far too tight, and he’s wearing his crisp blue shirt as though he forgot what buttons did half-way through getting dressed, the fabric split in a deep, plunging “V” across his tan chest.

Despite all that, however, the thing which captures your attention most, is the beaming, wide-open grin he has painted on his face.

He looks...

...Happy.

Genuinely happy. The bastard.

This is the first time he’s seen you since he stormed out of your apartment all those months ago. The first chance he’s had to make things right - and he hasn’t spoken a word to you all day. Despite being in your family’s yard. Eating your sister’s food. Playing with your goddamn nephews. You broke his heart, apparently. So Frankie tells you. And yet this fucker dares to looks happy.

So… Is that what you wanted?

For him to be happy?

Without you?

Or… is a small part of you cruel?

You’re not sure about the answer to that question, but you do know that your eyes turn mildly devilish as they flick back towards your buddy, your voice hushed and downright conspiratorial. All of a sudden, you’re not concerned with being the bigger person.

You decide you’ll willingly catch that bone Frankie is throwing. “Tell me more about this playlist, Francisco.”

You need this, you justify internally. You need something. Some sign that Santiago is hurting too.

You’ve needed this for months, in fact; but, goddamn - you especially need this before you and the squad spends a whole weekend together up at the beach house.

You need it badly.

Why?

Because you’re not fine.

Not fine at all.

Not fine without him.

This is your family's yard, and it’s your family’s party, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him since he stormed out of your apartment all those months ago… and you’re emphatically not happy about it. Have found that, despite what you had hoped for, your reunion hasn’t solved a damn thing. Hasn’t eased the knot in your chest. Hasn’t allowed you to feel any sense of resolution.

“Fuck.” Your eyes brim over with the realisation, wet and glassy, and a tight lump balls in your throat.

“Come on,” Frankie mutters - softly but urgently - as your eyes begin to swim with emotion. He nods up towards the interior of the house, and you are endlessly grateful when, with minimal spectacle, your buddy bundles you inside, his arm slung casually around your shoulder for comfort.

You’re not the retreating type. At all. You have always been comfortable running headlong into things that scare you. Even so, it is a marked relief when you do slink inside. A relief that you were able to save face. Keep your pain hidden. But, most of all, it is a relief that you no longer need to suffer Santiago’s abject joy.

It is a relief in the same way it is to retreat from the blazing sun, and you immediately find sanctuary in the cool, shaded interior of the house.

Still, given the tumult of emotions inspired by his general proximity today, you are less and less sure that you can handle this trip.

The only thing pushing you to go through with it, in fact, is the knowledge that there’s one thing harder than being close to Santiago… and that’s being apart from him.

Perhaps Frankie’s wrong. Perhaps you didn’t break Santiago’s heart when you left. But, one thing’s for sure. Leaving him had certainly broken yours.

Truth be told, even after all this time, you’ve barely begun to put yourself back together.

You’re in pieces; which - to be fair - is always how Santiago liked to see you, isn’t it?

A friend. A soldier. A lover.

That’s the only way you can stand to view him now. In mere fragments. In the shrapnel of stolen glances; because trying to see him all at once? That’s like trying to stare directly at the sun.

He is too bright for you and it burns. Even with all this distance.

***

You’re surrounded by laughter and chatter, yet you feel an unease. An unrest in the pit of you.

Will’s ballcap is tugged down over your eyes under the guise of staying warm - a flimsy excuse, considering the raging fire pit in the centre of you all, acting as the warm sun to your orbits of beer, passed amiably around from hand to hand via the cooler at Will’s side.

Naturally, the conversation has veered sharply towards the crude - it reliably does when you are and the boys are all together.

“For real, Pope. Since we’re, uh, sharing,” Tom interjects, already looking far too pleased with himself. “Do you ever play up the knee thing to… encourage women to go on top?” Tom’s question earns shocked titters from Will and Frankie and, despite yourself, a softly exhaled laugh from you.

“Why are you so obsessed with me?” Santiago asks Tom with an assured grin, and, upon being subject to the group’s attention, he leans forward in his camp chair. He drains the dregs of his beer and tosses the emptied bottle into the gathering pile in the sand, the label already peeled off by his nimble fingers.

Tom presses him for an answer, and you see Santiago’s pearly flash of teeth glinting in the firelight. “Play it up, buddy?” Santiago emits a deep, throaty chuckle which bobs in his corded neck. The sound is echoed by the other boys too, the threshold for laughter pleasantly lowered by the alcohol.

Their movements are growing increasingly pack-like - a little less measured and a little more instinctual. Less individual and more unified. Moving as a team even as they sit still, with their spread legs and dropped shoulders and dipped chins. Alert eyes glinting in the dark with each lick of flame. Their energy would intimidate you, you think, if you didn’t know them. If you didn’t feel safer here than anywhere else in the world.

Still wearing that grin, Santiago scoops his hand over his stubble, his finger and thumb tracing around his mouth. “It’s practically a pick-up strategy.” His voice is warm sand and it scrapes you. Leaves a mark.

Frankie titters off to Santiago’s side - a chaotic, beer-addled laugh. To his other side, Will grins too, his laughter striking a robust and deep note, even whilst shaking his head as though he’s somehow above it all. Together, their sounds form a cacophony you can feel deep in your chest - like the rumble of bass from a speaker, or the subdued roar of the ocean.

If they are a pack, you - for once - are at odds. You feel it now more than ever, and it jars you. You are hyper-conscious that no display of mirth falls from you; and, in fact, the corners of your mouth turn down.

Instead, you dwell on this roar - this rumble and hum under your skin. If you feel like the tide, like you are being swept up, Santiago is your shore. Everything about him draws you in, and you feel you could wash him away with the force of your need for him.

Regardless of that, you continue to do precisely what you’ve been doing all night. You try to bury everything. To subdue your feelings. To calm this frenzy deep in the pit of you. In this moment, thinking about Santiago pursuing people other than you - listening to the damn stories - you take that urge quite literally, digging your bare toes deeply and intently into the sand as though you could disappear wholly into it.

But; even that reminds you.

Everything reminds you.

Santiago.

You’ve thought of nothing else all night.

How could you?

And, you feel the lack of him.

The roughness of the sand against your smooth skin is a poor substitute for the rasp of his stubble. For the grit of his voice against your throat. The warmth of the curling, licking flame is a poor substitute for his body heat. His curling tongue. His fingers. The way you bury your feelings has nothing on how he buried himself in you.

You fall into memories, tacky and hot, tumbling, and yet Will’s voice rips you abruptly back to the present.

“How in the hell do you spin that one, man?” he asks Santiago with a genuine curiosity, his ice blue eyes dancing with amusement.

Santiago risks a sheepish glance at you then, as though sensitive that his prowess with women might offend you in some way; but your eyes simply glance off of his like a flung spark from the fire pit, desperate to turn towards the dark and rid yourself of any heat which he may ignite. Desperate not to linger on the way the shadows and the light pool across the harsh planes of his face. The way his dark eyes are flickering and alive, and entirely capable of burning.

And so, Santiago continues, relishing his moment. “Come on. It’s easy,” he breezes. He clears his throat, fully readying to inhabit his role. He shuffles in his chair and changes his demeanour, his body language, his voice. Shifting and contorting himself until he is layered with seduction. His frame even grows bigger, bolder, his legs spread. Chin raised and eyes hooded with a slow, sultry blink of those long lashes.

Even this performance of heat hurts you; burns. Burns brightly enough that you have to look away from him before your skin is singed by it. “Hermosa,” he rasps, voice pleasantly scuffed by beer and smoke, the sound so rough and gritty you swear you can feel it scrape your skin. Your core clenches around the full, deep, dark tones of him, as though they alone could fill you.

The fire throws out careless sparks like cracked whips, and, like them, you cling to a dying heat. This vestige of the way he spoke to you in the dead, dark night at one time, your bodies all salt-slick skin. “You’re right,” he purrs, and you see that his body has shifted - angled towards Tom.

