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licorice-tea · 1 month

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Duty At The Expense Of Desire

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x reader

Content: mild cursing, lots of arguing between reader and Law, reader is nervous to be in a relationship, platonic luffy and reader <3, reader loves the strawhats a lot :)

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: i spent so long just rereading this, i don’t know why but it feels kind of hard to understand? so i might revise it again in the future idk yet! i hope you enjoy reading, again this is very very loosely based on kate and anthony’s season in bridgerton! it was originally going to be 2 parts, but it’s looking like a full on series now… lmk if you want to be tagged in future parts! enjoy! <3

Part 2

Now that your feelings for Law have been revealed- not only to him but to yourself- you find the tension between the two of you is undeniably different from before.

What were once looks of contempt now harbor some quiet desire. Chances of accidentally brushing shoulders when you pass by each other are avoided altogether, for fear of fueling a fire neither of you know how to deal with. And any crass or biting quips are cut out of your minimal interactions completely, as you both now feel they come off as flirtatious rather than standoffish.

A few days have gone by since you confronted Law and he admitted his true feelings for you, all of which have been spent at sea. Nami says there won’t be an island to dock at for at least another three days, given how the weather is slowing the ship, so your crew’s only source of entertainment is each other.

“Y/n,” she asks while the two of you along with Robin relax on the deck, “what happened between you and Traffy the other day?”

Your breath hitches and you cough unnecessarily, already giving away your nervousness to the two very observant women. “Uh, not much.”

“Well, what did you two talk about? You didn’t come back to the table after, so I thought you must have stayed together…” Robin smiles softly, baiting you to reveal more.

“What? No, no, oh my god no… We just…”

Nami urges you on with a sing-song voice; “You just?”

“We… talked.”

“Talked about what?”

“I don’t know. Our issues with each other.”

“And you resolved them?”

“Come on, y/n, tell us what happened!”

“Nothing happened.”

You stand up then, too annoyed to continue talking to your friends. It’s not even their fault really; you would want to know what had gone on too, if the roles were reversed. Maybe you’re just annoyed with yourself for not being able to face your own feelings.

With no particular destination in mind, you find yourself in the Thousand Sunny’s library. When you open the door, you see Law browsing the selection of books your crew has accumulated throughout your travels. You shouldn’t be surprised to see him, but you are.

That’s what it must be; what other reason could there be for the sudden raving of your heart and your breath hitching? Any feelings you ever had for him were buried deep inside after last night; too deep to allow yourself to feel them to the extent you were currently, and so these must all be signs of surprise.

You steel yourself and walk in, letting the door close behind you. Law looks up to find out who the person intruding on his studying is, but his eyes are blown wide when he makes eye contact with you. Neither of you speaks as you turn away and cross the room in quick strides to another section of the library.

“Stupid Law,” you think as you try to calm your mind- an impossible task when he’s standing anywhere in the same room. “Stupid weather,” preventing you from getting to an island so you can get some damn space from him. “Stupid library, ” because of its shelves that make it all too easy and tempting to peak through and catch a glimpse of him.

Actually, maybe that’s not too risky of an idea. Cautiously, you bend down slightly and pretend to scan the titles on the shelf. You allow your eyes to slowly wander off the books until you can see Law by peering upwards. But low and behold, he’s staring right back at you.

You gasp and stand up straight, silently cursing your silly plan.

“Y/n.” He walks over to you, 2 books tucked under his arm. “l was under the impression you wanted me to keep your distance from me.”

“I do.”

“I find that hard to believe with the way you’ve been acting around me.”

“It’s just weird. You made me admit that I had feelings for you, and now things are weird.”

“I made you? You didn’t have to say anything, you could’ve rejected me and we both would’ve moved on.”

“I did reject you.”

“By telling me you feel the same? That’s some rejection.”

“You shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.”

“I had to, you told me that you thought I hated you.”

“But I didn’t make you say that you have feelings for me, and so now you’ve made it impossible to ignore.”

“Believe me, I tried to ignore it. To ignore you. It was pointless.”

“Then you weren’t trying hard enough. I could’ve gone a lifetime without bringing up the way I feel for you if it means my crew will be able to continue this alliance for our goals.”

“Don’t give me that shit, your captain made this alliance because he thinks we’re friends. You seriously think he had a goal in mind while doing so?”

With a roll of your eyes, you cross your arms over your chest. “Maybe not, but Luffy is the captain- I trust him, and so I follow him in any endeavor he believes in.”

“Well, I’m the captain of my own crew, and I believe that whatever we have going on is a little more than ally-ship.”

“Regardless of whatever is going on between us, is it really a smart idea to complicate such an important alliance?”

“…No. I suppose it’s not.”

“Then drop it-” You turn, ready to forget about this conversation and continue hiding your feelings away when he grabs your wrist.

“But they wouldn’t care, y/n, and you know that. Your crew thrives on-” he gestures vaguely with his free hand, “-friendship and rainbows and joy.”

Shaking off a smile, you bite back. “That might be true, but you know what’s even more important to my crew? Protecting each other. They wouldn’t like me being with you; even if we are temporary allies, you’re a Captain of another crew and one of the Supernovas. So don’t tell me what they would and wouldn’t be ok with.”

Law seems to think for a second before he releases your wrist. “Hmph.”

Finally, you take your leave to find somewhere- with no Law and no watchful friends- to just think.

You settle on the bow of the ship. If you had an ability like Luffy’s or any guarantee that you wouldn’t slip right off and into the sea, you would like to sit on the masthead of the Sunny. A clear, unobstructed view of the world ahead, and the breeze to keep the hair out your eyes could be so peaceful. But, this has some sort of charm to it as well; you do seem to love a challenge (even if it’s one as simple as having to lean over the railing of a ship to see the horizon).

With a cheerful call, the man you had just been thinking of joins you on the railing by the ship’s bow. Luffy speaks animatedly of his plans for all sorts of things, but during a lull in conversation, he asks you something unexpected.

“Do you love him?”

“What?”

“Traffy! Do you love him?”

“I…”

“You’ve said how much you hate him, but that just means your feelings for him are strong. So you love him, right?”

You’ve never been more bothered to hear Luffy say something so uncharacteristically observant.

“I love you guys.”

He hums. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t love other people, too.”

“…I won’t ever leave this crew, Luffy.”

“Of course you won’t!” He latches onto you in an iron-grip hug, and you smile ever so slightly. “But, y/n.”

“Yeah?”

He releases you and instead grabs your shoulders to talk to you face to face. His face seems especially serious- the same way it does when he makes a bold declaration of his dreams or beliefs. “If you love someone, you tell them. You don’t hide it, because you never know when they could be gone.”

Finally, your barely-there smile opens into a full grin. “When did you get to be so wise?”

Luffy shrugs. “Shanks told me that once, I just felt it made sense for you too.”

You and your captain stay there a while longer, giggling over this and that until the sun starts to set on the horizon.

“I'm gonna go sit on Sunny- you wanna come with me?”

Though you’d been fantasizing over what it would feel like up there just a few minutes ago, you shake your head. “No thanks. But, uh, Luffy?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you… not tell anyone about what we talked about?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, for sure!”

You would come to regret being so vague with your captain, even if he does occasionally display astonishing emotional intelligence.

At dinner- where there’s always something going on- you make an effort to sit far from Law. Your attempt is in vain, however, as he ends up right across from you. Luffy sits to your left, and while he takes a small break from stuffing his mouth, he nudges you with his elbow.

Your eyes meet your captain’s as he winks at you, then looks over at Law, and back to you. You can practically see the gears turning in his head as he had some sort of… plan in the works. With a wide grin, he asks, “Soooo Y/n, when are you and Traffy going to get married?”

A moment of silence passes before laughter erupts around the table from everyone except you and “Traffy.” The latter covers his face with one hand and pinches the bridge of his nose while you look simply horrified.

What had happened to not speaking of your earlier conversation? Admittedly, you had spoken of several subjects after your discussion of your feelings for Law… and knowing Luffy, he could have mistaken your vow of silence to be for any one of those subjects.

Since you’re sure your captain didn’t mean to embarrass you with his straightforward view of relationships, you just shake your head and give a muttered response. “We- we’re not, um, going to….”

Law, on the other hand, appears too bothered to stick around and listen to any more jokes. He stands abruptly and disappears in a flash of blue light.

You stick around long enough to finish your plate, then thank Sanji and leave quietly. Some unknown force draws you to Law, when you see him in Nami’s little grove of orange trees. Cautiously, you approach him.

“…Law? I- I’m sorry about that. I don’t know why Luffy said that.”

“It was embarrassing.”

“Okay, Law, they were all just joking. And I can’t even really blame them, because this entire situation is pretty fucking ridiculous.”

“No, y/n, it’s embarrassing that everybody knows how I feel and that you feel the same, and they’re all happy with the idea of us together, but you still don’t want to be with me.”

“It’s not personal, you know that.”

“How can it not be personal?”

“Everything I do is for my crew. I have a duty to them, and not even you or my own feelings will get in the way of that.”

“Do you seriously still believe that they would care if we were together?”

You purse your lips.

“I took your word for it at first, because you know your own crew better than I do, but clearly they have very little regard for what we do. Now I am inclined to believe that you made it up when you said they wouldn’t like us being… being something. And as foolish as I feel after believing that ridiculous excuse, I still want you, y/n. Tell me you want me too.”

“How much?” You ask with a fierce look.

“How much what?”

“How much do you want me, Law? You keep talking about your feelings for me, but you haven’t even said what they are.”

Again, you seem to find any way to continue arguing with the man before you as a means of releasing pent-up feelings. Just kissing him might be easier, but also a whole lot more terrifying and uncertain.

“Desire, attraction, whatever you want to call it-“

“Well, I’m not going to put everything on the line for someone who is attracted to me.”

“It’s more than that, you know that-“

“You know what I think?”

“…What?”

“I think that you can’t even admit to yourself- let alone aloud- the extent of your feelings for me. You want me to say it first so that nothing bad will happen if you put yourself out there, and that’s not going to happen.”

“I-“ He starts to speak, but can’t think of a rebuttal. You have him pegged. “I may not know exactly what my feelings are yet, but I can feel them, y/n. You remain on my mind constantly- so if you want me to stop feeling for you, then you need to stop.”

“Oh, I need to stop?”

“Yes, you-“

“You’re the one constantly making me reconsider everything I tell myself. You are the one who needs to stop.”

“Before what? Before we give in to this… obvious desire, and put aside duties to do something for ourselves?”

Heavy breathing fills the silence. He always manages to rile you up, and you can’t stand it.

“You should go. No, in fact,” you raise your hands in a gesture of surrender, “I’ll go.”

Without giving him the chance to respond, you flee down the stairs to the main deck and through the doors to the cabin hall. All this back and forth with Law is giving you a headache.

You can’t deny it any longer though; now that your captain knows too, it’s like you’ve spoken it into permanent existence. You’re in love with Law, and there’s next to nothing stopping you from being with him in the way you truly desire. Not even your sense of duty.

You should never have counted on the Strawhats to hold you back from something- or someone you love.

Taglist: @augustanna @lavanderdreamve @pinksaiyans @khaleesihavilliard @jennapancake @pinki-minki @loserbee14

#fanfic #one piece x reader #one piece #one piece x you #x reader #law x reader #law x you #law x y/n #straw hat pirates #trafalgar d law x reader #law fluff #law angst #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law #straw hat reader #luffy x reader #platonic luffy x reader #cat burglar nami #nico robin

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here2bbtstrash · 2 years

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heartless (explicit)

genre: pwp, smut, exes hooking up - a part of the jeju shore collab !

pairing: jungkook x reader

summary: after a wild summer at the shore where he made more than a few mistakes, jungkook is ready to remind you why you always take him back.

word count: 7.4k

other works in this collab: You DTF? by @haliiimede and Himbo Hours by @gimmethatagustd

contains: explicit sexual content!!! set in 2009, member POV, established relationship (exes), mentions of infidelity, mentions of alcohol and drug use, jk blows a stranger (definitely not anyone we know 👀) in a bar bathroom, some good ol' fashioned 2009 biphobia lmao, EXCESSIVE use of petnames (kookie and jagi) like it's really too much, cunnilingus, fingering, a lot of pussy appreciation bc of who i am as a person, they make a sex tape 🎥 (reader films jk going down on her), hot tub sex, jk makes reader come with a hot tub jet, unprotected sex (smh 😔), nothing in this fic is sexually healthy pls do not replicate, multiple orgasms/overstim, a lil bit of marking, jk is toxic and i kind of love him oops, don't fight me for the ending

A/N: it's here it's here it's here!!!!! happy jeju shore day 🥰 i'm so excited to share this one with y'all, it really was supposed to be a joke thing like ~sammi and ron vibes~ yknow and then idk.... this fic ran away with me,, like tell me why i ship kookie and jagi lowkey 🥺 over here like maybe one day they'll work it out 🥺 ANYWAY uhhh heed the warnings, this one's a doozy, have fun, stay hydrated 💦 and make sure you check out jai and hali's fics toooooo for your full ~weekend at the shore~ !!!! love you babes, thank you as always for reading 😘💜

read on AO3 !

“Shit, gonna come.”

Thank god, Jungkook thinks to himself. This guy has some impressive stamina, which he’d normally appreciate, but he’s in a bad mood tonight. Getting his throat fucked hasn’t helped like he thought it might.

Even though the guy is cute, with a big body and a sweet set of dimples, Jungkook is just going through the motions. He’s annoyed by the way the bathroom floor is digging into his knees, the way his jaw is starting to lock up with how long he’s been at this.

He shuts his eyes, remembers to breathe through his nose, and then a hand presses hard to the back of his head and his mouth starts to fill, bitter and heady. Careful not to spill a drop, Jungkook keeps his suction tight through the cock-twitches of this guy’s— he didn’t get his name, because he really doesn’t care to know it— orgasm, until he finally feels the fingers in his hair release.

Jungkook gets to his feet and stumbles to the sink, gripping the porcelain edge while he spits out the glossy strings of a stranger’s load. He’s not a swallower, because he’s not gay. He’s just good at sucking dick— and Jungkook likes doing things he’s good at.

“Appreciate it!” The stranger’s voice echoes over his shoulder, followed by the sound of the bathroom door swinging on its hinges and slamming shut, leaving him alone with a sink full of cum.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

Jungkook stares himself down in the mirror, runs a hand over his hair to make sure it didn’t get fucked up from that guy’s truly obscenely large hand. Thankfully his extra-hold gel seems to be doing its job.

At the realization that his teeth are grinding together, he presses a knuckle into the hinge of his jaw, trying to encourage it to relax. He’s been clenching all night, and he’s not sure if he should blame the six redbull vodkas he’s thrown back or the keybumps of something he did off the bar: it was either coke or molly.

Coke, he thinks. He’s on edge.

He can’t shake this feeling, like he’s a wild animal trapped in a cage, as he pushes the bathroom door open and presses his way back into the mass of bodies in the club. He’s gone out every night this week looking for something, but he can’t find it. It’s not at the bottom of a bottle or in white powder snorted through a rolled-up hundred. And it’s certainly not in any of the random strangers he’s taken in the bathroom or the back alley or on the hood of his car in the parking lot.

He misses you.

It’s been almost three weeks since you last came around, and even then, it was only to scream at him while you dug your clothes out of his dresser and threw your spare toothbrush in the trash can. All because someone left you that stupid fucking note detailing the night Jungkook went blackout, where the last thing he remembers is Jimin convincing him to switch to Malibu.

If what Jungkook’s been told is the truth, he apparently started a bar fight and had a foursome that night— just, unfortunately, with three people who weren’t you. He kind of wishes he could remember at least one of those.

Fuck this, he thinks to himself, surrounded by trashed club-goers on all sides, bodies slick with sweat and tanning oil, the floor sticky from spilled drinks and probably a few other things. Jungkook knows exactly where he wants to be, and it’s between your thighs, not at one of the seven shitty clubs he and his hyungs have been rotating through all summer.

Figuring Taehyung and Jimin are fine to handle their own shit, he shoves through the crowd a little more aggressively than he needs to, and definitely knocks one drunk girl flat on her ass without bothering to look back.

The slight chill in the air when he steps outside is a welcome relief from the stale heat of the club. It’s the last weekend before everyone packs up and heads for the mainland, which means he’s running out of chances to see you, to try and convince you to get the fuck over this latest bump in the road and take him back.

Jungkook knows he loves you, he’s sure of it. He wants to marry you someday, get a little house in the suburbs, pop out a few kids, all that shit. But right now he’s young, and he just wants to party and have fun. He doesn’t understand why you care so much.

Driving home with the windows down, going a cool 80 in a 40, he grips the wheel with one hand while the other digs his Razr phone out of the pocket of his ripped jeans. He hits the first speed dial where your number is saved and has to call three times before you finally answer. The fact that you picked up at all means he has a chance tonight.

“What, Kookie?!”

Probably the greeting he should’ve anticipated, but his stomach still flips at the nickname. You’re the only one allowed to use it: he’s strictly Jungkook to most, JK to his hyungs.

He fidgets absentmindedly with the car lights, the AC, the button for the windows. This is always the hard part, talking about feelings and shit. But it’s what you want, so he’ll do it for you.

“Wanna see you,” he murmurs into the phone, as if he needs to keep his voice down so he won’t get caught being soft.

“Fuck off,” you snap instantly, but you don’t hang up.

Jungkook’s played this game enough times to know what it means: he’s got a rapidly shrinking window of opportunity to say the right thing. He clicks his tongue against his teeth, trying to buy himself some time. “Come on, don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” You huff.

Stopped at a red light, Jungkook tips his head back against the car seat and shuts his eyes for a second, trying to keep up with the rapid pace of his thoughts. “Don’t be mean to me. I already told you I’m sorry, it’s not fair for you to hold this shit over my head.”

“I’m not holding anything over your head, Kookie, you fucking cheated—“

His grip on the steering wheel tightens, and he has to hold himself back from stomping too hard on the gas pedal when the light changes. “Yeah, I fucking know, okay? But it’s the last weekend. Is this really how you want to leave it?”

The silence on the other end of the line is more than enough to answer his question.

“Just… come over. Let me see you. Please?” Jungkook grimaces, embarrassed to be begging. He wouldn’t do it for anybody else.

Gravel crunches under the tires of his car as he pulls into the driveway, and he’s only sure the call didn’t disconnect when he hears the way you sigh softly on the other end. It’s a sigh he knows well.

“Fine.”

You don’t say anything else, and neither does Jungkook. He doesn’t know what else there is to say, or why any of this has to be such a big fucking deal. But he waits, until finally you hang up, and then he flips his phone shut. Girls.

Once inside, he makes quick work of getting everything together: sweeping the empty beer cans on the kitchen counter into the trash, spraying on a little more Hugo Boss, a mouthwash rinse to rid himself of the lingering taste of cum. The place you rented for the summer is just down the road, so it’s as he’s spitting in the sink for the second time tonight that he hears you bang loudly on the front door.

Time to turn on the charm, Jungkook thinks to himself, and then he exits the bathroom and reaches a hand between his shoulder-blades to pull his shirt off over his head. He drops it to the floor of his bedroom before heading down the hallway to let you in.

Jungkook swings the door wide and leans one arm on the frame as he takes you in. You’re standing on his stoop, arms crossed angrily over your pink crop top, belly button piercing glinting in the porch light. He smiles fondly, remembering the summer you got it done, the way you squeezed his hand so tight when the needle went through that he nearly lost feeling.

It was nice then, the way you acted like you really needed him. You used to be so sweet. He wonders when that changed.

It’s been too long. “Hi, jagi,” he says, and it comes out softer than he would’ve liked. It makes him sound weak.

“Fuck off. Answering the fucking door shirtless. You did that on purpose.” You roll your eyes as you brush past him to walk inside.

He turns sideways, purposefully taking up most of the doorway so you have to squeeze through, and when you do, his fingers hook in the belt-loops of your jeans to pull you closer.

“Just like you wore these?” There’s no way you don’t know what those white low-rise jeans do to him. Jungkook always tells you they make your ass look so fat, and even though you complain every time, he means it as an honest compliment.

Clearly still trying to act pissed off, you pop your gum at him, but he knows better than to believe that you’re really mad. If you were, you wouldn’t have come here. And you certainly wouldn’t be looping your arms around his neck and tilting your head up like that, moving so close that he can feel the heat of your breath ghosting over him.

