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amorisxx · 8 months ago

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Snickerdoodle pt. iv

pairing: Art Donaldson x reader, Patrick Zweig x reader, Tashi Duncan x reader summary: Art comes out of retirement to test out his coaching skills. Your relationship with him continues to spiral. warnings: smut 18+, cheating, divorce, rough sex, piv, marijuana use, slight angst, hastily proofread word count: 7.7K divider by @cafekitsune <3 prev part | next part

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

Kaleb decides he wants to play tennis. Or that he wants to “get serious” about it. He’d done tennis camp every summer along with soccer camp, and he’d enjoyed it enough. But for some reason, he’s determined to be a tennis player now. You blame it on how much time he’s been spending around the Donaldson’s. Between the various play dates and carpooling, he and Lily have been attached at the hip.

The two of you are enjoying a quiet evening on a weeknight when he brings it up.

“Lily doesn’t really like tennis,” he tells you in between bites of mashed potatoes.

“Well that’s okay. Sometimes our friends end up having different hobbies,” you say.

“Hm,” he puts his finger to his chin, “kinda like you and Mr. Art?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well he’s like the greatest tennis player ever,” he says, spreading his arms out wide. “But you’re terrible at tennis. And you guys are friends right?”

His assertion has you placing your fork down. “Okay, first of all, I’m not terrible at tennis. Secondly, it’s really not fair to compare me to a professional tennis player, K, he’s had years of practice.” Then, you reluctantly think of the last thing he said. About the two of you being friends.

Images of Art kneeling above you in bed dance through your mind. You think of the last time you were with him. How he’d laid his cheek on your thigh while you threaded your fingers through his tufts of blonde hair. His gaze searing as he watched you in all your post-orgasmic bliss. Your chest was still heaving as you tried to recover.

You clear your throat.

“Yeah, um, I guess we are friends.” You avoid eye contact with Kaleb and pray he changes the subject. You don’t want to think about Art.

Unfortunately, your son is too young to properly read the room. If he was, he’d see the way you’re clenching your fork in your fist. Or he would’ve realized by now that his mom is a harlot. Instead of calling you out on your immorality, he turns to you with express earnestness. “I wanna play tennis like Mr. Art,” he says definitively.

He then furrows his little eyebrows and asks you, “you think I can be as good as him one day?”

You smile, reach over to smooth your palm over his curls, and tug his ear. You say what every parent would. “I think you can do whatever you put your mind to, my little monkey.”

He grins at you, dimple poking out.

After all, you’re almost certain this is just an eager phase prompted by Lily bringing Tashi to school for career day. Tashi mentioned to you that Kaleb was very eager to ask questions about her job. Apparently, he thought it was super cool that she “got to coach the best tennis players in the world.” You’re worried that before dinner is over he might ask you to put in a word with her about coaching him.

Once you’ve finished eating, tucked Kaleb in, and tidied up the kitchen, you finally get to relax with a cup of lavender chamomile tea.

Before you settle into the refuge of your bed, you make a note to sign Kaleb up for club tennis.

ᯓ

You’re at a gas station near Kaleb’s school when you realize your dumb credit card has a faulty chip. You grab your purse and lock the doors to your car, having been forced to go inside the store and pay for your gas the old fashioned way.

The door shuts behind you with a ring of a bell. The unmistakable smell of fuel fills your nostrils as it mixes with stale coffee and the emblematic stench of small convenience stores. You grumble when you see there’s a short line.

With a sigh, you take a detour down one of the narrow aisles to grab a pack of gum. You pick out a random pack of spearmint, but your inner child lingers on the yellow packaging of juicy fruit bubble gum sitting beside it. When you were little, your mom would’ve made you pick one or the other. Without a second thought, you pluck the yellow pack out from the shelf and head back towards the front.

On your walk back, you glance out the windows, checking to make sure the pump you’re parked at is still number 5.

The line is shorter now. There’s only two people. You think you recognize the dark head of the person standing at the counter. They’re digging through the back pocket of their jeans and pulling out a leather wallet when your cellphone dings. It’s an email notification from your boss. You read the subject header before dropping the phone back into your purse, hoping to avoid whatever stressor awaits you there for a couple more hours or so. When you look back up, you’re met with the face of the dark haired stranger.

His eyes meet yours. Patrick Zweig sends you a mischievous smile of recognition as he saunters toward you. He snaps his fingers. “I know you.”

“Hi, Patrick,” you say through your tight smile. The last time you’d seen him, he tried to blackmail you into going out with him. If he wasn’t so attractive, you’d probably be repulsed by him.

“Long time no see.” He pockets his package of Marlboros. “How you been?”

“Um just busy you know,” you hum. “You?”

He nods. “Same, same.” He looks you over, smile growing wider when he meets your eyes after lingering on your cleavage. He doesn’t even attempt to be discreet.

You scoff, rolling your eyes to the side.

Thankfully, the bald guy in front of you finishes up his transaction so you have an excuse to say “excuse me” to Patrick as you approach the register. You glance back when you hand your money to the bored cashier, catching one last glimpse of Patrick as he exits through the door. You nibble on the inside of your cheek, feeling the tiniest hint of disappointment.

You accept your change and two packs of gum and make your way back to your car. Not wanting to waste any more time at this point, you toss the plastic bag into the passenger seat and hurry to pump your gas.

You’re leaning against the trunk while the fuel fills your tank when you hear a small “hey.”

You’re startled as Patrick approaches you again. You look around suspiciously. “Um are you stalking me?”

“No.” He huffs out a laugh. “I was standing over there taking a smoke.” He points towards his beat up suv. You wonder why he doesn’t have a better car. You thought tennis players made money. “And I saw you. Didn’t get to say goodbye earlier.”

You click your tongue. “Well, bye.”

“Wait—I hope I didn’t rub you the wrong way last time.” He rubs his palm over the back of his neck. “I kind of have a fucked up sense of humor.”

“It wasn’t the joke,” you supply. “It was more so you trying to blackmail me into going on a date with you.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I don’t know why that didn’t work.” The grin he gives you sends a shiver down your spine.

This time, you smirk, your gaze tracing the length of his body, from his Nikes to the curly wisps of hair flying in the wind. The gas pump clicks, signifying that your tank is full. You don’t remove it right away because you’re busy letting Patrick type his number into your phone. You wish you could say you played hard to get, but that would be a lie of monumental magnitude.

You don’t actually intend to call him, content to let his number go forgotten in your phone. After all, what type of woman would get involved with the best friend of the man she’s having an affair with?

Later on, when you’re having a glass of wine, mommy duties complete for the night, you pause on his number as you tap through your phone. You inhale, take a sip from your glass, and quickly save his contact before swiping out of the app. You can blame it on your being slightly tipsy when you notice that he’s saved as “for a rainy day.”

ᯓ

It turns out that the tennis thing isn’t just a phase. You don’t mind of course. You’d always support your kid in whatever he pursued. The only issue is that Art fucking Donaldson thought it would be a good idea to train little Kaleb. As if you needed more reasons to be around the man.

You’d told him that you didn’t think it was necessary because your son was only eight years old. Surely, he wouldn’t need a retired professional tennis player to train him. His tennis lessons at the local club would certainly suffice. Plus, you imagined he had more important things to attend to than give private lessons to a third grader.

On a random weeknight, you’d gone to pick Kaleb up from a play date with Lily, hoping to grab him and get back home before the rain got any worse. Art had greeted you at the door, placing a hand on the small of your back.