You feel embarrassed. You feel alight, as though somehow, they could all find you out in this moment. Could sense the wet slick pooling between your legs. Smell it somehow. Like all of a sudden their eyes will converge on you and they will know - hear the flutter of your pulse in your throat. Sense the throb building in your core. Feel you barrelling from dull ache to desperation.

“About what?” Tom asks, playing along as Santiago sneaks a hand up his thigh.

Santiago’s smile is lopsided. Charming, but full of challenge. “Thinking that I’m a bad idea.” He’s hamming it up, for sure, but the syrup and grit in his voice is taking you right back there all the same. Right back to between those sheets, and a disobedient heat snakes down your back.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Well,” Santiago offers with faux regret, voice husky, and you can’t help but lift your eyes back to him. Can’t possibly look anywhere else now. Can’t help but observe the smirk twitching his appealing mouth and the way his thick brow arcs up. “‘Cause my knees are shot from years in the military, so I’m afraid you’ll have to get on top and ride me senseless.”

God in heaven.

Looking at him was a mistake, even like this. Even as he feigns seducing Tom, of all people. There’s just something about the rough edge layered into his voice right now. Something about the firelight painting his sharply-angled face with shadow. The flickers causing his smouldering eyes to glint with an echo of that formidable, latent heat.

You feel this vestige of warmth in you ignite. Feel it begin to blaze and catch. You feel memories of him, his skin, his touch, amassing grain by grain. Ever so suddenly you are the shore now. Parched. A hot, baking expanse seeking its relieving tide.

God, you want him.

You feel your core shiver around the memory of him slipped into you, deep and dirty, teeth on your throat, and it’s almost too much to take.

You need him, even though you’re still so damn angry with him.

Or… no. No, that’s not it. Yes - you want him because of it.

You need to fuck the residual anger from beneath your skin, for it has festered there for months now. Months, and you need it to move. Need it to give. Need it slaked and sated and gone.

It’s not a healthy desire, you think, and you feel a little shame at that. You are grateful then - as Santiago effortlessly drags you back into the inescapable pit of him - that the boys’ laughter tears you abruptly from this impossible yearning. Gives you a lifeline. Reminds you where you are. How far you’ve come.

You got out. And that meant leaving him behind too, didn’t it?

“You’re such a fucking dog, man,” Will snickers.

The chair over, Frankie’s shoulders are shaking with laughter too, his head tipped up to the sky and his eyes disappeared with it. You wish that you could laugh like that. That you could feel light, but instead you feel heavy and sick.

“That works?” Tom asks incredulously, and you take another hasty swig of your beer, the froth hissing against your lips and a hoppy taste flooding your tongue. You briefly wish it was something stronger.

“Don’t go getting ideas, Tom,” Santiago says smugly, slapping his buddy emphatically on the thigh. “Works when I do it.”

Oh, you bet it does. You bet it works.

Tom throws Santiago a stink-eye then, before sitting slightly taller in his chair, his face contorting in a clear attempt to smoulder. “My knees are shot from years in the military...” Tom echoes, trying to inject a similar level of grit into his voice... and, the contrast? The failure? It is… an instant relief.

Tom’s attempt is laughable, in fact. And so, when your favourite pilot’s dense, throaty chuckle sounds out to your side once more – this time, you can’t help but crack a smile too. Indeed, the laughter which spills out of you is a welcome vent, and so you reach for it wholeheartedly.

There is an eruption of good-natured, teasing banter from the boys now - and Tom looks miffed that his attempt to tease Santiago has almost entirely backfired. Then, grasping for this welcome escape route a tad too eagerly, perhaps, you submit your own dig. “You might wanna run that script again. Give us a little less of that insurance infomercial vibe next time, buddy.”

Frankie can barely breathe from laughing now, his hand coming to clutch his belly, and it’s pleasantly infectious. The atmosphere is safe and cocooning and familiar, and for the first time tonight you almost forget. You almost forget the thing that you haven’t been able to forget for months. That Santi isn’t touching you, and that, God; you need him to.

But then, your relief is snatched from you all too suddenly. “Well sure,” Tom aims, his shot primed to land. “You would know how it goes, right? First hand? Did Pope use that line on you too, right before he and that guy from the bar practically double-dipped you?”

The group fucking brace.

You can feel it.

It’s the exact same energy as when you’ve all grabbed for purchase in the helo or the humvee, right before a collision. The world seeming to flow in slow motion, your stomach being tossed up in the air and rolling as you lurch and sink.

Most of the time, sure. You pride yourself for being able to take the boys’ banter on the chin. For having a thick skin. For being able to muster a scathing comeback, rolling off your tongue without a thought.

But this? This has you beat for a second. This has a sinkhole opening up in your middle.

You meet Will’s eyes for a split second in desperation, but he looks at you helplessly, and you know. You know you need to say something. You know you need to, before they witness -before he witnesses- you falling apart. Before you let your silence reveal that you’re not over Santiago. That this hang isn’t ‘just like old times’. Not like ‘before’. That maybe, it can never be how it was again.

Finally, something comes to you, and you grab for it; once again, a little too eagerly. “At least I got some, Tom. I doubt you could even seal the deal these days.” You push the words out and hope they sound light, even as you feel a tremor in your body. In your throat. Even as you feel Santiago’s eyes on you without looking. Can imagine them, dark and knowing, and worst of all… apologetic. Maybe even pitying. “Oh hey! Just like your ‘career’ in real estate!”

“Ohhhhh shiiittt,” is the prevailing sentiment from the group, hands flung up into the air as Tom realises he’s just been owned by your spectacular throwdown.

Good, you think. Good. You’re glad the asshole’s getting his comeuppance but, even so, your petty victory does little to fill the hole in your chest, your heart still hammering and your fingers still trembling subtly against the cool, wet neck of your beer.

To your surprise though, Tom doesn’t even bite back. Not this time, and that makes you feel even more annoyed, somehow. It makes you feel as though your anger is misdirected. As though Tom’s not the asshole here. As though he’s not the dude you’re fuming at after all.

Still, your comment served its purpose well enough, you think, as steady, safe banter erupts again. You are pleased that you avoided the full impact of this collision, brakes slammed on as you still teeter on the cliff edge; but your heart feels bruised and rattled in the roll cage of your chest all the same.

Mainly though, you are pleased that you are no longer the focus of everyone’s attention. However, your skin warms when you notice one man’s eyes remain on you, his gaze fixated and hooded and intense, and a shiver of heat dips down each notch of your spine.

You look away. You tug Will’s cap a little further down over your eyes and you wait. You wait for the topic to shift so that you can excuse yourself without the cause being quite so obvious. You wait, until you can’t take the heat from this fire a second longer. Then, and only then, you make your excuses and dip out, retreating into the empty, quiet shell of the house.

You pad into the kitchen, the cool interior immediately relieving against your hot skin, gooseflesh snaking down your arms and making your hairs stand on end. The dim light is certainly a respite from the searing brightness of the fire and the sting of the smoke in your eyes. But most of all, of course, it is relief from him.

Santiago.

It’s rough. Rougher than you expected. You simply can’t take this distance from him. You’d thought, before, that the miles between you - between here and Colombia - had been hard to reckon with. But this distance? The vanishingly small distance where he’s right here yet has never felt further out of your reach? That’s a thousand times harder. This petty distance – this rupture, this wound – hurts far more, because it feels far harder to heal. Far more festering than a clean break, and seeing him has already torn out every self-applied suture.

You don’t like that things seem to have been irrevocably changed. You don’t like that your two bodies - which used to be so in sync - are now so awkward around one another. Purposefully aloof, rather than tactile. Remaining so separate, rather than together.