“Maybe. What are you gonna do about it?” You purr, like you don’t already know the answer.

Jungkook’s lips find yours at the same time his hands slide around your hips, fingers sinking into the denim stretched tight over your ass. You squeak a little at how hard he grabs, and he takes the opportunity to swipe his tongue into your mouth, deftly retrieving the wad of gum from between your teeth. He pulls back with a cocky grin and spits it halfway across the yard.

“How about you come inside and find out?”

“Jesus.” You make a face when you step in first, leaving your Gucci flip flops in the front hall, and Jungkook turns back to shut the door behind him as he follows you. “You guys trashed this fuckin’ place.”

He frowns at your utter disregard for his cleaning efforts, but he follows your gaze and, well, you’re not wrong. He probably could’ve done something about all the half-empty liquor bottles, the overflowing ashtrays, the sink full of dishes. But right now he really doesn’t give a shit.

Jungkook closes the distance between you again, arms slipping around your waist from behind, head ducking down to nuzzle in the crook of your neck, to make you squirm the way he likes. “This is the bachelor life. We need a woman’s touch,” he murmurs against your skin, and you scoff a laugh.

“I’m serious,” Jungkook protests. He pauses to suck a mark into your skin, only stopping when he manages to coax a soft whimper out of you. “Why don’t you and I get a place together next summer? I’ll tell Jimin and Tae they’re on their own.”

You hum softly, in the way that tells him you want that, too. But you’re still playing coy, even as your hands slide over his arms locked tight around you. “That’s very presumptuous of you.”

“Maybe I should do some convincing,” Jungkook’s lips brush over the shell of your ear, and you wriggle out of his grasp, crossing into the living room and tossing your purse on the couch before dropping down unceremoniously next to it.

The wild animal feeling hasn’t dissipated— when he follows after you, Jungkook can’t help but feel like a predator stalking his prey.

It’s probably fucked up, but he likes the chase.

Leaning back on your hands, you gaze up at him, jeans sunk low enough for Jungkook to see the pink straps of your thong that peek out over the curve of your hip. The visual makes his own pants start to feel tight.

You tilt your head expectantly. “I’m listening.”

“I wasn’t gonna talk,” he admits with a smirk, standing over you, one leg teasing your thighs apart.

You reach forward to trail a hand down the defined lines of his stomach— the gym has been good to him this summer— and blink your long lashes innocently. “Will you at least use your mouth?”

“Well, now I know what you came over for,” Jungkook growls. His hands drop to brace on the back of the couch behind you, arm muscles flexing as he cages you in, and he leans down to capture you in a heady kiss. He missed it all: the way you smell, how soft your lips are, the way you still taste like spearmint. Your needy little noises when he licks his tongue into your mouth and the way you suck so diligently on it. You’re always so good for him, always so pretty when you come back.

“Take your pants off, jagi,” he breathes into your mouth, shifting to grip your neck with one hand as he kisses you again. He can feel a soft whine in your throat under his palm when you do as you’re told.

Jungkook pulls back once your jeans are kicked all the way off, knees digging into the carpet as he settles between your legs. His biceps wrap under your thighs and he tugs your bare ass to the edge of the couch, pausing to slip a finger under the thin string of your thong and gently snap it against your skin.

You spread your legs wider for him, leaning back against the cushion. “Don’t tease,” you huff. The desperation in your voice just turns him on more.

“Impatient,” Jungkook notes with a smirk. “And I haven’t even told you what I want yet.”

“What you want?” Your attempt at sass is undercut by the moan Jungkook works out of you when he sucks another hickey into the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He pulls back with a final lick over the mark that sends a shiver rippling through you, makes your nipples stiffen against the thin fabric of your crop top and your hips tilt up instinctively for more.

His eyes find yours again. “Let’s make a movie.”

“Kookie,” you whine, and Jungkook cups a hand over the front of your panties, rubbing circles into the thin material, then gently squeezing your pussy lips together to help argue his case. He can feel the muscles in your thighs twitch in response— always so sensitive.

“Come on,” he murmurs, pushy. “I know you have that camera in your bag.” You take your Sony digital camera with you everywhere, like it’s a third limb, like you believe nothing really happens unless it’s documented on Facebook.

Jungkook reaches for the strap of your Coach purse and drops it between your spread thighs. “I want you to film me while I go down on you. That way you can watch it back when you need to remember why you keep me around.” He punctuates the request with a wink, because he knows you can’t say no to him. That fact is made evident by how quickly you dig in to retrieve the little pink camera before tossing your bag aside again.

“I don’t watch porn, Kookie,” you scoff, already turning it on and fiddling with the settings. “I’m not nasty like you.”

“You’ll watch this one,” Jungkook corrects, hands pressing on your thighs to encourage them to spread further. Your skin is smooth and warm under his touch as he slides his fingertips back up to the line of your panties. “Now shhh. The only thing I wanna hear talk is this pussy.”

When the telltale beep indicates you’ve started recording, Jungkook stares pointedly into the camera with a cocky smirk. “Missed you, jagi,” he says, both to the you on the other side of the camera and the you who will watch this in the future, when you inevitably get mad about some dumb shit and break up with him again. As if you could ever really stay away.

His eye contact doesn’t falter as he licks a long, slow stripe up the front of your panties, taking his time, tongue laid flat to fully soak through the fabric. When he leans back, one hand snakes between your thighs to tug the damp material to the side, tattooed fingers pressing into a V to spread your folds apart. It always makes you squirm, but he loves to admire you like this. He’s not ashamed to like pussy.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, reaching the hand that isn’t parting your pussy lips up to beckon for the camera. “Let me film. Won’t get your face in it.”

You hand it over silently, clearly already too turned on to make a big show of protesting. Jungkook turns the lens on your pussy, holds it up close as he traces two fingers over your folds, keeping the pressure light enough that you squirm and flutter cutely beneath it.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmurs when he teases his touch down to your entrance. There’s already enough slickness there to earn him an audible wet noise as he goes, his pattern a slow, lazy circle. He presses a finger in just to drag it back out, and a thin, glossy string of arousal comes with it. “Your pussy loves me too much. That’s why you can’t stay mad.”

Jungkook paints the wetness he pulled out of you up to stroke over the hood of your clit, and it’s enough to edge your breathing with shy sounds. You bring your palm up to your mouth, clearly trying to keep quiet, and it only encourages him to dip back in for more. He uses two fingers this time, slipping past your entrance into the tight velvet heat of your cunt, always so warm and willing for him.

You sigh at the loss when he pulls back, more arousal drooling out of you to chase after his fingers. Jungkook loves to play with you like this: you squeak when he squishes the whole of your cunt up in his hand, reveling in the noise of your slick folds pressing together, in the way your pussy’s gone needy for him. All swollen and puffy, all soft, dripping juice like ripe fruit.

He works up some saliva in his mouth and lets it dribble down over your slit between his fingers, then follows it with another pass of his tongue.

“Oh my fucking god,” you whimper.

“You know I’ll always treat it right, jagiya.” Jungkook purrs, releasing his grip on your pussy lips to pinch at your clit while he passes the camera back. “But let me show you in case you forget.”

He firmly tugs your panties down your thighs and leaves them to dangle off one ankle before guiding your legs to hook over his shoulders. After a final glance up to make sure you’re still filming, he leans in to properly trace his tongue through your slick folds, lapping at the arousal pooled at your entrance while his thumb brushes over your clit to work up more.

Jungkook’s brows pinch together and he grunts in appreciation of your taste, thick and familiar; he’s gone too long without it. He’s eating properly now, alternating between dragging his tongue flat and flicking it gently over your clit in the way that makes you gasp and shove your hips up towards his mouth, rough and wild, no good-girl pretense left in you.

His arm locks across your stomach to keep you where he wants you, and he pulls back with a smack of his lips and a cheeky smile for the camera.

“Relax. I’ve got you.”

This is the part he loves: when you start to come undone, worked up enough to be responsive to every little touch. Jungkook licks broad, showy stripes up to your clit, eyes fixed on you through the lens, enjoying the way your soft sighs blossom into full-out moans, matching pace to the steady rhythm of his tongue.

“Kookie,” you groan, “nnh, fuck— f-feels so good.”

He hums a laugh against your folds, and the vibrations make you cry out so he does it some more, lips closing to suck firmly at your clit while his mouth buzzes sweet, low notes around it. You arch up beneath him and your moan scrapes rough against the back of your throat, desperate.

It was a stroke of genius to have you film it, Jungkook thinks absentmindedly to himself. Documented proof that nobody else could ever do you this good.

“Fuck.” Your voice brings him back to attention as he continues to pulse suction against your clit, tongue fluttering out again to lap at the sensitive bud. The sounds you make are slightly muffled by the manicured hand you’ve clapped over your mouth, but you’re so loud now that he can still hear every word. “Oh god, Kookie— I-I’m gonna come, oh fuck, ohhhh—”

Your hips tilt up as your orgasm overtakes you and he shoves them back down, practically growling as he forces you to stay there and take it. He can feel your legs shake, the way your bare heels kick listlessly against his back as he sucks and licks you through the peak of your climax. Your pussy throbs in his mouth and drips down his chin like honey, with a taste so good he doesn’t want to stop.

“God fucking dammit,” you moan, and he keeps going until you bring one foot up to press into his shoulder to push him away. “Kookie, p-please, it’s too much.”

With a final swipe of his tongue, Jungkook pulls back, wiping at his chin with one hand. “You’re sensitive, jagi, I know.”

But there’s a reason you haven’t stopped filming, and it’s one you both know well. It was back when you first started dating, when you could never keep your clothes on around each other and barely left his room, that Jungkook learned your body expertly enough to figure it out: after you come once, your pussy gets so sensitive that he can easily work you up to a second orgasm, even from just the curl of his fingers against your g-spot.

He hopes no one else will ever get the chance to know you like this.

You barely manage to stifle another sob and almost drop the camera when he slips two fingers into your cunt, pressing to the hilt to feel how swollen-tender you are inside. Your walls squeeze so tight around him that his cock twitches in his pants with jealousy.

Sliding one of your legs off his shoulder, he presses your thigh firmly into the couch and groans a little at the way you spread wide for him, glossed folds all flushed and pretty. It gives him a head rush to watch his hand work you open, to see the thick white cream of your arousal paint his fingers each time he pulls back just to thrust in again.

You’re wet enough now that the sound is obscene, a juicy squelch every time he fucks into you, and Jungkook can’t help but smile. He glances up. “You’re dripping on my couch, jagiya.”

You can only whimper in response.

“You want to come again?”

You nod desperately until you manage to find the word. “Please.”

“Anything for you.” Jungkook winks for the camera as he starts to flex his fingers to pet over the ridges of your front wall. You keen as he puts more weight into his strokes, your free hand reaching to cling to him and dig your nails into his bicep. He’s too keyed up to feel it, can’t focus on anything that isn’t your pussy squeezing him like a fucking vice grip, tight and hot and soft inside.

You’re past the point of being able to talk, reduced to breathless moans— “ah, ah, nnh”— because Jungkook knows exactly what to do to take you apart all over again.

This time he makes no move to stop you when your hips buck up. Instead he lets you let go, lets you fuck yourself on his hand, fluttering around his fingers and trembling all over as you start to come.

Jungkook goes a little slack-jawed watching you and momentarily forgets about the video, looking over the camera to see the expression on your face as he works you through your second peak. He loves the way you grip tight to him with your nails and your pussy, like he’s special, like you need him.

Your knees reflexively pull towards each other as your cunt-pulses slow and you finally start to come down, thighs clamping in around Jungkook’s wrist to still the motions of his hand. When he hears the whir of the camera shutter retracting and sees you toss it aside on the couch, he finally relents. You open yourself up enough that he can slip his fingers out to suck the excess off.

“What the fuck,” you finally manage as you collapse against the couch cushions, sounding beyond dazed.

Jungkook presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, trying to hide his smug smirk, and gets to his feet. As he watches your head tip back and your eyes flutter closed, he can’t help but wonder if you got what you came for. If this is the last he’ll see of you until god knows when.

Fuck that. He’s not letting you go that easy.

In one swift move Jungkook leans forward, slipping an arm between your back and the couch and sweeping the other under your knees. He tosses you over his shoulder— completely naked from the waist down— like it’s nothing at all, delivering a swift slap to your ass with the hand that isn’t wrapped around your hips.

“Kookie!” You try to sound mad but the laugh that bubbles up gives it away. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Come on,” Jungkook replies as he carries you across the living room, impervious to the way your hands claw at his back. “It’s a perfect night for the hot tub.”

“I didn’t bring a fucking bikini,” you sputter, feet kicking softly in the air. “Put me down.”

“That’s okay,” he reassures you as his free hand easily slides the back door open and he takes you over the threshold. “Tae and Jimin won’t be back for a while. It’s just us.”

Tae and Jimin have also already seen you naked… probably dozens of times at this point, if Jungkook had to estimate, but he doesn’t mention that part. Not when he’s trying to get his girl back.

Instead he crosses the yard to set you down on the hot tub deck, your legs dangling over the side, and makes quick work of stripping out of his jeans and boxers, half-hard cock hanging heavy between his legs. He hopes it might give you some incentive to stay a little longer.

When he turns back to face you, your bottom lip is jutting out in a bratty little pout as your feet swing aimlessly off the deck. It makes him want to fucking ruin you.

Jungkook steps forward to close the distance, thumb running down your mouth to pet over your lip. “Put this back in your mouth and take your top off, jagi.” His voice is low, his mouth ghosting over yours.

Your bare foot knocks into his shin, but it only hurts a little. “Make me.”

He can’t help but smirk at your attitude. It’s cute. He likes you feisty. “That’s a lot of sass for someone who was just screaming my name.”

You smack a hand against his chest with a play-scowl. “Shut up.”

He sweeps your arms behind your back before you can do it again, easily enclosing both of your wrists in one of his hands. “Why are you always so mean to me, huh?”

“Oh, I’m mean?” You look like you’re going to say more, but he pushes your crop top up with his free hand and watches the way it makes you shiver, your nipples tightening in the cool night air.

“You are,” Jungkook says softly. “And I’m just trying to love you.”

The same hand cups one of your breasts, and he ducks down to suck the stiff peak of it into his mouth, enjoying the airy little moan he coaxes out of you and the way you arch up into him. His grip on your wrists doesn’t falter as he pulls off, switching to roll your other nipple under the pad of his thumb.

“You should get these pierced,” he remarks, gaze shifting between your tits as he imagines silver barbells studded through the buds of them. “I’ll get one too. We can go together. Next summer.” His eyes find yours in time to watch your expression soften, just barely. It’s enough.

“Yeah, sure,” you deadpan, wiggling a little in his grasp. “Until you decide to stick your dick in some strange and fuck everything up again.”

Jungkook sighs. You’re fucking relentless. “I don’t want to talk about that. Can’t it just be us?”

Your reaction isn’t what he expects: he’s surprised to see the fight go out of you, to see how defeated you look as you lean in and press your forehead against his chest. Even your wrists go slack in his hand, and he releases his grip.

“That’s what I’m saying, Kookie,” you murmur. “That’s all I want.”

Jungkook’s fingers sweep under the line of your jaw. “I know.”

He tilts your head up for a kiss, and your hands come to cup his face, as if to pull him closer— to hold him in place so he can’t run away.

It’s the way it always is: he’s not going to promise he’ll change, and he knows you’re not dumb enough to ask him to. He can’t be anything but what he is, but he can hope you’ll love him anyway.

Your thumb strokes over Jungkook’s cheek as he pulls back, and he smiles a little. “Will you please get in the hot tub?”

Jungkook settles into the water first, sighing dramatically loud at the welcome warmth, and you giggle as you peel your top off before following after. When you slip in politely across from him, he grabs you by the ankle with a growl, and you don’t fight as he pulls you close again.

His hands guide your thighs apart to straddle him, so your knees rest on either side of the ledge he’s seated on. Between the heat of the water and your body on top of him, he’s dizzyingly hard in seconds.

The two of you make out like teenagers, more tongue than anything else, doing your best to hump and grind against each other despite the water slightly inhibiting your motions. Jungkook can’t stop touching your tits, obsessed with the weight of them in his hands. His fingers pinch and tug at your nipples to make you whine into his open mouth again and again, and his cock twitches in response every time.

“K-Kookie,” you finally manage to groan, nails dragging down his back as he presses sloppy kisses, all tongue and teeth, to the slope of your neck. “Need it, please. Your cock.”

His mouth finds yours again, and he bites down on your bottom lip with a smile before pulling back to answer. “You’ll get it, jagi. Wanna try something first.”

You whine a little and he gives a teasing pinch to your inner thigh, shifting you off his lap so he can stand up.

“Come here.”

Jungkook’s hands slide to your waist when you get to your feet, and the added weightlessness from the water makes it even easier for him to move you where he wants you. He guides you to spin so your back is flush with his chest, then encourages you to kneel on the ledge again, pushing your legs further apart.

“Can you stay like this for me?” He murmurs in your ear. You look up at him over your shoulder with wide, shining eyes, reflecting back the blue glow of the mood lights filtered through the water, and you nod.

As he ducks down to kiss you, Jungkook’s hand fumbles blindly against the edge of the tub until he finds the button he’s looking for. When he presses it once, the jets roar to life, including the one positioned right between your spread thighs.

You gasp into his mouth, and Jungkook wraps his arms tight around you to keep you in place, letting you collapse back into him as the jet pulses onto your pussy. “Oh my god, oh fuck, Kookie.”

“Feels good?” He murmurs in your ear, and you can only whimper and nod, hips circling against the stream of water, stimulated past the point of coherency. Your eyes practically roll back in your head. “Yeah, you look good like this.”

Jungkook can’t help himself now— his cock aches from lack of attention, and he starts to grind into you from behind, rutting himself against the small of your back, the curve of your ass. His hands grab at the soft skin of your thighs for leverage, and he can feel the way you’re shaking, already close, your breathing going ragged.

“K-Kookie—” you whimper. “I’m— fuck, g-gonna—”

“Want you to come for me,” he groans, tongue darting out to trace the shell of your ear. “Come for me like this so I can fuck another one out of you.”

Your arms scramble back behind you for something to keep you grounded, nails scratching and digging into Jungkook’s shoulders as your orgasm starts to crest.

He keeps rocking his hips into you, which only serves to move you closer to the jet and make the pressure that much stronger. You’re moaning loud enough for the neighbors to hear, and Jungkook has to grip your hips to keep them still as you come fast and hard, shaking apart in his arms.

“That’s it, that’s it.” Jungkook talks you through it, petting broad strokes down your thighs that make you jolt under his touch. “How was that, jagiya?”

“Fuuuuuck.” Your answer is a soft whine, and he can feel the aftershocks still rolling through your body. You shift to pull your thighs together, shivering all-over, and Jungkook releases his grip on them, hands moving up to squeeze at your tits while you recover. He can feel the way your heart is racing beneath his palm.

Your eyes slowly blink open, heavy-lidded, and you start to untangle your arms from around Jungkook’s shoulders. His back stings a little— he’s sure he’ll have pretty pink scratch marks to remember you by.

He presses a kiss to your temple, chaste in spite of how fucking hard and horny he is. “Love you. Stand up for me?”

Your legs are still shaking, so Jungkook helps haul you to your feet. Taehyung is always telling him he shouldn’t actually be penetrating girls in the water, something about vaginal health, so he has you bend at the waist to lean over the edge of the hot tub. The arch in your back when you press your ass up towards him makes his cock start to leak against his stomach.

Your head lolls forward to drop down on your forearms, and he laughs a little at how fucked out you already are as he gives your ass a firm slap. “Stay just like that. Face down ass up.”

You wait patiently as he climbs out of the water to search the deck. It only takes a few seconds for him to spot what he’s looking for: the bottle of lube Jimin’s always leaving out “just in case”. Jungkook makes a mental note to buy him a thank-you shot.

“God damn,” he murmurs appreciatively when he returns to you, rubbing three fingers slicked in thick silicone lube along your puffed-up slit before pushing them into the velvet heat of your pussy. “Wanna come in you so bad.”

“Please, Kookie,” you whimper.

Jungkook withdraws his hand to squirt more lube into his palm and fist it over his length, hissing a little at the sensation and the squelching noise his hand makes when he fucks into it. Tossing the bottle over the edge, his hands come to frame your hips, and he can’t help but moan as he starts to grind the head of his dick against your folds. “Fuck.”