He decided to bring up the topic again. Even Tashi, who was usually busy with training of her own, chimed in, claiming it would be a good opportunity for Art to find real meaning in tennis again. Whatever that meant. Patrick, who you had been avoiding thinking about, once again inserted himself into a conversation, pointing out how young he and Art were when they first started playing tennis. According to him, it was never too early to learn how to properly hit a ball with a racket.

ᯓ

The thought of Art spending time with Kaleb through tennis is an endearing one if you’re being honest with yourself. But you know you would have an intense fight on your hands should Chris find out.

Ever since Art had stepped in with your ex at the fall festival, he’d harbored an attitude toward him. He’d gone as far as complaining about all the time Kaleb spent at his house, accusing you of trying to turn your son against him. If it weren’t for the court mandated visits, you’d have simply told Chris to go to hell. But in an attempt to maintain peace for your son’s sake, you reassured him that Kaleb only spent so much time around Art because Lily was his best friend.

You asked him if it was worth destroying his son’s friendship. He conceded for the time being, but you’re sure if he found out about any extra tennis lessons, he’d blow a gasket.

Ironically, you had never been offered the freedom to express such possessiveness. You had to be content each and every time your son stayed at his father’s new house with his new fiancée that you barely knew anything about. You handle some occasions better than others.

This time, though, when you watch Kaleb go through the front door of their luxurious home, Spider-Man backpack affixed on his back, your stomach churns. Chris’ fiancée smiles and waves to you with her left hand. Bitterly, you think it’s a miracle she can even lift it with the large diamond wrapped around her finger. She places her hand on your son’s shoulder, pulling him into their home, as if she wasn’t the one that helped wreck yours.

Maybe it’s the fact that this past week would’ve been your anniversary, but your shoulders shake with sobs throughout the entire drive home. You sniffle as you think about Kaleb building a life with his soon to be step-mom. You hope she treats him right, but, ultimately, you wish he didn’t have to know her at all.

It doesn’t help that you aren’t able to bury your sorrows in Art’s chest or on his dick. He’d already told you about the gala he’d be attending that weekend for the Donaldson Foundation. You haven’t seen him since last weekend, and you ache to call him, but the thought makes you feel nauseous when you think about the wretched irony of seeking comfort in a married man. In a decision that’s almost homogeneously pathetic, you sit in your lonely driveway and send a “hey” to ‘for a rainy day.’

ᯓ

It doesn’t take long for Patrick to offer to come over. You send him your location as you pop open a bottle of wine.

You reach for a glass, your eagerness causing you to apply too much force as you slam the glass down. It breaks under the pressure of your haste, immediately cracking at the stem. The inconvenience is too much for you. You curse before bringing the entire bottle up to your mouth. You take a swig, red liquid spilling out of the corner of your mouth. With a gasp, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Pitifully, your vision starts to blur again as your eyes swell up with hot tears. You resort to sitting on the kitchen floor, taking the occasional drink, and wallowing in your despair.

You’re propped against the cabinet, knees to your chest as you cradle the green tinted bottle of red wine like a toddler holding a stuffed animal, when you hear your doorbell ring. You stumble to your feet, dragging them as you move toward the door. When you swing the door open, Patrick is standing there with his hands in his pockets. He looks you over once, mumbling that you “look like shit” before stepping into your home as if he’d been there a thousand times.

He lifts his eyebrows when he sees the neglected pieces of glass on your counter. He looks back at the bottle in your fist before groaning. “Please don’t tell me you’re an alcoholic.”

You roll your eyes. “No, I’m just having a pretty shitty day.”

“No shit,” he snorts.

You send him a glare. “I don’t even know why I called you,” you say and rub your temples.

“Because I’m obviously easy and you know it.” He smirks.

It makes you laugh, your red, puffy eyes squinting back at him.

Patrick eventually convinces you to smoke the joint he’d brought with him. You haven’t gotten high in years, and you find yourself mindlessly rambling about your life as you pass the joint back and forth to him. You’d stopped crying a while ago, your eyes now red because of the weed.

You and Patrick are lounging on the floor of your living room. You’re dragging your fingers through the shag rug underneath you and leaning your head back on the sofa when you hear him laugh. He sounds like he’s far away, down through a tunnel, but when you turn your head, his face is right beside you.

“What’s funny?” You grunt.

He shakes his head. “S’nothing.”

You frown and shove his bicep. “Tell me,” you say, scooting closer to him. “I hate feeling left out.”

His smile falters for a second like he’s remembering something, but when you blink he’s sporting a melancholic grin. “It’s just—you kind of remind me a lot of Art.” His head falls to the side to really look at you. “I mean not like completely, and not really how he is now, but when you’re upset—it reminds me of when we were teenagers.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not,” you say. It comes out as a whisper. Your faces are so close that you don’t want to startle him.

“Hm.” His eyes flicker to your lips. “Not a good or bad thing. Just a thing.”

“That’s why you like me?” You mumble teasingly. “Because I remind you of your boyfriend?”

He smirks, lips so close to yours you feel his breath fan them. “Who said I liked you?”

“You don’t have to.” You’re just the slightest movement away from kissing him. If you tilt your head just the tiniest bit—

He lets out an almost imperceptible moan when he finally presses his lips to yours. It’s so quiet, you think you might’ve imagined it. It all happens incredibly fast, but feels like slow motion. Your head is fuzzy and your body is tingling as Patrick grabs your waist, hoisting you onto his lap. It takes you a moment to build momentum, your sensory overload working against you.

When you’re finally able to match his energy, the kiss is searing. He’s sucking your lip into his mouth like you’re already his, hands roaming everywhere he can get them. When he bites your bottom lip, you suck in a breath, giving him room to thrust his tongue into your mouth. You mewl at the way your mouths seem to fit together like velcro. Your toes curl and you tighten your fists into his dark locks when you feel his hot tongue traveling down your throat, leaving white hot bites that feel like being branded. His teeth sting and your cunt throbs as you impulsively rut against his length.

Patrick rubs his large palm over your ass before abruptly smacking it, making you release an embarrassingly airy moan. His teeth tug on your earlobe. “You like that?”

You only nod, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Hmm?” He mumbles, continuing to lave over the skin behind your ear. His hand comes down on your ass again, harder this time.

You let out a pathetic squeal and slam your hips down against him in search of some kind of friction to relieve the ache between your legs. “Oh god—please fuck me—“

His mouth meets yours again. You can barely kiss him properly, panting about needing him to fuck you right now.

He really is easy, you think, but it’s not like you have room to talk.

ᯓ

The first time Patrick Zweig sinks his cock into you, you’re on your knees, face pressed against your rug. The slam of his hips threaten to take your breath away as tears cling to your eyelashes. He’s rough, possessively grabbing your flesh with no regard for potential damage. When he experimentally grips your hair in his hand, tugging your head back gently, you see stars behind your clamped eyelids.

Patrick nearly whimpers at the way it makes you arch your back into his thrusts with increasing intensity. He groans something about you being a slut and fists your hair with less restraint. Your walls clench around him when he wraps his hand around your throat, pulling you to his chest.

He grunts into your ear. “I knew you liked it rough, could tell from the first time I saw you.”

The tears have started to spill now. Whether it’s from the humiliation or the utter ecstasy, you aren’t sure. All you know is that you almost sob when Patrick drags his tongue alongside your face, collecting the salty tears.

ᯓ

He buries himself inside you for a second time no more than twenty minutes after you’ve both cum. You gasp and claw at his back as his body presses you into your couch cushions.

You have to admit that Patrick knows how to fuck. Knows how to read your body, tapping into just the right frequency to get you off.

It’s obvious that you’ve been craving this type of treatment from the way you’re responding to him. But you’re sure that he must have a sexual sixth sense because in the midst of fucking you wildly, he grabs your ankle that’s dangling by his ear, turns his head, and plants a sweet kiss to the bone. It makes you melt into the sofa.