It has been slowly amassing all day, the weight of this pain. Of this lack. And now, after feeling the absence of his touch so intensely - of that blessed togetherness- ironically, you finally need a moment alone.

You cross the room and fold yourself over the kitchen counter, hinging at the hips. You rest your head in your hands, laying your forearms flat along the cool, marbled surface.

For a brief moment, it is even a relief. You breathe deeply. Put him out of your head. But, after only one moment more you find yourself missing the pain. You’ve become fond of it, in a way. You haven’t been able to let go because, in truth, you’ve wanted to feel the continued burn of this loss - like a scar.

It is the only proof you have left that he touched you at all.

That you came close to having something with him. Within touching distance of it.

But now…

You sigh deeply. You hate this torment. You hate not knowing how to be around him. The way the familiar is recast as unfamiliar. Your certainty now uncertainty. Your home now a hotel.

You’ve spent the whole day so far keeping your distance. Talking only to the group, always some buffer of Tom or Will or Frankie in between you. Always leaving one seat between your bodies. Avoiding prolonged eye contact. Going out of your way to make sure the two of you were never left alone.

Being left alone with him is the last thing you want; and the first, of course.

And, as if on cue, a low whistle sounds from behind you. You know the sound without looking, and your body stiffens. “An ocean view and now this?” Santiago jokes cautiously as he approaches behind you, clearly faced with a perfect view of your ass as you fold over the counter. “Pretty sweet deal. You should get Tom in on this real estate action. He might actually sell something.”

Despite everything, all of it, you can’t help but laugh at that. You appreciate the dig at Tom a hell of a lot more than you should, actually.

“Listen. Are you… alright?” Santiago asks next, much more softly. You hate the way his voice prickles the hairs on the back of your neck; but also, you don’t hate it at all, of course.

You inhale and stand, pushing your torso up from the counter. You look up to the top of the cabinets, not blinking until the would-be tears have dried, and only then do you turn towards him.

Santiago.

Only then do you face your sun, praying that you will not be singed.

All day, you have had a buffer in between the two of you. Clouds, to dim his brightness. But now, it is just you and him, alone in the kitchen of the beach house.

This bland domesticity sure is a far cry from the field, yes. From your original shared domain. But, it also serves as an all too painful reminder of the last time you saw him. Of the last time his lips moved against yours. Of the last time, in that kitchen, that he’d had you. Taken you, bunched up naked against the fridge as he filled your slick heat with his fingers. As he kissed you and tongued you and claimed you back, as if he ever intended to keep you.

It is a reminder of the time he had told you he loved you, and with finality, you had both realised that it still might not be enough.

You turn towards him, finally, and you brace.

Brace like you’re about to collide.

Like there will be an impact when your eyes meet.

Your brace like you’re expecting hot tempers, hot feelings, hot words. Wounds splitting and salt being rubbed in.

Still, that’s not at all what you get.

Instead, Santiago’s eyes are as wet as your own. All of his boldness and bluster is gone, and he’s standing on the very perimeter of the room as though he is the one who dares to venture no further. As though you might burn him if he gets too close.

“I missed you,” he rasps, and despite the softness and the sincerity of the words, they feel like a rough struck match against your skin.

You try desperately. Try desperately to fling this offered spark away before it catches, but it is futile.

He missed you, and his admission already has you blazing for him.

He’s standing mere feet from you.

And, despite everything, all you can think about is closing this oh so petty distance.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac #ride or die series #santiago pope garcia

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prettyoatmeal · 1 year

Note

we need a price headcanon while dating😍

John Price Headcanons While You're Dating (and how you got there)

YEAAHSSSS-

I mean- ahem, yes, it seems we do.

Now then,

Genre: Fluff, Smut implications but nothing graphic.

Summary: Just some pre and during dating head cannons. GN reader, no mentions of Y/N.

Content Warnings: Daddy issues mentions.

Masterlist here!

***************

(This is the 'how you got there' part, scroll for actual dating HC's)

Mr Mutton Chops over here gives me massive daddy vibes.

He's giving 'only a few years older than everyone else but is ten-million times more mature'.

But that doesn't mean he doesn't like having little bit of fun here and there.

He's had experience, however, it's been a good while since he's been in the game.

Being deployed for what feels like the longest time ever distracts the mind from any kind of romantic relationships.

However, once you end up joining the Task Force, those thoughts come flooding back to him.

It took a good bit of convincing from Laswell for him to let you join, but once you do, he notices your skills and you've immediately caught his attention. It caught everyone's attention.

He's both shocked and impressed, and with how much attention you've gotten from the boys, especially Gaz since he's the closest to your age, it got him awfully jealous.

You found their flirtatious attitudes flattering, but really, your eyes would always focus on the Captain.

His stern voice, the way he knows exactly what he wants, you never expected it to be arousing in a way.

Price had felt the same, he didn't want to admit it, but he very quickly became fond of you, from the way you laugh at his jokes, to the way you say "Yes, sir!" which he swears you purposefully purr out just to get him riled up.

You took notice of all the special attention you've been getting from the boys, and also noticed how Price would always be seething anytime anyone had mentioned your name.

And so like a pack of wolves wrestling over the fluffy little lamb in front of them, the competition had started.

Soap would always become a massive flirt around your presence, especially when you're around the Captain for laugh himself. He thought it was hilarious seeing him getting so worked up over his comments.

"Well lookie 'ere! Ain't you a sight for sore eyes, little Lass!"

"Ah, Johnny, glad you're here. Bathrooms need a cleaning. Get to it."

"Aye, sir :("

Poor Soap.

Price was one to rarely flirt however, he found it unprofessional, he found HIMSELF unprofessional, catching feelings for some new recruit.

That was his last straw though, soon he'd pull out the old reliable, 'I think I like someone, and you know them very well'.

Thankfully, there was perfect timing. Soap shouted the lot for drinks at the pub and Price knew he had to tell you there.

He had the whole thing planned out, buttering you up over a couple of drinks, becoming more and more forward throughout the night which in return caused you to become very flustered and giggly.

"Soap was right, y'know. You are quite the sight for sore eyes."

"Could say the same to you, Sir."

"Please, call me John while we're not out there, won't ya?"

The way you nodded as you looked up at him drove him wild, eager to follow any order he gave you. It gave him all the confidence he needed to pop the question.

AHEM-

Anyway

Actual Dating HC's

Remember how I said he has massive Daddy vibes?

Yeah, well

He's extremely protective over you.

Any threat he sees, he's already shielding you from it.

Walking along the pavement? He's keeping you on the inside, shielding you from the road. Going out to another bar where drunkens are roaming the place? His arms are already around your waist the moment you two leave the car.

You always tell him that you can protect yourself, you fight among the best of the best, but he doesn't budge one bit.

And thats okay, he loves protecting you and you love it too. It makes you feel safe.

LOOOVES calling you pet names.

Love, Gorgeous, Doll, Sweetheart, its all in his vocabulary to call you.

You ask him to call you something else, he'll call you that as many times as you like.

"Hey, John? From now on, can you start calling me-"

"On it!"

At the beginning of your relationship, he takes everything slow now that the others aren't around as often to take you away from him.

Though as the months pass, he's gotten so used to your touch that it's all he could think about.

Favourite part of you for him to hold? Definitely your hands. The way his hands engulf yours and how soft they feel makes his heart skip a beat.

He's normally a very confident man, he's a captain after all, his job requires him to be tough. It may have taken him a while, but he can really relax when you two are together.

Will purposefully grow his hair out so it's easier for you to grab and run your fingers through it.

Won't admit it, but he loves when you tug on his hair.

Just pull on it a little bit, please, he's begging

If you just HAPPEN to have daddy issues (I'm definitely not projecting) he will very gladly give you that comfort you need.

This is another branch off of where I was going with the 'daddy vibes'.

He's completely devoted to treating you the way you deserve, making up for all the comfort you've never received.

