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swampstew · 4 months

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Everyone make sure to say thank you to @quinloki for being the little creative devil and/or angel on my shoulder that whispers naughty thoughts. A big smooch on the head and a homemade double chocolate chip brownie for them for proofing and editing and gassing me up♥

Summary: You weren't supposed to be on this island but sometimes fate decides to throw you a lemon. Here's lemonade. Hope it quenches your thirst. Warnings: spicy content 18+ only; pre-time skip Eustass Kid x AFAB Reader; dubious consent, bit of knife play but no blood, creampie, cumplay, dom/sub dynamics, kind of reads as Yandere Kid at first because he's an intimidating asshole. WC: 2.3K

Minors DNI.

story inspired by the above gif from Cowboy Bebop

Bad luck. Dirty, rotten, awful bad luck to have been at this specific port on this specific day. Your intention was to stay until you found a ship heading in the direction you were mapping out – it couldn’t have been more than two days when all hell broke loose.

When they arrived.

Anyone who had half a brain cell in the New World knew exactly who the Kid Pirates were, and the first rule of survival was stay away from them at all costs.

No such luck.

You hauled ass as soon as the rampage started. Being in the middle of the town, you had a head start to run in the opposite direction as the pirates decimated the crowd. You intended to double back towards the dockyard so you could jump on any pitiful rowboat and get the hell outta there, sea kings or ocean monsters be damned.

That proved to be your mistake.

Perhaps you had waited too long to run back to the shipyard, or perhaps it just wasn’t your day. All you knew was that the second you peered around the junk and broken trash that littered the yard, you could immediately feel a deadly presence.

It was overwhelming, like a blanket of death trying to wrap around your figure. You weren’t sure where the feeling of being watched was coming from, you were so sure there wasn’t anybody on the dock aside from dead bodies, and yet a prickly feeling on the back of your neck told you, you’re in danger.

So you ran. Ducking between boxes and broken structures, you tried so hard to run where a small sailing boat sat lopsided off the beach. But before you could make it halfway, you felt the pull of all the metals on your person halt you briefly before you went flying backwards. Your eyes watered from the velocity, your ears deafened by the whistling of the air mixed with wicked laughter.

Your back slammed against the wooden deck of the punk ship. Your belongings were already gone, you heard the stomping of heavy boots making their way towards you as you fought to regain your breath from the impact. You could hear items being dropped as the steps grew nearer, until all you could see and hear was him.

Eustass Fucking Kid.

In his massive hand, he twirled your switchblade as he squatted over you. His golden eyes gleamed with excitement as he drank deep your adrenaline and fear.

“Do you fear death?” he darkly chuckled.

“Y-y-yes,” you whispered.

“Aye, everyone who has the misfortune to run into me usually ends up dead. Didn’t expect such a pretty little thing to dart between the wreckage. Was very sure we slaughtered everyone in the port already. So where did you come from?”

You tried to look anywhere but him and he didn’t like that. With a tsk, he firmly pressed your blade against your cheek, forcing you to look at him again.

“I don’t like asking twice,” he growled.

“I w-was in the town when I he-he-heard that your crew had docked a-and were making their way th-through the island. I-I-I thought I could outrun the r-rampage and steal a b-bo-boat when n-no one was here.”

“You thought wrong,” he sneered at you, eyes scanning up and down your body. “Shitty luck really. I got bored quickly and decided to let the crew have fun while I hung back to enjoy the peace an’ quiet. I wasn’t expecting entertainment to find me,” he snickered.

“I’m—“ you gasped as he dug the blade tip to your cheek, not quite cutting into you, maybe only really slicing the first or second layer of dermis. “I’m not a threat, ju-just please. Do-don’t hurt me. I did-dn’t want to be here in the fffirst place!”

Kid’s eyes narrowed but the sneer didn’t soften, “Who said anything about hurtin’ ya?”

That made your eyebrows shoot into your hairline, “Are you joking?”

“HAAH?!” he came down from the squat to kneel beside you, “Jus’ cause I kill people from time ta’ time don’t mean I don’t know when to separate business from pleasure,” his leer was gone, in its place a smirk that didn’t make you feel any safer. “What? Don’t think a big asshole like me knows how to fuck a lady all proper like?”

“Wh—at is h-happening?”

Kid’s smirk got wider, “I ain’t gonna kill ya because I’d rather fuck ya. Sound like a preferrable option?”

“I have a ch-choice?”

“Yeah! Inside or outside the ship?”

You choked out the sob that tried to escape your throat, letting out a low whimper instead.

“Awww don’t do that. I haven’t even done anything yet. I promise ya’ you’ll be moaning in a good way if you play nice.”

Defeated, you close your eyes and lay your head back with a nod, praying for it to be over quickly and not end painfully.

“Nooooooo I want you to want it,” Kid’s tone was taunting but with a softer edge. “It’s no fun if you’re not into it. I don’t want you to be scared of me. I want you to beg for me when you realize you can’t get enough of me.”

Your face flushed with color, brain muddled with confusing feelings. Through your thoughts your eyes wandered over his bare body. His sculpted physique was barely covered by his feathered coat and loose hanging pants. The cloth belt didn’t hide the dark red happy trail that slipped along his lower abs.

His dry chuckle brought you back, “Like what you see?”

You nodded truthfully.

“Good, I like your honesty,” he praised you, lowering the blade and brushing his knuckles softly against your skin. His hand moved down your body, not quite touching you, until you felt the blade tip against your soft torso, just below your top. With deliberately slow motions, Kid brought the blade through the top and your bra. Ruined fabric fell to the sides as your breasts spilled out, Kid licked his lips before pulling back entirely.

“I like yer tits too,” he grinned with a wink before tossing the blade off to the side, quite far from where you had any hopes of reaching it.

He pulled his belts off first, then his boots, lastly sweeping the massive coat from off his shoulders and to the floor. With fluid motions he moved your body to lay over the coat and the warmth had a calming effect on you almost immediately. His musky scent clung to the air: oil, metal, iron, aftershave – you felt lightheaded as the smell overwhelmed you, lulling you into a sense of comfort.

Kid knelt over your body once more, arms and legs caging you in between his body, leaning close until he pressed his growing erection against your hip. You let out a slight jolt from the heaviness of it as he pressed his searing hot chest against your exposed breasts, flattened beneath him as he pinned you to the deck. Slowly pressing the air out of you as you started lightly gasping.

“How about it? Wanna…fuck around? I’ll make it good for ya.”

You felt yourself nodding rapidly, bewitched by his domineering presence. He rose slightly and reached his arm between your bodies to unfasten your shorts, pushing them down and off before he unzipped his own pants. His hand stayed as he teased himself first before lifting his glistening fingers to your lips. Precum.

Without wasting a second, your tongue darted out to lick his essence.

“That’s a good pet.”

His crimson lips smashed into yours, his hands palmed and squeezed your breasts, his knees barely holding the bulk of his weight as he began lightly grinding on you. You let out a gaspy moan only to be taken by his tongue as it greedily shoved its way inside your mouth. Little grunts and whimpers spilled from your lips as Kid’s fingers danced along your body, creeping lower and lower until they crept over the waistband of your panties.

When you made no signs of distress, his hand slid over your covered mound and his painted fingers pushed against your soaked core, feeling the sheer volume of slick spilling from you. Rubbing it slowly, his fingers finally gave you relief as he pushed the pantie roughly to the side and ran up and down your slit, spreading your wetness to make a mess.

“Heh, knew you’d like me,” Kid kissed you as he slipped one, then two fingers inside of you. Reaching deep inside you to find your sweet spot. He let out a pleased hiss as your pussy clenched around his fingers as he explored you, his thumb reaching around to press down on your clit and rub circles over it. Your whimpering became higher pitched as your body threatened to succumb to the carnal pleasure he was rushing into you.

You creamed on his hand as he teased out your first orgasm, pumping his fingers as you rode the wave and stilled them when you came down.

“Did ya like that?” he asked you, and it was the first time you didn’t hear malice or mockery in his voice. You panted out a yes, surprised yourself with your answer. “Gotta do that a few times so you can take my cock.”

Fully naked, your body was covered in sweat and your own slick, and Kid still hadn’t taken his pants off. Your legs were quivering as he withdrew his head from between your thighs, panties long discarded and missing in action.

“I think you’re ready. You taste like sweet desperation.”

You nodded dumbly as you watched him stand and drop his pants and underwear, slightly stumbling as he kneeled over you. You watched his cock dangle from his position, the engorged head dripping with precum and throbbing for you.

Kissing and sucking your breasts before trailing to your jaw, he whispered below your ear, “Anything you wanna say t’me?”

You hummed in lightheaded confusion, trying to contemplate his question through the haze of bliss.

The feeling of his tip pressing against your pelvis jolted you back to the moment as it slowly dragged over you, grazing against you slick covered clit. You could swear your clit vibrated in yearning as your hips tilted for more friction. He moved fluidly enough to not give you what you want while still teasing you and leaving a trail of precum on your skin.

Clarity struck you, “P-please Kid. I want you so bad. I want your cock in me so fucking much! Yo-you can’t stop now!”

Kid chuckled, “You sure?”

“Yes! FUCK please I’ll do anything! Just split me open!!” you cry out, flustered and embarrassed.

The puffy head slipped past your needy hole and you let him slide in with little resistance. Mouth opened in pleasure but no sound coming out as you felt the thick, veiny dick pushing into you – realizing just then but not really caring that he wasn’t wearing a condom.

He let out a hum that turned into a growl as he pushed in until he was completely sheathed in your warmth. Rocking into you a few times as pleased cries tumbled from your mouth, he finally spoke.

“Anything huh? I’ll need to think about that…”

You felt him pull out until the head of his cock was just slipping out before he slammed back into you, “Anything is so broad, what am I looking for?” he spoke to himself, you being so cockdrunk you were more like a sleeve, unable to conjure an answer even if you tried.

As you came violently against his cock, he stopped his movements to say, “I know, I want to keep you. What say you?” and began grinding into you as your body spasmed from the overstimulation.

You were in too deep, unsure if you truly had a choice in the matter since the moment your back hit the floor. Still on the floor as the menace above you rocked your world repeatedly as if to point out what you’d be missing if you said no. Choice or no choice, your body answered for you as the overstimulation he drove into you forced another blissful orgasm from you.

“YYYEEEEEESSSSS!!!” you sobbed from the pleasure and pain, your fear overtaken by lust induced mania. Your hips slammed against his as you came, wrapping your ankles around his hips to keep him inside you so you could drown in the constant high. “YES I WANT THIS I WANT YOU I NEED YOU!!!!!” your voice went hoarse.

Kid let out a moan as he threw his head back, “Fuck yes, I’m glad you see it my way,” he rocked his hips fiercely against yours, grabbing your ass with bruising force as he fucked you. The sound of squelching should have been embarrassing but you were too blissed out to notice or care, on the cusp of another orgasm as he was grinding his cock against your g-spot.

“I’ll treat you good, pet,” he promised, holding you down and rutting into you before letting out his own cry. You cried out with him as you saw white flood over you and static buzzing overtake your senses. Your body shaking as he came in you and you came on him. Then you could feel warmth spreading through you, coming from where you were connected. Kid panted as he pressed his forehead into yours as he finally stilled his hips. He slowly kissed your face and lips as he pulled himself out of you.

“Just gotta make it official,” he gave you a tired but mischievous smirk.

You were too exhausted to react, hardly flinching as you felt his calloused fingers playing with the cum that was leaking out of you. He brought his dripping fingers to your pelvis and drew a ‘K.’ He repeated the motion to draw ‘K’s on your breasts, hips, cheeks, all over your body. You could feel the cum harden on your skin as it dried out while he worked.

“There. You’re mine now. Don’t you ever fucking forget it.”

#dont feed the thot after midnight #she turns into a whoremone monster #eustass kid #swampstew bedtime stories #eustass kid smut #eustass kid x reader #eustass kid x you #eustasscaptainkid #quinloki #cw dubious consent #tw blade #x reader

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letsnotperceive · 19 hours

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Simon Riley and Intimacy

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18+/MDNI ✧.* GNReader ✧.* (2,040wc)

“This has left him with the ultimate juxtaposition; the innate desire to not allow close proximity to the remaining soft, vulnerable parts of his soul, and yet the desire to claw his fingers into those he cares about to shield them from the very heat that’s ruined him.”

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Simon Riley would have never considered himself a caring person, would never bother to bat an eye at someone else’s dilemmas in most scenarios. His mind is a worn and withered place in which he has created an apathetic mask over his thoughts. One that mirrors the very bit of fabric that covers the marred surface of his face—haphazardly stitched, rough around the edges. If you tried to take it apart and understand its inner workings, it would unravel in your hands in a way that would leave you wondering how it was staying together in the first place.

This is, seemingly, a coping mechanism developed over years of being hardened by the lengths to which he's been dragged through hell and back. The flames have hardened his exterior and charred his heart in a way that's somehow left it both cauterized yet raw. Sifting through all the soot will display that something is still pounding against his ribcage, still defining that he’s not completely a ghost.

This has left him with the ultimate juxtaposition; the innate desire to not allow close proximity to the remaining soft, vulnerable parts of his soul, and yet the desire to claw his fingers into those he cares about to shield them from the very heat that’s ruined him.

He's not a saccharine lover, not able to produce a syrupy, sweet display of flowery love language. But you have managed to turn him into a man whose shell has been slowly eroded over time while he has come to concede that not everyone needs to be held at arm's length. There are things worth stowing in his heart despite the vulnerability of letting something reside in such a resting place. But it’s like constantly having a hovering finger over the trigger of a firearm; one wrong move can shatter you. In a way, he doesn't trust himself to keep you whole in the palm of his hand.

Not that there is a sadistic streak that would ever flare in his brain around you; oh no, rather, he'd assume any pain in the universe if it meant you didn't have to harbor it. Even when things have been accumulating, weighing on his broad shoulders that are used to bearing guns and injured teammates and the burdens of a world that has beaten him down with a cruelty that would make the devil wince, he would carry your burdens too. You fuel that singed heart in his chest that would otherwise want to tenaciously depend on spite and adrenaline.

Perhaps that's the reason Simon keeps you so carefully concealed from the life he lives when the mask is pulled over his face. From the person that he becomes when his identity is stripped and replaced with Ghost. Of course, there would be no conceivable way for him to never indulge you in a sparing sample of the nature of his career when it houses so much of his attention and livelihood. But he prefers to keep as much as he can from tainting you. From turning your mind into the same somber chamber that his has become to house what he’s witnessed, what he’s done.

The feeling of relief as he steps over the threshold of the building that houses you is like a breath of air after being submerged underwater for far too long. He doesn’t care where he could end up; no place satisfies his desire for home like wherever it is that you happen to be. There’s a pair of fluffy house slippers near the door; he kicks his boots off beside them. An odd little pair of soft and welcoming ones next to his own, tired and worn. The mask is long gone by now, discarded before he even reached the driveway—here he’s never anyone but Simon to you.

It’s late, far too late; he doesn’t even bother taking the time to check the clock. He knows you are going to be awake regardless, up waiting to catch a glimpse of him, and he will give you your scolding for it in the morning. For now, he makes his way down the hall, hand wrapping around the doorknob to a bedroom that lately houses two. A split second of hesitation runs over him, just enough for that sinking sensation to crawl back up through his mind. That feeling that maybe he shouldn’t, that he should go sink into the couch and keep his filthy, wretched hands that just spent so many lives away from you.

His presence and uncertainty must both be palpable to you, even from behind the door, because he hears a soft call of his name. No, you need him; you need him just as much as he needs you. The weight of the past few weeks can reside with Ghost for now, so he can just be Simon. He turns the knob and opens the door with an echoing creak, swearing under his breath and making a mental note of his new project for the morning involving a bottle of WD-40. Damned this house seems to be, even with an angel waiting just a few steps away.

You can barely hear his footsteps across the hardwood, but the bed frame creaks and the mattress dips under his weight. He manages to settle down between the valley of your legs, his large hands pawing at the plush of your thighs to make room for his frame. You scoff lightly at the way he's grumbling due to the sheer inconvenience it causes him when wasting those precious milliseconds getting into a proper position—though there’s no real heat or annoyance behind the action, because you know he’s just grouchy by nature. He’s been waiting to indulge in your sweetness for far too long now, with an ache so strong it makes his teeth hurt. Like the overgrown, frustrated mutt he is, he sinks them into your skin to soothe the sensation.

“Simon!” You yelp, a sharp little cry that’s mostly born from shock.

“Hmph,” he grunts in return, ever so eloquently.

“Scared of’a nip now, are we darlin’?”