You push your hips back on him, all wrecked and needy, your voice wrung-out. “Fuck me, Kookie, please— wanna take your cock, wanna feel it.”

It’s so hot when you beg for him. With another soft noise, Jungkook lines himself up to your entrance and gives you what you need: the whole of his thick cock sliding into your grip-tight pussy, slow for the delicious stretch of it, so you can feel every inch until he’s pressed in to the hilt.

It feels the way it always does. You were made to fit together.

You whine into the crook of your elbow, your walls already fluttering, split open and filled up and so sensitive. Jungkook leans forward, hands bracing the edge of the tub on either side of you, until his chest is flush with your back and the tip of his cock presses into your g-spot.

“Oh shit, right there, Kookie,” you gasp, like he doesn’t already know.

Jungkook grunts, nipping at the skin of your shoulder, and he starts to grind his hips against you, rubbing his cock into your g-spot over and over, until your legs threaten to give out.

Your pussy feels so good, the little moans you’re making in time with his motions are so pretty, it’s like he can’t get enough of you. He brings a hand up to run over every inch of your skin he can reach, all of it smooth and gorgeous under his fingertips— he really can’t stop touching you.

Maybe those bumps he did back at the bar were molly, he thinks absentmindedly.

“So fucking sexy,” he groans as he strokes a little harder, hips rolling fluidly. “So fucking beautiful.”

“F-fuck, Kookie,” you whimper, pushing your ass back to meet his thrusts, and you let out a choked moan when he starts to pound more firmly in response. “Ah, fuck— don’t fucking stop, oh god—”

Jungkook hooks his arm across your chest, and his hand gripped tight to your shoulder gives him more leverage to hit deeper. Being squeezed so close by your walls is nearly overwhelming, your pussy all hot and wet inside, it’s like he can barely fit. “God, you’re so fucking tight, jagi.”

“F-feels so guh— good, nnh,” you can hardly get the words out, and Jungkook can feel the way your whole body is starting to shake.

He can’t stop himself now, not when it’s this good. “Missed you so much, jagiya. Wanna marry you, wanna put a baby in you.” His cock twitches hard, enough that you whimper a little, and he knows he’s not going to last much longer.

“Come with me, jagi,” he grunts. “I want to feel you come again.”

“C-can’t,” you gasp, but he knows you can, can tell by the way you’re gripping around him that you’re already close.

The clapping of skin on skin echoes out as Jungkook fucks deliberately into your g-spot, no longer holding back, and you cling to the edge of the tub for dear life as your muscles start to contract. “Oh fuck, Kookie, fuck, fuck, I’m coming, I—”

With a loud cry, you collapse forward, knees nearly buckling as your orgasm hits you. Jungkook is helpless to the way your pussy pulses around him, like it was made to milk his cock. He tips his head back with a throaty groan as he comes with you, comes for what feels like an eternity, thick white ropes spilling into your cunt with every dick-twitch of his orgasm.

“Oh my god,” he groans, working the last of it out with a few shallow strokes, his breathing harsh and ragged. “So fucking good.”

You whimper softly with your head dropped down into your arms, your pussy still shuddering around him.

Jungkook squeezes at the curve of your ass as he pulls out with a hiss of oversensitivity. Deciding not to bother with the mess running down your thighs, he takes a second to catch his breath, then climbs over the edge of the hot tub, wiping absentmindedly at the beads of sweat dotting his temples.

You’re clearly too fucked out to walk now, so he scoops you up to carry you across the deck and back inside through the open sliding door, bridal-style this time, cradled in his arms. He smiles at the way you’re still trembling a little, your face now buried in his chest.

He deposits you onto the couch, then stretches out next to you to prop up on one arm, admiring how your hair fans out beneath you as you curl into him with a small sigh.

It takes you a while to come to, lashes fluttering prettily over your cheeks, and when your eyes finally blink open, you sit up rather abruptly.

Jungkook brings a hand to your low back to rub gentle circles. “Hi, jagi.”

There’s a look on your face, like you’ve just realized where you are.

“Fuck, I should go,” you murmur, looking around until your gaze lands on your purse. You lean over to retrieve it and dig through the contents until you finally find your phone and slide it open. “My roommate is gonna figure it out if I don’t come back, and she’ll fucking kill me.”

“Stay with me,” Jungkook says softly.

“No, Jungkook,” you snap, and he can tell by the way you’ve dropped the nickname that he’s lost you for the night. “I shouldn’t have even fucking come here.”

He should probably take this more seriously, but he can’t help his instinctive reaction, or the smirk that pulls up the corner of his mouth. “But you did come. Four times, if my memory is correct.”

“Fuck off,” you grunt, already up and starting to pull on your clothes that are scattered across the floor of the living room. You briefly disappear outside to retrieve your shirt.

“Does this mean we’re not back together?” Jungkook tries when you slip in the door again.

You shoot him a look he’s all-too-familiar with. “Not at all.”

“Will you at least unblock me on Facebook?” He asks sweetly, and it’s a joke, but he can see from the way you roll your eyes that you’re clearly too pissed off to have any more fun tonight.

“Facebook?! That’s seriously what you care about right now?! You are so fucking shallow, Jungkook.” You grab your purse in a huff and storm off down the hallway.

Jungkook knows he should get up and fight for you, at the very least stop being horizontal on the couch— but honestly, he’s fucking tired. That’s the thing about your hot and cold shit: he knows you’ll be back eventually, whether he makes any effort right now or not. And it’s so much easier not to.

So he says nothing, hands folded behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling, and waits until he finally hears the front door slam behind you.

Whatever, he thinks to himself with a heavy exhale.

After a minute, he gets up and heads into the bathroom, turning the shower on extra-hot. It’s still early. He can rinse off, get dressed, go see what Tae and Jimin are up to. Maybe he can jump on a grenade for one of them and take his mind off things for a bit.

He unlocks his iPod, docked on the speaker he keeps on the bathroom shelf— can’t shower without a good playlist— and spins the wheel until he gets to one of his favorites, simply titled fuck bitches. The opening 808s of Kanye West kick on like a heartbeat as Jungkook steps under the spray of the shower-head.

#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #bts smut #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts collab #jeju shore

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thrawns-babygirl · 9 months

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Stake Out (Thrawn x GN!Reader 18+)

YALL! This idea was floating around my head for so long because there is a severe lack of Ascendancy Era!Thrawn x reader content but while I was writing this fic I seem to have forgotten how to write? IDK I think this is self indulgent as fuck lmao hope u enjoy this garbage <3

Synopsis: Mid Captain Thrawn has been making eyes at the human pathfinder that navigates the Parala from time to time, totally sick of them on her bridge, Senior Captain Ziara sends them off on a mission to work out their tension.

Rating: E (18+) Warnings: Unprotected sex, creampie, alien dicks, virgin!Thrawn Word Count: 2800+

Masterlist

You had no idea what you were doing out here. Then again, a pathfinder isn’t really supposed to ask about the specifics of their commissions. You go where the clients tell you, don’t speak unless spoken to, collect your pay and head back to the station. That’s it.

That doesn’t stop you from being the tiniest bit curious about why you were ordered to accompany a single officer out into, what appears to be, the middle of nowhere.

You’ve worked with the Chiss before, more times than most of your compatriots, given that you tend to actually enjoy working with a species that most other pathfinders consider to be stuck up and unbearable. You enjoy how efficiently they seem to work; you enjoy listening to them speaking Cheunh around you, the language seemingly incredibly complex but it has an almost melodic quality that enraptures you every time you hear it.

And on some level, you will admit to yourself, you find them dangerously attractive.

You’re lost in thought as you stare out the viewport, thinking about the number of times senior captain Ziara has requested specifically you for whatever voyage the Parala needs to take, she’s always been nice to you, accommodating even. A far cry from how your other pathfinders often describe the Chiss.

You’re shaken from your musings as you hear Cheunh spoken behind you, the pleasant-sounding language bringing a smile to your face as you turn to look at the other occupant of the small shuttle.

Mid captain Thrawn is sitting against the hull, questis in hand as he makes what you assume to be a routine check in to his ship and his commander. You hear who you think is senior captain Ziara on the other end before he finishes what he’s saying and looks over to you, fixing you with that enchanting glowing red gaze. You feel your cheeks warm as you turn back around in your seat and return to staring out into space, quite literally.

“I apologise if you are bored” accented Minnisiat forces your gaze over towards the mid captain again as he rests on the floor of the ship, back against the hull, looking relaxed. You give him a warm smile and reply “Oh no, don’t worry about me, it’s not the first time I’ve been in one place for a while”.

His lips quirk in a small smile as he looks back down at his questis, seemingly done with the conversation. Inwardly, you groan in frustration. You’d been admiring the mid captain from afar for a while now, every time the Chiss request a pathfinder from your station you jump at the opportunity. Hoping that you would be able to work with him again, hoping to see his sharp cheekbones and hear his gorgeous voice and watch his lips as they wrap themselves around those Cheunh words you so desperately want to understand. And now you’re here with him, totally alone for the foreseeable future and you have no idea how to interact with him.

You look behind you again, craning your neck around the large, tall backed navigators chair to look at him again. He looks so invested in whatever he’s doing on his questis it almost feels rude to interrupt him.

“What are you looking at?” you ask before you can talk yourself out of it and he turns to face you. He doesn’t seem annoyed or offended you interrupted him so that’s a good start.

“Vagaari art” He replies simply, his focus returning to his questis “You are welcome to join me if you are bored”.

Trying not to seem too eager, you get to your feet and walk towards where Thrawn is sitting. As you approach you notice he’s spread out what appears to be a bedroll and some blankets beneath him to cushion the hard metal of the hull. Taking a seat next to him on the bedroll you lean towards him to gaze at his questis.

He seems to stiffen slightly as your shoulders touch and in the dim light of the shuttle you aren’t sure if you see a dusting of purple over his high cheekbones or if you’re just imagining things. Shifting slightly closer so that your sides are pressed together you begin asking him about each piece of art he flicks through.

He’s actually incredibly open to talking to you about it, more open than you thought he would be. He enthusiastically explains each piece he shows you, you don’t fully understand everything, but his eagerness is contagious and you find yourself smiling and becoming wrapped up in each painting and tapestry he has saved to his device.

You lean further into him, the warmth of his body radiating even through the course material of his CEDF uniform. Your hand brushes his thigh and you hear his voice catch as he explains the nuance of the composition of a specific piece. You think he’s going to ask you to move away, give him back his personal space, so it surprises you when he moves closer to you, his body pressing slightly tighter against yours.

Now it’s your turn for your breath to hitch. Testing the waters, you decide to be a bit bold and place your hand on his thigh. The usually entirely composed Chiss stumbles over his words for a moment before clearing his throat and continuing with what he was saying, his hand coming to rest on your thigh as he speaks.

He seems to be following your lead, what you do, he mimics. Testing this theory, you begin rubbing small circles on his thigh with your thumb and sure enough Thrawn begins to do the same.

Interesting… very interesting…

You rest your head on his shoulder, and he leans to rest his head on top of yours, you squeeze his thigh softly and he does the same, you move your hand slightly towards the inside of his thigh and he follows your lead, doing the same to you.

You’ve been so invested in your little experiment you didn’t even notice that Thrawn’s stopped talking about the art, he’s breathing heavily next to you as you move your hand slightly higher on his thigh, towards where you hope his cock is, unless Chiss have a vastly different anatomy than what the rest of them alludes to.

Your hand moves beneath the bottom of his uniform tunic, and you feel him, already as hard and throbbing. He chokes out what you assume to be a curse as you begin stroking him over his pants.

Looking up towards his face you notice his eyes half lidded and a very definite purple hue to his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he breathes heavily. He drags his gaze over to you and you have the overwhelming urge to kiss his slightly parted lips. Do Chiss even kiss? Is something as simple as a kiss taboo in their culture? You curse silently for not knowing his customs, but then again how could you?

Thrawn must see your eyes flicking down towards his lips because he cautiously leans forward towards you, and with a hesitance you feel is vastly uncharacteristic of the stoic Chiss, gently places his lips over yours. The kiss is clumsy, unfocused, unsure, but ever the mastermind, he quickly catches on, becoming more confident as his lips move against yours with more passion, more hunger.

You continue stroking him over his pants, and you hear the clatter of his questis being placed down somewhere off to the side as he moves a hand to the apex of your thighs, rubbing his long fingers over the fabric.

Breaking the kiss, you stare into each other’s eyes for a moment before Thrawn brings his other hand over to rest on your hip. His touch is tentative, unsure, but surely you can’t be the first person the mid captain has been with… right?

It’s like he can read your mind because the moment the thought occurs to you, he clears his throat. “I apologise I have never… with someone…” he sounds almost embarrassed over that fact, and you try to give him what you hope is a reassuring smile “That’s fine, I can… teach you if you like?” you bite your lip as he pauses for moment before nodding.

“Yes please… I would appreciate it if you… took the lead in this encounter” you don’t know if its his lack of familiarity with Minnisiat causing him to speak so formally or if this is just how Thrawn speaks, but either way you nod before leaning in to kiss him again.

You manoeuvre yourself so that you are sitting in his lap, his hard length pressing up against your core as you deepen the kiss. His hands on your hips begin to feel more sure and more confident as you run your fingers through his silky blue-black hair and begin to slowly grind down against him. He groans into your mouth as you move your hips harder and faster and you feel white hot arousal pool in your belly at the sound.

You reluctantly remove your hands from his hair to begin fumbling with the fastenings of his uniform tunic, breaking the kiss as you fumble with it. He chuckles and replaces your hands with his as he helps you open his tunic revealing a form fitting undershirt that hugs his chest highlighting the definition of his muscles.

He quickly shucks off his jacket as you untuck his undershirt pulling it over his head, uncovering his sculpted chest and you swear your mouth waters at the sight. He’s always cut an imposing figure in his uniform, but seeing the broadness of his chest unobscured, is a sight that you swear you will remember for the rest of your days.

Returning to kissing you, Thrawn’s hands move to the hem of your shirt, only breaking the kiss to pull it over your head. “Bat…” he breathes as he looks at your body, his voice husky as he runs his hands up and down your sides. You begin kissing along his jaw down to his neck, further down until you reach one of his nipples, sucking it into your mouth causing him to let out a curse in Cheunh as his head lolls back against the hull of the shuttle.

“S-sensitive… Very sensitive” he grunts out and you smile as your mouth continues teasing his nipples, moving from one to the other as he moans and begins bucking his hips up, grinding against you. His hands move to your chest, his fingers pinching and playing with you as you continue teasing him, angling yourself so that you can begin to unfasten his pants when he reaches a hand down to stop you.

“I do not know… what my stamina will be like I am already very-” he pauses as if Minnisiat is eluding him “worked up” his voice is strained, and his eyes are hooded as you look up at him.

“Don’t worry… let me make you feel good” you whisper to him before kissing along his neck again. He removes his hand and allows you to unfasten his pants, bringing them and his briefs down his thighs far enough for you to retrieve his large swollen length. He follows suit, his hands moving to quickly remove your pants as you awkwardly shift so that you can fully remove them.

You take a moment to admire him, he looks similar to a human cock, you think to yourself, besides the colour some ridges that look like they will feel absolutely divine when he’s finally buried inside of you. He fidgets slightly under your scrutiny “am I… to your liking?” uncertainty lacing his tone as you wrap your hand around him.

“Yes… yes very much so. You are… perfect” you reply breathlessly, his cock twitching as you speak, the tip leaking more slick fluid. You use your free hand to grab one of his, bringing his fingers towards your lips, sucking on them, coating them in your saliva before moving them between your legs.

He looks at you curiously as he begins prodding your entrance with his long fingers. “You are very… large… you will need to prepare your partners for your size” his expression turns to one of understanding at your explanation as he slowly works a finger into you causing you to gasp as he moves it in and out of you. As he adds a second finger you rest your head on his shoulder, moaning into his neck when he begins scissoring you open.

He continues fucking you open with his hand, his fingers occasionally brushing your sweet spot making you whine into his neck. He mutters something in his native language as you continue stroking him in time with his fingers moving inside of you, for a man with no experience he is a very quick study, his fingers hitting that spot with more consistency as he drags you agonizingly close to your peak.

Not wanting to finish without him buried inside you, you place a hand over his wrist to stop him. “I’m ready” your voice is breathy and strained and you know you look just as debauched as he does. You reposition yourself so that his tip nudges your entrance, and he gulps in anticipation as you begin to slowly lower yourself down onto him, each ridge sending pleasure shooting through your body.

He moans unabashedly as he enters you, screwing his eyes shut as he mutters to himself in Cheunh. Chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, hissing through clenched teeth as he fully sheaths himself inside you. You begin to move before he places his hands firmly onto your hips.

“N-no… if you move I will…” he takes a deep breath “a moment to control myself please…” his accent coming through stronger as he struggles with the sensations combined with speaking in a language both of you will understand. Not trusting your own voice, you nod as you pause your movements, content to just feel him throb and twitch inside you.

After a while he gives you a small nod to proceed. You move slowly, not wanting to overwhelm him as you begin to ride him, resting your head in the crook of his neck, your hands once again tangled in his soft hair. As your movements speed up, he becomes more vocal, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise as you bounce up and down on his cock, his hips thrusting upwards to meet yours. You feel each delicious ridge of his cock as the both of you move together, the coil in your belly tightening, your moans mingling in the confined space of the shuttle.

His moans become more uneven, pitching higher and you know he’s close. You bring one of his hands between the two of you, getting the hint he begins moving his hand quickly and its exactly what you need for the coil to break as your climax engulfs you.

The tightening and clenching of your muscles cause Thrawn to let out a loud broken moan of your name as he thrusts his hips up into you once more, burying himself as deep as he can, filling you to the brim with his cum as he pants and moans, his cock twitching as he releases.

You remain in his lap, both of you slick with sweat and other various fluids as you come down from your respective highs, catching your breath. You rest your head against his chest, feeling the rumbling of his voice as he speaks “this has been a very enlightening experience… thank you” he gives you a small half smile as he looks down at you and you smile up at him in return.