He leans down to shove his tongue into your open mouth. Softly pats your cheek, relishing in your cock drunk state.

“Does he fuck you like this?” He murmurs into your neck.

You don’t have to ask who he’s talking about.

“Huh?” He prods.

You choke down a moan. “Better. He—“ You cry out when you feel him start rubbing harsh circles into your clit. “He fucks me better.”

He huffs out a laugh through his smile, but his hips slam down harder as if he’s determined to change your answer. In less than a minute, you’re biting down on his shoulder when you feel another orgasm rack through your body.

ᯓ

You take a longer break this time. Stopping to pour yourself a real glass of wine. One with its stem intact. Patrick lazily inhales from a cigarette as he watches you, with hooded eyes, attempt to hold a throw blanket over your bare torso. In contrast, he nonchalantly spreads his thighs over your couch, body on full display.

His eyes leisurely meet yours. They shine prettily in the dim lighting of your home. His dark lashes flutter on each drag of his cig and it makes the corner of your mouth curve up when you take a sip. The lamps have cast a cozy shade of amber over the room. It blankets Patrick’s skin in a golden aura reminiscent of something being baked in an oven.

Patrick reminds you of the gingerbread man, you think. It makes you press the tips of your fingers to your lips to stifle a giggle.

He tilts his head at your odd behavior, but he assumes the weed must still be affecting you.

Once you’ve placed your glass on the coffee table, and he’s put out his cigarette, Patrick is pulling you by the ankle, tossing your blanket to the side and kissing his way down your abdomen.

You yelp when he captures one of your hard nipples in his mouth but let him press his hot kisses into your skin nonetheless.

You end up cumming for the third time that night with his head buried between your legs.

ᯓ

Patrick leaves while you’re asleep.

When you wake up around 3am to an empty house, you think it’s for the best. You check your phone. You have a missed call from “a.d.” and a text from Patrick that says “had fun” with a winking emoji. You don’t respond to either, instead, opting to pad your bare feet to the bathroom. You desperately need a shower.

In the morning, you tidy up your home from the events of the night before, cringing at what took place on the terracotta colored sofa.

When the buzzing in your head doesn’t stop after cleaning your entire living room from top to bottom, you find yourself in the kitchen, pulling out ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies.

You’re frantically kneading dough when the doorbell rings. You frown, not expecting company, but clean your hands as best you can as you make your way to open the door. Sometimes, your talkative neighbor, Mrs. Taylor, likes to come knocking on your door early in the mornings.

You’re surprised to find that Art is standing on the other side with a latte and a bag containing a chocolate croissant. You assume it’s for you. He places his things down on the table by the door, the one that holds your catch all tray, and scoops you up into a hug.

He groans into it, making you smile. “Hi,” you mumble into his chest.

“Hi, pretty girl,” his voice comes out equally mumbled. “Missed you.” You can hear the grin in his tone. It makes your heart clench.

You allow yourself to hold onto him, despite the ever present worry that you should be reining yourself in when it comes to him. He moves to let you go, grabbing your face in his palm and kissing the side of your head. You whine and lock your arms around his waist in protest. You inhale his scent, all warm and familiar. You’ve missed him.

“Baby,” he laughs into your hair. You grunt, squeezing him tighter. “Okay, c’mere.” He pulls you into him, securely engulfing you in his arms. “I got you, I got you.”

You eventually release him long enough to walk into your home.

You’re relieved that you’d been overtaken by a cleaning spell this morning because you fear that Art might take one glance at your couch and figure out who had been here. That he’d smell him in the air.

You’re afraid he might’ve detected it anyway when he freezes in the walkway separating your kitchen from the living room. You nibble on your lip as you try to search his body for any signs that he’s onto you.

To your relief, Art is actually focused on the copious amounts of cookie dough you have on the counter of your kitchen island. He turns to you with the all knowing look of a father, his eyes creased with concern. “Oh no, what happened?”

ᯓ

After a therapy session in which you decide to stop letting your ex influence your decisions from afar, you finally relent, allowing Art to begin practicing with Kaleb on their private tennis court. It seems like since you got involved with their family, that’s all you ever do, give in to everyone’s requests. In any other context, it would be disturbing, but the sight of Kaleb racing to the court with an oversized tennis bag fills you with joy. The bag threatens to pull him down, but his excitement keeps him upright as he makes a beeline for Art.

You don’t know who’s more excited to see Art between the two of you. Your son’s tennis instructor waves at you from across the court. And you have to fight the rush that flows through you, threatening to cut off your oxygen, and give a simple wave in return. It makes you feel like a kid with a fervent crush. You could gag.

You remind yourself that you’re here for Kaleb. Not you.

You think that as long as you get to see him happy like that, you’d agree to anything. It’s a scary notion, but becoming a mom has made you aware of a lot of terrifying realities.

ᯓ

It’s this maternal need to preserve your son’s happiness that leads you to another prolonged encounter with Tashi Duncan. She’d caught you when you were dropping him off for tennis lessons one day. Apparently, she had a free day. Lily was spending the day with her grandparents, and Patrick is, thankfully, nowhere to be found. You try to hide your relief when she tells you that. You don’t think you can face him right now.

She insists you join her in their sunroom while the boys practice. You try to think of an excuse to turn her down, but you decide your karma from sleeping with her husband has built up too much to take the chance of tacking on more. So, when she offers to make you a cup of tea, you oblige and sink down into the fabric of a warm sofa.

When Tashi reappears, she sits down with a cup of steaming hot tea for the both of you. You thank her with a smile, letting your eyes trail over her figure. She looks ethereal. The sunlight pouring through the glass forms a halo of light around her, illuminating her like a Madonna painting. She has her hair pulled back into a low ponytail that causes her to have to tuck the loose strands behind her ear every now and then. The motion makes you take notice of her slim neck and the way her collarbones dip into her loose-fitted button down. Even dressed casually, she looks like a goddess.

You feel your heart start to beat a little faster and reach to take a sip of your tea. You wonder how she knew that lavender chamomile was one of your favorites.

It’s only awkward for a moment because the two of you quickly fall into a conversation about what she’s missed now that Art has taken over attending the PTA meetings. That’s how you’d initially met her. She had actually been the one who you exchanged communication with about carpool and play dates. Art’s retirement allowed her to focus on tennis and other aspects of raising Lily that she preferred. You giggle when she admits that she never really liked those meetings anyway. You don’t tell her that you always had that inkling.

When you mention that Cynthia is still advertising her knitting business at every single meeting, she sucks in a laugh before leaning toward you. She presses her lips together, holding in her giggle. “Guess what?”

You squint at her, your expression already anticipating a joke. “What?” You all but sputter out.

“I’m probably responsible for like half the sales on her Etsy shop.” She says like she’s admitting to something top secret. It’s a lot like the expression Lily takes on when her and Kaleb are playing “secret agent.”

“Girl, what?” You didn’t think she’d be a fan of crocheted animal figures.

“I ordered one for my mom for Mother’s Day,” she explains. “She fell in love with the thing I swear, thought it looked just like her little Yorkie, next thing you know she’s asking for the link to share with all her friends.”

You’re snickering into your mug imagining Tashi unintentionally being Cynthia’s best saleswoman.

She smiles at you. “I’m serious. Apparently, amigurumi is the new thing. It’s gonna be flying off the shelves. That’s why I had to go ahead and put in my order.”

“Of course you know the official term.” You toss your head back. “What’s yours look like?”