Though it’s enough to make him feel a bit of shame for hurting his sweet thing. He presses his slightly chapped lips against the ruddy imprint his teeth left behind, a wordless apology you will never hear. He doesn’t like wasting time and is impatient to a fault if he doesn’t have an explicit command to hold out any longer. Before there is time to scold him—if you could even find the words to do so—he’s got his fingers curled around the elastic waistband of your sleep shorts and is tearing them away as if they were a personal offense.

Trying to keep him away from his love, that slip of fabric, ain’t it? He hears the satisfying snap of the stitching coming undone down the leg as he rips, chuckling as they get tossed to the side haphazardly.

That’ll teach ‘em.

You seem to have found your voice then, just in time to defend the pair of pajamas. They were nice and new-

(“Sorry, doll. Ya’ know I’ll getcha new ones.")

Gentle simply isn’t the name of his game. Though he can try, and try he might when he’s so afraid of crushing your lively little soul in his calloused, bloodstained hand. It just doesn’t come to him naturally, the way he tends to want to grab your hips and hold you flush to him. But at this moment, he dips his head down until his forehead meets the smooth span of your abdomen, resting there for a moment. Simon’s breathing tickles against your skin, a slow and steady pattern that’s a far cry from all the adrenaline that’s been pumping through him. Your hands gain purchase within the locks of his cropped hair that you can catch between your fingers. His voice is rumbly, a deep growl from low in his throat.

“Missed ya’.”

It’s about as close to singing praises from the heavens as he can offer you, and you greedily drink in every last minimal word he gets out. If he had the capability of belief, he’d be thanking any higher power out there that he’s returned home to what must be the only blessing he was ever offered. Your hands want to wander, want to run down his chest, then lower, and lower—

But he stops you with a silent shake of his head before your desires are executed.

“Just you tonight, luv.”

You know better than to question it—the way he may give but then pull back with intimacy. Some nights he can relish the way you roll those hips on top of him, low moans permitted to spill from his mouth and a tight grip on the back of his oversized t-shirt you tend to be wearing. Others end in a lit cigarette and an hour alone on the porch, scarred figure illuminated by the flame as he tries to wave off your concern. Lost in his mind due to the unwilling thoughts that want to follow any bit of bliss he tries to chase. It’s easier to let him slip and slink through your fingers as he pleases, letting him warm up to you like a feral creature who’s slowly been domesticated.

Delicate, delicate, delicate. He tries to run his thumbs in gentle circles over your body while fighting the urge to press down just hard enough that it will make little purple marks bloom like flowers against your skin, to prove that blood still runs warm through your veins. He doesn’t do it; you deserve to be treated delicately. It earns you a kiss for every intrusive thought he has over the matter, and he’s rewarded in turn with every breathy noise you make from them.

Simon is a man who’s been starved, has been depleted of his life source up until now. The way he ravishes you seems to fit the gnawing hunger he feels accordingly. His actions are desperate and unrefined following the very first taste of your sweetness on his lips. He licks a stripe against you to hear the way you squeal and see how your legs will twitch and shake for him.

“Pretty, pretty,“ he murmurs, not afraid to speak with his mouth full of his favorite meal. What a gift to be engulfed by your beauty when he spends so much time involved in all that’s corrupted and vile.

“And it’s just f’me?”

All of you, that’s what’s for him. Every square inch of your very being, and then whatever else he can find to clutch onto, too. If you give it to him, he’ll slowly return such an offering, piece by piece of the inner workings of such a complicated and complex mind, fragments of that hidden heart being unearthed.

“Yes!” You sob, a choked noise that’s reflective of how long he’s situated himself in this very position, never feeling that he’s had his fill. “Yes, yes, yes-!”

Wave after wave after wave of pleasure, he will give it all to you if you ask. He cramps a few of his thick, calloused fingers inside your warmth, crooking them with expertise gained from attentiveness to what’s *just for him*. He croons as you spill once more, not letting any of your nectar go to waste with a low chuckle at your overstimulated gasps.

There isn’t anything he wants in return as you pant for breath and flush ruddy with exertion—or so he claims. But you know him better than that, guiding his head to lie against your chest. The quick beats of your heart lull him to concede, and the way your hands soothe over his shoulder blades and tattooed bicep certainly doesn’t deter him either. He wants a hand through his hair and your nails lightly raking against his back and you certainly know how to deliver. Making sure to take caution over the raised scar tissue of his marred skin. Those get traced delicately, as if you are connecting stars to create new constellations.

“Bath?” You mumble, the word feeling heavy on your tongue as exhaustion dares to finally try and seep into your bones.

And, well, he wouldn’t say no to that, either.

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Thanks for all the support on my first post! Still learning how to format and improve. TBH I only write when I’m not feeling well or sleep deprived or intoxicated so hopefully this is decent enough lol

Also this was my first attempt w/ writing anything x reader or gender neutral specific so if I did anything wrong plz lmk. Okay thanks byeee

#call of duty #cod #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #simon riley x you

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littlemonday · 29 days

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So much of the difference in player response to the Emperor vs. Raphael comes down to aesthetics.

I’ve been seeing a lot of fan posting of Raphael lately, which is honestly fine. I enjoy seeing fan creations on all the characters. But I feel like I need to address something that is, for me, rather glaring in the fandom. Raphael is a pretty popular character, while the Emperor gets so much hate posting I’ve had to block users and entire groups on other sites because it was so over the top. These characters are functionally quite similar in the game, but the disparity in how they’re each perceived couldn’t be more different.

Both characters need to form an alliance with the main character. Both characters need the main character to defeat the brain. Both characters are willing to manipulate the main character to meet their own ends. But, one character is a conventionally attractive middle aged man, and the other is a humanoid squid monster. (How many times have we all seen posts about how upset someone was when their hot dream guardian turned out to be the squid monster?)

Not only is Raphael conventionally attractive, but he stays that way when he reveals himself as a devil.The Emperor presents himself as someone the main character would trust, but when he’s finally revealed, he bears no resemblance to the facade he was wearing - a facade that he sincerely believed was necessary to keep himself safe and to win your trust. Raphael is quite literally the handsome devil. His ascended form barely makes an appearance, but even so that form is not alien. It’s devilish, but not alien, and “alien” unlike devilish, invokes a deeply discomforting fear of the unknown.

Raphael is all opulence and performance, wearing tailored clothing and living in a grandiose house that hides the horrors of what happens there until late into act 3. While the mind flayer colonies by comparison are grotesque organisms that look like the inside of a body, and the Emperor’s home is a bare bones cellar with the last remaining keepsakes of his former life. The chains he uses to hold his victims are right out in the open.

Raphael is like an old school campy Disney villain who tries to entertain you all while openly admitting that he wants you to come to him when you’re desperate and all hope is gone. And like those old Disney villains, he just enjoys being evil. He even comes with his own villain song that he sings. He enjoys your suffering. He’s openly playing with his food. The Emperor does try to seduce you, but mostly tries to appeal to your pragmatism and empathy. However, he doesn’t have Disney villain camp to help him out here. He embodies all the body horror and fear over the player's loss of humanity by virtue of him being a mind flayer. He does have a song, but most of us miss it on our first play through and don’t hear its tragic lyrics.

Raphael, and this one is perhaps the most frustrating to me, imprisoned and tortured Hope for years! He takes advantage of people, including orphans, and gets them to sign away their souls for eternal torment in exchange for something they desperately want or need in life. While the Emperor has that one infamous cutscene in which we see him enthrall Stelmane, but it comes on the heels of the player dehumanizing and provoking him. A lot of players will refer to this as a “call out” and a “mask off” moment, which is very disingenuous framing. It’s frustrating that so few players never seem to consider the deeper role their choices may play in triggering this scene: you treat him like an inhuman monster, and you get an inhuman monster. Players will complain all the time about how the Emperor manipulates you and lies about everything, but apparently in this one scene he’s suddenly being completely honest and not manipulating you? So many never consider the possibility of confirmation bias when it comes to this character.

As I said, this cutscene is an obvious threat, but I know that just because he’s threatening you, it doesn’t mean there’s no truth to what you’re seeing. However, it also doesn’t mean that this is somehow “the truth” as so many players seem to think it is. I’ll write more on this in another post, but there’s just not enough information in the game to make definitive conclusions on their relationship. And I bring this up because I don’t see anywhere near the outrage over Hope as I see over Stelmane.

Then there’s Ansur. The Emperor killed his love, Ansur, out of self defense (we know this from Ansur himself), and for a lot of players, this was what solidified their hatred for the Emperor, and they will endlessly hate post about it. Raphael, on the other hand, never killed any of his loves. But the reason he never killed any of his loves is because he’s never loved anyone. He’s incapable of it, and anyone he has killed was, at best, a mere tool for his use.

Which brings me to my next point, even though both characters are trying to manipulate you to their own ends, only the Emperor sees you as more than a means to an end. Raphael does not. In fact, I wrote a lot of words on this very topic.

I’ve had people tell me that they like Raphael more because he’s upfront with his intentions, while the Emperor isn’t. That’s not entirely true. The Emperor tells you he wants his freedom, even tells you the power he uses to protect you is power he’s stolen, but he goes to great lengths to hide his identity, where Raphael barely goes to any lengths at all. As I said, the Emperor sincerely believes he must do this to protect himself. He likes to puff his chest out, but he’s quite aware of his own vulnerability, so he lives a life in which he’s constantly hiding and disguising himself. He’s surviving, as he puts it in the end. Raphael is essentially a prince in the Hells who wields a lot of power, and whatever vulnerabilities he might have are well protected. Whatever difference this makes is not enough to justify the gulf in how much hate the Emperor receives versus how little Raphael does.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: this is not me saying that you have to like one character or dislike another. That’s personal, and I’m not going to waste time telling people how to feel. So please don’t take away from this that I want to see more hate posting about Raphael. I don’t! Please don’t hate post about any characters, and if you absolutely must, please don’t use character tags to do so. What I am saying is that there’s a clear double standard in this fandom, and I want more players to engage with this media in a way that is both empathetic and analytical. I think both of those things together can prevent a lot of toxicity.

#bg3 #the emperor #the emperor bg3 #bg3 emperor #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #raphael #media criticism #not a hate post #fandoms

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theharrowing · 8 months

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Devil with the Mint Hair 🍃 3: Pretty good

His pull out game is strong but your hatred for him is stronger.

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🍃 Yoongi x Female Reader

🍃 word count: 7.7k

🍃 enemies to fuck buddies, brother’s best friend, explicit smut, nsfw, 18+

🍃 warnings: alcohol consumption (mc is tipsy); talk of hiring sex workers; mention of masturbation with sex toys; mention of Yoongi fucking Jimin; use of "baby girl" & "submissive little fuck doll"; mc is a brat; dirty talk and filthy smut (safe word establishment; mc does not get undressed; hair gripping - no description of hair style or length; being handled roughly - pushed around, gripped by head and throat; face slapping; rough, messy blow job & face fucking; a lot of drool; spitting; rough sex; pussy slapping; cunnilingus, fingering, & ass eating; multiple orgasms; overstimulation); they do not kiss once; post-nut regret; possibly catching a feeling??? (lol, as if.)

🍃 note: this scene takes place in America and there is a brief interaction with a bartender but i didn't specify what language anyone is speaking or where these characters live because it seems very unimportant for a fic like this lol. i know nobody is here for the scraps of plot.

🍃 beta read by @neoneunnajimin

🍃 posted oct. 2023 | read on ao3

The summer sun is hot and oppressive, and you sit under the awning of a poolside bar, hair dripping from taking a swim, with a towel around your hips, waiting impatiently for the bartender to return with a blended margarita – desperate for the inevitable brain freeze, if it means you get to cool down.

Why your brother chose to celebrate his September birthday in Las Vegas, of all places, is beyond you, and you try your hardest not to melt against the high bar chair and its tiny little wooden seat back. You only agreed to come because he is your brother, and you would never miss his birthday for the world.

And you assumed that he and the guys would be so busy gambling and going to strip clubs – and whatever else men in their twenties do – that you would not get stuck running into a certain someone too much, despite foolishly agreeing to meet up, should the possibility arise. And you were right, for the most part.

Night one consisted of dinner and drinks, and then the guys went off to various casinos on the strip to test their luck. You meandered through your hotel's casino, cradling a drink while taking in all the sights and sounds, ultimately becoming both underwhelmed and overwhelmed, and retiring to your room to sink into the jacuzzi tub.

The following day, the guys slept in late while you went to breakfast, and then you joined them for some day drinking and a walk along the strip. And although your sworn enemy did make an appearance each time, with your brother around, he barely acknowledged your presence – something that you have found to be both a relief and somewhat infuriating.

He has also been preoccupied with a pretty boy with bright orange hair named Jimin, and you find yourself wondering, whenever you see him, whether he is the hookup your enemy mentioned to you over text.

Not that you want that devil to acknowledge you, nor do you want to care about who he fucks – after the stunt he pulled the last time you saw him, you find it impossible to look him in the eyes for more than a few seconds. But it still feels strange to be ignored by someone who made you cum so hard – a thought that makes you cringe.

You surmise that the guys had a long night at the strip club because it is almost noon, and you have not heard from your brother. Today has been set aside as a sleep-in-and-recharge day, anyway, so you have no plans until dinner, which is how you came to be at the large outdoor pool, perched at the bar without the expectation of running into anyone. Perhaps you should have rethought your plan and gone to someone else's expansive outdoor pool, but now is not the time for weighing the could-have-beens.

Once the bright blue drink in a tall, curvy glass is set before you, you sit high in your seat, smiling as you take hold of the chilled glass and wrap your lips around the neon pink straw, sucking in the ice-cold concoction that sends a shiver down your spine with a flavor that you can only describe as boozy blue.

"God, that's good," you mutter to yourself, rolling your eyes back with joy and lolling your head as a frigid rush works its way through your body, aided by your damp bathing suit.

"Damn," a familiar voice rasps from behind, making you jump, "what do they put in those things?"

You don't need to turn to see that Yoongi has sat to your right, but you do, quickly taking in his naked torso and black swim shorts before turning your attention back to your drink, putting the straw between your lips and noting that he is dressed to swim but still dry.

As much as you try to ignore his presence, you can feel Yoongi's eyes on you, and you do your best to ignore the way your skin has broken into goosebumps and your face warms. You do not like him, and you hate how your body responds to his presence.

Yoongi drawls a petulant, "Wow, not even gonna say hi to me, huh?"

You roll your eyes, take a deep, chilling sip of blue, and turn your attention toward him, doing your best to appear wholly inconvenienced. Then, with wide, incredulous eyes and a fake smile, you say, "Hi, Yoongi," as sarcastically as possible.

Yoongi snickers, then opens his mouth to retaliate, but the bartender returns and asks if he would like something, forcing his attention away as he points to your drink and says, "I'll have whatever that is."

The bartender cheerily says, "Blue raspberry margarita, coming right up!" and walks off.

Yoongi turns his attention back to you to mutter, "Sounds mildly horrifying; I can't wait," with a grin.

Feeling annoyed and disinterested in whatever this man is playing at, you blurt, "Why are you here, Yoongi?"

"My best friend's birthday," Yoongi responds, running a hand through his short, mint-green hair, and sounding bored. "Why else?"

You sigh and roll your eyes, then focus on stabbing the pink straw into your blue drink. "I mean here, sitting next to me. There are other bars out here, and hundreds more along the strip. Shouldn’t you be preoccupied by that orange-haired guy who clings to you, instead?”

When Yoongi asks, "Why wouldn't I want to be here, sitting next to you?” his voice is much lower and much closer than you expect, and you flinch, turning your sights back to him.

Yoongi leans on the bar top, elbow only inches away, and his gaze is piercing. Only a small floral bikini top covers your upper half, and your leg sticks out from the slit in your towel enough that when Yoongi's gaze roves slowly and hungrily over your body, you feel exposed. Anxiety crashes through you, but so does arousal, and you clear your throat and take another frozen sip.

“And anyway,” Yoongi continues the moment you turn away, ��Jimin is still asleep, and likely will be for several more hours.”

The bartender returns and sets Yoongi's drink before him, and you watch from the corner of your eye as his nimble, long fingers delicately cradle the glass and slide it toward himself. He sits forward, takes a sip, and then grumbles out something unintelligible under the sound of your pounding heart.

"Hmm?" you ask, turning your attention to him.

"Not as orgasmic as you made it seem, but not too bad."

With another roll of your eyes, you mutter, "You are so annoying."

Truth be told, sitting out here with Yoongi is not as bad as you would have thought. Perhaps it is because he is holding back from leaning too far into your personal space and wearing you down – likely because the two of you are surrounded by others, and there is a slight chance that your brother or one of the other guys could come find the two of you. Or, perhaps the dry Vegas heat is making you too worn out both physically and emotionally to care.