“I’m glad you enjoyed the lesson” you chuckle before you remove yourself from him, his seed flowing freely down your thighs “but we should clean up before we have to get back no?” you say as you head towards the refresher on shaky legs.

~~~~~

“We did not locate the alleged pirate base senior captain” Thrawn says as he stands before Senior Captain Ziara in her office on the Parala hands clasped behind his back. She gives him a small smile and looks down at his report “That’s not a problem mid captain, I’m sure you and the pathfinder managed to find ways to keep yourselves entertained” Ziara’s smile widens as she watches Thrawn blush and shift on his feet.

“I’m not blind Thrawn, I see how the two of you look at each other” she stands up from her desk “I’m glad, I was sick to death of the two of you making eyes at each other on my bridge” Ziara chuckles as she walks past her blushing mid captain “come on, lets go to the mess, I’m sure you’re hungry after your… mission”

@ilovestarwarsmen725@ele-millennial-weirdo@al-astakbar@69fandom-fanatic69@blackmonitor@khapikat222@novemberblueskyink

#thrawn smut #thrawn x reader #admiral thrawn x reader #grand admiral thrawn x reader #thrawnposting #grand admiral thrawn smut #mitth'raw'nuruodo #mitth'raw'nuruodo smut #admiral thrawn smut #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #admiral thrawn

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undeadcannibal · 9 months

Note

I would (and will) fight a small child if it means I can get Gaz fics!!!! Nsfw or sfw (nsfw preferably bc this man does NOT get enough attention)

If you have any ideas you've been wanting to write but don't have a character feel free idc JUST WANT GAZ

But if you need ideas, literally anything with voyeurism and/or exhibitionism. ←Literally my weakness. Sharing, sharing is always fun. Uhhhhm God I swear I come up with shit all the time. Oh! Maybe sharing with Price? I don't ship the two at all they both just happen to be my favorites. Or sharing with Soap! Maybe

I'm trying to help I swear I'm just so tired💀

I'll leave you alone now, thank you!! I love your writing and your page sm! Can't wait to see more from you!!!💕

-🌻🐾

Summary: One-shot with Gaz about him going wild eating out an AFAB Reader~

Genre: One-shot, ficlet, request(s)

Word count: 805 Characters featured: Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Warnings: AFAB reader, no pronouns used (I hope, but I’ll change this if someone finds something that I missed!), explicit details about oral sex/cunnilingus, nsf/t!

A/N: Okay look, I know this isn’t what was asked for, but damn it, I know Gaz needs more material for him. And I’m more than happy to provide. Idk. I apologize, but I NEED this man’s mouth on me ASAP! Hopefully you enjoy regardless though ToT and thank you for enjoying my works! ( Gif credit: xxx )

He doesn't like to admit it aloud but he knows he turns feral when eating pussy. Or ass. Really, he's a huge oral fan in general.

There's times where he's content with just going down on you whilst you're preoccupied with another task. He loves the thought of you trying your best to focus while he's got his mouth on you.

So, when you confess you're in the mood to have him eat you out, he's all smiles because he knows it's going to be a good time for both of you.

Doesn't give a damn what you weigh, he'll ask if he can pick you up and sit you on his shoulders so he can eat your pussy while he's standing. When he has permission, it doesn't even matter if you have work that day, he'll convince you to call out. Says he has to "do it properly" or something of the like.

He'll allow the two of you to go about your day together as the two of you normally would. It's not till the two of you have some downtime around noon when he finally makes his move. He asks you to undress and you oblige, getting fully nude for him before he beckons you over.

The moment you're close enough to grab, his hands are on you. Pulling you closer so he could then slide his hands down to the back of your thighs, just below the curvature of your ass. With a cheeky grin on his face, Gaz was then making you squeal in surprise as he suddenly hoisted you up into his arms. Lifting you up until you had no choice but to sling your legs over his shoulders for just the slightest sense of stability. Even more so as he lead you towards the wall for your back to rest against.

"Doin' alright, love?"

You'd nod down at him in acknowledgement, reassuring him right as you saw his head disappear between your spread legs. Immediately feeling the sensation of his tongue swiping along the length of your opening, you released a keening moan. Your hips working back and forth against his face as you tried to chase that pleasurable sensation. Thankfully, Kyle didn't seem to mind one bit, grinning for a second before returning to the task at hand.

His hands splayed across the globes of your ass cheeks as he literally dug in, wiggling his face as he worked his mouth deeper into you. His wet and warm tongue wiggling forth till he was teasing your entrance for a few moments - causing you to huff and breathe harder than before - before pulling back. Placing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your puffy cunt till he reached your clitoris.

Gazing up at you with warm brown eyes, he made sure you were looking at him the moment he sealed his lips around your swelling bug. Sucking the hypersensitive bundle of nerves into his mouth as spikes of pleasure rolled up from your groin to deep within your belly. Twisting that familiar knot within you tighter as your head fell back against the wall. Your eyes drifting shut and mouth falling open in a silent cry as Kyle worked you over with his far-too-talented mouth.

His name along with a few cries and pants fell out of your mouth over and over till your mouth felt dry. Beads of sweat matting your hair to your forehead and the rest rolling along to soak into the roots at your scalp.

The ecstasy he was causing you to feel had you literally hot and bothered as you squirmed and ground your pussy against his face. Your thighs threatened to clamp down on both sides of his head as he ate you out vigorously. Moaning and grunting against your flesh as his mouth drifted away, giving your clit a break so he could leisurely work his tongue in and out of your fluttering core. Pulling his dripping tongue away just to introduce his fingers to your opening.

You'd been far too gone to really feel his hand leaving your ass so he could push his index and middle finger into you.

Kyle's calloused fingertips wriggled forth till he was sinking into the second knuckle of both digits. Taking personal delight in the way you writhed and cried out for more from him. Watching you lose yourself in your own pleasure just before he moved his soaked mouth back down to your clit, laving his tongue back and forth quickly and repeatedly till you were gasping and crying out that you could barely take it anymore. Grunting and practically growling against you as he works you over till you’re squirting against his face.

He gladly goes down on you till he knows you’ll struggle walking correctly the next day with how spent your muscles are.

#call of duty x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #one shot #requests #anonymous #my writing

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gasolinerainbowpuddles · 7 months

Text

Jizz Fingers║ ⓞⓝⓔⓢⓗⓞⓣⓢ

|| ꂵꍏꀤꈤ ꂵꍏꌗ꓄ꍟꋪ꒒ꀤꌗ꓄ || | PAIRING(s): alien!Joel x reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 3.2k | CONTENT: This is a crackfic. Joel is not Joel. He’s an alien that can shapeshift and isn’t into the splorgimums on their own planet. He wants to nut in you with his creampie fingers. It’s not supposed to make sense. It’s not supposed to be anything but fun and sexy and silly. It’s meta. It’s tongue-in-cheek. It’s self-indulgent. If you’re not into that kinda thing then idk what to tell ya, bud.

| SYNOPSIS: u get creampied by a dick finger alien Joel Miller.

The sonorous silver ship glided above you before descending gently into a large clearing in the field ahead. Bright light flooded your vision as a hidden door pushed away from the spacecraft and revealed an occupant.

It appeared to have an amorphous, fluid corporeal form, but no matter the shape it always remained an off-white greenish gray color. Six large onyx orbs were situated near the top of the form. You assumed they must be eyes or some other sort of organ. When the greenish grey flaps snapped together and apart a few times in quick succession, you realized they were in fact lidded eyes.

A warbled voice sounded inside your mind. “Do not be afraid. I come in peace, and I stand before you with no intention of harming you.”

You realize the creature is speaking to you through your own mind.

You should be afraid, but instead you’re just fascinated and exhilarated. You aren’t sure why they’d say the same thing twice, though, just in a slightly different way. You also aren’t sure if you should respond in your head, out loud, or at all.

“That’s kinda a weird thing to say. Like, you said it twice,” you point out, speaking loudly and clearly enough that the creature can hear you.

At least, you think they can hear you. You don’t see any ears. Then again, they possess the capability of telepathic speech, and there must be some equivalent to hearing for that. You try to think what that is called or what that might be called when the creature shifts back and forth but still doesn’t approach.

“Those were two separate statements,” the voice in your mind contends firmly.

“Huh?” you ask. You’re sure you sound dumb, but you were never really going to be a match for a higher level intelligent being anyways.

“When I bust, it is peaceful for every being involved. I also greet you with good intentions,” the voice patiently clarifies.

Suddenly you are standing no more than arm’s length away from the being. “I saved your achilles the trouble,” the voice in your mind said, as if it was some huge favor.

“My achilles is fine,” you grumble awkwardly. “I know I should hit leg day more, but sometimes it’s just so–”

“Our sex organs are complimentary,” the voice interrupts. “We could perform the Divine Dance, if you’d like.”

You wanted to ask why they had to come all the way to Earth just to get laid, but you think better of it.

“The splorgimums on my planet just don’t get me,” the voice explains. You realize you said your thought aloud.

“Oh. Uh, okay. S-Sorry about that. I, uh, didn’t mean to offen–”

The creature waves a gelatinous blob arm dismissively. “No offense taken. You’re not like other splorgimums. I can tell. You’re different,” it assures you.

You feel a blush creep onto your cheeks. “Oh. Well, uh–” an awkward giggle “—thank you. But I’m not really that special, here on Earth I mean. There are other women who are wayyyyyy more attractive. Oh! I know! You should try driving by Doja Cat’s house because oh my god she is so. fucking. fine. Like, if I had her in that I’m A Cow Bitch Moo costume for 5 minutes I’d—”

“No. No Doja Kitties. Only you.”

You shrug and accept their obsession with you.

“Okay. So now what? I don’t know where your Divine Dance hole is, and your floating blobs are sort of freaking me out,” you admit.

You keep tabs on the hovering goops that orbit the creature. They remind you of the time you tried to make Key Lime Jello Shots for your uncle’s cousin’s dog’s recital but added too much vodka.

“I can take the form of something pleasing to you. An earth male, perhaps? The female of your species is more difficult to capture as they are far superior.”

“So fuckin’ true,” you agree. “But, hhmmmm, a male specimen? I mean, I hate all men, but Pedro Pascal seems pretty decent. Maybe you could turn into Joel Miller? You know, from The Last of Us?”

The creature nods — you think it’s a nod — and transforms into Joel. Game Joel.

“Oh, uh, look, Pixel Daddy is fine as hell, especially in part 2, but I meant the HBO adaptation of the game. Please,” you correct.

“How’s this?” Pedro’s version of Joel’s voice asks aloud.

Your pussy bottoms out. “Oh, fuck yeah.”

You disrobe completely as you enter the spacecraft.

“I set it to 72º Fahrenheit. Is that a suitable climate for your meat suit?” Joel asks.

“Yeah, that’s perfect. Mr. Alien, could you, like, put more of the twang into his voice? And use words like he does? Like, how he sounds on the show? You know what, let’s watch a few clips to get it right.”

You pull up your account on your phone, but it takes you a minute to find it because you forgot they changed it from HBO Max Go to just Max. “So fuckin’ stupid. Purple is a better color than blue anyway,” you mumble to yourself as you pull up an episode.

The galactic creature uses some magical time skip thing to binge the entire series and gets a yucky smudge of goop on your phone screen when it attempts to find season 2.

“There’s just one season? Please tell me there’s another one,” Joel implores.

“Yeah, there’s a second season, but it’s not out yet,” you inform him.

“Damn. But you said there’s two games already? So what happens in the second game?” he asks.

“You know what, we super don’t need to get into that right now. Let’s see what you’re working with,” you quickly change the subject and grab at his crotch.

He grunts in approval. “Needy lil thing, aren’t’cha? You want my cock, baby?”

Your eyes narrow suspiciously. “Did you use a time jump thing to read a whole bunch of Joel Miller smutfic on Tumblr?”

Joel blushes and scratches the back of his neck. “Eh, mighta read a few.”

“Oh my god, you’re gonna be super nasty and dominant, aren’t you?” you sigh.

“Only if that’s what you want, baby. I’m a consent king,” he assures you.

“Well, alright then. I want you to rawdog me and slap my ass, okay?”

He smirks and pulls you close. “I’ll give ya what I give ya, and you just gotta take it,” he grunts into your neck as he nibbles and sucks downward.

You gasp at the sensation and grind your hips into him. “Oh fuck, Joel,” you whine. “I want you to wreck me, please!”

“Gonna fill that cunt up,” he says gruffly as he gropes your ass and breasts.

“Yes, Daddy, please!” you beg.

He pauses for a moment and looks confused.

“Oh, uh, you must not have got to those kind of fics–” you cough awkwardly “–uh, anyway. Sorry. Joel. Yes, Joel, please.”

“I can sense the vibrations of your inner sex organ when you call me that. If it is sexually gratifying to you, I wholly welcome the use of it,” the original voice says inside your mind.

“Oh wow. I love that you’re not kink shaming me. Glad you didn’t make it to that side of Tumblr,” you huff in a laugh.

Joel suddenly pins you against the wall and presses his hard, clothed cock against your bare skin. Even through the denim you can tell he’s huge. Apparently all those fic writers were right all along.

“Who’s gonna fill up that pretty cunt uh’yours, huh?” he demands as he grabs the back of your neck for leverage.

“Y-You, Daddy,” you say in an aroused tremble.

“That’s fuckin’ right. When my fat cock is inside you, I better hear you singin’ some thank you’s to Daddy for fillin’ you up so good,” he warns.

“Yes, Daddy, I’ll be your good girl,” you promise.

He flips you around without warning and pushes your chest flush against the wall.

“Even good girls need to be reminded every once in a while what happens if they don’t listen to Daddy,” he says in a low gruff.

His clothes have magically disappeared with the help of his alien outerspace boi powers. You feel him firm against your backside before a harsh slap of his palm replaces it. You jump and yelp in pain at the surprise spanking.

“Mmmm, pretendin’ you don’t want it, but I feel you pushin’ your ass back for more,” he taunts.

You whine because he’s right. You can only imagine the derisive comments he’d make if he felt how wet you are.

He lands another three harsh swats on the same patch of skin. Tears prickle up in your eyes. “D-Daddy,” you moan.

“You gonna thank Daddy for keepin’ you in line, baby?” Another swat. It stings so much you know there must be an imprint of his hand clearly outlined by your welting red flesh.

“Thank you, Daddy!” you choke out. “Th-Thank you for k-keeping me your good girl and not letting me b-be bad, Daddy. I only wanna be good for you, Daddy!” you wail.

“That’s what I like’tuh hear, baby,” he grunts into your ear. “Ask Daddy to make you into his own little cocksleeve. Ask Daddy to give you this big, fat cock.”

You whimper as he slips his length between your folds and rubs back and forth in teasing passes.

“Daddy, I want you to use my pussy. I need it so bad. Please. I just wanna be your cocksleeve. Use my holes, Daddy,” you whimper.

You barely finish your sentence when he flips you around again and lines himself up with your entrance. Apparently the alien creature was just as into this as you are because their altered form reverted back to the amorphous gray green blob. You’re way too horny to be picky about it right now, so you squeeze your eyes shut. You forgot to charge your vibrator, anyway.

Their penis was more like fingers that kinda moved around randomly. You don’t know. You’re not an astrophysicist or whoever it is that would best be knowledgeable about alien wieners.

Its spongy gray appendage felt firm and slimy as it entered you. There was some sort of phantom connection to your mouth and throat as well, the sensation of its finger-penis dragging back and forth, able to be felt in both your pussy and your mouth. It was weird, but you knew if it was Joel Miller doing it then it would somehow become totally fine and very hot.

“You’re getting too lost in the sauce,” you whine. “You’re in your true form again. Change back.”

“Mmmmm, sorry, baby,” came the familiar gravelly voice once more.

When you felt brave enough to open your eyes again, you saw those familiar Wreck-It-Ralph sausage fingers and sighed in relief. The alien had changed back to your preferred form of Joel Miller as portrayed by José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal.

As much as you wanted to stare at his face, you also wanted him to dick you down through the floorboards of the ship. You wiggle to sink down onto your hands and knees. “Wanna be wide open for you, Daddy,” you pout.

He makes an approving growling noise and scrambles behind you, shoving you downward between your shoulder blades until your face is smushed into the floor. He makes no effort to warn you before slamming his entire length into you. The impact of his wide tip against your cervix is so forceful it punches the air out of your lungs. You let out a panicked, strangled moan, suddenly unsure if you were going to be able to take this dick like a champ.

Joel grabs your hips for leverage and starts pistoning rough, deep strokes into your drenched pussy. “Gaahh–Goddamn! Fuckin’ chokin’ it, honey,” he rasps in a labored voice. “Feel so fuckin’ tight for me.”

“It’s s-so big, Daddy. I dunno if I can take it,” you cry.

“You can take it. You can take it for Daddy. Be a good girl or m'gonna hafta punish you,” he cautions. As a reminder of what that might entail, he strikes your backside so hard your entire body jerks as you let out a sob.

A high pitched moan gathers in Joel’s throat as you start to accommodate his size. “Yeah, fuckin’ like that, huh? Like when Daddy spanks you? Makes ya listen?”

“You’re so good to me, Daddy!” you sob. Your arousal is practically dripping down your thighs. You listen to the hum of the engines mixing with the sounds of your drooling cunt being fed Joel’s massive cock over and over again. He grabs your wrists and pulls you upward, using your limbs like reins on a horse. You have no control over the depth of penetration in these positions, and Joel is opting for nothing less than utterly devastating your pussy.

“M’gonna give you these fingers, too, baby. Know you can take it,” he pants.

He releases your arms and lets you scramble to catch yourself before faceplanting.

“Hey! You could’ve at least–”

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth and take what Daddy gives you,” he snarls.

You whine and clench around him. You feel a boogery churro type object prodding at your asshole. You turn your head quickly enough to see the creature has let Joel’s arm halfway revert back into the wiggly blobby thing.

“Did I say you could turn around?” he barks. He spanks you again with his 100% Joel hand, hard enough that you know there are pinpricks of blood beginning to seep through.

“I’m sorry, Daddy!” you scream.

You feel him now inside both holes. It’s overwhelming and amazing. The phantom throat thing is back again, and you like how you gag even with an “empty” mouth.

“Got enough for every hole you got and then some, sweetheart,” he practically slurs. He sounds completely wrecked.

You feel your lower belly heating up and quickly tightening.

“Oh my fucking god, Joel. I’m getting so close,” you gasp.

“THAT AIN’T MY FUCKIN’ NAME WHEN I’M STUFFIN’ YOU WITH MY COCK, SWEETHEART,” he grits out as he wraps his hand around the front of your throat and squeezes.

When your breaths quickly become hard to take, you know you’re going to come soon.

“I want your space juice inside me, Daddy!” you cry out, not caring if you’re breaking the illusion. You still needed to be clear and consensual in your approach to this intimate exchange, and you needed to address the weird topic of whether or not your birth control could do effective hand to hand combat with spaceboi cum.

“Our sexual organs are compatible, but our reproductive hormones and liquids are not,” the voice explained in your mind.

The Jim Carrey baby grinch was kinda cute, but you still felt better knowing you weren’t going to birth a little green gremlin alien baby. (Although you did think Victor or Clementine would be nice names.)

“Put a baby in me, Daddy! Fuck your baby into me!” you beg now that you know you can’t actually get pregnant.

“Uh, I mean, there’s just so much pregnancy fic out there,” Joel hedges carefully, still maintaining his merciless thrusts. “You don’t really wanna make this into a whole thing do you? Ya know, with the pregnancy storyline and stuff? Some users have actually said they prefer—”

“No, Joel, I’m not actually—” you interrupt in a huff “—I’m just saying it to be sexy. It sounds sexy. Besides, there’s some fic writers who basically only write creampies but none of their characters ever seem to get pregnant. It’s kinda wild. There’s a fic writer I can think of right now, actually. She loves creampies so much.”

“So she’s just really into pussy gettin’ drenched but nobody’s gotta deal with babies? Sounds like a pretty sweet deal if ya ask me,” he approves.

“Yeah, I think the only pregnancy fic she has is, like, this really nasty oneshot where the reader is already pregnant and she gets double teamed by Tommy and you at the same time. Oh and she lactates. I wasn’t into it at first, but it was kinda hot. Maybe you’ve read it? The author calls herself Puddles?”

“Oh, her? That Gasoline Rainbow lady? I thought she just made memes?” He sounds surprised and impressed. He’s hitting your cervix repeatedly with such force that you feel like your vagina is going to look like somebody dropped a tray of lasagna on a pubic hair linoleum floor.

“No, she actually has, like, legit fic on there, too. She’s, like, really talented. I can’t believe she doesn’t have more followers,” you laugh incredulously.

You’re glad he doesn’t ask how you would know how many followers she has since that isn’t publicly available information. You hate it when plot holes have to be smoothed out nicely and still fit in with the story. It’s so boring and way too much work sometimes.

“Maybe stuff like alien jizz fingers is a little too much for people to–”

“Okay, this is getting too meta. Let’s just get back to you fucking me so rough I can’t walk right for an entire week, okay?”

“Hnngg, fuck yeah. Daddy��s gonna wreck this cunt,” he hisses as his thrusts pick up pace.

“DADDY, I’M GONNA COME,” you cry as you start clenching and seizing around the massive circumference of his cock.

Joel lets out a guttural, choked moan as he empties inside you. You can feel it from his weird creampie fingertips, too — even the invisible one in your mouth and throat. You’re trembling, trying to keep yourself upright as Joel fucks into you through his orgasm. You lick your lips. There’s a flavor there. Is that….?

“You like Daddy’s brisket cum, sweetheart?” he grunts as his thrusts slow to a sloppy grind.

“I thought I tasted barbecue,” you muse. It was bewildering, but mostly satisfying.

“Yeah, tastes just like those Fourth of July backyard get-togethers you love in that Texas heat,” he breathes. "You runnin' around in barely anything, makin' me hafta adjust myself so your dad don't catch his best friend ogling his precious daughter."

“I’m starting to think you read more fic than you admitted to earlier,” you assert.

“I like it, darlin’,” he shrugs.