"I'm here and I don't ever plan to leave. You're safe with me, Sweetheart." as he holds you to his chest :(((

Any mention of your father and he's immediately pulling you into his arms and pulling his phone out to watch some funny videos or putting a movie on to distract you knowing how much of a sensitive topic it is.

Loves when you hold onto his arm while you're together, it makes him feel needed.

Definitely fulfils that fatherly role while being your boyfriend at the same time.

He'll cook whatever you're feeling for you whenever you're feeling out of it, give you massages, help you keep tidy, maybe even help you shower or wash your hair if you're particularly feeling awful.

Of course he will, all he ever wants to do is please you.

He knows you'd do the same for him if he wasn't feeling right, why shouldn't he treat you like royalty?

Helps take care of your daily needs, especially the ones in bed.

COUGH.

Whoops.

Speaking of such, hates seeing you cry.

It will absolutely break his heart.

He'd do absolutely anything and everything just to see you happy and never shed a tear out of sadness ever again, he just loves you that much.

Notice how I only specified sadness.

Alright, thats all I can think of, might do a Part 2.

***************

<333 Goodnight, I'll probably add to this if I think of anything else.

#call of duty #cod mw2 #John Price x reader #Captain Price x Reader #John Price Imagines #Captain Price Imagines #John Price Fluff #Captain John Price Fluff #MW2 x reader

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prince-liest · 2 months

Note

On Alastor calling Vox “lover”, i thought it was the complete reverse - that he said it with only malicious intent in the wire play fic (to satisfy his own itch to hurt vox), and in the latest one it’s just “i’m being sarcastic” (but i don’t feel well and i need a stepping stone at this very moment tho i’ll never admit it) but i guess i misunderstood? tho i suppose this only shows how well u write alastor’s character because he is not easy to decipher

Alastor is a character that lies a lot, both to himself about his feelings and to others, and his narration is pretty unreliable! I do try to insert, like, the hints, context, and behaviors that point to what his true feelings actually are, but a lot of it is through implication and so there's a lot of room for different interpretation in how I write him!

That said, you're not the first person to think he was being genuinely malicious and nothing but in the wireplay fic, so... death of the author and all that, but if you are interested in my take on how it was originally intended:

Alastor is so incredibly fucking fond of Vox in that scene in S6E66, Now Rerunning: The Hentai Episode! He says some absolutely heinous shit, but his tone is fond, and warm, and condescending, and it is very, very obvious to him that Vox enjoys being humiliated and at Alastor's whims. He compliments Vox's distress, he makes a little winking joke about the "rut" comment because they both know that was Alastor just the other day, and he unequivocally denies any implication that he's rejecting Vox's love.

He's a total narcissist on a power trip, and Vox being so into his little menacing routine that he drops the I think I'm in love with you is basically heroin to Alastor's ego. But he's also just been growing increasingly fond of Vox over the course of their relationship - there's a reason that the very next installment is one where Alastor is in fact really fucking upset to have been ghosted, even though a lot of the cause of that ghosting is that neither of them are open communicators that do things like properly check in a la, "Hey, we just did a really undernegotiated scene where I mocked your very sincere emotions, where are we on that?" because they've been flying by the seat of their pants and expect mutual understanding where there isn't necessarily enough of it and getting away with it. Until that point, at least.

So he says "lover" because he's making fun of Vox, yes, but he's making fun of Vox because he enjoys and is genuinely fond of Vox when he's pathetic and obsessive, and also because he knows that Vox enjoys it, too. Safe, sane, and consensual? No. But not genuinely malicious in intent, either!

He doesn't want to hurt Vox for the sadistic hell of it (to quote Alastor himself: "If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done so already!"), he wants to hurt Vox because the fact that Vox is so in love that he will let him (and ask for more) is acutely and inordinately pleasing to Alastor. A lot of his dialogue echoes that: he tells Vox to ask for it, then tells him to beg, then makes fun of him for not asking Alastor to stop.

And afterward: Well, he's not very good at actually being reassuring, but he makes a few genuine efforts at it, to the extent that his own ego will allow him to. If he didn't actually give a shit, he very much would have dumped Vox on the floor after having his fun and just left. But he cares enough to make sure Vox is at least remotely alright, and he's even fond enough to suffer through some skin-to-skin until his squick meter taps him out.

In contrast, in Network 0666: No Signal, Alastor is once again mocking Vox for claiming to love him - but he's doing it while struggling his way through a panic attack that has sent him spiraling under the assumption that Vox's alleged "love" is just possessiveness that led him to try to leash Alastor to his own power. He says "lover" and immediately follows it by describing the ways in which he thinks Vox is a traitor who is bastardizing the very word. He's not, at that moment, even using it as a weapon against Vox - why would it hurt Vox, after all, if he doesn't really love Alastor - but rather as a way of mocking himself for actually falling for the ruse. He doesn't genuinely break out of it until he reaches to touch the chain again and finds that it's been gone since Vox reached out to help him.

Anyway, I hope that helped or at least was an interesting read! Alastor is a very unreliable narrator and it makes him a great deal of fun.

#ask #personal #Anonymous #nsft #my writing #hazbin hotel #radiostatic #long post #I should have a tag for this fic series specifically klxjhcfg #is it too late to start one?#666 live on air #I'll go back and add some other posts to it later hopefully

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ilexdiapason · 9 months

Text

(part one here) (part two here)

Oli leaves Martyn with his laptop in the living room while he brews the pair of them a cup of tea each in the kitchen. When asked whether he’d like milk and/or sugar, Martyn hesitated for way too long before saying he’d just like to have the same thing Oli was having. So, two teas with milk and three sugars it is. Let it never be said Oli breaks British stereotypes.

When Oli brings the tray back through with the teas, Martyn is still glued to the laptop, looking fairly shellshocked. “What’s that look for? You found anything?”

“No, just… thought I’d go find some of the YouTubers I was subscribed to, see what I missed. Didn’t realise Minecraft had come back in such a big way.”

Oli chuckles and takes a seat. “Yeah - I mean, it was a lot of us playing on Rats, did you never wonder?”

He looks up at Oli, raised eyebrows under that headband of his. “That was Minecraft?”

And…

Yeah, no, Oli’s not even gonna try and broach the implications of that question.

“Tea,” he says instead, gesturing to the tray on the coffee table between them.

Martyn sets the laptop down to the side and picks up a mug (Don’t Talk To Me Until I’ve Eaten This Mug, a personal favourite of Oli’s). He cups it gently, as though he’s not used to the heat - and maybe he isn’t. “Never used to drink tea,” he comments, “though mainly that’s cause my mum wouldn’t let me put the sugars in when I was twelve, and I pretty much swore it off out of spite after that.”

“Well, it’s not for everyone.”

He sips at it anyway - flinches away from the surface, from the burn, most likely. “Nothing wrong with it,” he reassures once it’s safely back on the tray, “just needs a few minutes to chill.”

“If you wanted ice tea, you could’ve just said so,” Oli quips.

“No, it’s - it’s good! I like the…” His hands flail aimlessly, gesturing at a meaning Oli finds himself entirely incapable of grasping. “I promise.”

“Alright.”

They sit in quiet for a few minutes after that, Oli drinking from his own cup and watching the laptop for any correspondence from his coworkers. He’s got some code that needs correcting, which a supervisor sent over, but he doesn’t think his brain is gonna be switching gears from this situation back to C# any time soon.

Eventually, Martyn picks the cup back up and tries again. This time he seems to be able to get a good mouthful of tea down, and another few teaspoons’ worth down his face and on his shirt. “Oh - are you alr- do you need some kitchen roll?”

“Uh,” says Martyn, eloquently. “Probably.”

So it is kitchen roll that he fetches, and it is kitchen roll that Martyn uses to attempt to dab his new tea stains out of his shirt. It’s also at this point that Oli notices something unusual. “Is your arm okay?”

“Hmm?”