“It’s a little tabby cat,” she smiles wistfully. “Like the one I had growing up. Her name was Aphrodite.”

It’s a fitting name.

You’re biting back a grin as you take a sip from your tea. You sigh at the taste. “How’d you know what type of tea I liked?” You ask absentmindedly.

“Art mentioned it to me.”

You freeze. “Art?”

“Yeah he says you like to make it before bed. Now, he’s hooked on it.”

All the blood in your body rushes to your head. You feel that unwelcome yet proverbial sinking in your gut. You think you might start projectile vomiting.

“Are you okay?”

You don’t respond. It’s hard to speak when you feel like you’re dangling upside down on a roller coaster.

“Wait… you didn’t think I knew did you?”

For some unintelligent reason, you decide to play stupid. Usually, in times of danger, humans resort to fight, flight, or freeze. You choose fucking idiot. “Knew what?”

“That you’re fucking my husband.” Tashi says quite unceremoniously.

“What—what do you mean?” You squeak out.

“Don’t.” She laughs. “I’ve known the whole time.”

“How?” Your voice is shrinking smaller and smaller to your ears. The sound of Tashi’s voice, her pert laughter, drowning it out.

“Art tells me everything.”

“And you’re okay with it?” You attempt to ask though you can barely hear it.

You know your question reaches her ears because she shakes her head and tells you, “I suggested it.”

Your eyes go wide. Her divulgence seems to propel you forward on your metaphorical roller coaster. In a snap, it brings you out of your stupor.

“I told Art that he should fuck you.” She says it like it’s nothing. Like it’s as simple as telling him to pick up some carry out on the way home.

You’re confused, and your head is starting to hurt from the whiplash, and you wish this ride would end already. “I’m—I’m not sure I understand what’s going on here.”

“Okay, well, Art’s been attracted to you since the day he met you,” she says plainly. “But he’d never actually do anything about it because that’s just who he is. He needed that push—“

“That push?”

She nods. “He needed to know he could do it and everything would be fine. He’s still figuring out how to be open to stuff like this.” She explains, gestures vaguely in the air. “He’d never break up what seemed like a happy marriage, but when it was clear that your marriage was far from happy…well he started to warm up to the idea.”

“What do you mean far from happy?” The shock has you feeling unreasonably defensive.

“Clearly something was off. You never seemed happy with him. You’ve said it yourself that he was a dick.”

“Um—okay, well, I’d say something has to be off if you’re coaching your husband into sleeping with unsuspecting women.” You shoot back. Your gaze is sharp and accusatory.

She lets her eyes fall down to her lap, picking at little buds of lint being exposed by the sun’s glow. “You’re right, something was off between us,” she says like it’s something in the past. Like maybe they’re good now, but at one time they weren’t. “But Art knows how I feel about him.” Then, her gaze returns to you. “Something tells me your husband either didn’t know or didn’t care.”

Her comment strikes a nerve. Chris did know something was off, and she was right, he didn’t care. He made you feel like needing more from him made you selfish. As if the reminder of the vows he made to you was an affront to him. He knew you were unhappy. That you felt ignored. But he didn’t care. When you’d served him the divorce papers, you naively thought that he’d realize what he might lose, that he might beg for your forgiveness, promise to be better. Instead, you watched him sign the document in the same way he’d signed receipts for dinner before closing the tab and tucking the pen inside.

You think you envy her. Because she has a husband that actually doesn’t want to leave her.

“Hey.” She grabs your attention. Her voice softens when she sees your glassy eyes peering back at her. “I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to offer an explanation.”

You work to swallow down the onslaught of emotions threatening to rise up like bile. You release a fractured noise from your throat, letting the revelation fully soak in. “So you really knew this whole time then? Or rather you orchestrated it?”

“Okay, that’s a little extreme,” she says. “When we found out you were getting divorced, I mentioned to Art that he should pursue you. That’s all.” She shrugs. “I never knew if he’d actually do it or when he’d do it. All I know is that the first night he came home smelling like you, he fucked me like he did when I first agreed to be his tennis coach.”

“Then, he was constantly meeting up with you or staying to talk after PTA meetings,” her fingers curl to form quotations around the word, talk. “But I knew what was up.” She bites her lip. “It was honestly kind of hot.”

You frown. The thought of him sleeping with her immediately after being with you has your stomach in knots. The worst part is that you can’t stop wondering if he’d showered first. If he’d cleaned himself up or if he’d went straight to her, buried himself inside her, cock still sticky with your fluids. In a way, it’s like you had also been inside her. If you think about it long enough, you can imagine what it must feel like. So, you don’t think about it. Instead, you fix your gaze on the golden pothos plant sitting on top a table to your right. The tapping of your nail against the ceramic mug fills the silence.

She gives you a questioning look.

Ignoring the implications of what she just told you, you settle for the anger you’re feeling instead of dwelling on any confusing arousal. “Do you not realize how fucked up this is, Tashi?”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah! It’s fucked!” You throw your hands up. “I mean I’ve been running around feeling guilty, thinking I was a fucking homewrecker while the two of you get off on a cheating kink!”

She can tell you have more to say, so she leans back and lets you go on.

“I mean how could you do that? I was fucking depressed.”

She snorts. “Not so depressed that it ruined your libido. You two have been going at it like rabbits.” Her smirk makes your cheeks burn.

You place your mug down onto the table. “Wow. You know what?” You’re on the edge of the couch now, body rigid. “You and Art can go fuck yourselves! This is seriously messed up.”

She raises her eyebrows. “As messed up as you fucking another woman’s husband?”

Her words drip with mirth, and it pisses you off that the fiery look in her eyes is poking at a budding desire in your belly. “This is ridiculous,” you mumble to yourself. You’d rather focus all your energy on being outraged than interrogate why this is kind of turning you on. You’re about to stand up to leave when she places a hand on your arm.

“Are you seriously mad right now?” She asks you.

An incredulous look takes over your face. “What do you think?” You spit out.

“Well, would you have preferred I not know?” She asks as if you’re the crazy one here.

“I—“ you squeeze your eyes shut, and try to gather your thoughts. “Obviously not, Tashi.” You glance up to the glass paned ceiling. “I just—it would’ve been nice to know what was really going on. I mean he never even told me that you knew.”

“Well, did you ask?” She asks simply.

Did you? You think back to the past couple of months. The more you and Art hooked up, the more you avoided directly mentioning Tashi. He didn’t bring her up more than what was necessary, so you suspected he was actively trying to keep it from her.

To be fair, he did mention a couple of times that he’d told Tashi you two were going to meet up for lunch, but you thought he must’ve been leaving out the activities that followed. And if she happened to call him while the two of you were together, he would casually tell her he was with you. You obviously assumed he was downplaying your friendship because there was no way Art would be so nonchalant about a mistress. But, apparently, the word mistress didn’t even apply to you.

“I mean, I guess I didn’t.” You stammer. “But I feel like that was on him to bring it up to me.”

“Well that’s where you went wrong. Art can get in his own way sometimes.” A pensive expression works it’s way onto her face. “Or maybe part of him did kind of get off on feeling like he was sneaking around.” The thought seems to bring a small smile to her face.

It still doesn’t make sense to you. You try to tamper down the sinking feeling that you’ve been nothing more than a pawn. “I just don’t understand why you two couldn’t proposition me like a normal couple looking for a third,” you say.

“Who said you were our third?”

“Oh, so there’s other women you’ve sent Art to fuck?”

“No. I—I don’t just pimp out my husband, okay?”

You back down.

“We already have a…third I guess.”

You look at her with furrowed brows.

“Patrick.” She answers.

“Patrick? Like Patrick Patrick?”

She nods.