“Are you gonna follow Puddles now? Oh! Can you do a mind link thing with her and see what she’s working on next?” you implore.

Joel appears to zone out for a minute, and you take the opportunity to stare at his naked body. He looked perfect. His eyes focused again as he looked at you.

“Her waveforms are erratic and very concerning, but once I subdued a Brain Goblin inside her mind I was able to discern she is likely to be releasing some Ezra from Prospect centered fictional stories,” the voice inside your head revealed. "They are very sexually aggressive."

“Nice,” you say under your breath.

“So you gonna let me have that sweet pussy again, sweetheart?” Joel drawls.

“Yes. But I’m going to need you to familiarize yourself with Pedro’s extensive works. I’m thinking we could do some really great Mando roleplay in this spaceship,” you say with a big smile as you gesture around.

Joel smirks at you. “Don’t matter what form I take. You’re still gonna be callin’ me Daddy.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you agree with a big grin.

I hope those splorgimums understand what they lost bc that's our man now! Special thanks to Multiversed Daydreamer (Fuzz) for inspiring part of the title and @xdaddysprincessxx for the shared derangement over That Old Man™.

Undying thanks to @psychedelic-ink and @bonezone44 for writing some of my fave ~aLtErNaTiVe KiNk CoNtEnT~ and inspiring me to let my brain run wild with this crackfic.

Art in graphic includes transformed works of the Mucinex booger man.

catch ya later, ♥Puddles♥

P.S. - I counted how many times "Daddy" appears in this, and it's 29.

tagging: @wannab-urs, @gracieispunk, @milla-frenchy, @patti7dc. @lumoverheaven, @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog, @toxicanonymity, @rubyfruitjungle, @huffle-punk, @jupiter-soups, @swiftispunk, @theywhowriteandknowthings

#crackfic #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #tlou fic

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theravenclawlover · 1 year

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🎃Kinktober Day 30🎃

Day Prompt: Master & Slave/Teratophilia/tit fucking

Word Count: 1,624

Warnings: +18 (MDNI), dark!Din (?), sexual content, blowjob, slave/master dynamics, the reader is a slave, accidental voyeurism, Stockholm syndrome (? the reader has a thing for Din so idk), takes place during the first season because Din still has the Razor Crest, and my shit writing as usual.

A/N: This is just me really wanting to suck off Din, also this is shit but the type that still has a kick ya know?

Dark!Din Djarin x GN!Reader

You had no family, no family name to carry as you were the child of a common whore. And your mother had gotten rid of you by handing you over to be raised as nothing more than a slave. And that implied of all sorts, so to you, it was no surprise when one day—out of the blue—you had been ‘gifted’ to a Mandalorian who had saved your people from a ferocious beast. He’d been in the passing, and he’d been paid for his time. Credits and you.

He'd tried to not accept you, knowing what you were by just your clothes, but your old Master had pushed for it, making you sound like a fine meal when they treated you like the leftovers eaten by the street animals.

Ultimately, the Mandalorian gave in and took you to his ship. And now, many cycles later, you were still under his ownership. With the way he’d tried to refuse at first you wondered now if it all had been a mild courtesy to seem not too thrilled about owning a person. Because he was more than happy to boss you around, telling you to clean, cook with what he found, and help with his child whenever he had a job. And to make sure you didn’t think about running for it on whatever next planet you landed, he’d put a collar on you, and wrist bracelets that would shock you if you stepped out of the ship.

But oddly enough, you knew you couldn’t run. Not because you had a soft spot for the little green creature that cooed at you to be picked up or to just watch you cook. No. You stayed because there was something about your Master that intrigued you, something that made you stare at him and his shiny Beskar armor, something about his deep and distorted voice when commanded you.

It was odd, but maybe it all had led you to this moment. Maybe all those questions of why you had stayed were being answered right now.

You hadn’t meant to disrupt him, it was routine for you to check for any mess the child had made in the cockpit. How could you have known your Master had removed some of his armor that covered his pelvic area, reveling black clothes underneath that allowed him to take out his cock, to then grab it and tug at it until he gasping, trying his best to not let any distorted sound carry so you knew.

And when you had walked in, you had seen just how close he’d been—if the twitching and rapid breathing were any hints.

But he saw you, and he let out a cuss, stopping in movements to look at you through his helmet, and it had rendered you motionless. Not even watching him masturbate had shocked you, but his eyes on you had sent a shiver down your spine. Your hands were in fists as you tried to pant as it settled on you that you were turned on. Watching him had turned you on, and his gaze on you with his hand still around his hard and wet cock had only made you feel what arousal was meant to feel like. Or at least you guessed as your intimates were throbbing like they had become a beacon to anyone that could hear it.

You didn’t move, and neither did he. But as you attempted a meek apology, he leaned back against his chair, spreading his legs even more. Exposing to you more of his cock and his hands began to give small and slow strokes.

“Kneel.”

It shouldn’t have made you feel like it did. You’ve been ordered most of your adult life to offer relief to anyone who saw fit, and all those times your stomach had felt sick, but his simple command had made your throbbing more difficult to ignore.

You moved to kneel between his legs, making sure not to touch him as you did. You tried to look nonchalant as you stared at the dick in front of you, all slick with saliva and precum, all pent up from an unfinished chase to orgasm. Your mouth watered as you pictured yourself sucking him clean when asked you to swallow, or maybe he’ll just make it land on your face, your tongue catching whatever it could before you dared to lick around your cum-stained lips.

A distorted hum made you look up, and your mouth shut closed. You hadn’t even noticed you had it slightly open as your tongue poked out to lick your upper lip in thought.

“Eager to please your Master?” he said in a mocking tone, voice deep but labored as his pace picked up just a notch to tease himself.

“Yes, Master. Always pleased to serve you, Master,” you said like you meant it, and maybe you did. Perhaps you meant it here. Not when you were cleaning grease stains, but maybe whenever he decided to use you again because there had to be, you needed it to be.

“Good,” he stopped and gripped his cock, and his other—still gloved—hand grabbed at your chin bringing your face closer to his crotch until you could practically feel the heat of his body. “Open up, slave.”

Your mouth opened quickly, tongue sticking out as if to you ask him to use you however he liked. Your eyes were hopeful and needy.

The Mandalorian gave a dark chuckle as he tapped the tip of his cock on your tongue, and as he groaned at the contact of something other than his hand, you moaned while your eyes fluttered.

He tapped it a few more times before he pushed it in, letting hit your throat. Your eyes fluttered as you suppressed the need to gag, a moan erupting instead to match his groan.

“That’s it,” he moaned, his hands grabbing at your head as he moved to test how good you could take him, little by little forcing you to take him until your lips were touching his pelvis and your nose was buried in the curls of hair that remained slick and wild. Your hands gripped at your shirt as you sucked. Practiced moves helping you please in ways you hadn’t cared much for, only learning to spare yourself insults of horny men. But now you were trying to show off, make sure just how good of a slave he had, how good you were for him. No one to replace you.

After minutes of him putting you to an initial test, he pulled you back all the way, and you gasped, taking in all the oxygen you could. Your cheeks were wet from tears, the corners of your mouth slick with spit and pre-cum. Your tongue darted to clean it off out of instinct to get rid of the stain. Your tastebuds were received with more saltiness, drowning yourself in his taste.

Without a warning, your Master pulled you back, and this time he didn’t hold back. It was time for him to finish what you had interrupted, and it was only fitting that you helped with it.

His groans and moans were loud and deep through the codifier, making it feel like it rang in the enclosed space, and all you could do was take everything he was giving you to the point of feeling and hearing nothing but him.

His fingers dug into your scalp as his hips snapped every so often as he fucked your mouth, saliva now spilling down your chin to your shirt, your hands clawing at your thighs as your hips moved against nothing in search to qualm your throbbing needs.

“Such a good slave, kriff, takin’ my cock so well, so eager to please your Master, ready to take my cock like a good pet.” You moaned and whined as you nodded your head, a choked moan escaping him. You were doing so good.

When his thrusting and bobbing of your head turned erratic, his cock began to hit deeper down your throat and this time the gags couldn’t be held back. But the panic at your mistake felt uncalled for when your Master threw his head back, a louder groan as he hit your throat again. Another gag was pulled from you, and he seemed to look for that, and as you cried and moaned like a wanton whore, you quivered in need. For him.

A groan of a curse left his mouth as he shoved you down his cock to keep you there. The pulsing of his cock in your throat was obscene as you tried to not choke and move, swallowing the ropes of cum being dumped inside of you. Your nails dug into your skin through your pants as you felt air cutting short, but then your Master was pulling you back with a harsh tug.

You gasped loudly as you coughed, tears escaping you in relief, need, and whatever else your body couldn’t quite comprehend at the moment.

“Show me,” he demanded as he brought you close, pulling your head back to lift your head for him. You opened your mouth, sticking your tongue to show that you had taken his cum.

“Good, slave. Very good,” he let go of you, fixing himself as you remained on your knees and expecting his commands.

“Thank you, Master.”

“Off you go,” he said. You moved to stand, a small feeling of disappointment as he hadn’t needed more from you. And you opened the door to go down, he called back. “Finish whatever you must before coming back to me. Naked.”

The throbbing reassumed, and you clenched your hands to hide your eagerness.

“Yes, Master.”

#theravenclawlover #Kinktober 2022 #Din Djarin #The Mandalorian #Din Djarin smut #The Mandalorian smut #Din Djarin x reader #Din Djarin x reader smut #The Mandalorian x reader smut #Star Wars

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xalygatorx · 3 months

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Unbound | Chapter 13, "Dancing With Devils"

Áine Ts'sambra—a wayward half-drow bard with a painful past—has her world upended when she's snatched up by a Nautiloid ship and furnished with a tadpole to the brain. In her journey to remove the infestation before it can turn her and her newfound companions illithid, she not only finds that their solution has more layers to parse through than she can count, but that a particular vampire in her party does as well.

Unbound is an ongoing generally SFW medium-burn romance based in the world of Baldur's Gate 3 between Astarion and a female OC. Any NSFW content will be marked in the Warnings section. Contains angst, fluff, explorations of trauma, spice, graphic fantasy violence, and a guaranteed happy ending.

For anything additional on what to expect (and not expect), check the preface post.

Summary: A week has passed nowhere near uneventfully. The truth of Gale’s condition comes out when Elminster delivers a message from Mystra. A very worn-thin Áine checks on her companions. Wyll shoots his shot. Áine and Gale, both projecting somewhat, get into an argument. Astarion asks Shadowheart for a favor. Áine shows Astarion firsthand how he looks through her eyes.

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC

Warnings: Angst on angst on angst; fluff; suggestive content and dialogue (mild); mention of fantasy violence (appropriate to canon); lightly proofread; it's a really long one; besties, I struggled through this and I can only apologize so much if it sucks but if I didn't post it now I'd keep messing with it

Word Count: 11k

Listening to: my brain leaking out of my ears (idk White Winter Hymnal again probably)

The next week’s worth of travel brought more heartache than victory for the party. Camping for the night, normally something that at least held a neutral air if they were all especially fatigued, felt strained and the tension in the sweet mountain air seemed to branch from all directions.

Crèche Y’llek had been a mistake. When they’d met Kith’rak Voss and his warriors by the destroyed bridge where Zorru had marked on Lae’zel’s map, they should’ve forgone the idea of venturing further into githyanki territory, if only to avoid having the artefact taken from them. However, Lae’zel had remained adamant after Voss had gone that, despite deceiving him, they still needed to get to the crèche and be purified.

Áine, in retrospect, knew that as their appointed leader she should’ve been more forceful. She’d had a bad feeling about delivering the artefact into the heart of the gith who were seeking it out and she’d had a bad feeling about the zaith’isk too. And yet she’d allowed them to move forward with both. All because she wanted to have faith in Lae’zel and spite their “guardian” a little in the process. Spiting their guardian was petty and she understood that, so she could fault herself fully for that. However, having faith in Lae’zel was the opposite of a mistake and Áine would stand by that until it got her killed.

“Lae, please, get out of there!”

She could still hear her own scream in her ears, the way her voice had cracked on her plea, swallowed by the roar of the machine as it rattled with its efforts to rend her friend’s mind in two. At seemingly the last second, Lae’zel had hurled herself from the pod just before it and its appendages caved in on themselves. She’d cried hshar’lak, deeming a traitor among the githyanki the only possibility that could explain the zaith’isk’s failure. And still, they’d ventured even further into the crèche to speak with the visiting Inquisitor.

Lae’zel, battered and bruised as much if not more than the rest of them, now sat silently at the entrance to her tent, her stone heart shattering with every doubt she’d taken as a parting gift from their failed venture. Each one was punctuated by the grinding swipe of her whetstone.

The githyank warrior was scared and she felt disgusting for it. Learned self-loathing pummeled at her chest as if it could crush the shrapnel of her faith back into one cohesive piece. That faith shook the same way her hands had trembled after searching Áine’s mind for the truth of her confrontation with the being inside the artefact. With the “guardian” she still suspected of illithid treachery and not simply because of the heresy it managed to inject into her already scrambled thoughts. Lae’zel had balled her shaking hands into fists and demanded their leave, despite knowing that every one of her kin on the other side of that portal out of the Astral would be waiting to cut them down in Vlaakith’s name.

It had to be a test of her faith. Lae’zel kept telling herself until she somewhat believed it that this had to be a final test of her devotion. Because if it wasn’t, then what had her entire life been for?

Her conflicted gaze lifted from her blade to the approaching bard, wondering if she had it in her at all to bear the weight of company this night. Lae’zel’s gaze dropped back to the hand clutching her whetstone, stilled against the silver. “You must have questions,” she said slowly when Áine didn’t speak first.

Áine sighed and knelt, setting a bowl of soup and a crust of bread near Lae’zel’s knee. “I have dinner that will likely fall short of the usual quality,” she said with an apologetic smile. “Gale understandably wasn’t up for much tonight so I’m afraid you’re left with my cooking.”

“Something ails him?” Lae’zel wondered, relieved that the topic of conversation didn’t immediately fall to her. She set her sword and stone aside but didn’t yet touch the food. Not because she didn’t trust Áine’s cooking, but because she felt utterly hollow after the events of the day and in no way resembling hunger. She would eat—she needed to so she could fight—but it would take her a moment.

Áine slid from her crouched position into a seated one, wincing when she leaned on the heels of her hands to do it and her bad shoulder locked up. Lae’zel noticed but did not voice that she noticed the weakness. Áine was doing her the favor, as Lae’zel saw it, of overlooking her own weaknesses for the time being and she would return that favor. “An old friend or mentor of his perhaps, Elminster, was wandering near the path down the mountain, I guess. He happened to ask after Gale when he saw Halsin pass by with some berries.”

Lae’zel’s attention caught on the name, her expression denoting surprise. “Elminster?”

“You know of him?” Áine asked.

“I do,” Lae’zel said, frowning. “However I still wonder why this visit would have caused Gale any ill.”

“Elminster was a messenger this time. For Mystra,” Áine said and she had to make an effort not to spit the name. Lae’zel noticed her rancor and her expression tightened in kind. Áine sighed and ran a hand through her loose white locks. “Gale’s condition…is a Netherese orb in his chest apparently. The magical items he’d needed up until this point, up until they stopped working anyway, were to feed that orb lest it feed on and destroy him. And…everyone around him, it would seem.”

“I fear I lack understanding,” Lae’zel said.

“I just barely have my head wrapped around it,” Áine admitted. “The orb could and would have acted as a bomb if left untreated, which he failed to tell us.”

“How did such a thing become a part of him?” the githyanki asked, her eyes troubled.

“I don’t know, I…,” Áine paused to sigh, “I haven’t spoken to Gale privately yet. I was upset at being lied to and hadn’t yet absorbed the situation in full, so that is an eventual conversation I’ll need to face.”

“You lost your temper?” Lae’zel guessed.

Áine’s brow furrowed. “Not completely. But I wasn’t as kind as I could have been before I knew the whole of it,” she said, clearly disappointed in herself.

“And what is the ‘whole of it’?” Lae’zel asked, startled that there could be more to finding out one of their companions had the equivalent of a bomb in his chest.

“Elminster’s message from Mystra,” the bard said. “Whatever caused the orb to become one with Gale, Mystra seems to think was his fault, and that was what had caused him to fall out of her grace. And her path to forgiveness that she’s laid out for him is to use the orb to destroy the Absolute. To kill himself.”

Lae’zel’s features twisted. “Elminster delivered this message?” she verified and Áine nodded back. “Hm, well… Even the githyanki have heard tell of the Sage of Shadowdale. Some of his works have been translated to tir’su slate.” Her expression hardened. “That doesn’t mean his every word carries wisdom, however.”

“He seemed devastated to tell Gale,” Áine said, recalling the old man’s tone and face. “He was simply a messenger in this, but I don’t know that I could have delivered such a message, myself. Mystra, for a goddess, seems…misguided at best. And at worst—”

“Near as I can tell,” Lae’zel asserted, “Mystra demands Gale’s faith, but holds no faith in him. Why else would she demand that Gale sacrifice himself and perhaps so many others?” Fired up, Lae’zel began to speak with her hands as well, her long fingers tensing in quick, meaningful gestures to punctuate her words. “Does she not think he can destroy the Absolute with his own immense talents? Does she not know the mighty company that he keeps?”

Áine smiled. “She must not.”

Lae’zel muttered, “Demanding Vlaakith may be, but she acts for the good of the githyanki people. Mystra is concerned only for herself.” A low, annoyed growl turned into a sound of annoyance in her throat. “Chk… Perhaps he would find her forgiveness in a fiery death. But I can’t help but wonder why he’d want it at all.”

“I would hope that he craves it more to better the state of his own afterlife rather than smooth her feathers,” Áine admitted, all the while admiring Lae’zel’s confidence. “She doesn’t deserve a good turn from him for the rest of his years based on what little I know of her. But I suppose he loves magic. He loves the Weave. And therefore he loves Mystra, too.”

“Her lain claim upon magic itself is blasphemy against its very existence,” Lae’zel decided openly, finally reaching down to retrieve the dinner that Áine had brought her. “Magic must have existed before Mystra and it would exist without her as well.”

“I wish you’d been the one to speak to him instead of me,” Áine sighed. “I feel as though I made a mess of things where there was already an abundance of messes.” She rested her head in her hands and gave an agitated sigh directed only at herself. “I should have let you lead us when we first met again away from the Nautiloid.”

Lae’zel watched Áine with a mixture of admiration and pity. “Your humility is what makes you a good leader,” she informed the bard. “We are matched in prowess and I may lead in kind in the heat of battle…however my skills ended at these sorts of dilemmas until I met you.” She offered Áine a faint smile when she lifted her head to meet her eyes. “My people are taught from their birth to forsake softness, to form from edges so jagged that contact alone will cut lethal. Our enemies, our kin too weak to avoid the cull. We are one people taught to claw across our own corpses should it mean our victory. Taught to see a heart as only a soft place for a blade.” Her smile faded. “And what good has it ultimately done me? What good is this heart of stone for it to be shattered?”

Áine felt her eyes sting with unshed tears of empathy. “Stone crumbles. It erodes,” she said firmly. “Your heart is much stronger than that. I’ve seen it.”

“In the past, I would have cursed you for such a sentiment,” Lae’zel said. “I was brought to this plane, my teachings done, only to find I am learning still. You have become another sa’varsh of my life—a teacher.” Her lips pursed. “It has been…eyeopening to learn amongst friends. As a unit without constant threat in the form of my classmates, without barely concealed bloodlust at all times. Save for Astarion.” Áine smirked at Lae’zel’s words. “Even he, with the excuse of being driven by innate instinct, has more in his heart than the warriors I trained amongst. Than I did until recently.”

Áine was touched by Lae’zel’s words. How was it that she’d come down here to console the githyanki and had instead ended up being consoled herself? “You give me a lot of credit, Lae, and I fear not enough credit to yourself,” Áine said. “This side of you didn’t simply happen. This has always been part of you.” Her throat tightened around her next words, feeling that she could stand to lend these very words more toward her own healing than she did. “The circumstances you were born into are part of what has made you, but they are not you.”

Lae’zel gave that some consideration, nodding slowly in acknowledgment after. “I am coming to understand that,” she said.

“Are you alright?” Áine asked at last. “After today, I mean?”

The githyanki warrior offered her a reassuring look. “I will be. Rest is needed. All else will come in its own time,” she said.

“If you need anything,” Áine said, “don’t hesitate to ask. Please. Not just me, but anyone.”

Lae’zel nodded once. “It will be done.”

When Áine crested the slope back to the rest of their tent setups, she noticed that—at least as far as she could tell—Elminster had left and Gale was also out of sight, but had likely retired to his tent after the grueling conversation. Despite that conversation being with an old, dear friend, its topics would have felt heavy spilling from anyone’s lips.