Yoongi hums, and you turn your attention toward him without fully looking at him, continuing to suck at your melting drink. One thing you will give Vegas credit for is even these shitty slushies are potent enough that you are already feeling a little tipsy.

"You seem calm today," Yoongi muses. "Did you also bring back an escort last night? Get the stress fucked out of you?"

Everything Yoongi says hits you like several small trucks, and you open and close your mouth, attempting to begin several sentences but feeling at a loss for which detail to hone in on. Finally, you settle on the most obvious bit and ask, "Escort? What?"

Yoongi laughs, and it sounds almost mocking and sardonic, so you look at him, finding him chewing on his bright yellow straw with a lopsided smile. "Why do you think the guys are so worn out? I've been keeping them busy."

"You've…what?"

Another laugh, but this one comes from the guts, deep and amused. "What? We're in Vegas, baby girl! Gotta make sure to give the guys the full experience."

"You're lying," you mutter, straw wedged between your teeth, doing your best not to respond to the sound of him calling you baby girl out loud.

Has Yoongi really been hiring sex workers to stay with the guys? All the while you've been using a vibrator and feeling too small in your gigantic suite. You have nothing against the notion of sex work, but knowing that your brother…a violent shudder runs through you as you attempt to shut out the thought.

"Ha, come on, do you really think I would lie about something like this? We found a fun little club not too far from here, and the guys took a liking to some of the dancers. Once we found out the girls can be rented for the night, that was that."

"Wow," is all you can mutter, because what else do you add? Must be nice? Thanks for the invite? Nothing feels appropriate. And anyway, what if Yoongi is lying?

"And what's the name of your favorite girl?" you ask, attempting to play it cool, taking another deep sip of blue before turning your eyes to Yoongi, whose gaze is firm.

The way he regards you is unyielding, and you squirm in your seat, finding it hard to hold eye contact. Somehow this is the most civil conversation you have ever had with Yoongi in person, and you find yourself nearly charmed by his presence. That is, until you recall how he showed up at your door knowing full well that your brother was not home so he could smoke you out and pressure you into rough sex on your bedroom floor, of all fucking places.

And you almost break the spell and let your anger rise, feeling the sudden urge to chug back your drink and get the fuck away from this demon. But you cannot deny the way he made you feel, and you would be lying if you said you would not want to feel it again, especially after agreeing to hook up if the opportunity presented itself. It seems as if it has, in fact, done just that.

Although you are at war with your thoughts and not fully set on running off, you do slurp more than half of the remnants of your drink, which goes down easy now that it has more or less melted into a boozy syrup.

"Well?" you challenge, curious what kinds of escorts Yoongi has been bringing back to his room. You wonder if they like it just as rough as you do.

Yoongi tongues the inside of his mouth, then chuckles. "Nah, I haven't been partaking. Only supplying."

At this, you roll your eyes, once more. Why is Yoongi suddenly acting like a prude? "Sure, okay," you say incredulously.

"I'm serious!" Yoongi insists, making you laugh more.

"There's nothing wrong with hiring sex workers, Yoongi," you say with raised eyebrows, almost defensively.

"I fucking know that," he bites back, "I'm the one hiring them!"

"Okay, then—"

"Why would I need to hire someone? You're right down the hall."

Now you know he is fucking with you, and you hate to admit it, but it makes you annoyed – a little upset, even. If Yoongi has been preoccupying the guys, why hasn’t he shown up at your door? He must be messing with you.

"Shut the fuck up," you grit with your straw between your teeth before sucking the rest of your drink back. The straw gurgles loudly against the bottom of the glass as you angrily seek every last drop of tequila and blue.

"I'm serious," Yoongi responds, close.

When you regard him, he looks serious, but you are certain that he must be toying with you, and you begin to slide from the tall chair to the ground, stretching your toes to meet the rough gunite while your shifting weight makes the chair scrape loudly backward.

There is laughter in Yoongi's voice when he asks, "Wait, where are you going?"

You sigh and stare at Yoongi's half-empty drink rather than at himself, contemplating how much you even want to reveal. You do not have feelings for him, for one thing, but you are also not sure whether he has just been messing with you and lying about wanting to hook up again. It almost feels like you are the butt of some joke.

"I'm not going to sit here and be made fun of," you say, pointedly not meeting his gaze before you turn to walk back into the hotel.

"Wait," Yoongi says, and before you have a chance to register the word, his hand is on your arm, tugging you back. "There has definitely been a misunderstanding."

You are surprised to find that Yoongi is standing, and now that you are on your feet, the alcohol hits you at once, spinning you somewhat off your axis as you twist out of Yoongi's hold and frown at his eager expression. You stumble slightly back on flip-flopped feet and straighten out, giving him your best glare.

"Look, I'm not interested in your games, okay? I know you enjoy being an asshole for fun, so cut the shit, Yoongi."

Yoongi actually looks a bit upset before he schools his features and scoffs, taking a step back and reaching for his drink. He shrugs, then mutters, "Fine, be a fucking brat."

The whiplash is astounding, and you stand your ground while trying to figure out just what the fuck is going on. Yoongi sucks his cheeks in to finish the last of his tequila syrup, then he walks past you with an air of nonchalance that makes you turn on your toes and follow him in a huff. You were going to have the last word; who does he think he is?

As the two of you approach the open door of the hotel, Yoongi turns to glance over his shoulder and scoffs. "What? Tagging along so you can bitch at me in the elevator?"

"Oh, fuck off," you respond louder than necessary now that the two of you are in the crowded carpeted hallway and the raucous sounds of the pool are quieted behind concrete and glass. "I'm going back to my room."

"Sure you don't want to come back to mine?" Yoongi asks over his shoulder as you round a corner into a nearly empty hallway, walking deeper into the hotel.

"What?" you all but shout.

"Oh, come on," he laughs, turning to walk backward just long enough to say, "I saw how jealous you got over the prospect of me fucking someone else, despite knowing full well that I do fuck someone else, regularly. Regardless, the guys are all asleep, which means an opportunity has presented itself."

"I was not—" you begin as his gaze rakes down your body, and he turns back around.

"Admit it," Yoongi drawls, taking a corner to the left into a small elevator lobby with eight gold doors. He presses a call button, then turns to fully face you. "You can't get me out of your head, can you? I've been watching you sneak glances all weekend, baby girl; you're a terrible actor."

How can one man be so exasperating? As you wait for one of the elevators to get close, you stare up at the lights above the nearest one, hoping that by some chance two of them open so that you are not stuck in a compact square carriage with him.

But as one of the elevators behind you dings, and not a single person joins you inside, you realize all too soon that you are trapped with him, and only him. Yoongi steps in first and holds his hand in front of the door to keep it from closing, and you slide into the small space and step into the furthest corner from him, staring at the gold doors as they close, then watching in the peripheral as Yoongi hits the number 32 – the floor you both stay on.

"So?" Yoongi drawls, causing your entire body to break out in goosebumps – though you reason it is likely from your bathing suit still being damp and has nothing to do with that demon's deep, inviting voice.

"So, what?" you bite back, staring up at the little screen above the button panel that flashes with which floor it passes.

"You gonna come to my room and let us both have what we want, or what? Nice and rough, just like you asked for.”

With a scoff, you cross your arms over your chest, attempting to find warmth and to cover how hard your nipples are under your bathing suit top. Yoongi steps closer, and in this enclosed space, you can smell hints of musk and cologne, and maybe something sweet, like a lingering trace of shampoo or a body wash.

"Or maybe we should go to yours," he suggests, deep and quiet. "Your room is further from the others…don't need any of them hearing you screaming my name while I tame the brat out of you."

"You are insufferable," you grit under your breath, though your words do not sound as firm as you would like.

Yoongi hums and steps impossibly closer, then says, "I know you can't stop thinking about me, baby girl. Just give in."

As soon as the elevator dings and the gold doors slide open, he side steps far away from you, giving you space to exit and begin the hurried trek toward your room. From the elevator lobby, yours is to the left and down a little, whereas the group of rooms the guys are staying in are just off to the right. If you did let Yoongi fuck you – which you are not – doing so in your room would be the wiser of the two choices.

You round the corner to the left and walk quickly down to your door. To your chagrin, Yoongi's flip flops smack behind you, and you sigh and let your head droop back, feeling too tipsy and maybe a little too horny to be allowing him to come to your room. You reach your door and fish your key from where it's wedged between your towel and hip, then turn and scowl, looking over Yoongi's shoulder to make sure nobody else is in the hallway to see the two of you together.

"Go back to your room, Yoongi," you say. Your heart pounds the closer he gets, and you do your best to keep your eyes on his face, but he is shirtless, and he looks really good with his lean but defined muscles on display.

"Is that really what you want?" he asks, stopping a foot away and leaning into the wall.

"Yes!" you whisper-yell, insistent. You glance over his shoulder once more, then say, "The last thing I want is to get caught with you."

Yoongi's face brightens, and you know in an instant that you have fucked up. "Oh, so you do want me to fuck your brains out, but you're worried about getting caught?"

"That's not—"

Yoongi raises an eyebrow and does not wait for you to finish your sentence, drawling, "I think it is. You already said as much over text."

Although your hand is lifted halfway to the key scanner, it is too far for it to detect the key and allow you entrance. You raise your eyebrows and use the hand holding the key to wave him off, muttering, "Shoo! Get the fuck out of here. I don't want to be seen with you."

Yoongi tongues the inside of his cheek, grabs your hand, and forces you to hold the key against the scanner, then reaches with his other hand to open the door and shove the two of you inside. Everything happens in a flash, and you barely have a chance to get your bearings, muttering, "Yoongi, what the f—" as you are ushered into the entrance of your hotel room, and Yoongi is closing the door behind the two of you.

"Nobody can see us in here," Yoongi says as he steps out of his sandals and walks into your room, adding, "problem solved," over his shoulder.

Your hotel room is fairly tidy, with only a few small sprawling piles of clothing and beauty products here and there. But you definitely left a dildo and vibrator lying tangled in the sheets of the bed from toying yourself last night, and you kick out of your sandals and scurry over to the bed, hoping to get to them before Yoongi sees them, finding him holding the small purple bullet vibrator between his fingers.

"Naughty girl," Yoongi teases when you come into view, and you can hear him clicking on the power button multiple times to make the buzzing louder and stronger.

"Put that down," you insist, closing the space between the two of you and reaching for it.

"Let me use this on you," Yoongi mutters, dropping his arm down and brushing the vibrating toy over your thigh, right in between the slit of the towel.

"Yoongi!" you yelp, hopping backward and reaching for his arm, but Yoongi just grins and holds the toy behind his back, flexing his arm as you attempt to yank on it.

"Please," Yoongi asks softly, flashing a lopsided smile, and you shove at his chest and walk away, determined to put space between the two of you.

Given how fast Yoongi can make you cum, the prospect of him fucking you while using your toy does excite you, but it also worries you. This man would turn you into a pile of mush in no time. Luckily, he turns the toy off and tosses it back onto your bed, toward the pillows.

“We need to establish boundaries,” you say, walking over to a long mirror near the front entrance of the room to check your reflection. Although you appear tired from a combination of tipsiness, heat, and genuine exhaustion, you look good enough to let this demon perceive you.

When you turn back to Yoongi, he is sitting on the corner of your bed, arms relaxed at his sides, waiting for you to continue.

“Things like hitting, spitting, and hair-pulling are fine, but I get to tell you to stop if it becomes too much.”

“We’ll establish a safe word,” Yoongi says.

A thrill rushes over you as you consider what your safe word could be, and you formulate an idea, unable to hold back from grinning. Yoongi must take notice, because he sits higher, raising his eyebrows curiously.

“The guy with the orange hair,” you say, approaching Yoongi, whose eyes widen as you speak, “is he your regular hookup?”

Yoongi smiles sharply, then nods his head slightly as he says, “He is.”

“And he knows you plan to fuck me? Or are you doing it behind his back?”

Yoongi’s smile turns wide and playful. “He knows.”

“Hmm,” you respond, stepping close enough that he could reach out and touch you. “My safe word is Jimin.”

Yoongi tongues the inside of his cheek, then sits back, placing his palms against the white comforter on the bed. “Really?”

You chuckle as you nod and say, “Yup.”

“You’re going to scream Jimin’s name if you want me to slow down or stop?”

“Correct.”

Yoongi laughs, clearly amused, then he nods and says, “Alright. Works for me. Any other boundaries? Things you’re not into?”

Truthfully, at this moment, there is nothing you can think of. So you shrug and say, “Nothing as of now…but I’ll tell you if that changes.”

“You’ll moan my hookup’s name if you change your mind,” Yoongi mutters with a smirk.

“Yup.”

Yoongi rolls his shoulders and then sits up straight before slowly beginning to stand. You take a step back, feeling nervousness sink in over the fact that this is really happening, especially with the way Yoongi stands tall with his shoulders square and his expression flat.

“Repeat your safe word for me,” Yoongi commands.

“Jimin,” you respond, much softer than intended.

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth rises for a split second, then he squints as if he is disgusted by what he sees. Instinctively, you take another step back.

Yoongi is quick as a serpent, hand snapping up to grip onto your jaw and make you gasp – startling you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks in a sharp snarl.

Although you move your lips, all you are able to mutter is vowels, unsure what to say.

“You’re mine, baby girl. You don’t so much as move unless I command it.”

Although you are aware that your safe word negates his statement, your heart thrums heavily behind your ribs at the idea of being at Yoongi’s mercy. You told him you wanted it rough – wanted it to hurt – and now that you stand before him, trepidation sinks deep.

Yoongi continues to grip firmly to your chin while his free hand rips the towel from around your hips and chucks it to the side, making you gasp and flinch. The bikini you wear is small and still a bit damp, and you shiver as the air hits your bare thighs and tummy. Your breaths are heavy, causing a quick rise and fall of your chest, and you already feel a bit dazed from being handled his way.

“Look at you,” Yoongi growls with a sharp, hungry gaze, lips upturned. “You can talk all the shit you want about how much you hate me, but I can see the way you want me, baby girl."

His grasp on your jaw is firm, and when he begins to pull his arm back, toward the bed, you step with him, moving slowly as his body rotates. Yoongi smirks razor-sharp, eyes burning with excitement, and you hate how absolutely right he is. You want him real bad.

"Wanna choke on my cock while sitting on the bed, or down on your knees?" Yoongi asks, leaning nice and close, wafting warm, sugar-sweet breath into your face.

"On the bed," you mutter, voice hoarse and weak.

Yoongi grips your jaw ever so slightly, then pushes you down into the bed, causing you to gasp and scramble as you keep from sliding off the edge, hands gripping onto the white comforter.

"Not eager to get back onto the floor with me?" he chides, but all you can do is stare upward as he looms over you, fingers working the velcro fly of his black swim shorts.

Yoongi wastes no time pushing his shorts to the floor, revealing a half-hard and inviting cock. Last time, you hardly got a good look at him, but this time, it is all you see as Yoongi grips onto the back of your hair and yanks you forward, practically shoving himself against your lips.

"Don't be shy, baby girl," Yoongi groans, using his other hand to gently squeeze your throat. You look up at Yoongi without tilting your head, greeted by a dark stare that gives you chills as he adds, "Let's see what that pretty, bratty fucking mouth of yours can do."

With a deep, fortifying breath, you sit high on the bed, hands still gripping the comforter, and you run your tongue over the shaft, just below his cockhead. His skin is smooth with a faint soapy smell, and you let your eyes flutter as your lips close over the head, wetting the skin.

"We don't have all fucking day," Yoongi practically growls as he presses your head close to his pelvis.

With a snarl, you glance up through your lashes, saying, "We quite literally do have all day," lips still pressed against him. In a show of brattiness, you add, "So do you want it, or are you going to keep being an asshole?"

Yoongi releases the hand on your hair and slaps you against the cheek. It is not hard enough to sting, but it is enough to make you gasp, eyes wide as you let the slight tingle settle over your skin. Although you would ordinarily be ready to fight a man for slapping you, in this setting, it excites you – makes you want to act like even more of a pain in his ass.

"Too far?" Yoongi asks, expression still hard but with a hint of softness hiding around the edges.

If this were anyone else, you would bat your lashes and tell him you liked it – that it felt exciting enough to set a spark in you that is threatening to light a proper fire. But this is Yoongi, so you scoff and say, "I didn't call my safe word, did I?"

Yoongi chuckles in response with the edge of his mouth tugging into a sharp sneer. Then he slaps you again, this time hard enough to sting, and he grips your throat and tugs you against him, forcing your forehead to crash against his tummy while the head of his cock presses into your lips and teeth.