You laugh cynically. You didn’t think this situation could get any worse.

“I know.” She sighs. “I know how it seems—”

“Was that part of the plan too?” You’re out of breath, chest heaving.

She looks genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Me and Patrick,” you blurt.

“Wait a minute, you’re sleeping with Patrick?” She’s scooting closer to you.

You shake your head. “It just happened once.” You think of how he’d shoved your face into the rug, fucking into you as he grunted out various obscenities. “I was high. I haven’t spoken to him since.”

She looks away for a moment, brows drawn together tightly. She’s piecing together what you’ve told her.

“I—I didn’t know he was with you guys,” you try.

She waves you off. “No, it’s not that.” She sits back. “I’m just not surprised that he wormed his way into your pants. He just couldn’t take that Art had something to himself.” She’s speaking to you, but her eyes are trained ahead.

“So, you really didn’t set that up too?” You ask meekly.

“God, no!” She says. “I had no idea.”

You believe her.

“Look I don’t care what type of weird shit you tennis players are into, if you guys have wild orgies or whatever. I just would’ve liked to have known that I wasn’t a hypocrite.”

“A hypocrite?”

You nod. “I mean I sit here and give my ex shit for cheating on me with that skinny ass whore from Modesto. Hell! That’s why I got so much fucking alimony.” You’re rambling now. “And, then, I go and let Art fucking Donaldson screw me and then send him back home to play loving father and husband like it’s nothing. God! And on top of it all, I also sleep with his best friend! I became the whore from Modesto.”

Tashi’s watching you like you’re a kid experiencing big feelings.

“I felt like a home wrecker.” You sniff. “But apparently I’m actually not…because it was your idea, well only Art, not Patrick, and I—it’s all just fucking with my head.”

Tashi swallows. “I honestly thought you’d be relieved to find out.”

She looks at the frown on your face, takes in the way your plump bottom lip is jutting out. She reaches for your hand. “We’ve never really been the best at communicating. Me and Art. For the past year or so, we’ve gotten better at talking to each other, being honest about what we want, but we’re still working on doing that with other people I guess.” You let her thumb rub the back of your hand before you gently pull away.

You grab your mug again. The handle is cold to the touch.

“I promise we didn’t mean to fuck with you. Honestly, I think Art really likes you.” She offers you a small smile.

You look into your mug trying to still your reaction. You don’t care.

Tashi’s gaze feels heavy on the side of your face as you feel her watching your expression. You start to fiddle with your watch. Checking for the time. Except your watch is too busy displaying your increased heart rate to offer the time.

You sigh.

She reaches out to you again, but this time she brings her hand up to your face, moving the curls falling down over your eyes. You let her nimble fingers caress your cheekbone before trailing down to your chin, guiding you to look at her.

She gives you a steady, knowing smile. “You fell for him didn’t you?”

Your cheeks go ablaze, and you try to look away from her.

“Hey.” She grasps your chin in a firm, but gentle hold. “It’s okay.” She nods as if it’ll telepathically make you agree.

You clear your throat. “I know you say that, but this is all new to me.” Your voice is slightly wobbly and you think you might cry. “I—I didn’t think it’d happen but it did. I thought I could get him out of my system but now,” you inhale and press two fingers against your neck, subconsciously trying to self-soothe. “Now, it’s like—it’s like I can’t stop.” Your voice comes out almost like a whisper. Like you’re afraid to admit the truth.

And, really, you are afraid. You’re fucking terrified.

You’re scared to fall in love with a man who already has one—two people in his life that he’s in love with. The last time you entrusted a man with your love, he was only meant to love you, and he couldn’t even give you that.

What if you realize you’re absolutely enamored by Art Donaldson and he realizes the same thing Chris did? That there’s something about you that makes you unworthy of love. That the depth of you is as deep as your cunt goes and that’s it.

What if he realizes that he already has what he needs in Tashi, even Patrick? What if they realize they actually aren’t willing to share?

You apparently voice the last bit aloud.

Tashi tilts her head, some of her strands have fallen loose again and she wears the prettiest pout on her lips. “Do you want me to prove it to you?”

You gulp when her hand presses into your thigh, and she brings her face impossibly close to yours, forcing you to hold her gaze. “You want me to prove that I’m okay with it?” Her eyes flit between each one of yours with a level of seriousness you’d expect from someone like her.

Her expression demands an answer, and so, you give a faint nod, transfixed on the woman in front of you.

You gasp when you feel her mouth on yours.

You learn that Tashi tastes sweet when she has her tongue in your mouth. You think you can taste the tartness of the lemon she’d sucked on earlier. It’s good, and you realize you’re fucked because you really like kissing her.

Her tongue twirling around yours has you panting quietly, and you keen when you feel her manicured nails press into the nape of your neck. You haven’t kissed a woman since your last girlfriend in college, and you find you miss it. Something about it feels like drinking sweet tea on a hot summer day. Climbing into cool sheets at night when you’re bone tired. Or the feeling you get when you discover the song that you’re going to replay for the next week.

It also makes you feel absurdly wet.

The two of you work up a rhythm of pulling away for a breath before coming back together like magnets, letting your foreheads gently press together as you breathe deeply, thumbs caressing skin, eyelids fluttering.

Your tongue is sweeping across Tashi’s lip, on a path to enter her mouth again, when you hear someone clear their throat.

There’s an audible smack as you yank yourself from Tashi, eyes flying to the doorway of their sunroom.

Art is standing there staring at you, gaze shifting from your face to the hand you still have placed on his wife’s neck. His jaw is clenched, and his bulge is painfully evident in his pants.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

a/n: I've been waiting for this since the first post. Let me know how you feel about the reveal <3 as always, my asks are open!

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #pta!Art x reader #art donaldson smut #tashi duncan #challengers 2024 #challengers fic #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig smut #tashi duncan x reader #hint at #artashi x reader

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revelboo · 2 months ago

Note

I'm here for Reader of the Insecticons because its gonna take a long time for that info to sink in. What do you mean its for life.

Yeah, that human isn’t having fun learning things the hard way

You (Don’t) Know Me Pt 15

Insecticons x Reader

• “What do you mean no, no?” Shrapnel growls, servos flexing like he’s itching to reach for you. And shake you. Staring at him, you try to push Kickback’s arm away so you can get some space between you and them. Overwhelmed with Shrapnel’s little claim that if you don’t regularly bond with them, it’ll slowly kill you. And them. Because it’s either bond regularly or slowly weaken and die, giving a whole new horrifying twist to til death do us part. Feeling the overwhelming urge to try and run again even knowing it’s futile.

• Arms tightening around you, Kickback rests his head on top of yours to try and control your struggling. Because if you bolt again, Shrapnel’s going to lose it. “It didn’t occur to you that I’m human and you might need to explain things?” You counter, trembling and he can’t tell if it’s fury or fear, but it’s putting him on edge. “Because this is your fault for making assumptions!” Apparently it’s anger.

• Glowering at you as his spike stirs despite himself at your temper, Shrapnel hisses and turns his attention on Kickback. Who’s making no move to get involved, his wings flicking slightly with a chirp. “You still said you’d be our queen and then ran, ran,” he snarls, electricity beginning to build inside him needing an outlet. And Kickback hisses a warning, legs tensing to shove himself and you clear. Clawed servos flexing, Shrapnel starts pacing. Trying to work out the frustration. Maybe not explaining is their fault, but you’d still lied. Promised to be theirs and ran away first chance you got.