“That looks like scarring, right? I mean, I assume it was a while ago, but -”

“Yeah, no, yeah, that’s old. Told you, didn’t I? Cats are vicious.”

He’s grinning, but Oli doesn’t exactly want to take a joke from the old Minecraft server as the only explanation. “Seriously. It’s not more stuff to do with this missing person situation, is it?”

The grin drops. Now, Martyn looks more resigned than anything. “Yeah. Wasn’t, like, torture or anything. I just got a bit banged up. You know how it gets.”

“Erm - well, I don’t, actually.” He’s never got a bit banged up in a way that left him with lasting scarring all down his limbs. “So now would be a great time to get some more explanation, if you have one.”

“I don’t,” says Martyn, quick as anything.

“So, what, I just send you home, and things go back to normal, except you’re in the Discord now?”

He studies Oli. There’s something really cold in there, a light that went out a long time ago. It’s clear that going back to normal isn’t really on the cards for Martyn, that even if this missing situation is all neatly resolved, it’s left him a different person from the one that his family know.

(But again - how do the video games square with all of this?)

When Martyn speaks, eventually, it’s not to answer the question. “Oh, fuck, Doc.”

“... Doc?”

“He’s - it’s this guy I knew, back home, he’s - god damn it, he still lives there, if I - fuck, fuck, I can’t go home, I can’t.”

This sudden switch from broken bleakness to a high-emotion panic is one that Oli neither anticipates nor knows how to respond to. “Hey - slow down, Marty, give it a minute,” he says, hoping that by delaying Martyn he can give himself more time to think about how to help with whatever the problem is.

“Fuck,” and is Martyn starting to cry? “I can’t go back, not if he’s gonna hear about it, and he will, I’m gonna be on the fucking news for how long I was in there, fucking -”

“Martyn,” Oli says, loud and authoritative enough to cut off his catastrophising. (Well, the concern might be entirely validated; Oli doesn’t know who this Doc guy is, after all. Still, he didn’t get that Psychology degree for nothing, and he’ll use the buzzwords if he wants to use the damn buzzwords.) “It’s okay. You’re not home, not right now. Nobody knows where you are, not this guy, not even your mum yet. Which would probably be a terrifying thing to say in any other case, but I’m guessing it’s not as bad for you.”

Martyn nods mutely, tears on his cheeks.

“So - alright, and you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want, that’s fine, but I’m just asking - who is that? To you?”

“He’s, uh.” Martyn’s voice cracks, wet and directionless. “He’s just a guy I know. Used to fix my consoles up for me, upgrade ‘em. Sold me some pretty sweet parts for the PC, too, even had a GPU on hand when the shortage was happening. God, NFTs aren’t still big, are they?”

“No, thank god, that bubble burst a long time ago,” Oli can’t help but smile. “Sounds like he was alright. What was the catch?”

“Um. He… kinda hired me? For something? That was pretty dangerous, but he didn’t have anybody else for the job? And then I realised he was - basically breaking a lot of labour laws, quite recently, did not realise how big of a dickhead he really was until… I don’t know how long it’s been. Anywhere from last night to a few days ago. But if I go home… well, he’s gonna be there, and he’s gonna want that job done, and he’s not gonna care that I’ve quit.”

Oli takes another sip of his tea while he processes all that.

Martyn sits up straight, very suddenly, and announces, “I was not being sex trafficked.”

One choked-on swallow later, which thankfully goes back into the mug for the most part, and Oli is laughing from the shock. “No, no, I didn’t - ack - didn’t even cross my mind, Marty, don’t worry. But that’s… good to know.”

“Yeah,” says Martyn.

“Yeah.”

He picks his own mug back up and, slowly but surely, drains the rest of it. There’s a constant wince in his expression that suggests he doesn’t really like tea, but Oli’s not about to stop him from drinking it if he’s decided to drink it. When he’s done, he clears his throat. “But, uh, yeah. If I go back home, Doc’s gonna catch wind, and he’ll probably find a way to get me right back into the mess I just got out of. And I don’t want that, obviously, so… I’m gonna have to… do something else.”

“I mean,” says Oli, making another probably-stupid decision, “my sofa’s free if you need to crash?”

“No, I should - I’ve gotta make good on my word to Mum, don’t I? Gotta show my face. Just… carefully, and quietly, and not answering to any strange men with retro games playing on their third monitor when they’re not using it.”

“Alright,” he repeats, but it feels more like willingly sending this clearly young adult straight back into the terrible situation from which he’s just escaped than it does bringing him home.

And, seriously, where do the video games fit in?

(part four here)

#ilexworks #itlwlore #reverse isekai au #martyn itlw #oli theorionsound #pirates smp #scurvyblr #vtuber martyn

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yoursjustasitwas · 1 year

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sweet, sweet girl, he thinks, looking at her. it’s not an adjective hed typically ascribe to Ellie—she’s funny and whip smart and more than a little stubborn, but like this, eyes only barely starting to shut as she leans against his shoulder, she’s nothing short of sweet.

they’re on the couch, and Joel’s honestly surprised Ellie’s slipping so easily into sleep when it’s still light out. her comic falls limply from her hand. she makes a small sort of indignant noise but she turns herself further into Joel and some hair falls in front of her eyes.

gentle, as gentle as his scarred hands know how, Joel brushes the hair back behind her ear.

“I can do that.” Ellie says, voice muffled by his shirt.

“I know you can, sweet girl,” Joel murmurs.

under his fingers, her hair is soft and smooth and free of tangles. even when her hair is brushed behind her ear, he doesn’t stop combing his fingers through it. he moves to kiss the top of her head when he notices her part line is pink.

“too much sun today?” he asks, voice low. Ellie hums. Joel tilts her face up so he can assess the damage. her cheeks and nose are pink, but he doesn’t get that good a look because she makes a noise of complaint and tries to settle back against him.

“alright, alright.” Joel says, and lets her go. “you get burnt anywhere else?”

“shoulders, I think.” Ellie says. at first, Joel panics at the implication she was wearing short sleeves, terrified someone saw her bite, not used to her chemical burn yet.

the reminder makes anger swell white hot in his chest, but it has no choice but to dissipate—he hates the thought of Ellie hurt, has to reconcile with the fact that it was Ellie’s own hand that did it. In place of anger, the same bone deep fear and protectiveness has him tightening his arms around her.

don’t ever do that again, he wants to say to her. don’t ever hurt yourself again. but they’ve had this conversation a million times, and Ellie’s assured him it was a one-time thing.

he couldn’t protect her against that drain cleaner, couldn’t protect her against her own hand. he feels that failure acutely. all he can do now is be a soft place for her to land. right now, Joel can’t check whether or not her shoulders are burned because she’s wearing one of her—one of his, actually—sleep shirts. he avoids holding her there anyway, doesn’t want to hurt her.

haphazardly, Ellie attempts to pick up her comic again, but it’s too floppy to hold with one hand, so she rests it on Joel and flips to a page with a hell of a lot of colors and exclamation marks. Joel smiles. it’s a comic he picked up for her while on patrol, one of the ones she’d been looking for for a while. he loves her.

Ellie adjusts her head on his chest. he knows she does it so she can hear his heartbeat better, knows that that’s soothing for her. in turn, he presses a kiss the top of her head, keeps his head turned towards her. he lets himself relax at the very Ellie-ness of her, let’s himself soak in the fact that she’s here, safe against him, happy. he’s got her. he kisses her hair again.

later, he thinks, the sunburn will develop more and she’ll be red and peeling. he briefly worries she’ll get sunsick, worries that’s why she’s so tired so early. sunsick or not, he’ll need to find a way to cool her off. aloe is hard to find in Wyoming, he’ll have to trade for some yogurt instead. it works better than the old, plastic bottles of artificially green aloe gel they used to sell anyway. he tried that once, when Sarah, typically golden in the sun, had ignored her sunscreen for too long and gotten herself burnt. he still remembers the sharp smell of that gel, how Sarah had looked at him unimpressed until he got Tommy to bring them a real aloe plant, slathered her in greek yogurt while they waited.