"Suck my fucking dick or I'm leaving," he commands.

With a roll of your eyes, you grumble, "So moody."

You can hear the beginning of a response, but you open wide and swallow Yoongi as far as you can take him, letting the tip lightly touch your throat. Yoongi groans, tightening his grip on your neck before relaxing it while the other firmly grabs the back of your head.

Without warning, Yoongi bucks his hips, thrusting deep. You gag, but not badly enough to have to pull off, swallowing the feeling while he pulls back and thrusts forward again. And again, pulling out, slamming deep, and pulling out, clearly not setting a rhythm so much as testing your limits.

You lift your hands and settle them on his hips, surprised by how soft his skin feels beneath your fingertips, and when he pulls back again, you take in a deep enough breath through your nose. Although Yoongi is forceful, his grip on you is loose – a small mercy considering you are already drooling and beginning to cry.

"Damn, baby girl, your throat feels amazing," Yoongi rasps, voice coming out surprisingly desperate.

As he sets a pace, you settle into the pattern of breathing in time with his thrusts, and Yoongi continues to hold onto your head and neck while he fucks your face. Although you have given a sloppy blow job or two in the past, this is the first time you have allowed someone to be in control.

Tears catch in your eyelashes and fall, and you glance up, watching as Yoongi grits his teeth and knits his brow, clearly holding himself back from losing some semblance of control – whether it is the urge to fuck harder or to cum already, you can only presume.

When his eyes meet yours, he moans, allowing his eyelids to flutter, causing your strong foundation of hating his fucking guts to crumble just a little. Yoongi looks sexy while falling apart, sweat glistening on his shoulders and chest, which rise and fall with each breath he takes.

"You have no idea how fucking good this feels," Yoongi mutters, hissing as his cock presses in nice and deep, causing thick drool to build.

The sounds that come from you are wet and pornographic, forced from your throat. You attempt to hum in response to his praise, but the sound is garbled and lost. Not that he needs to hear your sweet utterances, anyway; what would that do for his ego?

When Yoongi pulls all the way out, it surprises you. You lurch slightly, your mouth following the movement while your lungs attempt to adjust to a full intake of air. Yoongi moves his hand from the back of your head and slaps you across the cheek, making you whimper.

Drool coats your lips and chin, tears streak down your cheeks, and the way Yoongi looks down at you is practically reverent. You wonder what he could possibly be thinking – Min Yoongi does not look at you like that.

Thankfully, in a blink, the expression is gone, replaced by something much sharper. Yoongi reaches down and yanks at your swim top, forcing your breasts to spill in a jerking motion. Too stunned to respond, you sit while Yoongi roughly palms at your chest, calloused hands against soft, sensitive skin.

Yoongi squeezes and slaps your breasts, giving your nipples a pinch with one alternating hand while he continues holding you firmly by the throat. You do your best not to react too loudly, huffing and sighing without moaning; you want Yoongi to really work to get a reaction out of you. With how cocky he is, you expect he will have no trouble doing so.

Without warning, Yoongi shoves you onto your back, fully releasing you, and sending you crashing against the comforter. You scramble, legs spreading as you lift one in an attempt to get into any position that might be useful, but Yoongi bends and grabs your ass, yanking it off the edge of the bed and pressing in a way that lifts your hips slightly, causing your legs to flail and spread. He yanks your swimsuit bottom to the side, bends just enough to spit on you, and then he rubs the tip of his dick against the spit, over your clit and labia before he spears you nice and deep.

The stretch makes you cry out and squeeze your eyes tight, gripping the comforter and attempting to find a position to hold your legs. Yoongi presses and slightly twists you so that one leg is bent and somewhat hanging downward and the other is lifted high in the air, and he sets a brutal pace, fucking you hard and deep before you can wrap your head around anything.

"Holy fuck!" you scream, pleasure-pain so intense, you struggle to breathe.

"So tight," Yoongi moans, pressing his weight into you even more, making your leg muscles burn and ache.

All you can do is lay and take what Yoongi gives you, doing your best to relax your muscles while he fucks you harder and better than anyone has before. You said you wanted it rough, and you are not disappointed. With each deep thrust, you chase your high quickly.

Yoongi reaches with one hand and roughly rubs over your clit, giving your pussy gentle slaps that send you hurtling over the edge. Your moans turn into sobs, back bowing from the bed as you build and build and then crash.

"That's it, baby girl," Yoongi grits, fingers working your clit in more practiced movements. "Show me how fast I can make you cum."

"Sh-sh-shut up," you grumble, head digging back into the comforter. Orgasm washes over you, threatening to drown you in its undertow, and you sob and moan, hands tensing and releasing as your legs tremble at their awkward angles.

Yoongi pulls all the way out before you finish, shoving your legs down and forcing you to roll over. You move in a haphazard tangle of limbs, your body both shimmering from its high and feeling unfulfilled.

As you get onto your stomach, you drag-crawl up the bed just enough to prevent your knees from hanging uncomfortably, glad when the bed dips and Yoongi follows you. Both hands grip your ass cheeks, pulling the material of your bathing suit and causing the fabric to dig into your skin.

Yoongi slides back in and presses his hands firmly on your ass and lower back, pinning you down while his thrusts make the mattress bounce. You feel dizzy as Yoongi fucks you deep, and when he moves his hands to anchor beside your hips, you bounce even harder.

One hand presses down on the side of your head and pushes your face into the mattress, and although it does not hurt, the pressure is enough to make you feel almost floaty and perfectly used. You are so close to cuming again, and when Yoongi leans low, warm breath ghosting over your face, you close your eyes.

"This rough enough for you?" he asks, voice raspy and enticing.

You practically scream yes and divulge just how good he makes you feel – how you will likely never be fucked this good by anyone else. But you choose to hold onto the praise for another day.

"It's pretty good," you manage to mutter between unrelenting slaps of skin against skin.

Yoongi scoffs. "Pretty good," he grits, mostly to himself.

Then he spits on the side of your mouth, causing you to scowl. Yoongi removes the hand from your head and rubs his fingers over the saliva, smearing it over your lips and cheek while his hips continue their attack.

"You look so good, all messy," he says with a playful tone. "Nothing but a submissive little fuck doll for me to use as I please."

Yoongi sits up, grips you by the hips, and speeds his pace, causing every muscle in your body to fight between wanting to tense and relax. You chase your next high and breakneck speeds, babbling nonsense as Yoongi uses you just as promised.

You nearly cum just as Yoongi pulls out and releases his hold. With an impatient, frustrated groan, you bury your face into the blanket while Yoongi's weight shifts and reaches under you to grab your hips. Hot breath follows a warm wet tongue against your pussy, and you moan loud and eager, doing your best to pop your ass out and give him as much access to you as possible as a new rush of pleasure takes hold.

Yoongi buries his face into you and puts his whole jaw into devouring your cunt, lips and tongue working you over in broad, sloppy movements. Remnants of the high you were chasing before build quickly. And when his tongue moves to your asshole and he plunges two fingers into your pussy, thumb rubbing over your clit, the dam breaks.

Gripping the comforter, you squeal and moan, feeling wave after intense wave flow through you. Yoongi hums and groans as he tongue fucks your ass, fingers and thumb rubbing over your sweet spots. As soon as your high dissipates, you feel another racing to take its place.

This time, when he pulls away before you can cum, you feel relief. You do your best to relax and catch your breath, feeling your entire body tremble and sink into the mattress.

"Already going limp on me," Yoongi teases, pressing into your hips to make you roll around to your back again.

“Making me dizzy,” you complain as you flop over, legs spreading uselessly, plopping down to the mattress.

Your bathing suit top is even more askew, breasts hanging past the thin cups that have shifted, but you do not care. This is exactly how you wanted to be fucked – rushed, rough, and without any preamble or romance.

“You like it when I play with your ass,” Yoongi teases, lips pulled into an obnoxious smirk.

“Shut up,” you complain, rolling your heavy, tired eyes.

Yoongi spreads your thighs with both palms and spits with enough force onto your clit that it makes you flinch. One hand stays pressed into your thigh while the other pumps and lines up his cock.

How it still feels so incredible when he spears you open is a mystery; your body should be used to it by now, but instead, the stretch feels overwhelming, making you moan and arc off the comforter.

“Should let Jimin and I double penetrate you,” Yoongi grits between his teeth as he pulls back and slams forward.

“Oh my god!” you scream as Yoongi grips your hips and drives his cock into you so hard, your body trembles and jiggles with each perfect punch of his hips.

Although the prospect of actually meeting Jimin does interest you, and it does feel good when Yoongi plays with your ass, double penetration – specifically anal sex – is not something you are ready for. But you are unable to voice your trepidation at the moment, mouth only capable of sputtering nonsense between sobs and moans, which you are no longer capable of holding back.

Yoongi leans, deepening his thrusts, and he slots two fingers into your mouth, pressing on your tongue and forcing you to drool. His fingers taste like you, heady and ever so slightly tangy, and he grips onto your jaw nice and tight while each drag of his cock threatens to send you into a new dimension of existence.

Your eyes flutter, and you wonder if it is possible for your soul to slip from your body. You feel tingly and elevated into clouds – like nothing in the world exists but the two of you tangled in this sardonic dance.

"Fuck, I won't last much longer," Yoongi groans, and you practically thank the heavens.

At this rate, if Yoongi does not cum soon, you might risk actually wanting to see him more often. You might find yourself thinking about him while he is away, and, god forbid, wanting to invite him over to do this again.

"Can I cum inside you?" Yoongi asks, voice breaking around the edges.

You attempt to mutter, "Absolutely not," around his fingers, but the sounds come out jumbled and drool runs down your cheek.

Luckily, Yoongi seems to understand, and he slides his fingers from your mouth, then pulls all the way out and begins to stroke himself off with his drool-covered hand. Although you find it hard to keep your eyes open, you cannot help but stare.

Yoongi kneels over you, head tipped back with his throat bobbing as he chases the last of his high. He moans loud and unabashed, sounding and looking far better than you care to admit, with his mint-colored hair hanging over his forehead in sweaty little stalactites. He trembles as his cum sprays from his glistening cock, covering your thigh and hip, and as he squeezes his tip to get the last remaining drops out, he falls slightly forward, bracing himself with his free hand.

"God damn," Yoongi groans, head drooping low. "I knew you would feel good but that was insane."

The urge to tell Yoongi to shut up is strong, but you find you cannot get the words out. All you can do is stare as he catches his breath. You wonder how you have never noticed how broad his shoulders are before, eyes tracing the lines of muscle and bone. Briefly, you even wonder if you could have a crush on someone like him, before you heavy-blink and shake your head, forcing the thought away.

You hum in response to Yoongi's words, delayed because you are stuck in your head. Of course, you would be thinking thoughts about a man who makes you feel this good – but that is all they are, thoughts. Yoongi is an idiot, at the end of the day, who is best friends with your brother, and something like this cannot become a regular occurrence. Surely, once you have come down from your various highs, you will be right back to hating him.

"Alright," Yoongi groans, finally meeting your eye while he slides off the edge of the bed, into a standing position. "This was fun. Thanks for the pussy."

"Whatever," you grumble, finally attempting to move your bathing suit back into place before realizing you still have Yoongi's cum drying on your fucking hip.

"Next time, I want to bring Jimin. You'll love him, trust me."

With a sigh, you glance around the room, then remember there is a box of tissues sitting on the bathroom counter. "There is definitely not going to be a next time," you respond as you begin to attempt to roll into a position that does not make the cum trickle onto the bed.

"You always say that," Yoongi teases, pulling his shorts up, "but I know you'll be thinking about me after this. I saw the way you drifted, baby girl. You were having an out of body experience while I fucked you nice and hard."

"Alright, fuck off," you complain, sitting up and untying the still-damp bathing suit from your chest. Post-nut regret settles deep the more he eggs you on, and it is beginning to annoy the shit out of you. Why must he speak? All of this would be much more pleasant if he would just fuck you and go.

Yoongi turns and walks away without another word. You close your eyes and take a deep breath in, making an attempt at centering yourself. This was just another slip-up, and hardly a big deal; it is not as if you will be asking for a round three. He is simply too annoying and low-key inconsiderate.

You sit and wait for the door to open and close, planning a nice warm shower. The only plan the group has is to meet for dinner, and that isn't for another few hours. You are shocked when you feel something hit you on the arm, and your eyes fly open to find the cardboard cube of tissues resting by your hand, and Yoongi standing nearby with a smile.

"See ya later," he calls, waving his fingertips playfully while a sweet, almost pretty smile graces his lips.

"Yup," you respond, tearing your gaze away and looking down at the tissues. Only when you finally do hear Yoongi leave, do you begin to wipe yourself clean.

"Get your shit together," you mumble under your breath, disgusted by how much you actually did enjoy Yoongi's company, bothered by how your giant suite feels lonely the moment he is gone.

You need to get a grip before dinnertime. And you need to resist the urge to get to know Jimin. This can not and will not become a regular thing. There is absolutely no way it can. Nothing good can come from catching feelings for the devil with the mint hair.

ahhh, here we are again with a written part after almost a full year! let me know what you think! i only have 1 other part planned, but that doesn't mean it will end there. (no promises, tho!)

comments and reblogs make the world go 'round! and likes are appreciated, too!!!

tag list: @btsiguess-kpop @codeinebelle @dasexydevitt13 @fluffybuns69 @giriiboyy @glosstwn @idkjustlovingbts @melancholy-of-nadia @mgthecat @monvante @moonleeai @m1sss1mp @nansasa @spookyminyunki @tarahardcore @teddytaee @violetsiren90 🍃 comment or dm to be added to the tag list! by requesting, you are agreeing to being 18 or older. minors will be blocked.

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#yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi smut #bts smut #btswritersclub #suga x reader #yoongi brother's best friend #yoongi scenarios #fic: devil with the mint hair

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dotster001 · 10 months

Note

im not certain if you're taking requests or if you even write crowley so if you don't, please ignore this and have a lovely day :)

reader who has a crush on crowley and shows this by stealing his coat and top hat at any oppertunity, because thievery is my love language and also his coat looks really nice and comfy.

Crow(ley) Brain

A/N: I really liked how this came out. Hope it was what you were looking for 😁

3k followers masterlist

CW:It's in my pinned post, and I've mentioned this in a couple posts, but if this is the first of my stuff you've read, I view NRC as an actual college, so reader here is 18+. If it makes you more comfy, imagine it as grad school age.

Present Day

Dire was getting ready for his work as headmaster, but he couldn't find his mask. He'd taken it off the night before so that he could turn your cuddle session into a full on makeout session. He could have sworn it was on the side table, but it was just…gone.

"You haven't seen my mask, have you?" He asked as he started lifting up blankets and pillows and his various shiny things he kept on the floor.

"No," you said simply.

He turned back around, and you were fully dressed in his hat, mask, and coat, the coat hanging haphazardly off your shoulders.

"You're certain you haven't seen my mask?" he said with a smirk.

"Nope."

He walked up to you, lifting the mask slightly off your face so that he could kiss the tip of your nose.

"Well, you know, if I don't have my stuff, I can't go to work, and you can't go to class, cause I'll be lonely."

You gave the fakest gasp he's ever heard. "Oh no!"

He sighed.

"I can be generous with my lover. Five more minutes together, then you'll give me back my stuff."

You pouted. "25 minutes."

"Deal."

He really should not even bother looking anymore. Long before you'd started dating, you'd shown your hand. He just could forget all about it when you smiled at him so innocently.

6 months prior…

"Listen, prefect, the rest of the boys and I are starting to get suspicious," Ace whispered as you cycled through your keys. You'd bought a lot off of Sam, so you couldn't be sure which one was the one you were looking for.

"About what?"

"Well, you said that we were doing this to prank Crowley, but we aren't sure if that's true."

"Huh?"

"Look, the rest will never say it to your face, but you spend far too much time hanging out with the headmage for it to be a normal thing."

"I'm not following your logic."

Ace exhaled heavily. "Well, some of the guys think, not necessarily me, but some of them, think that-"

"YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH THE HEADMAGE, HENCHHUMAN!" a gray blob shouted as it rammed into you, making you drop all the keys and lose your place.

"Sevens! Grim! You're supposed to keep watching at the end of the hall!"

"You don't need six people guarding a set of stairs and a hallway that doesn't spawn more than 40 feet," Grim folded his arms with a harrumph.

By sheer luck, you found the key you needed on the first try, and opened the headmage's office.

"What makes you think I'm in love with the headmage?" you asked with a scowl. "Nevermind, just watch the door. We'll discuss your idiocy later."