• Stiffening as electricity arcs between those weird curving horns on his shoulders, you lean into Kickback. Because that’s new and definitely not good. Is he angry enough to fry you? But he can’t, can he? They need you and if he electrocutes or strangles you, he goes out with you and so do his brothers. That knowledge making you bold when you really just want to curl into Kickback and let him deal with Shrapnel. “I’m sorry, but did it ever occur to you that I don’t want to live in a damp cave?”

• “You left to scout for a new home?” Kickback asks, jumping on that thought even if he’s sure it’s not true and you’d just been running. From them. Pitching his voice to thread conviction into the question even as he knows Shrapnel is going to be furious if he realizes he’s being manipulated. But Shrapnel’s furious enough to accidentally shock you and he’s not sure you’d survive. Sees Shrapnel hesitate, knowing as well as he does that it’s a lie, but wanting to believe it. “This is only temporary. Unworthy of our queen,” he adds and by some miracle you’re clever enough to not contradict him and he relaxes. “We were searching for a better hive, a worthy hive.” Hears your muttered ‘for fuck’s sake’ and he doesn’t know what that means, but he can work with this. Just needs to convince Bombshell of the lie when he returns. Because this is his skill, coaxing, talking others into doing things, believing things that he wants them to. Just wishes his ability worked on himself because your betrayal hurts.

#transformers x reader #insecticons x reader #g1 bombshell #g1 shrapnel #g1 kickback

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rahuratna · 5 months ago

Text

Synopsis: You come into some unexpected gold, and decide to treat your companions to a shopping spree. When it comes to this merry band of travelers, however, nothing ever goes smoothly ...

[Astarion x Tav/Reader]

Genres: Romance, humour, fluff, angst.

Warnings: Dirty jokes, Lae'zel's hatred of cardigans.

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

Taglist: @roguishcat @obsessedwhyyes @fantasyheroine

(If anyone else would like to be added to my BG3 taglist, please drop me a message or let me know in the comments!)

"Listen, all of you. I've got the perfect thing planned."

Watching their expressions with the air of a circus conjurer, you drew a small leather bag from your jerkin. As you shook it, the contents emitted the pleasant chime and clink of something valuable.

Wyll grinned, one finger tapping his chin.

"If I'm not mistaken, you got lucky with a hunter's stash."

Eyes closed and brow furrowed in concentration as he listened to the sounds from within the bag, Astarion nodded sharply.

"You're not mistaken at all Wyll. My darling has found ... let me see ... two diamonds, one jacinth shard, unpolished ... and a tourmaline ring."

A profound silence reigned after this statement. You snorted in amusement and Gale raised an eyebrow.

"Well. A rogue always has his uses, it seems."

You gave Astarion a bow, which he returned, his wrist circling in a mocking flourish.

"Correct, Astarion. And, since I found this little treasure, I've decided what we're going to do with it."

Lae'zel folded her arms.

"One can never have enough weapons."

Karlach groaned.

"Oh, come off. We've done nothing but arm ourselves to the teeth since the beginning. Let's do something else!"

You nodded, a small smile curving your mouth.

"I'm actually with Karlach on this one. Listen, protecting ourselves is important, and an absolute necessity. But we've picked up some good gear on the way here and it's about time we looked after our morale too."

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"All right, I hear you. What do you have in mind?"

You clapped your hands together and beamed around.

"Clothes shopping. I mean, look at us. Most of what we're wearing is holding on by a thread and prayer and we've never prioritized that on the road here. Plus, there're all the recent battles we've been through, both in the city and out of it. Let's get ourselves a few outfits. Have a bath in a proper tub. Have a nice meal. No harm in that, is there?"

You heard cheers and murmurs of assent all round and nodded in satisfaction. Only Lae'zel still seemed put out by the need for what she termed 'frivolous nonsense'. Wyll patted her shoulder placatingly.

"You'll see what we mean soon enough, Lae'zel. Just join us. You won't regret it. Think of it as ... learning yet another Faerûnian custom."

Once your party had reached the city, you decided to split into groups in order to peruse the variety of clothing stores and boutiques on offer. You set upon the Elfsong Tavern as the place to meet after your shopping had been completed.

Your group consisted of Astarion, Lae'zel and Gale, while Wyll set off in the opposite direction with Shadowheart and Karlach.

Astarion took it upon himself to guide you, considering his familiarity with the surrounds.

"Oh, there's much less variety than what's on offer in the Upper City, darling, but there are a few good spots that not many people know about. There are merchants that import fine fabrics, and not everyone is aware of this, but they also employ skilled tailors who will make you a custom fit on request."

Gale looked impressed.

"You certainly know a lot about this, Astarion."

His compliment was waved off airily.

"Of course. I do know a thing or two about fashion."

You examined Astarion carefully as he said the words. There was something more here, some bitter undercurrent to the way he spoke. You knew him well enough by now to recognise when he was hiding an emotion dredged up by unpleasant memories.

You decided not to question him on it immediately. There was a time and place for everything.

Lae'zel was still looking decidedly unenthusiastic. As you meandered through the streets, she clicked her tongue and suddenly entered a shop on the left.

You paused before shrugging and entering behind her. It was a clothing store after all, one of the kind that sold rougher cuts for hard travel and the road.

Wandering amongst the wares on display in wicker baskets, you recognised a lot of familiar items, the colours perfect for camouflage, the homespun fabrics, the sturdy boots. Astarion turned his nose up at the selection, but this didn't deter Lae'zel.

She walked through the store in a straight line, picking up a shirt, trousers, underwear and boots and returned to you, a satisfied expression on her face.

"See? Shopping doesn't have to be an affair for the day. I've already picked out what I need. Now you do the same and we can go and find something far more worthy to spend our money on."

You shot a pleading glance at Gale and Astarion, both of whom rose admirably to the occasion.

Astarion came forward slowly, eyeing the clothes in Lae'zel's hand with a critical eye.

"Hmm. Hmm. I suppose ... no. Not at all. Not really. How ... disappointing."

"What do you mean?" she snapped, "What's disappointing?"

He bit his lip, shaking his head.

"It's just ... during all of our travels together, I actually have come to admire the kind of warrior you are, Lae'zel. You're certainly the fiercest I've known, and that's saying something. So ... and it pains me to say this, but ... this choice just isn't ... you."

Gale nodded in agreement, raising one finger as he explained himself.

"To put it in plain terms, a powerful githyanki like yourself should be dressed in colours and fabrics that exude ... intimidation. Power. Flair. These ... dusty road clothes don't quite cut it."

You glanced over at Lae'zel whose brow was now furrowed deeply, considering the items she'd chosen. She set them down and folded her arms.

"And I suppose you lot know what would suit a warrior like me?"

In spite of her challenging tone, you let out a breath of relief. This was Lae'zel's manner of giving in, somewhat, her way of showing her trust in the knowledge and abilities of her companions.

Astarion perked up and grinned.

"Oh trust me on this, Lae'zel. By the end of today, you'll be looking truly fearsome."

"Then lead on."

Across town, Wyll was facing a few challenges of his own. Shadowheart turned out to be exceptionally picky about what she spent her money on, and the higher the quality, the more her judgment of all of its minute flaws came to the fore.

Karlach, on the other hand, was so easily distracted by things other than clothing that they'd had to stay her hand away from her purse on more than one occasion when she saw a trinket or gadget that caught her eye.

Mind racing, Wyll finally hit upon a solution to the issue at hand, deciding to visit a store he knew of that catered to both their needs.

There was a certain company he knew that stocked both exclusive items for theatre actors, jewellry, props and hand-carved items of all kinds. He led them to the front door of the establishment and shot the two ladies a smile.

"So, this is a place I've known about for a while. Came here with my father a few times when we had costume parties and he wanted me to wear something unique."

When they entered, Karlach looked around in delight.