Ellie takes a quick, deep breath, and that’s how Joel knows she’s fallen asleep. he folds her comic closed so she doesn’t bend it in her sleep, and carefully, with one arm, tosses it on a side table. Ellie adjusts and Joel fears he’s woken her, but her breathing stays even and deep. trade for some yogurt, Joel reminds himself, then settles himself more comfortably on the couch.

he’s got her. he loves her. he rests his eyes.

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princelylove · 5 months

Text

The Father.

Synopsis: A character study on Bruno Bucciarati.

Warning: pet names used in italian are masculine, general yandere behavior, nsfw implication at the end but no real nsfw, referenced violence

Bruno is not really naturally the fatherly type, but he chooses the responsibility anyway. He hides that he smokes, doesn’t eat until everyone else has, and very rarely slacks off. Although he’s serious about work and his family, he tends to be playful and lighthearted. It’s rare to see Bruno in a bad mood. He’s a family man. Loves the holidays, always hosts. Wants to be called papa or dad- Bruno’s secretly hoping that one day someone will slip and call him ‘Daddy,’ how delusional. He took the responsibility from his own father for his health and safety when he was little and didn’t really blink, but who takes care of Bruno? No one! Because providers don’t need to be babied, obviously, and that’s exactly what he is. The provider. The man of the house.

His favorite albums from Miles Davis are Agharta and Bitches Brew, which are jazz-fusion, avant-garde jazz, funk rock, and jazz-rock. I tend to think of jazz as slow, easy listening, but it’s wild, it’s experimental, it’s everything Bruno doesn’t allow himself to be in favor of keeping his perfect family fantasy safe and sound. The Bucciarati household is always loud- whether that be from Narancia and Pannacotta “playing,” in Bruno’s words, or from the little record player that lives in the living room. He offered to buy Pannacotta some vinyl records, but he never took him up on it. It’s a bit of a sore subject. The bookcase has a cardboard box in it filled to the brim with albums from Miles Davis, Sade, Frank Sinatra, Tupac, and his darling’s alleged music taste- he guessed based off of what was in your room. How did he get in your room? Don’t be silly, he never said he was in your room.

Bruno takes up two personas in order to maintain his fantasies, his passione one and his fatherly one, and flips back and forth depending on what’s going to work best. It’s rare to see Bruno just… being himself. He’s obsessed with how things are supposed to be- he wants what he never had. A big, happy family.

His passione one is where he gets his sadism out of his system, where he tells himself he’s just doing whatever it takes to keep his family safe and sound and not thoroughly enjoying beating the shit out of whoever Polpo tells him to. He grabs your wrists too tightly when moving you out of his way, gets a little too loud with you, sometimes. He doesn’t hit his darling normally- no, that’s not what a good husband would do- but sometimes you just make comments that burrow themselves under his skin, and he can’t help but react.

He doesn’t shy away when he does it, either. He always doubles down, giving you that firm tone he gives Narancia when he slacks off on important jobs, or how he would talk to someone while working a typical repo job. It’s like you’re talking to someone else- he doesn’t even bother to fake his normal smile.

“Watch how you talk to me before you lose the ability to speak at all.”

It’s short and sweet. Nothing more needs to be said.

He holds his head in his hands, later, thinking about how badly he just set himself back. At least he has the courtesy to open a window to let the smoke pour out.

He doesn’t like smelling like cigarettes.

He isn’t really meant to be a father. He doesn’t really know how, but he’s trying to. He’s not meant to be a husband, either, with the way he treats his spouse, lately. But he’ll smile, and take that gentle tone, because he must. The world may be cruel, but he must not be. He has to work to not have that type of reaction when you speak to him so harshly. Maybe if he were a better man.

His cheeks hurt from smiling too much. He’s trained himself so that his smile would always reach his eyes- he even trained his relaxed face to be a more palatable version of his actual relaxed face. You won’t open up to him if he scowls at you, or glares at you instead of looks. He wants everyone to think he’s gentle- he wants to be the father that everyone always comes back to visit once they’re all grown up. A better version of his father, who Bruno would argue was perfect, for what he had.

His darling is meant to be his spouse- his other half. He longs for someone he can shower with pet names, someone who will melt into his hands, someone who appreciates just how much effort he puts into everything. It’s rare that Bruno can fully relax- there’s always something to be done, whether that be at home, or by Polpo’s order.

But… He doesn’t truly trust his darling. He loves to micromanage, and it makes him anxious to think about you holding something sharp or standing on something unstable. Please just let him reach whatever it is you need for him- his stand can bring things down if it’s also out of his reach.

Why do you want to drive? He knows how to drive. Why did you bring your wallet? Of course he’s going to pay for you- he asked you out, didn’t he? Oh, let's not cut up your own snack, you could hurt yourself… Bruno is begging to be needed. He finds his identity in being the man of the house- the provider, the father, the husband, but you just aren’t giving it to him, and it's driving him up the wall.

It’s suffocating. It’s patronizing. You can shave by yourself, you’re not a child. You know how to take something out of the oven- you’re not going to use your bare hand to touch the metal that was just sitting at 177 degrees celsius.

A little note sits on your nightstand. It’s meant to be a bonding exercise, as he leaves a new one every morning, but you don’t speak italian. Bruno’s handwriting is neat and bubbly- why he put so much effort into making it legible but not in a language you understand is beyond you.

‘Amore mio -

Sono innamorato di te. Non aprire la porta a nessuno.

Avete mangiato qualcosa?

Tuo marito.’

You’re left to sit and stare at it, if you’d like, or get on with the chores you know you have to do before Bruno gets back.

It’s little moments of peace- of genuine privacy- like these that keep you going. You’ve been getting up earlier for this exact purpose. Bruno would really rather you sleep the entire morning away and wake up to him coming home in the afternoon, arms open and smiling, calling his name, maybe saying something like “Come back to bed, my love.” … but it’s healthier for you to be up during the day, getting some sun from the open windows, and engage your mind with some tasks that aren’t instant-pleasure based.

But sleeping in a little bit isn’t a crime. You’re welcome to sleep until Narancia gets up- he needs you to walk him through the steps of making breakfast, again. Don’t worry. You won’t be touching the stove, or using a knife. Just guide him through it verbally, and comfort him if it fails.

It eats Bruno alive when you don’t immediately greet him at the door.

He sighs a bit at the snack you brought him. The bowl makes a clack sound as you set it down on his desk. You took such care in peeling and slicing some apples for him, he should be grateful.

“Bello. What’s this for? I’d rather you not use the peeler unsupervised.”

“Wasn’t. Narancia was watching.”

Bruno bites his lip a bit, but is quick to fix his face. He smiles at you oh-so-lovingly. “I didn’t know he was warming up to you, amore. Did something happen?” His hand reaches for the bowl, his wrist sits on the old wood of his desk, and his fingers tap the brim ever so lightly. He’s debating eating it to ‘please’ you or not, debating if he can hide his distaste for the fruit from his almost-spouse. So close.

“No.” Your answer is simple. It’s behaving without submitting. He wants the full story. Wants to know why his son is hovering over his darling- if this wasn’t done by a peeler, and actually done by the small pocket knife he trusted his son to have around you-

“Perhaps it’s the exposure to you, then.” He really does it. He pops one of the smaller slices into his mouth, and chews. His shoe makes a distinct tap as he bounces his knee under his desk. As much as he adores you, his fondness for apples is like his fondness for the boss.

You hum at his act of ‘love,’ and wait for him to finish chewing, and actually swallow. When he notices your stare, he opens his mouth to display that he actually did.

“See? There’s no need to fuss, I’m not having issues with eating. I eat very well, actually.”