Áine spent a moment warring with herself over whether or not to seek him out and address how the first leg of the talk had gone, when they’d yet to hear Mystra’s message and she’d only yet had the truth of his condition dropped on her lap. Betrayal had hit her like a flurry of knives and, after everything else they’d endured just in the past few days, it had hit her harder than it had any right to. After all, she wasn’t the one being tasked with a suicide mission from her past teacher, her past lover. Gale was. And yet she’d felt anger on hearing all that he’d kept from her and the rest of their friends.

The question she had to resolve within herself before she tried to speak with him about it was whether that anger was at Gale at all. Was it even anger? The answer to that became less and less clear the more she thought it over.

When she dwelt on the pain in her chest, her mind offered her images of Gale’s expression breaking at hearing what Mystra wanted of him, her former Chosen. Of Lae’zel’s shattered expression both back in the crèche and down on the cliffside just now when she’d spoken of her “stone heart.” Of turning on the road leading away from the temple to find Karlach doubling over in the dirt as her engine flared hotter than ever with no signs of stopping, and Áine and the others with no way to help her except to get her to Dammon again as fast as possible with infernal iron and a prayer. And then there was nearly losing Shadowheart in the middle of everything back in the underbelly of the crèche.

At the memory, Áine felt her shoulder ache and she subconsciously reached across her chest to sink her fingertips into the scar-toughened muscle, gritting her teeth. And, despite all of it, still having the yet-to-be ceremorphosed tadpoles wriggling in their heads and no closer to being extracted was giving her a headache that had nothing to do with the little beasts. The truth of Gale’s condition had simply been the straw that broke her back that night. If it had only been his revelation that had turned the tables on them, she may have been able to digest it better.

No, she was becoming less and less sure all the while that what had surfaced during her conversation with Elminster and Gale had truly been anger. If she was honest with herself, she’d had a piss-poor reaction to being afraid for her friends and herself. Because amongst all this, they were still making their way to Moonrise Towers, the symbolic crux of all her past but still-festering trauma.

Her anxiety often rewrote itself as anger and it was one of her greatest flaws that she knew of. And she owed Gale an apology for that.

A flutter of movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention and she looked down the hillside toward where Wyll was set up, noting with surprise that he appeared to be dancing. Either he was seeking a bit of stress relief or he’d fully lost his mind amidst all the latest developments in their journey, she decided.

Her curiosity got the better of her and she followed the path down to his patch of camp, noting that he hadn’t been kidding when he mentioned he’d partaken in courtly dance during his days in Baldur’s Gate. He seemed to find renewed energy in its controlled leaps and arcs and the sight brought a faint smile to her face. In his spry movements, she saw what she supposed would’ve been a younger Wyll, when his only duty had been to be the son of a revered duke. Although, she supposed that too would come with its hellish qualities.

He still looked every bit the part of a noble, she decided, horns and all.

He rounded his steps then and, in doing so, spotted her standing nearby. “Oh, I didn’t see you,” Wyll breathed, startled. “I was a bit lost in the steps I suppose… It’s been such a long time.”

“I couldn’t tell for whatever that’s worth,” Áine said. “You look like you’ve not missed a day of practice. You undersold yourself when we spoke before.”

Wyll chuckled with some embarrassment evident on his scarred features. “I needed the release, I think. It’s been a trying few days, I’m sure you could agree,” he admitted. “I am glad we at least have confirmation that Father is at Moonrise. The rest gives me pause.”

Somberly, Áine nodded. “We’re on the same page then,” she said.

“Well, lucky for you, I’ve properly warmed up and brushed up on my steps a bit,” he said with a cheeky smile as he extended a hand her way. “Woeful would it be for me to fail my new partner.”

Áine smirked and gestured toward her shoulder. “I’m afraid I’ll only hinder you in my current state,” she said. “And I would hate to slow you down.”

“There is no shame in taking things slow,” Wyll said, his voice even and reassuring. His hand remained hovering between them. Áine noticeably hesitated—on one hand, she was tired and sore, but on the other dancing always cheered her up, too, even just a little. The bard’s heart in her won out as she gave him a worn-down smile and took his outstretched hand, accepting his offer for what she perceived as a simple gesture to try lifting her spirits.

Pleased, Wyll smiled and guided her forward. “I will lead us.”

“Good because I daresay I’m unfamiliar with whatever step you were just performing,” she admitted.

Despite her words, she easily followed along in his movements and he gave her a gentle spin with her good arm. She didn’t often have physical contact with Wyll, she realized, as she noticed how hot his skin burned now with Mizora’s punishment wreaking havoc on his body. It was nothing compared to Karlach of course, but he was fiery in contrast with her own temperatures. Especially in comparison to the frosty hands she normally touched, adoring each opportunity she got to do so. The passing thought made her smile, a smile Wyll by no fault of his own read as being meant for him.

He moved them through the simpler suite of steps and it all felt so natural that she didn’t notice how close he’d gotten nor how his arm had moved to wrap fully around her waist until he was right there, slowing them down. It took her until Wyll’s face was just inches from hers for Áine to realize the turn that their little jig had taken and that comprehension then dawned in her expression as well.

“Oh, Wyll,” she murmured, familiar horror sinking in as she realized she’d once again tricked them both into a situation they may not recover from. How was she so good at reading others and yet so awful at picking up on these sorts of signals? “I'm sorry, I didn’t—I’m awful at picking up on these things, I thought this was just for a bit of fun.”

Reddened with chagrin, Wyll let go of her and stepped back, his expression torn between hurt and irritation. It was a grimace of injured pride. “Why not?” he asked suddenly and Áine felt guilt stab through her stomach. “I simply don’t understand what about me isn’t worth giving a chance. Is it my Infernal appearance?”

“Not at all!” Áine quickly said. “I told you that didn’t bother me and I meant it. I simply don’t see us that way and, well…” She cleared her throat and lowered her voice lest she scare off the very interest she was soon to reference if he was in earshot. “My heart is already spoken for.”

Her discretion didn’t end up mattering much. Embarrassed and reacting poorly, Wyll asked at a raised volume, “Is it Astarion? Because rest assured that trusting in a skillful tryst to become genuine affection will come back to bite you.”

“I mean, he already does that,” Áine said unthinkingly before her own lavender skin darkened with distress. “Sorry, that was meant to be a joke. What is wrong with me?”

In a way she hadn’t anticipated, Áine’s joke had worked some wonders, serving to shock Wyll out of his embarrassment and send him into a fresh wave of chagrin that now had to do with little more than his own ego. The Blade of Frontiers ran a hand down his face. “Áine, I apologize,” he said, surprising her. “Of course, I didn’t mean it. You are both deserving of all you can give each other and I want the best for you. Pride is a fickle thing that causes one to say things that aren’t true. I fear I’m projecting my insecurities and it pains me that it’s fallen on you to weather them.”

Áine hastily shook her head. “I’m sorry for not catching your intentions sooner,” she said in kind. “And it was still nice to dance with you. It’s all okay, you don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

Wyll gave her a bashful smile. “Nor do you. However, your forgiveness is not received lightly. I would be honored to dance again someday with a person I’m grateful to call a very good friend.”

Áine sighed with relief. “I’ll hold you to it. Thank you, Wyll, for being understanding.”

Wyll nodded. “As I said, I’ve been failing to look inward for ways to fix my thinking. Rejection that would, in a past life, not cause my footing to falter now feels harsher than it has any reason to,” he explained. “It is only a burden if I make it such and I have so far. I needn’t take that out on the people I care about the most.”

She smiled. “You have my full support in finding your next happiness,” she said, her panicked heart rate finally coming down. “You’re a good man, Wyll. Maybe the best of us.”

His features softened and he inclined his head. “You flatter this old devil.”

“Oh, come off it,” Áine laughed. “Devil, maybe. Old? Please. I have double your years and half your wisdom and power of self-reflection. Be proud of yourself. Always.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Wyll said with a chuckle and a mock salute, all traces of his earlier hurt gone from his kind gaze.

Áine turned to head back up the hill, passing Volo as she did and giving her head a quick shake at his third offer of the night to amend her “brainworm problem.” The man had finally found his way to their camp after the patrolling party had sprung him from the goblins’ imprisonment and Áine was realizing she’d been a fool to let him examine her eye after telling him about the tadpole in her skull. She’d honestly done it just to see the look on his face, but it hadn’t been worth the laugh. She’d now had to tell him thrice at this point not to helpfully lobotomize her with a knitting needle to get the thing out. Something she hadn’t found charming in the slightest.

The bard was just passing Gale’s tent when she heard him mutter something toward her in passing. Áine stopped and turned to look at the wizard, the shadows of his tent and the book in his hands only holding partial credit for the darkness in his expression. “Pardon?”

Ever perceptive about almost everyone but himself, Astarion had been watching the way Áine carried herself since they left that crèche blessedly behind them, its halls silenced in their wake. He could tell she was ailing, but it was more than just her shoulder bothering her.

And he could hardly blame her given how empathetic she was—it hadn’t seemed like any of them could catch a break these past few days and, of course, it was instinct to look to one’s leader when things were going awry. He didn’t envy her the pressure, but it was her own fault for being such a hero all the time.

Astarion didn’t think such a thing with any of his former vehemence toward her offering to help every stray that crossed their path, but he disliked the toll doing so much for everyone else ultimately took on her. Especially when she, stretched too thin to maintain her usual patience, finally snapped and hated herself for it afterward. Given the unexpected twists thrown their way one after another in the past week, but especially in the past day, he didn’t see how anyone could blame her. Hells, he was still trying to process it all, too, and he was hardly so invested.

Now understanding how Gale had found his vampirism so easy to digest as a potential liability when he was dealing with the magical equivalent of a bomb in his chest, Astarion had been aghast at not being informed about the extent of the wizard’s condition but likewise couldn’t blame him for withholding the whole truth. He could blame the man for continuing to ogle at and flirt with his lover up until the whole Netherese orb business had sparked a spat between them.

Instead of indulging either blame, Astarion questioned the state of his priorities if, for him, Gale flirting with Áine ranked in similar standing to a chest-bound cataclysm in the making. He supposed that some of that imbalance branched from how he’d felt over the past few days. They’d understandably had little to no time or energy to carry on what they’d started, save scattered meaningful glances and brief touches in passing. Astarion had trouble with the concept that she wouldn’t just forget or forgo him if he didn’t manage to keep her attention, even though his unwavering interest in her served as more than enough proof that such an attachment needn’t be a full-time job.

An attachment, he repeated in his mind, his expression souring at the word. It was fine and good, but it was swiftly becoming not good enough.

Scarier than any battle-hungry githyanki or catastrophically combustible wizard—most wizards could be categorized as at least partially combustible due to haywire spellcasting, but Gale’s blast radius put him in a special category—was his growing desire to be more to her than a sometimes-bedfellow. Even knowing that he was already more than that because she’d told him directly still wasn’t quite enough. And not exclusively because he still couldn’t help getting jealous whenever anyone continued making passes at her. If anything, the way his digestion of such a sight had changed was beginning to tell him more about his own fears than the actors he projected them upon.

At least he no longer bristled at someone looking at her with anything resembling interest, although he did, for example, find himself craving ursine blood specifically whenever he decided that she and Halsin looked a little too cozy during one of their chats. His envy had morphed from a territorial need for her attention into a deeply rooted anxiety that she would eventually figure out just how little she gained from being with him. And then of course, what could she do but leave once she had that epiphany?

As Astarion had grown closer to his other travel companions, it had become easier for him to see their appeal, which also meant that he found it easier to compare himself to them as they’d risen in his esteem.

While Astarion still found Gale intensely frustrating at times for reasons he couldn’t concisely put into words, he’d gotten used to him at least. He even tolerated him when he wasn’t flirting with Áine and Astarion had more or less learned the difference between when Gale was flirting and when he was just being friendly. More often than not, Astarion found that he was just being friendly.

And then there was Wyll. Princely, debonair, traditional Wyll. The sort of man that, perhaps in his long-past life before the world had caved in and broken him a thousand times over, he may have pictured himself marrying. A handsome devil of a white knight. He was getting bold lately and he wouldn’t be propositioning her with a quick fling. No, Wyll would offer her his heart and his hand, something Astarion wasn’t sure he could match.

And who was he to get in the way of such an offer from such a hero if it surfaced? She deserved someone who could care for her.

You can care for her. Better than any of them! a small, ever more present voice rang out in the back of his mind. She wants you, just let her have you!

Astarion grimaced, his gaze sliding to the bard currently cresting the hill on her way up from checking on the githyanki. He followed her lovely eyes skyward as they briefly skimmed the night sky, darkening to reveal thousands upon thousands of stars. Alas, he didn’t know if he could care for her the way she needed, the way she deserved. He was, for all his rallying against the notion, a monster. At the very least, he was far too damaged to do any of this properly. Too broken to love her.

The trouble was that, despite knowing this, he felt himself falling. And it was killing him.

Something had caught her eye past a small throng of trees and brush and she stepped away from the ledge to go seek out whatever had caught her interest. While she walked, he saw her right hand reflexively clasp against her scarred shoulder, her fingertips pressing into the joint like she could push her discomfort away.

Astarion’s expression turned concerned. Familiar now with her fighting style and what tended to trigger her flare-ups, he knew with little doubt in his mind that it had been the longsword that had done it this time.

He could still see her clearly in his mind’s eye. After being disarmed and temporarily losing her scimitars amongst the viscera coating the floor, Áine had dived for the first weapon she could scoop off the blood-splattered stonework to defend their downed healer—a heavy githyanki longsword.

Shadowheart, terrified of wolves, had been sent to her knees by a ball of psionic energy while in the midst of a crippling panic attack, buckling at the sight of the gith captain’s enormous attack hounds. Áine had thrown herself into the ring as she always did to protect her friends and, also as always, she’d gotten battered in the process. She’d succeeded in saving their cleric and cutting her attacker down, but the force she’d used to swing the scavenged blade that was, all told, bigger than she was had done a number on her shoulder.

Shadowheart sat near the fire, dressing a couple of her more minor wounds with some salve and gauze. Bluish shadows lingered under her eyes that he’d learned were telltale signs that she was drained—a tell that they had in common. She’d spent much of her energy healing their party’s worst injuries until, no matter how much she tried to harass each of them into letting her heal them further, she’d been lovingly shooed away to take care of her own wounds or rest at the very least.

A thought had occurred to Astarion as he’d watched Áine pace away toward Wyll’s side of the campground clutching her shoulder. It was a thought that would possibly open him up to some unwelcome speculation or even embarrassment if he acted upon it. His lips formed a thin line, his cupid’s bow disappearing into it as he deliberated. There was ultimately no question of whether it was worth a bit of potential goading, which he found somewhat freeing as he made his way slowly toward the cleric by the campfire.

By the time he reached her, Shadowheart had looked up to watch his approach, her gaze already skeptical the moment it landed upon him. Astarion had successfully mustered up the courage to approach the cleric but found himself already aggrieved at the idea of asking anyone for advice. Even more so because he was sure she’d needle him over it. Internally, he braced himself.

“Change your mind about having your wounds tended?” she guessed, her eyes narrowing warily when he sat down on the log she was using as a bench seat. “If you’re looking for blood, I’ve barely enough for myself as it is.”

Astarion gave her a chiding look. “I’m not in the market for your blood,” he said, his exhaustion with the direction of the conversation already plain in his voice. “And I’d rather not be ‘tended’ to. I’m halfway healed already anyway.”

“Really?” Shadowheart asked. To prove his point, Astarion adjusted the sleeve of his soft, ruffled shirt to show her what remained of a deep cut she’d earlier tried to bully him into letting her heal up. Lo and behold, when Shadowheart looked upon the cut again, it looked a week old, barely even the thin red line of a new scar left behind after mere hours. By midnight, she imagined, it would be gone completely. “I had no idea vampires healed that swiftly. Quite the perk, I suppose, in a sea of downsides?”

Astarion nodded and rolled his sleeve back down. “A ‘sea’ may be too small a measure, but yes. A quick turnaround on healing is…something,” he agreed.

She could hear unease in his voice and noted the careful way he spoke to her, which immediately made her suspicious. What did he want from her? Something to do with Áine? She didn’t get the impression that he was just trying to be friendly. “Did you want something, Astarion?” she asked more directly.

His jaw clenched faintly as he worked up what remained of his courage and Shadowheart watched with fascination as emotions flittered just under his surface, his statuesque face roiling with conflict. Finally, he met her eyes and said through his teeth, “I would like to request a lesson in how to tend Áine’s shoulder.”

Shadowheart’s brows shot into her bangs. “You—that’s all?” she asked, still a bit suspicious. She gave him a leering look of amusement that could have only been, he decided, at his expense as expected. “I would have expected the rake, the ‘master seducer’ himself to know how to give a nice massage. How could you skip over such a romantic staple in the manual?”

Astarion waited for her to get her gibes out of the way, only speaking when she fell silent again to wait for him to fight back. He wouldn’t lest he ruin his opportunity to glean the information he wanted, having embarrassed himself for nothing. “I didn’t skip it. I know how to give a massage,” Astarion said with strained patience that was new to Shadowheart and, honestly, new to him as well. “However, my aim isn’t to worsen her condition because I lack the medicinal know-how behind such things and am too proud to seek it out.”

Shadowheart properly felt like an arsehole for her provocation. Her eyes rounded with surprise at his borderline vicious display of earnestness barely concealed beneath a veil of politeness that cost him whatever quips he could have tossed her way.

She gave a quiet hmph of consideration before her head slowly tilted in a nod. “Very well. My apologies,” she said in equal earnest. Not thinking, Shadowheart reached toward Astarion’s shoulder to demonstrate only to have him deftly duck away from her touch, his features suddenly tensing as he wondered if this contact was a concrete condition on her part to teach him. Instead of dwelling on the miscommunication, Shadowheart scooped her supply pouch from the ground near the fire and pulled the drawstrings tight, using it as her dummy instead.

As she explained to him what she knew about using massage to aid old wounds, especially those with deep scarring in the tissue, he subconsciously leaned back in, paying close attention to how she positioned her hands on the pouch and how deeply she dug in. Shadowheart found his attention and the boyish turn his features took when he let his guard down alarmingly endearing and she began to worry that she’d severely misjudged the vampire up until this point.

She’d continued her lesson uninterrupted until a sharp tone from their bard across the clearing caused both Shadowheart and Astarion’s attention to shift to Áine and Gale in the midst of a confrontation.

Even after he spoke up, Gale figured he probably shouldn’t have said anything. He was fully out of sorts and had never felt so existential and dismal and utterly embittered. He was only half-aware of what he was doing, what he was saying. He’d gone into his tent after Elminster had taken his leave just to try and contain the fallout. A poor choice of words, all things considered.

He knew how it looked, how underhanded it seemed and probably felt to them as well that he’d failed to tell them the whole truth before it was told on his behalf. But he also couldn’t help but feel wronged. Ensconced in a negative aura only amplified by the orb inside him. Even dormant now, he could feel its cold, hungry tendrils still swirling paths beneath his skin. It was just no longer leeching from his life force, his power. Now it simply wrapped around his anger, his pain, and his disappointment like a most unwelcome embrace.

It sat barely stagnated by Mystra’s will all so he could live long enough to die conveniently. But sure, his failure to inform his companions about the dangers they might face due to the dangers he did face was of utmost precedent.

It was fair to say that Áine’s reaction had bothered Gale the most of anyone who had been present for Elminster’s explanation of his condition and delivery of Mystra’s missive. Perhaps because he’d had the most faith in her understanding his plight out of everyone present apart from perhaps Wyll and Karlach, who were both too empathetic for their own good.

“You’ve put everyone in danger by not telling us. How could you do that?”

She wasn’t wrong. But Áine had been the one helping him procure items, had fretted over him when they stopped working, and had assured him that they’d figure something out. And now that something was figured out, it was still an inconvenience to her that he hadn’t given her the truth in the first place. He was no longer a danger to them unless his moment to take the Absolute out of this plane with him happened to include their troop in the blast radius. It wasn’t as if he’d wanted any of this in the first place. He didn’t want to die. He’d simply been a fool in the past and he was still that same fool in many ways, he realized. He’d just not thought he was a fool for believing he meant something to them.