You stomped into the room, Grim right behind you.

"Grim! I said-"

"Ace can watch the door just fine! You can't avoid this conversation! Even Jack and Deuce are suspicious, and they don't notice anything!"

You glared, before digging through Crowley's desk, looking for something, anything, to take.

"That doesn't make any sense. If I loved Crowley, why would I rob him?"

"Perhaps to get his attention," the devil in question boomed directly behind you. Both you and Grim froze, and you stared at the open door.

"Ace!" You whined.

He peeked in, saw Crowley, and grimaced, before giving a half hearted,

"Um, caw caw…."

"Too late, Ace!" You snapped.

"He didn't come through the door!" He snapped back.

"Correct. In my geniusness, I laid a trap for you!"

You pouted. Sam must have sold you out. Your crew was stupid, but they were rock solid.

You turned to Crowley, putting your most innocent grin on.

"What can I do for you, headmage?"

"I'd like my things back, my darling crow," he hummed.

"Things?" Sweet, innocent, give him nothing to work with.

"You got sloppy, darling," he smirked, hooking a clawed finger under the chain you were wearing, revealing your gold pendant.

Or, more accurately, his gold pendant.

"I'll admit, you had me fooled for a while, but even the dimmest will notice if you literally flaunt your stolen trinkets. Although," he paused, tilting his head to the side, "it does suit you." He hummed for a moment, then, "Keep it."

"Huh?"

"I want you to keep it." He seemed to remember Ace and Grim were there, and he gave a cough.

"You two. I have the mastermind. Get out of here before I change my mind."

Ace and Grim sprinted away without a glance back. Cowards.

You pouted, until you felt the claw from earlier tilting your chin up.

"What am I going to do with you, prefect?" He muttered, and in a way that you felt like you weren't actually meant to hear.

"I suppose all I can do is give you the attention you seem to crave." His smile would light up your world anyway.

4 months prior….

But it wasn't about attention. Which is why, even though you were Crowley's partner of two months, you still stole his stuff.

But today? Today was your masterpiece! You'd somehow managed to steal his cloak. You felt bad as hell.

And, since you two were dating, you were going to get away with it! Everyone assumes it was a sweet gesture, intended to keep a cold partner warm, or a possessive gesture, intended to show everyone who you belonged to. Either way? No one questioned you.

No one but the man himself, who had snuck up behind you in the courtyard and placed both his hands on your shoulders.

"Morning, my radiant prefect," he hummed, clearly grinning at how stiff you'd gotten. "I thought we had fixed our little thieving issue. Have you felt I've been neglecting you?" He nuzzled into your neck, pressing a ticklish kiss there.

"Nope. Just wanted to take it," you answered. You decided that honesty was what would make this relationship work.

"Oh? Any reason?" He asked, gently attempting to take it off your shoulders, while you sidestepped. To an outsider, it would look like two lovers doing a dance, not a headmage trying to steal his coat back.

"If I told you, it would spoil the fun of the mystery for you!" You sang as you expertly freed yourself and skipped away.

2 months prior…

"You're dating the man. Literally, you want his hat, ask for it!" Sebek growled.

Ace was no longer your lookout when robbing your boyfriend. And Jack's new job was distracting Grim. You'd learned your lesson.

And you were thinking you were learning a new one. Sebek was too loud to be a lookout. You'd have to promote Epel or Deuce next round.

"It's not as exciting like that!" You growled, using the key you'd stolen to unlock his room.

"I don't understand! It seems foolish!"

"I agree." Crowley was always a step ahead of you these days. It was infuriating.

"I am more than happy to just give you my hat," he said, plopping his hat on your head. "In fact, I love taking every opportunity to show your admirers that you are mine!"

Sebek raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

You pouted. "It's not about that."

"Then what is it about?" He gave a booming laugh, pushing his hat over your eyes.

"How do I phrase this," you muttered, giggling as you pulled the hat back up. "You know how when you see something shiny, you can't resist the urge to take it?"

"And you feel like that about my stuff?"

"Sort of," you groaned in frustration, then perked back up, an idea in your head. "Okay, you know how when you see something cute, you just are filled with such joy that you want to squeeze it until it pops? Well, I see you, and I'm filled with so many emotions, and so much joy, that I just want to take your stuff and giggle!"

"That," Crowley breathed heavily, "is the sweetest thing I've ever heard!" He started sobbing, scooping you into his arms and holding you there, his hat falling to the ground.

"I shall, uh, take my leave," Sebek said with a cough as your boyfriend clung to you.

Present day…

"Twenty five minutes up," Crowley groaned. "Now be good, and give me my stuff back."

You pouted, but slowly removed the hat, mask, and cloak, handing them back with a growl.

He laughed lightly. "I know, dearest, but I need them for work. You'll have a chance to take them again tomorrow."

He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, then your nose, then a long kiss to your lips.

"I hope I get to see you today."

"Me too," you whispered. Crowley left with a grin.

When you were certain he was gone, you put on your new ring. Or more accurately.

His old ring.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #3k followers #dire crowley x reader #dire crowley #dire x readee #twst dure #twst crowley #twst crowley x reader

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sincerelystesichorus · 2 months

Text

me becoming a gortash apologist apparently

i never thought i'd say this. i am thinking about Enver Gortash. i'm usually not one of his apologists but... i've had brain rot for my Durge lately, and i think a big moment of developing your Durge is how you react to meeting Gortash again, yeah? you may or may not be close with Karlach but the party and Durge especially have all faced similar trauma of betrayal and exploitation nonetheless (and so has Gortash), he's already been introduced vaguely at the end of Act 2 as a threat/main villain, he worships Bane, he has general edge lord vibes (remember that bit where I'm usually not a Gortash apologist djdjdjd); what i'm trying to spit out, is there's a lot to sway you against Gortash in that first meeting. and I'd argue even a little further, as someone that followed Orin's plans of betrayal against him in my first Tav run, (just because her audacity is so damn funny.)

But anyway. Meeting Gortash. Finding out you used to be close. Perhaps homoerotically, perhaps in a strange platonic manner, or some other third thing, but nonetheless, Durge is assumably the only person Gortash has ever truly liked. He just really goes out of his way with praise at meeting again, the use of the word favorite is notable, and if Gortash had anyone worth elevating, he would, right? That was how Ketheric got here, Orin wants more credibility for herself and the Bhaalists, and Gortash... just enslaves his parents in their old home/business. But he liked you. He's really so similar to Astarion (it's nothing, you're just the only person I've ever truly cared for); he's just already a touch too far gone in his power hungry search for security. He's already repeated the cycle, years and years ago with Karlach as the main example and just the inevitability of being Bane's Chosen. And yet - Durge comes marching through the door again with this band of misfits and his old lackey he wronged, and he's willing to make a true bargain.

And I know it's just in Gortash's character to scheme, but l think playing as reformed Durge makes Gortash's potential deal all the more devastating, since he will truly follow through on his word (or, at least he would.)

It's so funny to show up dating Astarion or Shadowheart, and imagine them teasing you later that night, saying they thought you'd have better taste. Or the bitterness of being with Karlach, knowing that you seemed to be in such deep kahoots. And so on. The point is not valuing that past relationship with Gortash. Focusing on the shiny and new.

And like whatever. Gortash isn't ever going to publicly present that his feelings are hurt but like... wouldn't they? Your past lover or at the very least, only close friend struts in, now thinking they're some big shot, so beyond everything you two had ever done... when you always lived in their shadow beforehand, frankly. Gortash adores how this flawless plan was majorly Durge's, critiques Orin's sloppy manner of filling your place, how Ketheric was just a means to an end. But he liked you. The person who helped him raid Mephistopheles' vault, in turn helping him spit not only in the arch devil's face, but his past captor, Raphael's too (since Raph lives chronically in the shadow of his father, imo.) The person who thought they could formulate and enact this whole plot, and the only one he was willing to follow, to be an equal with, now coming to tell him what everyone always does, inevitably.

A final fuck you, or some form of betrayal, the same thing that caused his mess all those years ago when sold off to that warlock.

It would have to hurt, and while it's funny to imagine my little gnome Durge dying inside and cackling to the party about sleeping with an enemy and technically being the enemy... a little obssessed at the angst you could perceive of Gortash somehow falling for any crazy Bhaalspawn, nonetheless Durge, who was never one for morals, coming back renewed and not to come get him or work things out... but to slay him or turn against him. I'd send the Steelwatchers after our asses too.

In conclusion, Gortash, probably:

sigh. my bias against greasy little guys could never truly make me hate you, enver gortash. look at you, the man that you are.

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lynxgriffin · 1 year

Text

Theories on Kris’s soul and Ralsei’s identity

Hey everyone! This is not my usual thing, but after thinking on it a whole bunch, I decided I wanted to fully write out my theory/backstory explanations based on the last two short Deltarune comics. I usually express theorizing through fanworks rather than just talking through it, but since it's still stuck in my brain even now I figured it'd be fun to also just describe it all. I hope you all find it interesting! Who knows what future chapters will bring us, and anything can (and likely will!) happen, but as of right now I'm pretty convinced this is how things are with Kris and Ralsei. It's long and there's lots of screenshots included, so check below the read more for everything. And huge thanks to DemoPhone for getting all these screenshots for me!

So, Kris is adopted by the Dreemurrs at a young age. As the only human in a town populated by monsters, they already stick out significantly. Considering Toriel checked out a book from the library on how to care for humans multiple times, the Dreemurrs were likely going through a big learning curve with Kris, too.

Kris is not just different physiologically from everyone, but they’re quiet and weird, often mischievous, and just don’t fit in. As a kid, they wear a headband with red devil horns to try and fit in with their adoptive family, and especially to emulate their older brother Asriel, who seems to be everything that Kris isn’t.

He’s popular, kind, well-loved by the town, and is always willing to make friends and do the right thing. Despite how different they are, the two kids clearly care for each other, and Asriel in many ways is Kris’s anchor to this town and this life.

Growing up, the Dreemurrs are friends with the Holidays, and the four kids spend lots of time together. Dess appears to be the more bold and outgoing of the two Holiday girls, but is tempered by Asriel’s responsible nature. Everything between them is going well until one day, when out exploring in the woods south of town, they come across the hidden bunker, and something goes wrong. It’s not clear yet exactly what it is…but it resulted in Dess going missing. Of the four kids, Dess seems to be bold, Asriel responsible, Kris mischievous, and Noelle fearful…so it seems likely that Dess and Kris investigated something in the bunker that the other two stayed away from. Kris witnessed or may have even been involved in what happened to Dess. Dess currently appears to be lost in a dark place, perhaps a place between Dark Worlds, perhaps “stuck in the code” of the game itself. Whatever it is, Dess has gone missing and may even be presumed dead by her family, and Kris witnessed it and may feel directly responsible. This is why they’re still nervous around the bunker, and perhaps even why they’re apprehensive about the appearance of the dark world in the school supply closet.

Dess’s mother, the Mayor, is not going to blame the little kids for what happened…however, she IS going to place responsibility on Asgore, who was chief of police at the time and clearly should have been watching the kids more carefully. Asgore loses his job, and as things slowly deteriorate between the Holiday and Dreemurr families, he also loses his marriage.

The kids stop hanging out together so often, and when they do, it’s more strained. Kris will be playing with Noelle when they stop, getting hit with the memory of what happened, and wander off to the piano to try and play out their feelings.

Kris builds up years of these feelings…underlying guilt for messing up the friendships and even marriages of the monsters that adopted them. Their interests are weird, their habits are offputting, and they can often only express a desire for attention through pranks.

Despite the fact that the monsters in the town act friendly towards them, they still feel outcast and misunderstood. Their popular and beloved brother Asriel is their one solid anchor to everything, and Kris often wonders “wouldn’t things be easier and better if I was just like him?”

But eventually, Asriel gets old enough and leaves for college. Kris is left alone in the town with all their feelings, but no anchor. In some ways, it gets worse, as the other townsfolk continue to talk about how great Asriel is with him absent. And Kris agrees with them…but that doesn’t help at all how they feel.

To top it off, a new girl arrives in the town, who immediately presents herself as a troublemaker. She seems to have some deep problems of her own, perhaps stemming from her own rough upbringing, and takes out her aggression on Kris, the only human in the town. Despite the bullying, Kris takes it all in stride, even amusement. Susie isn’t saying anything about them that Kris doesn’t already believe about themself. If anything, Kris admires how unapologetic Susie is about her behavior, and sees a kindred spirit in her. They’re both outcasts, after all, with gross and offputting interests. And it is pretty funny how clearly Noelle is infatuated with Susie, too.

And yet, Susie doesn’t seem interested in actually being friends now, and while Susie is admirable, she’s not helping Kris’s long-standing guilt, loneliness and depression. They start resenting how things have gone. They start looking for unconventional solutions. Perhaps they try the church, but the church doesn’t seem to have answers, so they look elsewhere. Maybe things would just be better if someone else was running their life. Maybe someone bigger than them can fix these seemingly insurmountable problems. They start looking up how to do magic online. How to summon demons, stuff like that.

When that doesn’t work out, they turn to the local goth girl for help. After all, they’ve done occult spells with Catti before…protection spells for Noelle; something to ease Kris’s worries so that Noelle doesn’t suffer from the same misfortune Dess did.

One night, Kris asks Catti to perform a spell to summon a spirit. And surprisingly…something seems to happen. Kris is suddenly confronted with a strange figure who seems to be the devil. The figure says that it can bring Kris what they want: a spirit that can possess them and potentially even solve all their problems. But the figure requires something in exchange: their soul. Kris is at first reluctant, but the devil figure promises that the arrangement is only temporary: they’ll get their soul back when the spirit is no longer possessing them. So Kris agrees, and gives up their soul in exchange for another one.

The deal supposedly goes over, but Kris finds that it doesn’t seem like anything has changed once the spell ends. They’ve gotten a new soul, but it doesn’t seem to do anything. If anything, everything becomes harder. They start operating on autopilot…saying very little, only doing what’s required of them, and sleeping for huge amounts of time.

The joke around town now is that they seem like a walking corpse. Sure, they’re not dead, but it often kind of looks like it.

Maybe this spirit was just a total dud? Maybe that devil cheated them out of their own soul after all and they didn’t get anything in return. They try more than a few times to remove the new soul on their own, in the hopes that maybe taking it out by force will get them their own soul back. They find that they can remove the red soul with great effort! However, without it, they’re even slower and it’s even more difficult to move or act in any way. Removing it at least grants them a small degree of agency, and it seems to prove that their own soul is definitely around somewhere, because they’re still alive. But they can’t go for too long without putting the new red soul back in, because moving without it is such a strain.

Meanwhile, Kris’s request for something to possess them has worked, just not in an obvious way. The player experiences the passage of time very differently than the game characters they’re playing as, after all. To the player, they’ve suddenly gotten an invitation from an unknown character that they suspect they recognize from another game they’ve played. They don’t know what the invitation is for, but they’re more than ready to find out, even if it means downloading an unknown and potentially shady “survey program.”

Conveniently enough, this invitation and download become available on Halloween. A bit of an odd day to choose if you want a lot of people to download and play your game right away, since it’s a major holiday and most people already have plans. However…Halloween is a great time to summon a demon.

And to Kris, they wake up one morning exactly a week before their brother is scheduled to return home for a visit, and suddenly find that something else is moving their body for them. That new soul wasn’t a dud after all.

No time to even get really used to suddenly being physically possessed, as Kris and that school bully they admire just go to pick up some missing school supplies and get swept up into a strange place that Kris feels might be distinctly familiar. Once there, they meet someone else who, strangely, already knows who they are: Ralsei.

While Kris has been shambling around town with their player soul not in use, their own soul still needs to be kept in good condition. You can’t just leave a human soul out on its own for a long period of time. It at least needs some kind of container…a vessel. And the devil figure works out a perfect vessel for it…an object close to Kris, that they have a lot of sentimental value around. Something that symbolizes their desire to fit in with their family, and be just like their brother. Kris might have given it to the figure willingly, or it might have been taken without their knowledge, but the result is the same.

But hey…why not make things even more interesting? A dark fountain can bring objects to life in their own dark world. What happens if you were to take an object currently carrying a human soul, and bring it to life with a dark fountain? What would it look like if Kris’s soul, filtered through an object that symbolizes their desire to be just like their beloved brother, was given its own form and identity?

You get Ralsei. A “lonely prince” who looks an awful lot like Asriel, but seems to more closely match Kris’s age and stature. He seems to be more like a remixed version of Asriel than identical to him. He already knows who Kris and Susie are, and he knows where things are located in the light world…because Kris knows all that.

He’s able to travel between different dark worlds without being affected by them the way other Darkners are, because he carries a Lightner’s soul.