Of course his mind jumps to you being concerned for him. When you don’t respond, he sighs a little bit, and stands.

“Amore, is there something you want to talk about? I’m open to your worries. That’s what I’m here for.”

The clack of his shoes don’t comfort you.

His outstretched hand doesn’t ease your worries.

His voice doesn’t soothe you.

“I love you, tesoro mio.” His lips graze your cheek, “I wish you wouldn’t look at me like I’m going to eat you.”

His hand rests on your waist, pulling you in closer.

“Unless you’d like me to.”

#yandere bruno bucciarati #yandere bruno bucciarati x reader #god this took forever #my italian is rusty give me a break if the grammar is a bit off

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zvtara-was-never-canon · 6 months

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with the new Azula comic that showed her as a traumatized abuse victim like Zuko out I have seen so much victim blaming sh*t from a bunch of zuko stans

I f***ing hate this fandom and I want to hear your opinion about it

Nothing new under the sun and to be expected, especially since Azula actually rejected redemption this time (unlike all the other times people claimed she "rejected second chances" she was never actually given).

The fact that Zuko ALSO rejected redemption in Ba Sing Se, and that even with that no one was saying "He is a villain therefore what his father did to him doesn't count as abuse because he isn't an 'innocent' victim" doesn't matter to them for four reasons, that often overlap:

1 - Zuko was never described as being mentally ill, while Azula was, so she has to deal with a ton of ableism Zuko got to avoid.

2 - Zuko is a boy, so he avoids falling victim to the sexism of some parts of the fandom.

3 - Zuko is a victim of physical abuse. The proof of his suffering is literally burned into his face. Azula's scars are all emotional, so it's easier for people to dismiss them without being called out. Nobody is gonna have the balls to say being disfigured by one's own parent doesn't count as abuse.

4 - The writers never intended for Azula to be a victim at all, hence some EXTREMELY tone-deaf things like Iroh saying "She's crazy and needs to go down" or the script literally describing Azula like she's an animal during her breakdown. She was meant to be the crazy, evil villain that is evil because she's crazy, and crazy because she's evil. It was only when other writers on the team started giving her a bit more depth and people really thought of all the implications of things like hering being raised by Ozai, considering herself "imperfect" for things like one hair out of place, having a breakdown due to feeling like an unwanted monster, acting as bait for the enemies while her father was hiding away safely during the invasion, or the fact that Ozai is canonically the only person to ever manipulate her (which shocking ease) that people realized "Holy shit, this is abuse too."

5 - This fandom, for all their praise of Zuko's redemption/healing arc, doesn't actually understand or like said arc, hence them taking away all of Zuko's flaws and pretending his bad choices were not truly his - after all, if he isn't an "innocent" victim, then he is no victim at all and thus deserved all that happened to him like his evil sister does.

(I'll say it again: this fandom does not actually understand why Ozai was an awful parent, they just think he was too harsh on the wrong child. They think Azula is the "good-for-nothing" child that deserves to be abused, while Zuko is the "golden boy" that needs to be perfect - or else)

#azula meta #fire siblings #azula deserved better #fandom ableism

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sxcret-garden-archive · 1 year

Text

Yeonjun ✧ Loved [M]

✧ TXT Yeonjun x fem!reader ✧ words: ~2.7k ✧ genre: fwb to lovers (but not quite), angst, smut (dom!Yeonjun, oral (fem receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, he calls the reader princess, multiple orgasms), reader is (obviously) of age but still lives at home ✧ warnings: mentions of a difficult family situation, implication that reader got or gets bullied

Desc.: You and Yeonjun are more than friends, but less than lovers. When he, once again, pulls you out of a bad situation and state of mind, you find yourself thinking about that, and eventually you end up doing what you two always do…

"I can't see you like this anymore." Yeonjun angrily mumbles the words next to you, it's almost a growl. You look up from your phone and he looks up from his as you're sitting side by side on the couch, your parents arguing in the background. He must've noticed how you stopped scrolling at one point, and started spacing out as they began to yell once again.

"Let's get out of here," he says. You know that the glare in his eyes isn't meant for you, still you can't help but feel a bit intimidated when he shoots you a look. And guilty. You feel oh so guilty, because they're arguing over you again, and you've brought Yeonjun to your house again, so he would have to listen to them again and get mad again.

However, as he grabs your hand with his, his warm palm meeting yours that's freezing, he doesn't leave you much time to let yourself drown in the overwhelming guilt. Giving you a gentle squeeze, as opposed to the still angry look on his face, he gets up and pulls you onto your feet along with him.

"Where are we going?" you whisper a question, as if the answer wasn't clear.

"My place," he states. "Where you don't have to listen to that."

You quickly put on shoes and he makes you grab a jacket too - anything else you might need in case you spend the night with him should be at his place anyway - and then you head out into a cool spring night.

You don't feel cold as you walk the few blocks to his place hand in hand, the gentle breeze of the night feels refreshing, actually. Your gaze takes in the houses of the neighbourhood as you pass them by, and eventually Yeonjun's face comes into view. He seems to have calmed down a bit, and you're glad for that.

Yeonjun is your friend, but not only. You're not lovers either, you know that, because you've set that boundary for each other when this whole thing started, and friendship turned into more than that. Some would say you're simply fuckbuddies, but there's more to it, because you're friends too. You care about each other, there's no doubt about that, and sometimes he makes your heart race and you make him blush - but that's only normal when you've seen someone naked and had pretty good sex with them, right?

You don't usually think too much about, really, anything when you're with him. But sometimes you catch yourself wondering whether it all means a bit more than you two are admitting - especially during moments like these, where he pulls you out of your broken home, or keeps you safe from people who don't wish any good upon you.

When you arrive at his place, there's no lights on. His flatmate seems to be out, as always. You're kind of glad for that, but lately it makes you a bit nervous to be alone with him, but only so much that you don't notice unless there's complete silence and nothing else demands your attention.

As soon as Yeonjun closes the door behind you two, switches on the lights and turns on his heels to look at you, hands both placed on the outsides of your upper arms, the feeling fades, washed away by the way he looks at you. There is worry in his eyes, and beneath that worry, you can faintly make out the mischievous spark he always carries in his expression when he's with you.

You can't say you don't feel loved when he looks at you like that. But you don't permit yourself to think about it. Instead, you let him pick you up, carrying you bridal style to his room after both slipping off your shoes, and he sits you down on his bed. He shoots you a questioning look, almost as if his confidence had left him for a second or two, and you reply with an unfaltering gaze, to let him know he's doing just fine. Because you know what's going to come next.

Yeonjun leans in, pressing his puffy lips against yours. He kisses you softly, velvety touches making you feel safe and at home - almost like your home isn't the place where you grew up, but instead it's wherever he is. He firmly cups your face in his hands to bring you in closer while he deepens the kiss, tongue running along your teeth before allowing himself to meet yours. When he breaks away from you, he's breathless - even more so than you - and for a second he gets lost in your expression, pleading for more. You'd have taken anything to forget, to not think about how miserable you really feel, still his touch remains to be the most efficient drug you could get.

He peels off your jacket, putting it aside carefully, and when he returns to you, he lets his knuckles caress your cheek, running his thumb across your bottom lip. You sink your teeth into it once he takes his hand away, capturing your chin instead, and you close your eyes to savour the feeling of his touch. He feels warm, even when the way he touches you is slightly rough and filled with need.

"I wish I could make it all better," he mumbles as he leans in again, burying his face in your neck. With his lips moving against your skin, he adds, "So you never have to feel like this again." You don't answer. Instead, you throw your arms around his shoulders, and moments later, Yeonjun drops down onto his knees. His hands travel down your body, until they're resting on your thighs, and when he looks up at you, he licks his lips. "I'll make you feel better."