"Oh, Wyll! This is perfect! Look at all of these hats and horn ornaments! I can't believe how hard it is to find anything horn-related in this place."

Shadowheart, meanwhile, had hurried over to a selection of dark plum, cobalt and emerald-dyed dresses, eyeing them with ill-concealed longing. Wyll raised an eyebrow.

All Shadowheart's clothing choices thus far had been singularly streamlined and fitted to her form for ease in battle. He hadn't put her down for someone who preferred frills and flounces.

Clearing his throat, he approached and gestured to the dresses.

"Care to try them on? I'll ask the proprietor to - "

She backed off, hands raised almost defensively.

"Oh, no, not at all. I was just ... looking."

Wyll pulled one of the dresses, a deep violet silk, from the rack and held it up against her.

"Well now. That colour looks simply splendid on you, Shadowheart. We can't have you leaving here without trying it out."

Karlach bounded over, a red leather pointed hat sitting perfectly over her horns.

"Oooh, smashing! You've got to take that!"

Shadowheart's mouth opened and closed a few times as she uttered some faint protests, but was soon convinced to choose some dresses and make her way to the changing screens.

Wyll gestured to Karlach's outfit.

"And what'll it be for you, milady?"

She giggled and cleared her throat, adopting a coquettish pose.

"Well, aren't you a right charmer? What do you recommend for my strapping frame, good saer?"

Wyll held up his hands excitedly.

"So, when I was young, there was this stage actor, Lady Zenith, who took the city by storm. She played a pirate queen and I saw some of her appearances. Just fantastic. A lot of costume stores still sell clothes inspired by some of her looks, and I'm sure this place does too. I think they'll suit you perfectly."

Karlach's eyes were now gleaming in anticipation.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Show me the goods, man!"

This time, you'd taken Astarion's reccomendation into account and followed him to a different store, closer to the Upper City, that specialised in outfits for adventurers and mercenaries who were looking to make an impression at events and parties.

Lae'zel now seemed far more invested, and you also grew excited as you saw the array of clothing that shouted of wealth earned the rough and violent way.

Embroidered jerkins, leather braces and belts, embossed hats and smart trousers adorned the shelves, along with dress swords and scabbards, ruffled blouses, trimmed boots and fur cloaks.

You tugged Lae'zel through the store, and you could practically see the appeal of this activity open up in golden avenues before her eyes as you held up dashing outfits in blood red, dark green and black against her.

You handed her a few items to try on before finding a jewel-toned blouse, comfortable padded trousers and boots for yourself. Finally detaching yourself from the siren's call of colours and fabrics, you noticed that Gale was no longer in the store.

"Where'd he go?"

Astarion gestured vaguely somewhere in the region of the shop across the street.

"Said he saw something he liked over there."

Crimson eyes were flicking perceptively over your clothing choices. Hesitantly, you held them up for his inspection.

"Do they look nice?"

"They look wonderful, darling. Hold on."

He reached over your shoulder, thoroughly distracting you with the way his breath fanned across your collarbones and plucked something from a shelf above your head. He held it against the blouse you had chosen and you spied a delicate broach in gold filigree, a starling with a garnet eye.

"Oh, that's beautiful!" you breathed.

You made to take it from him, but he flipped the piece quickly out of your reach.

"No, sweetheart. This is my gift to you. I've been ... saving up a little too."

Something about those words tightened your throat, the bruised sweetness of a summer fruit, painful as it was poignant.

When you'd first met him, it had been obvious that Astarion had very little to his name. His clothes, in spite of their former grandeur, had been darned and repaired many times over, their gold threadwork faded. His belongings were all mismatched remnants of a time of wealth.

He had scrounged every ounce of gold he'd found in the field, and in battle, hoarding it with almost obsessive desire, the kind that comes from knowing the state of being truly destitute.

And to think that this same man was now offering up his gold to buy you something as frivolous as a piece of jewelry. You knew better than to turn him down. You'd wear his gift, and treasure it well.

You couldn't help notice, however, that Astarion had not picked out any outfits for himself.

"Arent you going to get anything?"

His gaze slid away from yours, traveling around the store as he spoke.

"Oh, I'm holding out for now. I want to find something I really like before committing. You know how it is."

Expression growing hard, you tugged at his sleeve, gaining his attention.

"Listen here, handsome. I didn't get my hands on those diamonds to dress you up in drow armour all over again."

His eyes widened slightly at your tone, fangs sliding into view as he smiled.

"Oh my. Are you annoyed with me, dearest?"

"No, but I will be if you don't pick something. And I don't care if you find something better elsewhere. I'll buy that for you too. And I'll buy anything else that takes your fancy."

"Gods below, it's so enticing when you shower me with adoration like this - "

"Astarion."

He uttered a small laugh, a genuine sound that caused an alarming flutter of uncontrollable tenderness in your chest.

"Well, if you insist. But you've got to help me pick them out. I can't see my own reflection after all."

You cocked your head.

"Is that why you didn't want to choose anything?"

He traced a finger over the laquered wood of the shelving before answering.

"Not quite. You see, when we served under Cazador, he made us dress according to ... his specifications. We could wear nice things, but they were all chosen by him. Owned by him. We had to return them immediately after use. It's ... not easy for me to accept such gifts."

"Oh ... I didn't realise. I'm - "

"Don't apologise."

His tone was sharp, only softened by the warmth of his glance.

"I know you. I know why you're gifting me things. It's the same way I gift you this broach. We do it ... as equals. Partners. Lovers. Nothing more, or less. We do it because we want to."

Wordlessly, you took his hand, bringing his fingers to your lips and holding them there. Astarion tugged your hand towards him, placing a soft reciprocal kiss on your own knuckles.

"Now, are you going to help me choose or not?"

He released you and sauntered away, shooting you his trademark smirk over one shoulder.

"And don't even think about sneaking a look behind the screens while I get changed."

"Wouldn't dream of it. And you're going to lace yourself into those fancy shirts, I suppose?"

"Never fear, darling. I'll be crying out for you just the way you like."

"Shadowheart? Are you all right in there?"

"What? Oh, I'm ... fine."

Karlach and Wyll exchanged glances. Adjusting the red leather hat over her horns (which she seemed rather loathe to part with) Karlach cleared her throat.

"Come on. We want to see you in the dress."

"It's all right. I've tried them all on. I think I ... "

"Shadowheart, I hate to insist, but we really want to see you in those dresses. We can't leave here with nothing."

Wyll's polite, but firm tone seemed to do the trick. The screen parted slightly before Shadowheart took a large stride out, almost tripping over her skirts.

She looked like a goddess descended from a more radiant plane than earth, that was for sure. The gown she wore composed a supple bodice, flowing skirts, fan-like sleeves and a brocade collar, turquoise shot through with pale green embroidery.

Karlach gasped and clapped, while Wyll spread his hands effusively.

"Stunning!"

"Oh hells! Why on earth were you hiding back there?"

Shadowheart's posture had been so stiff, it looked like she was practicing military drills, but under their positive response, she relaxed somewhat.

"Um. To tell you the truth ... I've always ... been partial to gowns like these, but I think ... I'd been told that they didn't belong on me. On someone like me, I think."

Wyll disappeared briefly behind the screens and re-emerged with the other gowns in hand.

"Well, I think these are well spotted. They'll all look marvelous."

Shadowheart eyed him skeptically.

"That's all well and good, but what about you, Wyll? I haven't seen you try anything on yourself."

Karlach nodded eagerly.

"Oh, go on. You're a fancy man, I reckon. Could do with some ruffles and tight pants."

Wyll snorted.