While it’s unclear if he is talking directly to the player, just to Kris, or to both, he is at least aware of an entity distinct from Kris, since he names the castle town after the player. It would certainly make sense for him to be aware of the player’s presence and influence because he was a part of that whole exchange between souls in the first place. There’s even implications that Ralsei is, perhaps, communicating with Kris in ways that don’t involve speaking aloud to them. When asking Kris to pick up the items from the classroom, he uses parentheses, which typically seem to indicate a character’s thoughts rather than dialogue.

Since the player is able to read other characters’ thoughts, Kris can even respond to them if no one is speaking.

If parentheses for Ralsei indicate thinking rather than speaking, he is perhaps aware of how to communicate with Kris and/or the player in ways that other characters won’t hear…or perhaps is only even capable of it at all because he has Kris’s soul.

He is always deferring to Kris, even when Kris makes questionable choices. While he’s eager for friends, he seems desperate for Kris’s approval in particular, and takes great pains to not upset them…or allow other things to upset them. He seems to be confident in who Kris is, but struggles more with his own identity.

For Kris, seeing their own wish to be like their brother come to life, and then to have the spirit possessing them keep directing them to hug him…well, it’s kind of awkward.

Just to speculate on the future, if it is true that Ralsei has Kris’s soul, this has the potential for some serious drama, and even setting Ralsei up as an antagonist without him being generically “evil.” Ralsei hasn’t had contact with anyone before meeting Susie and Kris. However, as they go on adventures together, he’s meeting lots of new people and gaining new perspectives. He’s steadily growing more independent from Kris, and establishing his own identity apart from them. What happens if Ralsei comes to the conclusion that Kris was right to trade him away all along…that not only does Kris not need him, but that he’s just fine without Kris? That he, perhaps, prefers being Ralsei to being Kris’s discarded soul?

Considering the player can’t keep playing the game forever, and Kris really can’t be left the rest of their life with a nonfunctional soul that leaves them on eternal autopilot, they’ll have to get their own soul back eventually. And after several chapters of the player themselves getting really attached to sweet and friendly Ralsei, that opens up the potential for some truly heartwrenching conflict.

#deltarune #deltarune theorizing #kris #ralsei #red soul #and a lot more references and such #haha somehow I'm more nervous about this than I am usually posting comics!!#I hope it all makes sense!#I think there's even other theories that can branch off from this #but they're even more speculative #I guess we'll see eventually!!

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sky-kiss · 3 months

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Eeeee Shadow Raphael anon here! I'm so happy you're inspired by it! I have two options you can choose from.

1) platonic - them having a chess match and it just being a wity banter off and them enjoying riffing off of each other so much. Maybe this is at the inn/brothel lobby so other people can be there if you'd like.

2) Them having a one night. I don't really have specifics but my brain is barking and screeching because I'd imagine anything explored via your writing will be so good and so much to chew on so I'm up for ANYTHING really!

Thank youuuu!

A/N: Ok, so this is so rushed, and I’m sorry about that. I want to do stuff with these two SO BADLY. Anyway, Dark Justiciar Shadowheart. Post game. Raphael received the crown.

Shadowheart/Raphael: Meetup

"Raphael—I'm not surprised to find you here."

The half-elf slides into the seat across from him, lips turned up a charmingly self-satisfied smirk. It takes Raphael a moment to recall her name—she is, in truth, only tangentially referenced in his mental library, one of Tav's many delinquent compatriots. He leans back, humming, before he says, "Astutely observed, my dear, though perhaps less impressive than you hope. The Caress is nothing if not my home away from home."

"I've no interest in impressing you, devil.

"No, only in interrupting my meal, it seems," his voice dips to a velvety purr, cataloging the minute shift in the Sharran's posture. She arches a brow, gaze flicking to the empty table. Raphael indicates the crowded hall around them. "My hunting grounds, my meals, priestess. Every moment you linger is an opportunity wasted."

Shadowheart scoffs, drumming her fingers on the table between them. The pretty creature tips her head to the side, regarding him through artfully lowered lashes. "You were more civil before."

"Your intrepid leader had something I wanted—and our business has long since concluded." The cambion clucks his tongue. "Where is my Mouse these days?"

She stiffens. "I wouldn't know. Tav…she took her leave some time ago."

"Oh?"

"I've no need to explain myself to you."

"None at all. But you were a precious little pair, weren't you? Haarlep does so regret being unable to…collect you both." Raphael lifts his right hand, inspecting his nails. "One fair turn for another…tell me the truth of your parting, and I will hear your request."

Shar's Chosen regards him coldly. "My Dark Lady demands the whole of my heart."

"How selfish. I almost admire her." Oh, but he likes that flush of color in her cheeks. Power radiates off her, different, colder than many of the god's chosen toys. Shar has given this one a shocking amount of play, provided she remained a loyal little dog. No slipping her leash. "Tell me what you need, my dear."

"An enemy of Lady Shar has gone to ground. I'd have him found."

"Simple enough—hardly requiring my talents. Or worth incurring my cost." Raphael smiles with teeth, curiosity piqued. "Who is this erstwhile quarry?"

She paints him a picture: one of Selune's most beloved champions, a lycanthrope, long fled from the city. His trail and his scent had long since gone cold. The damned creature had very likely fled to a different plane.

The devil considers the offer, taking in her appearance again: beautiful, dark. Some trace hint of Tav's scent still lingers on, perhaps in spirit rather than reality. It's intoxicating. Her eyes glitter with dreadful ambition and determination—it calls to an echoing spirit festering in his own breast.

"No contract," Raphael drawls, tracing the rim of his glass. He has ordered wine for them, richer, deep, and red. "Let us consider this…a favor between friends."

"Very generous of you. Suspiciously so."

"Is it? I've always found it most advantageous to conduct my business in a more...relaxed fashion than your dear Lady. The first taste, as they say, is free." He raises his glass in a toast. Shar's Chosen returns the gesture in kind, lips turning in dark satisfaction.

~~~~~~

She comes to him months later.

“The first taste was free,” Shadowheart grumbles, leaning back. “So, name your cost.”

He scoffs. “My dear, where is your flair for the dramatic? Tease out the tension! Savor the give and take, bargain…”

“...you make it sound like seduction, devil.” The Justiciar’s tongue flicks out to wet her lower lip, so sweetly, ignorantly satisfied. Oh, but she is young. All her power, violence, and inexperience still hang about her like stray traces of baby fat in a youth’s cheeks.

“If you like. I prefer to think of it as a dance—coming together, stepping apart, together…all to our mutual satisfaction.”

Shadowheart’s eyes glitter in the half-light, intrigued.

~~~~~~

She comes to him again.

And again.

Again.