His hands don't stay still for long. He quickly helps you out of your pants, just like he's done countless times before, and soon after he starts kissing a trail up your inner thigh. You're not sure if this is the way friends are supposed to comfort each other, but somehow you two just always end up doing what you do best - you fuck. And so, you impatiently await the moment his plump lips arrive at your core, holding your breath as he works his way to where you want him the most, and then releasing the air from your lungs when he kisses you through the fabric of your underwear. The panties are quickly pulled off as well, and what remains is both your impatience as he pushes your legs apart further, letting out a shaky breath full of excitement in the face of your dripping cunt.

"Just do it already..." you mutter, earning another short lived glance from Yeonjun, before he grants your wish. You groan when he begins to lap at your pussy, tongue licking up a stripe between your folds. He hums at your taste as he alternates between letting his wet muscle draw slow circles on your clit and wrapping his lips around it to gently suck on it. And already, you're starting to see stars from his ministrations on you.

"God, Yeonjun..." you moan softly. "Nobody could make me feel better..."

"Just you wait how much better I can make you feel..." he answers, eyes darkened with lust, and then he lets his tongue dip inside you before bringing it back up to your clit.

"Mmmh... show me then..." you whimper, and when you hear him chuckle, sending vibrations through your core, a shiver runs down your spine.

"So greedy..." he retorts, in between licking and nipping. "Always liked that about you..." He resumes his teasing and your hand eventually finds his hair in order to tug at it, wanting to urge him on. He lets you hear another appreciative hum, until finally he grins at you, removing one hand from your thigh to start teasing your entrance with his fingertips. "How many you want?" he asks. "Two? Three?"

"Th-three..." you say, and the greed flaring up in his eyes as he looks up at you makes heat rush through your whole body.

"Can you take it?"

"Yes..." you assure eagerly. "Feels closer to your cock than two..." The grin on his lips broadens as he dips a single digit inside, only to remove it again soon after, leaving you to groan in disappointment.

"You want my cock, huh?" he repeats, sliding a finger inside again for but a moment. "Let me hear more about that..."

"W-want your big cock in me..." you begin to talk immediately, gasping as he pushes inside you again, this time with two fingers. "Want your cock to destroy my pussy... fuck me real good... make you feel how tight and wet I am..." you whine, as Yeonjun sucks on your clit while humming in satisfaction. He slowly pumps his fingers in and out of you, picking up the pace whenever you speak and slowing back down when you're silent.

"N-need you... inside me... fuck, Yeonjun... I need your big c-cock in me so bad..." A moan escapes you suddenly when he adds a third finger, thumb temporarily taking over rubbing circles on your clit so he could answer, while you throw your head back from the pleasure overcoming you.

"Three fingers, just like you wanted," he says, curling them inside you repeatedly, making you buck your hips into his touch. "Now I just need to know one thing..."

"W-what...?" you whine, struggling to remain in control of your voice as you feel your high approaching.

"Does it feel as good as my cock?"

"N-no!" you cry out. "N-nothing could feel as good... as..."

He pulls out suddenly, and you need a second to register what just happened. Just when you're about to look at him in discontent, he shakes his head, putting his index finger that's coated in your juices over your lips.

"Don't talk, princess," he shushes you. "Take off your shirt... and your bra too. I want you naked." You do as told without thinking, tossing aside the remainder of clothes on your body in no time, and as you sprawl out for him on his bed, you don't miss the way he looks at you, like he's about to devour you whole.

"Fuck, you're so hot..." he mumbles as he quickly slips out of his shirt and unzips his jeans to take those off too, along with his boxershorts. "I can't wait to take you..." He crawls on top of you, burying his face in your neck, and instead of giving you what you wanted right then and there, his hand finds its way back in between your legs. He slips inside with ease, fingers pumping in and out of you, grazing that sweet spot inside you with each stroke, as his thumb applies pressure to your bundle of nerves. His mouth leaves a trail of hot nips and kisses from your throat to your chest, and his lips wrap around your nipple. He moans as he lets his tongue circle around it, releasing it with a pop to blow cool air onto it, and as he captures it with his teeth to suck on it. You become a whining mess underneath him, arms wrapped around his shoulders tightly and nails sunk into his skin as he keeps fingering you at a steady pace and you buck your hips to meet each one of his movements.

"Y-yeonjun... Yeonjun, I'm gonna cum..." you whine, and this time he lets you. Your high crashes down on you as your walls clench around his fingers inside, and after pulling out, he waits for you to come down from your high. Then he sits up, kneeling above you now, and he brings his hand to his length, spreading your juices along his shaft as he starts stroking himself. His gaze glued to your body, he groans as he grows fully hard.

"I love it when you call my name while you're cumming," he mumbles, never taking his eyes off your frame. "And I love the expression on your face... fuck, Y/N, I want to hear it again... I want to hear you calling out to me with my cock inside you, making you feel so full... making your little pussy feel so full and good..."

"P-please..." you beg. "Please fill me up..." You look up at him pleadingly, seeing his fully grown cock in his hand and swallowing hard at the thought of finally having it inside you. "Need you..." you add at the sight, and he chuckles.

"So needy for my cock... my little princess." Finally, he lets go of himself and falls forward to hover above you. His lips meet yours in a teasingly light kiss, before he looks deeply into your eyes. "Are you ready for me?" You nod strongly.

"Want you..." you say bashfully, blood rushing to your head. He aligns himself with you, and then, without another warning sign, he pushes into you. You cry out, throwing your head back and digging your nails into the bedsheets at your sides. He slips inside you so easily, and when he begins to roll his hips slowly, all you can do is moan his name in between curses.

"Fuck... shit, Yeonjun! F-feels so good... Y-yeonjun..."

"Let me hear you, princess... let me hear more," he answers, picking up the pace. His thrusts are powerful, reaching deep inside you, and you can tell he's been growing impatient too. He makes your head spin, as his name keeps falling from your lips, and you can see your next orgasm approaching.

"Fuck, you feel so good... makes me wanna cum inside you," he growls through gritted teeth, and all you can do is moan in appreciation, the thought alone sending you into a state of ecstasy.

"W-wanna cum on your cock... g-gonna cum again..." you whimper, struggling to form the words as all you can focus on is how good he makes you feel. And then finally, your high hits you, and you cry out in pleasure as you feel yourself contract around his length.

"Such a good girl..." he praises you as he picks up the pace ever so slightly, until he too finds his release, spilling his load inside you.

He rolls off you, lying down beside you as you both catch your breaths, which eventually goes over to the two of you staring at the ceiling in comfortable silence. Scenes of your parents arguing flash by before your inner eye again, but with your mind still clouded with bliss from your orgasms, it doesn't really reach you at the moment. You look to the side, placing your hand on top of your friend's chest and lightly tapping his skin with your fingertips to make him reciprocate your gaze.

"Can I stay the night?" you ask, suddenly feeling very comfortable with the butterflies swaying in your stomach, yet still trying not to pay the sensation any heed.

"Sure," Yeonjun responds, rolling onto his side to get a better look at you. He cups your face while wearing a serious expression. "I'm going to keep you here for all eternity if that's what it takes for you to be safe." You can't help but smile at his selflessness, as the kindness behind his words makes you feel warm inside.

"I won't stay forever, you know that," you say, sitting up. "Just until tomorrow." He puts his hand over yours just as you're about to get up, and the dissatisfaction is apparent on his face. You know he wants to say something to convince you to just come live with him instead, but at the same time he knows he couldn't possibly convince you to freelance here, living off of his limited income together. So he merely groans, and he only lets go of your hand reluctantly as you get on your feet to take a shower. You collect your clothes on the way out, and when you hear Yeonjun letting his body fall back into the mattress with a thump, you throw him another look over your shoulder.

"Don't take too long," he mutters into your general direction. "So we can watch a movie or something... or cuddle if that helps you feel better." You nod, grinning at his words, before disappearing out of his sight.

You really do feel loved.

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