And now, for whatever reason, he was sabotaging himself further by picking a fight with the head of their group on the grounds of what he’d just witnessed down near Wyll’s camp. It had nothing to do with him, nothing to do with the hurt he felt, but he’d said it anyway and now he was doubling down because being angry was easier than being in pain.

“Pardon?” she inquired in response to his muttering that she’d only just caught the gist of.

Gale sighed through his nose and closed the book with more of a snap than was needed, leveling a look at her that made Áine tense. This wasn’t a face she’d seen of Gale’s—it hardly looked like the cheerful, sometimes gloomy wizard she’d come to know. Had Elminster not made dormant the dark energy in his chest, Áine may have started to wonder if this was his affliction looking at her through his eyes.

“I said,” Gale enunciated, “Wyll is right.”

Áine’s eyes narrowed, more in confusion than confrontation. Although she could feel herself bracing for another argument. “You’re going to have to give me a little more context than that, Gale.”

Gale looked at her as if she were stupid. This definitely wasn’t the Gale she’d come to know. Was this all because of how she’d reacted earlier? “Wyll is correct,” Gale said, “in that this—whatever this is—will come back to bite you. He’s already half-bored of you, I’m sure. He’ll get what he wants, be it blood or flesh, and then go on his merry way. As many would, not just him. Meanwhile, others who would stay—”

She failed to stop her hackles from going back up when he dragged her relationship with Astarion into their evidently ongoing spat. “What, like you?” Áine fired back, also tired of him not taking “no” for an answer. Her raised voice was enough to draw the attention of the others, including Shadowheart and Astarion near the fireside.

“Please, as if I’d want you after all you’ve put me through,” Gale snapped. “After all you’ve put us through. We nearly died back there for your poor judgment and leadership!”

Áine fell silent, shaken by his ire. When she spoke again, it was barely above a snarl. “How dare you. No one has ever forced you to follow me,” she gritted. “And I sure as hell won’t start now!”

“I think we’ve all endured enough conflict for at minimum a tenday,” came a tired voice from the fireside. Áine looked over her shoulder as she and Gale both met Shadowheart’s weary gaze, dark shadows under her eyes. Astarion sat near her, also warily looking between Gale and Áine but more as if he were anticipating a fight than hoping to prevent one.

Shadowheart gave them both a scolding look. “Tensions have run high enough recently without us all turning on each other… Although if there is to be a fight, at least give us time to get together a betting pool.”

At the commotion, Wyll had come up to stand near the bard and wizard facing off, one hand raised placatingly toward Gale. “If this is truly about what you overheard from our earlier conversation, there’s no need to attack her for it,” Wyll said, a stern edge to his voice but concern in his eyes. “If it’s not…then perhaps rather than fight, we can talk.”

Áine was visibly shaking, meeting her breaking point in full view of her companions and deeply ashamed for it. She avoided Wyll’s worried gaze when it fastened on her, her bleary eyes inspecting the dirt until she said without a single waver in her voice, “You are correct, doubtlessly so, but anything I might say at the moment I will later regret. I need some time.” And she quickly paced away from them both, avoiding everyone’s eyes until she disappeared into her tent.

Silence lingered after her departure, fragmented only by Wyll’s lowered voice as he tried to talk to Gale and Shadowheart picking back up what she’d been telling Astarion, both finding renewed importance in their exchange given the state Áine had left in.

Shadowheart had him repeat the kneading pattern she’d just shown him on the pouch they were now passing back and forth. “Good,” she said, watching how he pressed more firmly on the fabric under her instruction. “Assuming she lets you work on it for her—which she will, just maybe give her a little while to cool off—you’ll be able to feel where the tissue is the most damaged. Just gradually work from light to deeper pressure like we practiced and have her tell you if it hurts. That’s really all there is to it.”

Astarion nodded slowly and Shadowheart watched his jaw work again as he drummed up the courage or energy to say whatever he was about to say. She knew this time, however, to wait for him to say whatever it was before teasing him straight away. Cautiously, he said, “...Thank you for this. I appr—I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

Shadowheart gave him a humored look but allowed him the out. She only wanted to make sure he knew she was allowing it. “Of course. Happy to help.” The cleric watched his retreat with new consideration, feeling a little more at ease than she had before about the vampire her friend was swiftly falling head over heels for.

Astarion had given her a quick, exasperated smirk before he’d handed her back the supply pouch and rose from his seat. He glanced toward Áine’s tent before going and settling on the pillows near his own, one pointy ear perked to keep tabs on her resting heartbeat so he could try to catch her before she fell asleep but still give her time to decompress as Shadowheart had suggested.

After having a reason to talk at length with Shadowheart and ask her for something that she came through for him on, Astarion had an odd impulse to find an occasion to do so again. Was this what craving someone’s friendship felt like? He who had oft dismissed the usefulness of friends and scrunched his nose at the level of maintenance those near-useless relationships required?

Dismally, Astarion supposed he was growing a bit soft and had no one to blame but the bard that had rushed to her tent after being spurned by one of these very friendships. At least, that’s what it had seemed like. He had been so focused on what Shadowheart was saying in the moment that he’d only realized something was happening when Áine’s voice rose. He’d missed anything leading up to it, but from what he could gather, something had happened between Áine and Wyll down by his tent and Wyll wasn’t bothered by the turnout, but Gale for whatever reason was.

Astarion sniffed. That’s what they deserve for hitting on my bard, he thought dismissively, and for getting my hopes up yet again for an exciting before-bed brawl.

Astarion afforded Áine just under an hour before he set the book he’d been barely skimming aside and rose from his pillows to visit her tent. Her heart rate had lowered but wasn’t yet at the rhythm he’d learned it usually reached in sleep.

Something close to nervousness did creep in as he approached, however only because the path he was taking reminded him of the last time he’d attempted to visit her while she was upset and had been politely turned away. It would be no matter if she did so again, he told himself. She had every right to. Astarion just found himself very much hoping she wouldn’t.

He was so focused on his destination that a quick whistle from nearby gave him a start. Crimson eyes flickered toward the sound and located Shadowheart sitting outside her tent, waving him over when he made eye contact with her. Scratch had also taken the whistle as an invitation and bounded over to make several attempts to lick her face, which she dodged successfully until the very last one which painted a glistening trail of slobber across the Sharran’s cheek.

“Scratch, please,” she said insistently, but her features were soft and she gave his head an affectionate pat when he sat down more politely. To Astarion, she said, “Don’t follow his example or we’ll have an even angrier bard on our hands.”

Astarion snorted. “Why even call me over then, darling?” he bantered back, genuinely wondering what she wanted all the same. Perhaps he was finally in for a “don’t break my best friend’s heart” speech.

Instead, Shadowheart held out a tiny bottle of pale yellow liquid. Astarion took it, raising it to his nose and giving it an experimental sniff. Lavender oil.

Running her hand over Scratch’s back as he laid down next to her, Shadowheart regarded Astarion with a conflicted but kind expression. “You’re all set now,” she said. He inclined his head in silent thanks, rolling the bottle between his fingertips as he turned to walk away. “Oh, and Astarion?” Astarion stopped, just turning his head to let her know he was listening. “I’m beginning to think I was mistaken about you… Keep proving me wrong.”

Astarion tsked at her words and carried on his way to Áine’s tent, leaving Shadowheart with a faint smirk playing on her lips. She looked down at Scratch, who met her eyes with his own shiny brown stare. “What do you think?” she asked, laughing when Scratch’s tail began thumping the dirt in response. “I’m starting to think so, too.”

Astarion resumed his route to Áine’s tent and cleared his throat once he was just outside. He heard her quiet “yes?” from inside and he responded in kind, “May I?”

Inside, Áine sat with her lute leaned against her bad shoulder, using the joint more as a prop in its useless state while she plucked at the strings with her other hand. She’d found solace in her solitude, but at hearing Astarion’s voice outside her tent, solitude suddenly didn’t seem so appealing. “Sure,” she said with ease, offering him a smile when he entered.

Astarion returned her smile, ever alarmed at how swiftly his walls started to crumble whenever they found some time just for themselves. Similarly to how she’d felt when he’d first invited her to spend the night with him in his tent, he was suddenly struck by the intimate notion of coexisting with her in her private quarters. The very air hanging around him smelled like her. It was a kind of bliss. “How are you doing, my dear?” he asked.

“Better now,” she said, setting her lute aside. He first thought she was saying that she felt better after her earlier spat with Gale, but the sweet tilt of her smile made him realize that she was saying she was better now…that he was there. Would he ever grow used to her flirting with him or would it always send nonsensical heat to the very tips of his ears? “You?”

“Also better,” Astarion suggested, sitting across from her on one of the many throw pillows she’d formed into a nest in her tent. “And a bit worse for wear, too, after today, but aren’t we all. How is your shoulder?”

Áine blushed, her hand subconsciously running across the curve of the joint in question. “It’s…well, it’s how I should expect it to be after the stunts I pulled,” she admitted, deciding against playing it off to him. “In a day or so it should correct itself. It just takes time.”

Astarion nodded, suddenly shy about the proposition he’d been preparing for all night. How was it that suggesting they have sex out in a field for the first time had felt easier than offering her a shoulder massage? That they were different forms of intimacy was the answer to that question, but Astarion wasn’t yet in a place to differentiate. “May I try to help?” he asked, the words awkward as they tumbled from his lips.

Áine regarded him with confused surprise and it was all he could do to keep himself from rescinding the offer to protect his fragile ego. His panic ebbed when her expression softened and she said, “If you’d like to. I appreciate you.”

Astarion felt relieved and tried to brush off the sentimentality that bubbled up when she said she specifically appreciated him, not what he did for her alone. He raised himself just enough out of his seated position to crawl forward and settle himself behind her. Áine took the hint and scooted forward to give him space and he couldn’t help but tease her by dodging in to bury his face in her neck. She muffled a yelp that still came out as a small squeak, which was even more embarrassing, especially because she knew that his entire goal had been to mess with her.

Redfaced, she glared down at his silvery curls as he chuckled against her throat and dropped a kiss across his old bitemarks. Áine couldn’t help the way her glare fell away to leave a smirk in its place, shaking her head at Astarion’s antics. Leave it to him to ease her mind about everything still going on outside her tent. The world still turned and the person swiftly becoming her world turned, too. Turned to settle in behind her and reach around her shoulders to untie her shirt laces, the icy tips of his fingers tracing soothing trails across her still stress-flushed skin as they moved.

Astarion let her shirt pool off Áine’s shoulders, leaving it up to her whether or not she took it off fully. He smoothed her hair away from her scarred shoulder and withdrew the vial of oil from his sleeve, popping the cap with an easy twist of his fingers. When Áine caught a familiar whiff of lavender, she started to ask, “Isn’t that—?”

“Shadowheart’s? It is,” Astarion admitted, his expression guarded even though she had her back to him. His palms and fingertips slick with the fragrant oil, he thought back to the practice rounds Shadowheart had instructed him through on her medical pouch and carefully placed his fingertips against Áine’s scars, feeling her shiver a little under his hands when he did. Silvery brows pulled together in concentration and he murmured, “Tell me if anything starts to hurt, darling.”

Áine was still trying to figure out how he’d managed to pilfer that massage oil from Shadowheart when he started investigating her shoulder, her shiver having more to do with anyone touching her scars than the now-familiar feel of his hands on her body. She nodded in reply to his request, drawing the calming lavender scent deep into her lungs and letting her eyes close as she urged her muscles to relax. Relaxation was a difficult thing to manage in the current climate of their circumstances, but she tried.

When Astarion began to massage the scar tissue riddling the span of her shoulder joint, Áine noted the similarities in the ways his hands kneaded her aching muscles and how Shadowheart had addressed them on their accidental date. In fact, the patterns that he was carefully pressing into her flesh were almost identical. When Áine realized that, she wondered if—given the fact that he also inexplicably had the massage oil she’d used and hadn’t bragged about thieving it—Shadowheart had supplied him with the oil and told him how to work on her shoulder.

Curiously, Áine asked, “Did Shadowheart put you up to this?” She felt his hands still, maintaining their pressure but ceasing their movement, and she hastened to add, “I’m just being nosy and you should just ignore me. Just, um, please don’t stop. This is helping.”

She heard him snort softly behind her, but he continued his work after using his pause to stretch his hands. Áine was cursing herself for prying when he surprised her by breaking his silence, his voice a quiet, focused lull.

“No one put me up to anything, dearest,” he murmured, learning the extent and complexities of her old injuries through touch. “And you should know by now that I’m hardly capable of ignoring you.”

Áine smiled to herself, closing her eyes again and leaning back against his hands. At some point, after her shoulder had loosened up a little from the careful work he’d put into it, Astarion’s hands ran with new purpose over her bared skin. The bard’s smile skewed toward amusement as she adjusted her position so she could face him, getting scooped into straddling his lap by those talented hands of his along the way.

Facing him, Áine found herself simply content to get lost in his eyes and admire the lines of his face, the curl of his hair, the knife’s edge of his jaw, and the dramatic point of his ears. She raised her fingertips to stroke his cheek, trailing them toward his hairline and through his locks, gratified when he leaned into her hand. The corner of his mouth lifted in a coy smirk. “Like what you see, little love?” he purred.

“You know I do,” she said, gently caressing the long elven sweep of his ear in the way she’d learned he liked, eliciting a pleasurable hum from his throat. She’d seen him become gradually more and more comfortable with her, even when he was clearly still combatting whatever hells he’d been through that she’d yet to—or would never—learn of. Áine was proud of him and honored to be part of what helped to heal the wounds in his heart, even if she did end up being just a passing fancy for him in the end.

His crimson eyes searched hers, heavy-lidded with his momentary bliss. “And what is it you see?” he coaxed her, wondering if any of her answers had changed from the last time he’d asked her to be his mirror.

Her answer had changed, just not in the way he expected. Áine had parted her lips to reply, but hesitated, her features becoming contemplative before she finally asked, “Would you like me to show you?”

“Hm?” Astarion hummed, baffled until he caught where she might be going with this. “You mean to use the tadpole? …Would that work?”

“It’s not a mirror or a reflection, so I don’t see why it wouldn’t unless I’m missing something obvious,” she mused. “I can try if you want.”

Astarion hesitated in turn, his curiosity and vanity both stirring to the surface. He was nervous though. What if what he saw horrified him? He’d never seen himself as a vampire and had endured so long and so much without seeing his own face he hardly knew what he looked like anymore. He knew because he’d been told with varying degrees of kindness that he was what society deemed beautiful, but what had that been worth in the end?

“I can just do what we did before,” Áine offered when he stayed silent and clearly conflicted. “What did we say… Ah, ‘shallow praise,’ as it were?”

He chuckled faintly, but it felt hollow around the anxious lump that had formed in his throat. “No, I… I would like to try,” Astarion said. Suddenly he found himself admitting to her exactly what was unnerving him and it felt like confessing a sin to the only goddess he believed could forgive him. “I’m wary of seeing myself after so long. Seeing what I’ve become.”

Áine’s eyes softened and she raised her other hand to gently cup his face, feeling his grip on her waist tightening as if she were a lifeline. “We can stop whenever you’d like, as with everything,” she murmured. His heart gave a painful pang and only after he nodded for her to go ahead did Áine use the illithid tadpole to open up her mind to him, a little nervous herself.

Astarion felt when she opened for him, her consciousness unfurling like a flower as she closed her eyes to concentrate. He admired her for a moment, having half a mind just to kiss her senseless and avoid his fears altogether. With his hands still rooted to her waist to ground him in the present moment, he let his mind join with hers.

He was startled initially when he was met with darkness, but as he settled into her sentience and his initial wariness of the connection itself waned, he realized that her eyes were just still closed. He could feel the way her lashes brushed against the apples of her cheeks. He could feel her heart beating as if it were in his chest, her lungs filling with air and exhaling in even time. Her calm body managed to calm him and Astarion gathered that she could sense his nerves in kind because it was only after he steadied himself that she opened her eyes.

The pale elf sat bewildered and shaken as he stared into his own eyes for the first time in two centuries. The planes of his face he could only trace with his fingertips and try to make sense of came into focus, a stranger more familiar than anything he’d ever known. His hair didn’t surprise him, so that must have been the same for the most part. Astarion couldn’t quite recall seeing these lines in this face before this moment, but they did little to catch his vanity in comparison to the bright red eyes taking all of this in.

He remembered how she’d asked him what color his eyes had once been the first time—the only time—they’d talked about the access he’d lost to his own appearance. In mirror and memory. Another thing taken from him. Another thing she’d found a way to offer him back.

He wished he could remember. Maybe it was better that he couldn’t. And when his jaw dropped slightly at seeing just how vividly the red irises shone in the dim light, he saw the points of his fangs just past his parted lips. Astarion curled his lip back to get a better look, the tip of his tongue running along one of the sharp tips with new understanding. They weren’t as big as they sometimes, especially in his early days as a vampire spawn, had felt in his mouth.

“Are you alright?” Áine asked gently through their connection, her voice skimming his inner thoughts like a kind touch. It took him a moment to realize that she was asking him this now in real time and he wasn’t remembering another time that she’d checked on him. He acknowledged with a tug at his chest that there would be plenty of those instances for him to pull from.

“I believe I am,” he replied similarly, although he could see on his own face that he felt a bit troubled. “It’s both as alarming and not as much as I’d expected.”

Áine’s hands had remained gently cupped against his face throughout the process and his gaze left his own features to perceive how her strong yet delicate hands lingered and traced reassuring lines against his cheekbones. He found himself lightly prodding around the vision she offered him, a new question surfacing that made him even more curious and still more wary.

She felt his conflict as he searched the piece of her awareness she’d lent to him. “Something else?” she asked, removing one of her hands from his face to rub at her eyes, which had watered a little from her attempt to limit her blinking while he studied himself.

“I want to see how you see me,” Astarion told her and his expression grew vulnerable in both their minds’ eyes. “Just you.”

That made Áine a touch nervous. She knew what he was asking of her—he wanted her to let the barrier she’d put around her feelings down so he could experience her perception of him in full. She’d originally tried to stow her bias so he could just see himself as he was without her weigh-in, but now that he was requesting that, too, she was worried it would be too much. What if she scared him off? What if he laughed at her?

Ultimately it came down to a single, simple question that tended to shake her to her core regardless of who it referenced. Did she trust him?

The answer was just as simple, if not just as foolish. She did.

Astarion felt her throat tighten like it was his own right before the barriers he’d been testing were removed. He saw himself precisely as he’d seen himself before through her eyes, but the emotion that poured in with the sight of him this time made his eyes go wide and his jaw fall slack. His chest constricted. There was no sense to what he was experiencing through her, of hers, and yet he was experiencing it in full and in real-time. Her anxiety about baring more of herself to him, her concern for him and whether or not this had been a healthy thing to offer him, a lingering sadness that came from seeing the conflict flitting through his features, and more than all of that…

…ardent care and compassion. So ardent that he could feel it burning in his chest. Shocked into stillness, he could only watch as she gave him a sort of tour of his own features that he’d just been deliberating over in untouched neutrality with only his opinions for reference. Áine traced over the bow of his lips, the currently flushed tips of his ears, the regal line of his nose and jaw, and lastly his soulful, widened crimson eyes. And the more she showed him, the more she admired him, the more unabashed she felt in her reverence.

When finally using the parasite began to feel taxing to her, Áine screwed her eyes shut, letting go of the connection and trying to refocus her vision. She opened her eyes, wondering if all of that had been too much until she met Astarion’s eyes, his vision his own again, and saw the tears streaming down his face.

Áine’s eyes widened and she instinctively smoothed the tears away even as more came, an apology springing to her lips to atone for whatever she’d done.

An apology he kissed away like a man starving.

Thank you.

Next chapter: Chapter 14, "In Waters Deep"

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hellaverse-critical-confessions · 3 months

Note

I have seen many clips of Hazbin Hotel. And while I do enjoy some of it (some of the songs, Alastor and Vox in general) I do have to admit as well there is stuff I do not like.

I do not like how rushed the show is. If each episode is supposed to be a month like everyone claims then jesus fuck that is just…bad…bad story writing. And leaves very little for development. Angel has the most development as of now I believe?