They work surprisingly well together. And her goddess turns a blind eye.

~~~~~~

“How sweet,” he purrs, sucking her lower lip between his teeth. They’ve recently started conducting their business in the Den rather than the common room, and the added privacy has led to this. Shadowheart walks him backward, hands already at his belt. The half-elf whimpers against his lips, the delicacy of the noise contrasting with the natural authority she carries. “You still taste like her, pet.”

She chuckles, flicking her tongue along the seam of his lips. “You never tasted her.”

“No, but…” Raphael’s grip is bruising on her hips—she fails to so much as flinch. “Haarlep is so eager to indulge me—I wager I’ve had her more frequently than you.”

“Ah—a poor man’s imitation.” She stands on the tips of her toes, tracing his nose with hers. The half-elf leans back, smirking. “We should compare someday…see how your counterfeit compares to reality.”

He laughs despite himself. “It could be arranged." He presses his lips to the shell of her ear, pleased at the way shiver. "I’d quite like to watch them fuck you.”

“I’d like it too. But for now…” she pushes Raphael back on the mattress, crawling over him. “I shall have to be content with you.”

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #shadowheart #bg3 fanfiction #shadowheart x raphael #asks #sorry this is not great and ive not done my loves the justice they deserve #next time

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lokidokeyartichoki · 1 year

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Steddie Howls Moving Castle AU, where Eddie is Howl, Steve is Sophie and Dustin is Markl except Steve is his older brother figure and has gone after him after finding out he went to apprentice under a devil worshipping wizard. Steve is cursed by some other witch or wizard but uses the fact that he’s old to finally escape his parents/he’s thrown out for it. It takes until he’s out of his parents place to actually be able to look for Dustin, who admittedly is having the time of his fucking life following an over dramatic, running from responsibilities and the law Eddie, who actually probably DIDNT make a deal with a demon but instead saved a small fire demon named Robin who he gets on with like a moving castle on fire. Steve keeps his own curse going with his self doubt and lack of self preservation and esteem. Perhaps maybe even Nancy is the witch who cursed him during their “it’s bullshit” fight and Steve believes the curse so strongly no one can lift it.

It’s 1:15 am and my brain has decided this needed to be written down.

#Steddie #Steddie nation this is for you #steddie au #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #that late night bullshit #steddie’s moving castle

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amethystina · 5 days

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In chapter 5 of Who Holds the Devil, Ga On doesn't send Elijah a picture of Komi and he wakes up to several messages from her being worried. At this time, what do you think was going on in Switzerland? Because if she was stressing out about it, do you think she spoke to Yo Han or not, and if so, what would be his reaction to this?

Hope you can recover well!

She eventually spoke to Yo Han about it, yes, but it took a while before she got worried enough to do so. She's used to Ga On working late sometimes and so at first she figured her reminders would be enough. Which means she sent the majority of the messages you can read in the chapter before she even considered going to Yo Han.

And, by the time she did, it was mostly because she realised that it was so late in South Korea that Ga On might already have gone to bed, and he still hadn't contacted her. Which she felt was very unlike Ga On.

As for Yo Han's reaction, there is, unsurprisingly, quite a big difference between what he chooses to show Elijah and what he's feeling internally.

He'd be pretty flippant with Elijah, downplaying the severity of the situation, telling her that it's probably nothing to worry about. Maybe Ga On was busy with something and his phone ran out of batteries, so he didn't get her reminders? Or maybe he just forgot? Yo Han can come up with several very rational and logical explanations as to why Ga On didn't send Elijah any pictures.

Basically, Yo Han would try to calm her down by pretending it's no big deal. And tell her to at least wait until tomorrow before she starts freaking out

Internally, however?

He'd be worried, too.

Because no matter what he tells Elijah, Yo Han knows that Ga On wouldn't just forget a promise like that. Ga On cares too much about Elijah to disappoint her. So something must definitely have happened, Yo Han just doesn't know what. And while Yo Han is well aware that the explanation might be perfectly innocent, his mind would also start spinning towards worst-case scenarios — because that's how he works. He needs to be aware of the possibilities and, if need be, prepare for the worst.

And, somewhere around there, Yo Han would be frustrated that he can't track Ga On yet. He already decided that he wants to long before this, but this is one of those things that helps him decide that, yeah, he needs to give Ga On something he can track sooner rather than later so this won't happen again. Yo Han has no idea where Ga On is and it's making him antsy as hell.

The closest he can get is to text Lawyer Ko and ask if Ga On was at work that day. But even if Lawyer Ko says yes, that still leaves far too many possibilities. A lot could have happened to Ga On in the hours after he left work.

But Yo Han would tell Elijah none of this, of course — especially since the crisis is averted the very next day. Nor would Yo Han ever mention it to Ga On. It's just one of those things that stays inside Yo Han's head and influences his choices later, but is more or less invisible to everyone else. Perhaps not so surprisingly, there are a lot of those. As Ga On has pointed out: there's always a reason for the choices Yo Han makes. And, sometimes, the information he's basing that choice on was gathered weeks, months, or even years ago.

That man's brain never stops processing x'D

I hope that answers your question! :D

And thank you so much for the concern 💜 Unfortunately, I'm not feeling the best right now (neither mentally nor physically) but I know it's temporary so I'm just trying to wait it out :)

#Amethystina Replies #Anonymous #Who Holds the Devil #Thank you so much for being so interested in my writing and my fics 💜#I feel so incredibly blessed #And not going to lie #I'm currently fighting against the impulse to write more shorter Devil Judge fics #Because the high I get from finishing things is no joke x'D #But I also know that none of my ideas would be as short as I'm telling myself that they would be #So it's risky #Because it won't actually make me happier in the long run #Because I don't want to lose track of the ones I already have #It's better to try and work on those first #So many fics #So little time

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lavendertales · 2 years

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devil’s advocate—Matt Murdock x f!reader**

summary: you sure know how to get under Matt’s skin—and surprisingly, into his pants, too.

word count: 2.4k

WARNINGS: work enemies to fuck buddies, lots of teasing, doggy, spanking, public action, female masturbation, cum play.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

gif: @mattmurdeaux

He’s good at his job, you’ll give him that. Shit, he might even be great at it.

But this case was far more important to let rivalry get in the way. You needed a win.

And fortunately, you got it.

Beating Matt Murdock at law turned out to be more than satisfactory. The thrill of victory sent shivers down your spine, activating pleasure centers in your brain that you only ever felt when the competition was between you and him. And you definitely didn’t hold back in when it came to showing Matt exactly how you felt about winning that case.

“Wipe that smile off your face,” he warns, hands on his hips as you meet in the hallway.

“Would if I could,” you keep smiling. “But I can’t, so I shan’t.”

Matt makes a sound that only makes you happier to flaunt your win. Truth be told—to yourself and strictly to yourself—you’ve always been rather impressed by Matt’s skills and abilities that stretched far beyond the courtroom. He somehow managed to sense more than the normal man, and it wasn’t easy to do. While you’d never tell him, you’ve always found a sense of appreciation when it came to his private life.

Perhaps even a little envy on the side as well.

“Come on, Murdock! You live for the competition! Admit it, you’d be bored out of your mind without me spicing up your life.”

Matt inches closer to you, his warm breath hitting your smug face.

“I live to help others,” he coos. “Not to give in to whatever sick and twisted fantasies you got.”

“My fantasy is putting you to shame, so you could say I’m living it.”

Matt snickers, the sound ringing in your ears well after its passing. You know he’s displeased with the outcome of the trial, you know you’re getting on his every last nerve, but the thrill of it all makes your spine shiver in utter delight.

“A bit of a sick and twisted one, wouldn’t you agree?” he cheekily replies.

You huff, as mocking as you possibly can sound. “I’d rather choke than agree with you.”

Matt smirks—wide, obvious and obnoxious, afterwards releasing a chuckle that’s meant to be derogatory and mysterious at best.

Only you take it a different way.

“What’s so funny?” you can’t help but ask.

But Matt continues to laugh albeit your question, thus managing to anger you on what is supposed to be one of the best days of your career.

“We’ve all got our fantasies, don’t we,” he concludes, tone muffled as if talking strictly to himself.

You frown. Though the more you stare at the man in front of you with his cheeky smile and hands on his hips, the man who supposedly lost quite a big case today, you can’t help but think his reaction comes from an entirely different place. It’s not bitterness; it’s more, cleverly concealed under a thick layer of mild arrogance and confidence.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go grab a cup of coffee,” he adds, finally simmering down. “You can stay here and play with yourself while the next case arrives or you can snatch it right up.”

You smirk too this time. Now you’re catching onto his drift and frankly, it surprises you.

But definitely not in an unpleasant way.

After all, it has been a long day. Why should the joy be cut short?

“Is that your fantasy?” you ask, causing Matt to stop dead in his tracks and presumably stare at you, as if trying to hear you better.

“What did you say?”

Suddenly, Matt’s voice is coarser, lower and oddly enough, more unstable. His words do not reflect nearly half of the confidence he previously had, and it has you questioning his very being, as well as this moment in itself.

There’s not a single soul around. Somehow, the place has gone quiet, the people have vanished, and the only sounds to be heard are your and Matt’s breaths, heavier with each passing second.

“I think your hearing is good enough,” you retort. “So answer me, Murdock. Is that your fantasy? To—hear me play with myself?”

You were this close to saying something perhaps regrettable and insensitive, but you were glad you stopped yourself at the very last second. You don’t want anything ruining this moment, as confusing and pestering it might be.

However, Matt doesn’t respond. Not immediately, at least; he feels his temples break into tiny beads of sweat, his tie suddenly strangling him and his body burning up.

“Is that something you’d enjoy, Matthew? Hearing me moan while my hand traces between my legs, two fingers in and out of—“

“Stop.”

Matt gulps, his voice completely shaky and husky, filled with rage and lust alike. It infuriates him that you have this effect on him. You, of all people. His professional nemesis, his worst nightmare—and his most forbidden desire.

And you know you are way past skipping rope with the line between cordial and professional. You are way past the line, toying with his emotions like it’s nothing, and it wears the same impact on you. It’s undeniable and unrestrained, filthy in its simplicity and sinful in its anticipation.

“You’re a public menace,” Matt says between gritted teeth, visibly tense.

He moves closer to you, his hot breath now tickling your jaw, but you don’t push him away. You’re sadistically curious as to where this is headed.

“So I’ve been told,” you smile.

“You shouldn’t be doing the things you do.”

“Could say the same about you.”

“God, you’re so—aggravating.”

“So what are you gonna do about it, Matthew?”

You’re teasing him relentlessly and you have to admit, you’re fuckin’ loving this. It’s exciting and maddening, maybe because it happens with him, of all people.

“I could tell you,” he murmurs, one hand boldly grazing your cheek. “Or you could turn around and keep your mouth shut.”

You contemplate for too long, because the next thing you realize is that Matt’s calloused hands are spinning you around, pressing your body against the wall. What shocks you is that his touch carries a certain tenderness to it: the way he grabs your waist is confident and eager, but not hurtful. It already feels insatiable and maddening and you can only pray to some form of deity that no one walks in right now because you know shit’s about to get messy.

His lips find the back of your neck, peppering hasty and wet kisses on your skin as his hands work against your pants. You decide to give him a hand and, while you purposely back your ass against his crotch, unzip your pants and let them fall to your ankles, followed by your panties. Everything that Matt hears entices him to the fullest, even if he knows that on some fundamental, deep level it’s wrong.

But then it shouldn’t feel this good, this… ideal, wouldn’t it?

“Bit of a slut, are we, Matthew?” you tease through a devilish smirk, breaths shallower with each motion from your nemesis’ side.

“Are you really taking the moral high ground right now when you’re so—“

You gasp brokenly when Matt’s fingers tease your clit, barely rubbing the sensitive bud before moving down to your lips.

“Wet,” he finishes, and though you’re facing backwards, you can tell he’s smirking.

The way he says it, so filthy and cocky, makes you even wetter, and God, you cannot stand that. But you are currently standing with your legs spread, allowing him to rub his fingers against your pussy, so… yeah, who are you to take the moral high ground now?

“Are you gonna keep talking or get it over with?”

“Can’t handle a little competition?”

“For fuck’s sake, Murdock, would you just fuck me already so we can go back to hating each other?”

He bites your earlobe, and you instantly shudder and moan alike. The question is redundant though; you reckon deep, deep down that hate isn’t truly what this is about, otherwise winning the case and teasing Matt Murdock would not have felt this insatiably good.

And he’s barely touched you yet.

That is, until he actually starts fucking you. You’re not necessarily religious, but you suddenly wanna scream to all the deities you can think of.

The moment Matt spreads your legs further, wets his fingers to rub against your clit and pushes his cock past your lips, you throw your head back in ecstasy. It’s too much already: the way he fills you up, stretching past your walls into your heat sends you into a complete frenzy.

“God, you’re—a mess,” Matt grunts, barely pushing in and out of you, testing the waters as it were.

But it did sound like he changed his words at the very last second, perhaps to refrain himself from saying something half decent towards you.

“Yeah, like you’re any better,” you retort.

“I am.”

“Get off your high horse, Murdock.”

“Fine. I will.”

His words are more along the lines of “just for that, here’s what you’re gonna get”, because the next second, Matt picks up the pace. As in, starts to rail you at an almost impossible speed, having you squished against the wall while he uses your body as leverage for himself. He fucks you hard and fast from behind, not giving a damn that he’s breaking into a sweat or that his legs might cramp up. It feels too good, too forbidden and lustful to stop or pretend otherwise.

Suddenly, clever words abandon your mind. You’re reduced to a pile of goo, your hips grabbed harshly by Matt’s hands. Heat radiates from your bodies, lust fueling your every move and every sound, and you feel so dangerously close to coming that it should be alarming, really.

But oddly enough, it doesn’t alarm you. It feels… natural, like you should have been doing this the whole time since you’ve known each other.

Matt’s breaths are so clear in your ear you could swear they belong to you. His are just as ragged as yours, if not more, and you cheekily grunt when you feel one of his hands grabbing your ass cheek and then smacking it, the sound reverberating throughout the room.

“Fuck—I thought we were supposed t-to—keep it down—“you try your best to speak coherently, though there’s no way you can sound unaffected right now.

“You wanna play by the rules now? Hm?”

“Nah. You wouldn’t be such a daredevil then.”

It makes Matt smile in utter bliss upon hearing that statement, but he doesn’t say the reason behind it. He makes it his mission to thrust as deep and as fast as possible inside of you, feeling you squirm under his grip and hopefully turning your ass several shades of red from his prior treatment. He loves it, he absolutely loves it, and the irony is certainly not lost on him.

It must’ve been, what, five minutes since you were in that closet or whatever the hell it was? And it’s a miracle he lasted this long, because next thing he knows, he’s pulling out abruptly and turns your ass into the filthiest canvas ever. He easily imagines, lost in a trance, the way he shoots spurts of his warm seed on your skin, his cock twitching still in his hand.

It takes both of you a while to climb down, and it takes Matt even longer to hear that you’re building your own orgasm as your hand reaches between your legs and you play with yourself. Your breaths get ragged again, your moans turn into soft mewls, and Matt listens in with utmost desire.

“Do it,” he encourages. “Come on your fingers. Make it good.”

You can’t help but do just that; there’s no more rhythm, only messy motions over your clit. Matt helps you by whispering sweet nothings in your ear and kneading the reddened flesh of your ass to get you going, and it works. You come a few seconds later, your body still a mess thanks to your indecent—and only recently discovered—yearning.

“Well,” Matt manages to speak normally again. “That’s one way to solve a conflict.”

“There was no conflict, Murdock. I won today, fair and square.”

Matt smiles as he’s pulling his boxers and pants back up. “No arguments there.”

You search for something to clean yourself with before pulling your clothes up, and luckily you see a wash cloth that’s clean. Once you’re done and you’re back in your professional attire, you suddenly feel dirty. And again, the irony isn’t lost on you, either.

“You know what, you did well,” you say coyly. “My legs are wobbly and my ass is still warm thanks to your spanking and cum, so… let’s call this a win for both of us.”

“So generous of you, thank you.”

You cannot deny that his sass is attractive, and you cannot help but reciprocate each and every time. And there’s something magnetic about him in that post-coital bliss. He looks enchanting, the last thing you’d expect to think of your nemesis, but then again, you did not expect what happened merely moments prior.

You’re not sure where your wobbly legs are taking you, but the moment you look at him, you inch closer and cup his face, momentarily grazing his cheek and then pulling him in. You kiss him tenderly, as a thank you for calming down your high spirits, but there’s a hidden sensuality into it, as if to say… I like you.

And the way he reciprocates the kiss, as sweet as you, you think maybe, just maybe… he likes you, too.

“Oh, and by the way, you’re welcome,” you say when you break it off.

“For what?”

You nearly press your lips onto his earlobe as you lean in to whisper, “For fulfilling your fantasy about touching myself.”

And for the first time in his career and personal life, Matt Murdock is rendered speechless, and oddly parched, too. He hadn’t thought of that image at all, let alone as a potential fantasy, but now, he won’t be able to get it out of his head.

Or your sounds, or the way you felt clenched around his cock.

Fuck. Maybe he’s a little too good at what he does.

tags:

@katronautt @kingsqueensandvagabonds @1800-fight-me @halerune @mindidjarin @alexxavicry @elinedjarin @wildmoonflower @minxsblog @maddieinnit0 @justanotherkpopstanlol @iwantaharrystylesalbum @arson-tm @fairydxll @biggitybird @corrodededdie @oliviagreenaway @spitfire4life @bookfrog242 @barelytolerabled @dnxgma @dindjarinswhore

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fic #matt murdock smut #charlie cox #charlie cox fanfiction #charlie cox smut #charlie cox fic

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musicloverxoxo7 · 2 years

Text

Welcome back home - feat. Kim Taehyung

Non idol!Taehyung and fem!reader

Disclaimer: 18+, DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU ARE UNDER 18

Themes/warnings: Pure smut, fingering, eating out (f receiving), kinda voyeurism, protected sex, established relationship

Summary: Another boring Zoom call for work. Except, your boyfriend comes home from a long work trip and wants to be close to you. Even with your camera on, he’ll find a way.

“We still need to look over the Google Analytics numbers from the last month. The dip worries me a little. Anybody got suggestions as to how we can get more paying customers”, your boss asks.

You sit at your desk, staring into your laptop camera. Your boss thinks one fewer client means a dip and therefore a disaster for the company. Even when, in reality, millions are being made every year.

“Well, we haven’t explored Instagram as much as we possibly can”, you speak up. Nobody interrupts you, so you continue. “Most companies are on there these days, especially everyone who makes products that can be photographed. We do. So we should use it.”

“Okay, y/n. You’re one of our social media experts. I’ll leave Instagram to you. Report back to me in a month with the numbers.”

Great, another responsibility added to your list. Behind you, you hear a door close, some shuffling and a thump. All of that is followed by a deep sigh. Sounds like Tae is home.

You’ve left the door to your tiny office open, not expecting him to come home before tonight. You’d planned on wearing the lilac-colored lingerie he so likes. Mh, you can still do that later on.

Reflected in your picture on Zoom you see Tae standing in the door to your office. He leans against the frame. His tie hangs loose, the first few buttons of his white dress shirt unbuttoned.

A few memories chase through your brain. All of them end in Tae making love to you or fucking you, depending on the mood.

You clear your throat, trying to chase away such thoughts. You quickly turn to him.

“I’m in a call for work, honey. I’ll be done in about half an hour.”

He nods and disappears. Your focus returns to the call, mostly. Nobody seems to have noticed the short interruption and your momentary inattentiveness. Good!

In the next few minutes, your boss goes over the goals for the next month and all the special meetings he has planned. You find your attention again and give it to your job. If you play it right, you’ll get a promotion within the year.

“Alright, let’s move on to the sales pitch we have for the client coming in next week. Everyone, take notes and tell us what you think works and what could be improved.”

As your coworker calls up a PowerPoint presentation, you think you see a dark head of hair behind you. When you look closer at your picture in Zoom, it’s gone again.

A hand on your thigh startles you. Tae is crouching on the floor next to you. The business attire has disappeared. Instead, he’s wearing a large t-shirt and underpants. Even during the short glance, you can’t miss the bulge.

You turn your eyes back to the screen and make sure your microphone is turned off. The presentation has started, but your colleague is taking her time getting through the intro.

Tae rests his head on your thigh and ghosts his fingers up and down the inside. His touch is so light you nearly giggle.

You clench your jaw and try to look normal. Tae pushes up the fabric of your skirt and plants a kiss on your thigh. Okay, if that’s all he does, you can handle it. You totally can.

The presentation is still in the intro phase. You jot down a note to tell your colleague she needs to get to the point more quickly.

“Alright, now to the first point. Sustainability. We are one of few companies in this field who can offer that.”

You nod and make another note. Good point, but perhaps better suited at the end for the extra umph. Tae’s head has disappeared from your thigh, but you’re too busy taking notes to look where he’s gone.

Until you feel his soft hair between your thighs. You swallow hard. What is the devil up to?

Tae pulls you forward slightly on the chair until his nose is practically pressed into your clit. Even with underwear on you have to work hard to hide that gasp.

You try to push him away, but he just giggles and dives back in. His nose hits your clit again. He runs his lips up and down your underwear.

What you should do is tell him to go away. What you want to do is press his face closer. So you go the middle path and don’t do anything.

In the Zoom call, your coworker has moved on to the availability of a team with diverse specialties. You try to judge whether that is a good point or not, but your brain isn’t working properly.