Then there is some of the characters, mainly Mimzy and Cherri Bomb. They are…not good. Mimzy is a selfish brat, but then again I think she was originally always supposed to be that way so I will give her some slack there. But Cherri Bomb feels like someone who wants to reenforce unhealthy coping mechs, which sucks since she is Angel’s friend. Now I should state, I remember Hazbin and got into it when it was just a Pilot and the Addict music video was our only source of canon Hazbin content, so maybe i am bias in that front. But ughh. Idk man. Maybe its because im happy Angel is improving himself i dont want someone else to ruin that for him :/.

And this is more fandom critical so I hope u dont mind but. I really fucking hate the shipping wars going on. Especially now since Hells Greatest Dad where Alastor says Charlie can call him dad to get under Lucifer’s skin. Vizie, who will i have problems with, told people they could go nuts with shipping i believe in an old tweet! But noooo. Just fight fight fight. But even then, how the fandom reacts in gen is why i rather stay on the sidelines and just talk about the show with friends. The fandom is fucking scary :(.

I've seen rumors around that they've had things progress at the pace of your average tween-produced Wattpad fanfiction because they couldn't certainly count on a second season... which to my knowledge, they will be getting, so that makes the decision sadder in hindsight.

But I do feel you in that last paragraph, Anon. Sometimes it's best to chill in a corner with our shows and keep a great distance from all the empassioned lunatics.

#confession #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel critical #Mimzy's design annoys me because she's supposed to be from the 1920s and her costume is super stereotypical #and I AM into something set in the 1920s (Lackadaisy) so the difference is pretty glaring #not that I really uh. watched her ep either. most Hazbin Hotel exposure I get is from Spilling The Milk videos #good channel. do recommend

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writing-with-emy · 10 months

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Tw: sh

Idk if you’d be comfortable writing this (if you are not, no worries) but i was just wondering if you would write a poguesxf!reader where the reader comes off as a really happy and genuine person but is secretly struggling with self harm and is cutting herself and the pogues find out or see blood or something and she tries to play it off as nothing but they figure it out and convince her that she’s not a burden and then they all help her get help/get better in their own ways? Again if you’re not comfortable that’s totally fine, I know it’s heavy stuff.

FOREVER WINTER - Pogues x F!Reader

OBX MASTERLIST | PROMPTS | Requests are open!

Shipping: Pogues x F!Reader (platonic) Summary: Above in the request! Word counts: 3.880 words Warnings: explicit content and mentions of self harm, depression, suicidal Thoughts, self-hatred, swear words, mentions of drinking

A/N: Please do not read it if you struggle with something of the above, if you do read it, please keep in mind that you are loved and wanted! YOU ARE ENOUGH! I have put some Numbers under the Imagine if you want/need them. if you know someone who struggles with this or any other mental health issue, please be there for them, they need them and check on your loved ones you never know what there going through right at given moment. And as always, feel open to correct when/if you see writing/grammar mistakes! (Not part of the Eras festival!)

„That’s definitely not true.“, you Heard the voice of Pope going through the whole chateau. „Of course it is. I read it on Wikipedia.“, JJ threw back at Pope, like it was obviously the best and most reliable source of the Internet. The rest of it was blended out because of the Major Headache you got, maybe you shouldn‘t have drank so much last night at the bonfire party.

You let out an unidentified sound and tried to hide from the sun who shines into the window of yours and JJs room you sometimes shared at John B's place. You put a pillow on your face trying to make it darker, but that doesn‘t help to blend out the laughter coming from the living room. You were still wearing your sweater from last night, better to say you still wore your whole outfit from last night, but the sweater was the important part of it, it was your try to hide the wounds that came to your arm two nights prior. You‘ve been struggling with your mental health for quite a while actually, but your friends didn‘t need to know that. They didn‘t need to know, that your parents, who just were freshly separated, gave you a shit ton of stress because of your friends who weren‘t Kooks or that your grades started to go down or people like Rafe Cameron and his friends who loves to give a lot of shitty remarks on the way you dress or look because you were hanging with the Pogues. No, they didn‘t need to know that and to be fair as much as you tried to talk you into the mindset that it was just a phase of feeling shitty, the wanting of actually ending everything came way more often from day to day. Way more often than you wanted to admit Because you just felt like a burden to everyone and everything.

You had no Idea how long you laid in bed after you woke up, but once you heard the door open you turned to it and saw JJ coming in. „Hey there sleeping beauty, finally awake?“, he asked, walking to the dresser. „I‘ve been for a while.“, you said, forcing a smile and furrowing your brows together because of the headache. „What got a headache?“, he asked seeing your forced smile and the together furrowed brows You just nodded, laying your head against the Pillows. „Well, I don‘t like saying it but, I told you not to drink so much, so.. I told you so.“. He said, smirking. „Just shut up, you‘re the reason I‘m even awake.“, you said laughing slightly. „You didn‘t just say that.“ he gasped, putting a hand on his chest. „Yes I did, what do you wanna do about it?“, you asked, grinning slyly at him. What you didn‘t expect was him taking your pillow and throwing it in your face. „Are you serious?“, you grumbled under the pillow. „Yes.“, he said and you didn‘t even need to look to know he has his shit eating grin on looking at you. You took your pillow, throwing it back in his face, before sitting up hearing your stomach grumble. „I‘m gonna grab something to eat, do whatever you wanted to do when you came in.“, you said, getting up from the bed and going out.

When you came Into the living room you saw John B, Kie and Pope together on the couch talking. John B waa the first to notice you. „Hey, she is awake!“, raising his Coca Cola Can in the air. „Ayyy.“, Pope and Kie said, raising theirs.

You wanted to say something but your stomach came first and grumbled loudly which made everyone laugh.

„I‘m gonna grab something to eat, and then I‘m right back.“, you said smiling, before going to the kitchen. You made yourself some toast with whatever was left over and grabbed yourself a Can of Coca Cola. „So what were you guys talking about earlier?“, you asked, throwing yourself next to Kie. „Oh, JJ just told us a stupid fact about Phineas and Ferb which wasn‘t true.“, Pope said. You just nodded while taking a bite from your toast. „Why are you still wearing the stuff from last night?“, Kie changed the subject. „Oh.. I just forgot to bring clothes to change into, I‘m just gonna drive home later to change and shower before coming back.“, you said, hoping they would believe you. You knew you could always borrow something from John B since he lives here and even from JJ because half of his clothes are here. „Why didn‘t you ask? I could‘ve given you some spare clothes for the night.“, John B stated something you already knew. „I know I just was probably too drunk to think about that.“, you said, giving John B your best smile you could spare right now.

He let it be because pope stated that you were actually really drunk last night, more than usual.

–

A few hours later you came home, hoping that your mother wasn‘t home right now, but to your luck she was.

„Where were you last night, I told you to come straight home after the Bonfire.“, she said, trying to keep calm but slightly failing at it. You knew when your mom was angry, nostrils flared, eyes wide with anger and her cheeks had a slight tone of red which wasn‘t cursed because of her rouge she normally wore. „I slept over at some friends house, I was too drunk to drive and I forget to text you I‘m sorry.“, you knew you didn‘t need to say their names, she already knew where you were so no need to lying, at least that would take away some steam, telling the truth was better than lying to her in those kind of situations. „And were your so-called friends the reason you drank so much?“, she asked, putting quote marks to the “friends” parts. „No I wanted it myself, they tried to stop me even but I didn‘t let them.“, you knew whatever you say, she wouldn‘t believe you when it came to the Pogues,

But to your surprise she just nodded.

„You're grounded for the next two weeks, no Pogues, no drinking and no phone.“, she said, putting her hand out. You turned off your phone before giving it to her. „Now, up to your room, and take a shower you smell like a whole bar of old drunk man.“, she said, scrunching her nose in disgust. You nodded walking up the stairs to your room.

You took off all your clothes, throwing them in your laundry basket, before taking new stuff out and going into your bathroom. You turn the Water on steaming hot before going in and let the heat relax your muscles. You laid your head back letting the hot water hit your face trying to calm your haughty who are spiraling right now. When you looked down you saw your cuts which are starting to heal, the crust on them in a dark red–brownish color the feeling and wanting to cut again coming back up. You finish your shower quickly, before heading out and putting a white towel around your body. Back in your room you sit on your bed, thinking but before you knew it you had a new blade in your hand while standing in your bathroom. The door behind you was closed and locked so your mom couldn‘t come in, you turned the shower on again so she wouldn’t hear you.

And there you were standing in front of your mirror just blankly staring at yourself in your towel with still damp hair, the short time outside nearly drying your hair since today was a really hot day in the outer banks. You knew your friends wanted to look for fish and go swimming out with the boat, but you couldn't resist the urge no matter how hard you tried.

(A/N: I give you the chance of skipping this part because is getting more explicit here with the self harm, so feel free to skip <3)

You just stared and the thoughts came rushing in your head. They don‘t want you. You are just a burden. You are a burden for your family, your friends and the people around you. You are just a piece of shit. You are worth nothing. You are not worthy of love. Do you really think your parents love you? You are.. You.. ..

You couldn‘t bear it anymore, you just grabbed the blade and set the first cut, then the second and the third. You just started going wild, and after you could see the one arm not anymore because of the blood, you started on the other arm, just going absolutely feral like a wild animal trying to kill its prey. You didn‘t even notice that you started crying while doing it, you stopped when your other arm was also full with your own blood.

(A/N: It’s over here, I didn‘t wanted it to Long )

You let the razor blade fall into the sink, breaking down crying not realizing that your blood is dripping in the sink, on the floor and on your towel which you have to throw away later. You just cried, cried because you felt unworthy of anything, friends, love, parents, anything that is normal in someone’s life. And it was triggered just by the little argument with your mom, what you couldn‘t even call that. You had no Idea how long you sat on the bathroom floor crying, but once you calmed down, you got up, you washed your arms free from the blood, the water slightly burning in your fresh wounds, but you tried to make no noise. Before you did anything else, you grabbed your first aid kit from your bathroom cabinet and put bandages around your arms, firmly enough to hopefully stop the bleeding. You changed in your room, you just throw on some shorts, a shirt and a new sweater, before putting on your shoes and throwing some spare clothes in a backpack and climbing out of your window, you had luck that under your window was the roof of the Garage and that your Mom hadn‘t took away your car keys.

Once you got into your car you turned the engines on and drove away. You saw your mom running out, yelling at you from the rearview mirror but you turned on your radio and drove to the Chateau. Was it stupid? Yes. Would you be in more trouble afterwards? Yes. Did you care right now? Absolutely fucking not.

–

The engine turned off once you turned the key, the radio dying instantly, you watched your friends getting the boat ready for a little trip like usual. You just sit there quietly, thinking if you really wanted to go with them, or if you would just be a burden for them? You took a deep breath before mumbling under your breath „fuck it.“, you took your backpack and got out of your car, walking towards them.

„Hey she is back!“ JJ yelled, with two fishing rods in his hands. „Yeah, and guess who is grounded for two weeks?“, you grinned at him. „And then you are here?“, Pope asked. „Well, I don‘t really care. I mean she can‘t contact me, while she is the one who has my phone.“, you laughed. „That’s my girl.“, JJ grinned, giving Pope the Rods before putting an arm around your shoulders. „Well, looks like I have another guest for those two weeks.“, John B said, putting the buckets down. „I‘m just bringing my Backpack in and then I‘m right back outside.“, you said, wending out of JJs arm, going Inside, throwing your backpack on the bed.

–

Like 15 minutes later you guys were on the way to a place where the water would be deep enough to swim and to fish, once you guys found the place, you stopped the boat and let the anchor down.

After a while you had now Idea how much time is passing by, you just realized the sun is slowly starting to settle down, while laughing absolutely hard at one or JJs stupid Jokes, you had funny and actually forget what Made broke down earlier, actually you had pushed those memories and feelings so far back in your brain, that you forgot that you had bandages around both of your underarms when you rolled up your sleeves. You were at first confused as to why everyone quieted down, but when you looked at your arms, you remembered what you did early and faster put them down again looking at every single one of your friends who just stared at you.

„Y/N..“, Pope started. „Yeah?“, you asked like nothing happened. „Why Did you have bandages around your arms?“, kie asked straightly. „What?“, you tried to act innocent, not to let anything shine through. „You know what we mean.“ John B said. „Nope.“, you said while sipping your drink.

And that started an argument about why you have bandages around your underarms.

„Y/N, come on, you can tell us when something is going on.“, JJ said. „Nothing is going on, I had an accident.. that’s all.“, you said, shrugging with your shoulders. „An accident on both of your arms?“, Pope asked, not believing a single word you just said. „Yep.“, you nodded, trying to not let your eyes get watery.

They stared at you again for some time, just in pure disbelief you would lie them blankly in the face.

„I‘m okay guys, it‘s nothing.“. You tried laughing it off. „Stop telling us that you‘re okay, when you‘re clearly not.“, Throwed JJ in getting mad at the fact that you kept your problems away from them.

You just kept quiet looking away, trying to hold in your tears that started brimming in your eyes.

„You know what, you don‘t need to tell us anything..yet. We can just sit here, it's okay.“, Kie said, putting a hand on your shoulder. „But we can‘t help you, if you don‘t let us.“, Pope said, coming to your other side putting a hand on your other shoulder. „I know.. I just don‘t want to cry.. I feel.. Fuck, I feel so stupid for crying.“, you said looking up in the sky, still tryongnto hold those tears in. „Hey.. It‘s Okay to cry.“, John B said, squatting down in front of you, turning and holding your face in his hands so you look at him. „It‘s okay.“, he said, looking you in the eyes. „They‘re right Y/N, all of them.“, JJ said, squatting down next to John B.

You nodded, finally letting your tears break out. The four of them started hugging you in a big hug, all of them embracing you in a hug full of love, a hug that feels like comfort and Home. Once you let go of them, and they let go of you, you told them everything, what’s been going on, the remarks of rafe that were worsened when your friends weren‘t with you, the divorce of your parents plus them hating on your friends and very little else.

„Why didn‘t you tell us that earlier?“, Kie asked. „I didn‘t wanted to be a burden, which I probably am right now, I didn‘t wanted you to put all that on you, especially at the start of the divorce of my parents, I just fell into that habit of hurting myself, when I came home it just was the worst I have ever been with this feeling, I didn‘t even realized, that I was doing it so much and so fast, I just wanted to quiet down my thoughts. I wanted to drain them out and not feel anything..“, you explain to them. „You aren‘t a burden, who told you that.“, John B stated. „Well, I actually heard my Mom say it on the phone while the divorce was still going on. She was discussing it with my father who would keep me. They talked about me like I was an object and not a person.“, you said, staring at your hands.

You didn‘t have to look to know that everyone was looking at you with pitying faces.

„You aren‘t a burden, your mom is fucking stupid to say stuff like this, she doesn‘t deserve you.“, JJ said standing up. You looked at him while everyone said his name in shock. „No he is right..“, you started. „But I don‘t really want to talk about it anymore.. can we switch the theme?“, you asked, drying your eyes with the arms of your sweater.

–

When you were back at the Chateau, you felt someone putting their arm around your shoulders.

„Don‘t worry, we‘re getting you away from that, and out of that dark hole.“, Kie said, going next to you. „Yeah definitely, we‘re gonna kick their asses.“, JJ said, coming next to you with a bucket full of fish. „Thank you guys, you really make me feel safe.“, you said with a light smile. „Yep, and we aren‘t going anywhere anytime soon.“, Pope said, while JJ put his arm around your waist. „Right, and you‘re gonna stay here as long as you need to. See the chateau as your clinic now, and we are doctors and nurses to help you.“, John B said, walking in front of you guys with the other bucket in hand. „I don‘t know if I want JJ as my Doctor or my nurse.“, you said jokingly. „Hey, what does that mean?“he asked, offended. „I think I would be a great nurse or a doctor.“, he started trying to walk past you, Kie and pope, tripping and nearly falling on his face in the process. „Try to learn to walk straight first.“, you said a grin slipping its way on your Lips.

–

„Hey what’s wrong, pretty face?“, JJ asked, sitting down next to you. „I don‘t know if I‘m doing the right thing, whilst staying away from my mom and stuff you know..“, you said.

The two weeks where you normally would’ve been grounded, past way two fast, it’s the beginning of week three, and you actually didn‘t harm yourself in those three weeks. Well, nearly, you tried it a few times secretly, but you were always stopped luckily.

„You‘re doing the right thing.“, JJ said, putting an arm around your shoulder pulling you closer to him. „Then why does it feel so wrong to me.?“, you asked, leaning against him and putting your head on his shoulder. „Well, you Mom expected you to live after her and do everything to make her happy and be at her standards, but right now you‘re focusing on you and not her, that’s probably why.“, he said, drawing little things on your shoulder while leaning his head against yours. „Can we like, I don‘t know cuddle for a bit? I just want to be close to someone for a little bit. Is that okay?“, you asked JJ, looking up at him. „Yeah totally.“, he said.

You both lie down on the bed you're sitting on to cuddle, which actually helped with the way you were feeling.

–

Today was a bad day, a very bad day. You were out with the Pogues like you were for the last few weeks, the last Month you and the Pogues went out nearly every single day and today was not different. You either went to the Wreck, to the beach to surf, out on the boat, or just drove around in the Twinkie even in the middle of the night.

All those things actually helped get you away from your thoughts, well it went well until today. You didn‘t know what was wrong, but today just fell off even though you were excited, because today was a Little movie show near the beach, and you guys decided to go there and watch the movie, that was until Rafe Cameron needed to make a remark. You tried to ignore it, but when he and his friends started laughing, you couldn't bear it and just ran away. You didn‘t make it war away, just war enough to hide between the cars at the Twinkie.

You started crying once you were alone, that just sat you off and ruined it.

„Hey.. Hey..“, you Heard John B coming towards you, before sitting next to you on the floor and pulling you against his chest. „It‘s okay, you‘re okay.“, he said, straddling your head. „I‘m sorry, I didn‘t want to ruin it. I tried to be strong, but I just couldn‘t once they laughed. I‘m so so sorry that I‘m so fucking weak and need to cry..“, you croaked against his chest. „Hey don‘t say that.. This? These tears are not a weakness. This right now is not a weakness.. This all shows how strong you are and how strong you‘ve been. And when you‘re done, look back and know that you were strong enough to overcome what you once thought to be impossible, alright?a, he asked, holding your face in his hands.

You just nodded sniffling. He gave you a kiss on your forehead before pulling you again against his chest.

„Did you really need to punch him in the face JJ?“, Popes' voice was heard. „Yes.“, the speaker answered. „Well, This whole thing sucked, so let’s just go home and watch a movie there.“, Kie said looking at you and John B, who now were sitting in the open twinkie. „Yeah let’s do that.“, you said, giving them a little smile.

Back at the chateau, you guys watched some old movie that John B had there. You were sitting next to JJ, when you looked at him shortly, before putting your head on his shoulder.

„Thank you for Punching Rafe.“, you whispered. „No need to thank me.“, he whispered back. You just smile softly for yourself.

–

A few months later, you started to stay just for a few days at your mothers since her house doesn‘t really feel like a home anymore. To your surprise she couldn‘t care less, a few months ago you would‘ve cried about that fact, but since you way over that because of your friends that are your family now, you also couldn‘t care less. Today you were back at the chateau, drinking and having fun with your friends, when something came to your mind.

„I never said, 'Thank you‘, did I?“, you said out of nowhere. „For what?“, John B asked, with everybody agreeing. „For.. Well.. Everything you did for me the past few months.“, you said smiling looking at every single one of them. „You don‘t need to thank us for that.“, Kie said. „Yeah, that‘s what friends are there for.“, Pope said. „No.“, JJ said, getting everyone off guard. „What?“, everyone said in sync. „We are not friends, we are a family. That‘s what a family is there for.“, he said standing up looking in your eyes.

Smiling, you stand up with JJ raising your Can Beer in the air.

„On us and all the years in the future we hopefully stay like this. Cheers!“, you said looking at your family. „On Us!“, everyone cheers with you taking a sip from their drinks.

All of these Numbers are available 24/7 and charge Free

–USA: 988 (suicide & life crisis lifeline) 1-866-488-7386 (The Trevor project) 678-678 (Trevor project Text [text START]) 1-877-565-8860 (Trans Lifeline)

–UK: 0800 689 5653 (National Suicide Prevention) 0800 068 4141 (Hopline 247 / PAPYRUS) ^07860039967 (Text)

–Switzerland: 143 (die Dargebotene Hand)

–Sweden: 90101 (Självmordslinjen)

–Netherlands: 0800 0113 (Stichting 113Online)

–Irland: 116 123 (Samaritans)

–Germany: 0800 111 0 111 or 0800 111 0 222 (Telefonseelsorge)

–France: 3114 (didn‘t found a name) 1-877-330-6366 (Fil santé jeunes)

–Canada: 1-833-456-4566 (Talk Suicide Canada) 1-877-330-6366 (Trans lifeline)

–Brazil: 188 (Centro de Valorização)

–Austria: 142 (Telefonseelsorge [Samaritan Telephone])

–Australia: 13 11 14 (Lifeline) 1800 55 1800 (Kids Helpline [ages 5-25])

If you want the numbers for your country tell me in the comments🫶🏻

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