Tae’s tongue pokes at your clit. You inhale sharply. At this point you’re so riled up from not having seen him for two weeks that you would let him do anything. And ask for more, probably.

Tae pushes aside your underwear and hums low in his throat. Then he dives in for a kitten lick on your clit. Your stomach muscles tighten instantly. With the hand not holding a pen you grab his hair and make sure he doesn’t move away.

“Needy, love?”

You don’t have to answer. Your body does all the answering for you as he sucks on your little bud. Your hips buck forward. Tae chuckles while he keeps assaulting your clit. You bite down hard on your lower lip, so no moan escapes you.

“Alright, thoughts”, comes your boss’s voice through the speaker. Nobody speaks up.

“How about you, y/n? I saw you scribble some things down.”

You smile thinly, while tugging on Tae’s hair. He won’t budge. Okay, you can do this. You turn your mic back on.

“Perhaps cut down the intro, by about half. They know who we are and what we stand for. And move sustainability to the last point.”

You say all of this very fast, before turning your mic back off. Tae is going a bit softer, but you can feel the tension building in your stomach.

“Great point on the introduction, y/n. We need to make it a bit more snappy. As to sustainability, what is your reasoning for moving it?”

You nearly groan at having to go again. You turn on your mic again.

“That’s what their company is known for. That’s what they advertise above all else. So we need to highlight that too. They need to know we can meet their high standards in it.”

“Well done, y/n. Perhaps I should let you make our next pitch. You know what to look out for.”

You give your boss a weak smile.

“Very well. Let’s move to some housekeeping things and then we’ll be done for the day.”

As soon as your boss says that Tae’s mouth starts doing things that nearly make you see stars. You manage to stare at the screen, but all your attention is on how he sucks on you, how his tongue plays with your little bud.

He slides his finger through your arousal. One of his long, slender fingers slides into you slowly.

“Hold tight, baby”, Tae whispers. He finds your G-spot, tapping his finger against it. You clench your jaw even tighter.

Your body keeps tightening around him as he pushes you towards your orgasm.

“Alright, everyone. That’s it for today. Have a great weekend.” Your boss gives a wave before ending the Zoom call.

You snap your laptop shut and let loose. All the build-up from the last minutes comes crashing down on you. Your back arches as the orgasm rolls over you. You let out a few breathy moans.

“That’s it, love.”

It takes a minute or two to come down from the high. Tae has scooted back a few centimeters. He's rubbing his cheek against the inside of your thigh. You can feel some stubbles on his cheek.

“And you couldn’t just wait half an hour?”

“No. Could you?”

“Well, once you started I couldn’t.”

You roll back the chair a little.

“How about a welcome-back kiss? You have to come get it, though. I can’t walk yet.”

Tae lets out a laugh, but he gets up and approaches you. Instead of giving you a kiss, though, he picks you up and carries you out of the room, into your bedroom. He lowers the both of you into the sheets, hovering over you. You spread your legs to accommodate him.

“Welcome home, honey.”

“Glad to be home.”

Tae leans in for a gentle kiss, still hovering above you. You sling your arms around him and pull him down until he settles more of his weight on you. His chest is pressed against yours, the bulge you spotted earlier rubbing against your underwear.

“Too many clothes”, you mutter. Tae sits up and tosses aside his t-shirt. You ogle the caramel skin.

“A piece for a piece”, Tae says with a grin. You sit up as well and unbutton your blouse. It lands on the floor together with your bra.

“Your turn.”

Tae steps off the bed and drops his underwear.

“I guess you’ve missed me.”

“Are you talking to my dick or me?”

You laugh.

“Both.”

The drop of pre-cum on his head slowly slides down.

“Stop teasing, baby.”

You quickly get out of your skirt and underwear. You sit back on the bed and look at him.

“I’m just waiting for you to get a condom. I’m good to go anytime.”

He eyes your boobs as he gets a condom out of the nightstand and puts it on. You lick your lips. You swear you can see him twitch a little. Moments later Tae hovers over you again. He moves to your nipple and sucks it into his mouth. You exhale sharply.

“Taehyungah.”

The way you moan his name makes him continue. You can feel his head brush against your entrance. You roll your hips in his direction, but he’s too far back.

“Please, just… ahh… just fuck me already.”

With a pop he releases your nipple. He moves closer to you. You grab his dick and guide it until, finally, his head slowly sinks into you. After two weeks apart you feel the stretch.

He pushes in slowly and stops once he’s almost all the way in.

“You good, baby?”

“Start slowly, okay?”

“Of course, love.”

Tae gives you a kiss on the nose before drawing out and pushing back in very slowly. It takes a minute for you to re-adjust.

Tae’s breathing is already labored by the time you feel your walls relax around him. He looks so focused and committed, you find it cute.

“Tae?”

“Mh?”

“Harder.”

One of his favorite words. His hair falls into his eyes as he builds up the pace. You claw your nails into his back, trying to gain traction as he slams into you. You grind your hips back into his. He hits just the right spot, and you can feel your walls tighten again. Tae lets out a low moan as he feels it too.

“Taehyungah”, you moan.

The coil in your stomach lets loose. Tae presses his lips against yours and gives you a sloppy kiss before he too cums.

You can feel him pulsing in you as he rides it out with a few more thrusts. Then he collapses on top of you. You’re used to it and hug him tightly.

“Welcome back home.”

#bts smut #taehyung #taehyung smut #bangtan #time together #taehyung x reader #taehyung x y/n #non idol au #female y/n #bts fanfic #bts imagines

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slothquisitor · 8 months

Text

Some Credit in Trying

New relationships are hard to navigate. Also, let's have a new first kiss *after* Moonrise. Astarion x Liv, 3.5k, fluff-adjacent?

Also on AO3.

As Moonrise Towers recedes behind them, a curse lifted and a direction found, Astarion breathes in the lighter air. There’s a hint of sea breeze, a promise of sunshine and warmth ahead of them. Nothing has gone the way he thought it would at Moonrise. They know now what the Absolute is, and who is behind this entire plot. An elder brain, The Chosen of the Dead Three. It’s like something out of the adventure stories he loves so much. It’s….a lot. He believed they were out of their depth before with all of this, but now, he knows how laughable and naive they’d been. There are gods at work. And they’re what? Supposed to steal these netherstones and save the day? It’s probably hopeless, but he feels far from it. Perhaps it’s the high of the victory at Moonrise, at the way they’d faced down Myrkul and Ketheric and won, but Cazador can’t be that far out of his reach.

He knows what the scars on his back mean now, knows all about Cazador’s little plan. He could not only snatch this ritual away from Cazador, but he could take the power for himself. How delicious would it be to not only stop the man who ruined his life, but also to take this ritual that means so much to him for himself? If he’s successful, he’ll never be at the mercy of anyone ever again. He’ll be able to walk in the sun and be the master of his own fate once they get rid of the tadpole. He will be free, and he will never have to be afraid again.

Liv wants to stop Cazador too, but there’s some hesitation whenever he mentions completing the rite himself. Nothing good can come from devils, she says. Can he really just sacrifice his siblings so callously, she asks. He’s sure that she’ll come around, sure that he’ll convince her to see the reason in this. An elder brain and Bhaal and Bane’s chosen will be nothing when he is the one who ascends. It’ll all but guarantee their victory.

It’s so close he can almost taste it.

With Baldur’s Gate just one sleep away, their growing group has set up camp in a crumbling ruin on the hillside. The city spreads out in the distance like a promise, the soft glowing lights twinkle like fireflies. After endless weeks in the wilderness, the Underdark, and the Shadowlands, the city feels like light and life and… home. It surprises him how sentimental he feels about the place, now that he’s seeing it again in freedom. He’s not the only one.

Wyll and Karlach are trading stories by the fire, reminiscing about places they love and hope to see again. Shadowheart sits near them, maybe she’s hoping something will click a forgotten memory into place. Astarion is content to drink with them, offering his own critiques or insights into if a tavern or restaurant still exists or has changed management in the years Wyll and Karlach have been away.

Eventually, Karlach glances around before leaning over to him. “Hey, where’s Liv gotten to?”

“Why are you asking me? I’m sure she’s around,” he lifts a hand to encompass their little camp, but he knows it’s the wrong response as soon as the words leave his lips.

Karlach frowns. “She slipped away after dinner and hasn’t come back. I’ll go look for her if you won’t.” Karlach’s golden eyes are awash with disapproval, and guilt settles into his stomach. Her extended absence in the evening isn’t her usual way, and he should’ve noticed. But he didn’t.

“I will of course go and see what she’s gotten up to,” he says, a note of apology entering his voice. The truth is that he’d noticed she wasn’t here, but simply hadn’t thought that much about it. But now that he looks around the camp, he sees no sign of her.

“You do that,” Karlach says. Her words are delivered with careful control, a hint of admonishment lacing them.

He’s not very good at this…whatever he and Liv are to each other business, and it’s clear Karlach has seen that. It’s not that he wouldn’t have preferred to be spending time with Liv this evening over anyone else, but he…simply hadn’t thought about finding her. And of course, Karlach would ask if he knew where she was. They’d scarcely been out of each other’s sight, and he’d taken every opportunity to be as close to her as he could at every opportunity. Their…attachment is no secret.

While their companions aren’t privy to the specific details about what is or rather what isn’t currently happening within whatever they are to each other…he’s still sure that they look at the two of them and know what he knows: that he’s invariably getting the better deal out of it. He’s not sure what he has to offer anyone beyond complications and baggage. His feelings for Liv are genuine, but somehow he still feels like he’s taking advantage of her kindness.

Perhaps he should’ve let Karlach go; she’s probably better company this evening anyway. But he does go, setting off on his own exploration of the ruin, hoping to find wherever Liv has absconded.

It takes some doing, but eventually, he finds her at the top of the highest point of the ruin. She’s sitting up against the parapet, facing the city that’s visible from her vantage point only because the opposite wall has crumbled away. She glances up at him as he approaches, and looks relieved, perhaps. He takes it as an invitation.

“It’s quite the spectacular view,” he says, sitting down beside her. They’re not quite touching, but the proximity is nice on its own. “Is everything alright?”

She looks back at the city and sighs. It’s a heavy thing, and he realizes that of their group, she’s the only one (aside from Halsin) who hasn’t seemed excited about getting to the city.

She shrugs. “Sure. Just thinking about what we’re going to find when we get to the city is all.”

“So you were brooding,” he says the words with a hint of tease, knocking her shoulder with his own, hoping for a smile or a laugh or something.

“I wasn’t brooding,” she says, shooting him a long-suffering look that is a confirmation all its own.

“Sulking, ruminating, or worrying then? I could go all night with the synonyms.” Liv is always steady, always so unflappable. Seeing her like this makes him worried. He used to think it would be entertaining to see her break, to fall apart spectacularly. Now, he wants to be the person who helps keep her together.

“Oh, I know.” She finally huffs a little laugh. “Maybe a little bit of worrying.”

He leans in closer and takes her hand in his in a gesture that has lost none of its novelty for the familiarity. Her fingers lace with his, warm and steady and sure. He loves this. “Tell me what you were worrying about, my dear.”

She shakes her head. “Nothing that matters. Truly.” She squeezes their joined hands, as if in reassurance, but he knows her too well to believe her. She’s not lying, not in the sense that she’s trying to be dishonest, but she is so very good at minimizing her own problems, worries, and concerns. Before Moonrise, he might have let her have the deflection, might not have pressed, but that’s not what this is anymore.

“It matters to me,” he says. “Talk to me.”

If thinking of himself too much is his failing, then this is hers: she never thinks enough of herself. Her world-ending tadpole problem is nothing in the face of other’s suffering. She wants to save everyone, always. Even him. He wonders sometimes if she’s ever tried to save herself if she could be that selfish for anything.

She is quiet before finally glaring out at the city as if it’s just another enemy to stand against. “It’s just my family…I don’t want to see them, and I’m afraid it’s inevitable.”

She never talks about her family. Oh, he’s pieced together a few things. He knows she has siblings, all older, but he doesn’t know their names, or what they’re like. But the fact she doesn’t want to see them is enough for him. Liv is kind and doesn’t say no enough. But if she’s decided she doesn’t want them in her life, well that’s all he needs to know. He doesn’t speak, just squeezes her hand lightly in encouragement, so she knows she can go on.

“I don’t know how to talk about them. With you,” she admits, glancing at him before looking away again. “I don’t know how to talk about them with anyone. But especially you because…you’ve experienced far worse, and I don’t know. I don’t know how to tell you without minimizing your pain.”

He doesn’t know what to say. He’s sure he’s not given the impression that he is an especially empathetic person. And it’s true, he doesn’t have a lot of practice giving a shit about other people’s problems. When he first stumbled off of the nautiloid, he wasn’t interested in solving anyone else’s problems but his own. Two centuries of captivity and he was finally free for who knew how long, and he didn’t want to waste this chance, this opportunity. He was desperate for it to mean something. The urgency has faded somewhat. They’re protected, and they’re not going to turn into mind flayers any second. And well, he knows his companions now…it’s different. Sort of. He’s finding himself moved more often these days. It’s annoying, and probably Liv’s influence. But…he cares about her problems. Always has, even when he wouldn’t allow himself to ask about them. He has no such internal rules now.

“I’m not used to being trusted with the burdens of others, but you so happily share mine. I want to do the same for you.” For so long, his life had been only about survival from moment to moment, there was no room for anyone or anything else. He keeps clawing space, trying to reclaim something more for himself, for her, for them. It’s not perfect, but she has given him precious, impossible moments of comfort. He only wants to be able to do the same for her. He’s just not sure how.

“I’m afraid of going back to Baldur’s Gate, afraid of seeing my family again because the only time I’ve ever felt like my own person was out here. I’ve never been looked at as anything or anyone that mattered much at all, but then I met all of you…and everyone just…trusted me, followed me.” Her words are stilted, like she’s still unsure about voicing any of this aloud.

“It felt good. Better than good. It felt like proving my family wrong,” she explains.

“Wrong about what?” he asks, but he’s sure he already knows the answer, or part of it anyway.

“Magical aptitude was all my parents cared about. I was reminded, often, that I would never amount to anything, and that I would certainly never measure up to my siblings. Failure to meet expectations was not treated kindly. My parents are quite adept, and would use their magic to…motivate us.”

He recognizes the careful tone, the way she says motivate like it’s a repetition of someone else’s lexicon, a word with its own painful universe contained within. He has many of those himself. He stays silent.

“They also encouraged my siblings to use their magic on each other. That’s…that’s how my sister Brelia died. She was fighting with Cressida and Percy and…my parents made sure it was ruled an accident. We were forbidden from saying anything. Not that Percy or Cressida wanted the truth out there anyway.

“Roland and I just stood there at Brelia’s graveside letting people tell us how fucking sorry they were and we couldn’t say anything about it. We couldn’t tell a single person the truth. Not with Percy and Cressida and our parents standing by, watching us the whole time.”

Her shoulders slump inward, and Astarion doesn’t know what to say. He can tell that this is important, and he wishes he was better at this. At knowing the right things to say. This is real; he doesn’t want to mess it up.

In the silence, she continues, “After Brelia died, I thought Roland would stay. Thought he’d stick around with me to try to find a way to fight back to get…justice? But he left me, went off to Candlekeep, barely even returned my letters. But I stayed…I stayed too long. I don’t know why or what I thought I was accomplishing spending every day letting them treat me like shit. And I woke up one morning about six months ago, and I…I just left.”

“They let you leave?”

She sad smile spreads across her lips. “I thought that maybe they’d come looking. I think part of me wanted them to, if only because it would prove…they cared or something. But they didn’t. I could have left at any time, and it wouldn’t have mattered. Wouldn’t have made a bit of difference. They didn’t care.” She looks at him, unshed tears gathering in her eyes.

He feels so far out of his depth. He understands now why Liv apologizes so fucking often, the words ‘I’m sorry’ are the only ones coming to mind, but they don’t feel like the wrong ones. “I’m sorry. They didn’t deserve you.”

“I’m sure they’d disagree.” She wipes at her eyes with her free hand. “I like who I am here, with all of you. I don’t want to go back to Baldur’s Gate and be reminded of them or their impossible expectations. And I’m sure that if they’ve thought there’s anything to gain in allying with Gortash, they’d do it.”

“You think they’re tangled in all this.”

She nods. “I wouldn’t be surprised. They’re very powerful and very good at following whatever way the wind seems to be blowing. They get into things just deep enough to profit. If they thought Gortash could gain them anything, I guarantee they struck some sort of a deal. We have enough problems, and I don’t want my family to be another.”

“I’d be very happy to kill them,” he says. He means it too.

With what has to be the first genuine smile he’s seen tonight, she shakes her head. “You know, not every situation should be solved with murder.”

“I don’t know, our track record of the last few weeks might suggest otherwise. Would you like the examples chronologically or alphabetically?”

She rolls her eyes. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I’d rather just leave them alone.”

He cannot fathom this. They hurt her, and she what, wants them to just go on being awful? Where is the justice in that? “To go on hurting people? To let them get away with covering up a murder? What about justice? Don’t you think they should pay? Don’t you think you deserve better?”

“People rarely get what they deserve, you don’t have to look very far even in our camp to see that,” she says.

She’s right, of course. Karlach didn’t deserve to be betrayed and handed over to Zariel, and Gale didn’t deserve his goddess telling him to die. And Wyll didn’t deserve to have to sell his soul to save Baldur’s Gate. Shadowheart didn’t deserve to lose her memories or be manipulated by Shar, and Lae’zel didn’t deserve to be cast out from her people for questioning her queen. Liv certainly didn’t deserve her upbringing, didn’t deserve parents who cared more about what she could do than who she was. Most days, he’s not sure what he deserves, but after two centuries of shit, pure shit, he thinks he deserves something better too.

“I can’t make them sorry. I can’t make them care that they hurt me. All I can do is learn how to live my life without being ruled by it.” Where is the fairness in that? Astarion doesn’t want to take any sort of high road out of this.

“I suppose that’s what you want me to do, too, isn’t it? Just forgive Cazador and move on with my life being good and kind for the rest of my days?” He knows that his words are unkind, unfair even. He cannot be good like her; is not sure he wants to be. “That…was unfair…”

There is a hard edge to her gaze when she looks at him, her words quiet. “No. It’s alright. Cazador needs to die.”

He agrees of course, but it is gratifying to hear it come from her. “Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page about that.”

“We’ll make sure that he can’t ever hurt anyone ever again. You have my word,” Liv says. He doesn’t like promises; they’re too easily broken, but with her, it’s different. But even as she promises this, he realizes that he’s somehow taken this moment, and twisted it to be about him. He doesn’t want that because wants her to feel heard too.

“For what it is worth, I think you’re rather wonderful, and that has nothing to do with your magic. You’re patient, and you’re kind. You always listen, and your first reaction to any situation is to look for a way to help.”

Her eyes narrow, but her tone isn’t accusing. “I thought you hated that I always wanted to help.”

“Because no one ever helped me. People don’t help, but you aren’t people. You’re you. And I am grateful that I met you.”

“I’m grateful to have met you too.” She’s smiling now, and he thinks that maybe he might not be completely terrible at this. “Could I…could I kiss you?”

It’s his turn to smile. He did do something right after all. She always asks for consent before touching him. It’s not a concession he ever believed he needed, would have never asked for, but he loves it. There’s a thrill in being asked what he wants, and a safety in knowing he can always say no. “There is nothing I’d like more.”

Since Moonrise, their relationship has been deliberately careful. It has been a profound relief to discover that Liv is fine simply holding his hand or hugging him goodnight and that neither of them has felt the need to ask for more. He’s wanted to kiss her, of course he has, but if he’s being honest, he’s been waiting for her to ask. He’s not sure he trusts himself to know what the normal progression of a relationship should look like anyway. But he trusts her, trusts that she’s not going to push him into anything he’s not ready for. She’s always been careful with them both, even when he wasn’t.

She cups his cheek, as she slowly leans in, eyes never leaving his. There’s a careful watchfulness in this, and he realizes that she’s looking for any sign of hesitation on his part. The slowness is deliberate, giving him an out if he needs it. Something in his chest clenches at the care, the consideration. But he’s never been a particularly patient person, and so he leans into her, enthusiastically closing the rest of the distance.

This kiss is soft, unhurried, a kiss just for the sake of a kiss. Liv keeps their fingers laced tight between them, anchoring him to this moment. He is not sure if he can ever match her gentleness. He is used to reading his partners, meeting them where they are, matching their urgency, their insistence, and ardor - forever aware of the half-life of those couplings. He worries that not only was he not made for sweetness, but that he is not capable of it. That he will always reach for her with sharpness, in a way that cuts and wounds.

But she is not afraid, so perhaps, he shouldn’t be either.

The kiss is over all too soon. Their eyes meet as she pulls away, and he wonders if this is a first kiss they might have shared, in another life, another time, another set of circumstances where their hearts were less broken.

“Mmm,” he sighs. And because she needs to hear it, and he needs to say the words aloud, he tells her, “I did rather like that, you know.” He hopes that’s a reassurance given, a permission granted for more moments like this.

And because she makes him feel brave, he releases her hand to instead drape his arm around her, pulling her closer to him. She burrows into his side, slotting into the space perfectly, and they sit together and watch the city glittering in the distance, a place that holds so much hurt and pain and potential for them both. They’ll face it together, of that much he is sure.

There is much to learn, and to unlearn, but he knows that he wants nothing more than the time to try.

Thanks for reading!

#astarion x tav #astarion x liv #baldur's gate 3 #fanfic #slothquisitorwrites #this one is chunky #and got rewritten several times #new relationships are hard #but astarion is trying his best #and we love that

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