"I think you've got me mistaken for Astarion."

"Your arse is better."

"Karlach ... never let him hear you say that. And I mean never."

"Lae'zel, I never expected you to be so insightful regarding colour combinations."

"I'm good at most things. This should come as no surprise."

Astarion snapped his fingers.

"Ah, there she is. The Lae'zel we know and love."

Tucking away your own wrapped purchases into your rucksack, you frowned as you glanced out the door.

"We need to find Gale. Where on earth has he wandered off to?"

You followed Lae'zel and Astarion out into the street, examining the shopfronts for any sign of the stray wizard. A little further down the street, Lae'zel stopped so abruptly that you walked nose-first into the hilt of her sword.

"Ouch! What are you - "

"Be silent," she hissed.

Instantly, you were on the alert, hand snaking toward your weapon.

"What is it? Vlaakith's troops?"

"No. Worse."

Astarion drifted closer to your side, eyes scanning the street like a bird of prey.

"Don't keep us in suspense."

"It's Gale. Wearing some kind of ... monstrosity."

Hissing out a sharp breath, you shot her a glare.

"Why on earth would you make me panic like - "

"Shut up and look. It's ... truly horrifying."

Astarion had apparently forgotten his nerves in a second and gleefully sprang up on a low wall behind Lae'zel to get a better look across the crowded street, almost hanging piggyback off her.

"What is it? What could our dearest Gale be up to? Could it be - "

Gale chose that moment to exit the shop he had made his purchase at, a singularly self-satisfied expression on his face. As for what he was wearing ...

You hurriedly schooled your face into warm surprise when he saw you and waved, approaching eagerly.

"Oh, you'll never guess what I found. This used to be all the rage at Waterdeep when I was a lad, especially amongst the scholars."

Astarion deflated, arms draping limply across Lae'zel's shoulders.

"Gods below, don't get my hopes up like that. I thought he was cross-dressing for a minute."

It was a testament to how transfixed the githyanki was by Gale's outfit that she didn't attempt to dislodge Astarion from his perch.

"Gale. What is ... that you have on?"

The item in question resembled a robe, one much shorter that ended just below the waist. It was made from some kind of fluffy material, the colours pleasant enough, but strange to look at. Buttons came all the way up the front and it was clearly made for cooler weather.

Gale gestured to the garment proudly.

"Oh, this is a cardigan. Never see one before, I take it?"

"It's horrid," she blurted out, ignoring the way your eyes bulged and the fact that Astarion had now clapped a hand over his mouth.

Gale, fortunately, had developed something of a thick skin where Lae'zel was concerned. He waved her disgusted look away.

"Oh, come on. Give it a chance. If a whole city once thought it looked good then - "

"That city deserves to be razed to the ground."

He grimaced and turned to you.

"And your verdict?"

You shook your head hurriedly.

"Oh, I don't share her opinion. It looks comfortable and simple. Perfect for a ... wizard."

Astarion cleared his throat and you groaned internally.

"Oh, absolutely, darling. I just ... hope he never wore that around Mystra, because quite frankly, that would explain so much - "

Whirling on your heel you made a cutting motion with your hand. He was presenting an unusually united front with Lae'zel in their hatred of the cardigan.

"What is wrong with you both? He looks ... normal."

Gale sighed and folded his arms. He was getting that stubborn look on his face, the one that probably made the Weave quiver and entertain thoughts along the line of "Here we go again."

"Well, my apologies for offending your senses, but I will be wearing this every day from now on, considering how cold the weather's getting."

Lae'zel grunted as if struck with an arrow.

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, I would."

"I'll destroy it."

"You could try."

Raising your hands, you stepped between them.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, you lot. Gale, you're perfectly entitled to wear whatever you want - "

"I would certainly think so!"

"And Lae'zel, whatever your reservations, let's try to be civil, yes?"

She folded her arms and looked to be deeply in thought for a minute. Head snapping up, she approached Gale who regarded her warily.

"Wizard. I can't change your mind regarding this ... regrettable choice, but would you humour me on one thing?"

"And what's that?"

"Undo the buttons. It looks ... odd. Like a human in a sausage casing."

"She's right, Gale," chimed in Astarion, "The Weave works so much better when you show it some chest hair."

Gale raised an eyebrow.

"Probably why it never works for you then."

"Ooh, I love it when you get nasty."

The Elfsong Tavern was packed to the brim, the heat of many bodies, the sweet thrum of a lyre and the chatter of a myriad voices spilling into the dark streets. Your party had trekked their way upstairs to the refuge of your private quarters, leaving the door open in a mild concession to socialising.

The occasional patron would sway up the stairs and drink a toast to your good company.

To round off a day well-spent on treating yourselves, you'd ordered up some of the taverns finest ales, wines and dishes, laid out on a long table in the central area. Your companions took some time to bathe and dress themselves in their new finery before meandering over to the small feast.

Wyll looked sleek and elegant in a mahogany and gold coat, dark trousers and embroidered shoes. He lounged on the sofa beside Gale, who stubbornly persisted on donning his cardigan over a comfortable pair of woollen pants.

Studiously avoiding Gale, Lae'zel stood at the head of the table, a roast leg of lamb in one hand, her resplendent green doublet slashed through with blood red, providing an intimidating, if reassuring familiarity.

Karlach was currently downstairs, ordering more drinks from the bar, so you made your way over to Shadowheart and Astarion who were standing together by the hearth. You caught the tail end of their conversation.

"Purple looks a bit ripe on you, darling. Sort of like a plum that's been left in the dark for too long."

"Hmm. I suppose you think that white looks dashing on you. All it does it highlight your pallor."

"I am a vampire. I have to cultivate a certain otherworldly appeal. You on the other hand ... were you going for pauper princess banished from the kingdom?"

"More like assassin princess. A romantic image, you know? I have to wonder at those red highlights on your coat, though. What was the intention there? That you'd dribbled your dinner all over yourself?"

Attempting to hide the way your mouth twitched, you gestured to their clothes.

"I think you both look lovely."

"Oh, my sweet, how kind of you to say that about Shadowheart."

"Indeed. Astarion seems to think he has monopoly over good looks. It's nice to hear him corrected on that front."

Even as she spoke, she reached across and impatiently brushed away a thread from his coat.

"Gods, that was irritating. Now that's better."

Astarion regarded her sourly before clicking his tongue.

"Hold on. Your eyeliner is slightly smudged."

You took a sip of your wine, grinning to yourself as he fussed a little, correcting the stray mark beside her eye.

"There." He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Can't quite compete with me, but I suppose pale hair does look good on you."

"Likewise," she sniffed, before shooting you a smile and wandering off to find Karlach.

You finally let out the small laugh you'd been holding prisoner.

"Good to see you two getting along."

He huffed and made a show of adjusting his cuffs.

"I don't know what you're talking about, my sweet. What's that, in your goblet? A quality vintage, I hope?"

You allowed him to pilfer it out of your hand, eyes traveling across to where Lae'zel had now joined Wyll and Gale, stiffly complimenting them on their clothes.

"I think we needed this. A chance to unwind a little. Spoil ourselves."

Astarion drifted closer, fingers grazing the broach you now wore at your collar in place of honour.

"Indeed. You always seem to know ... exactly what we require. Even when we don't know it ourselves."

You turned and met his gaze, noting how the lightness of his tone betrayed the depth of feeling that was reflected there, just beneath the surface.

Regarding him with a tender smile, you extended a hand as the bard downstairs struck up a merry tune.

"Shall we dance?"

He sank into a gallant bow, fangs glinting in the dim light, and took up your offer, arm curling intimately around your waist as he pulled you close.

"Let's show them how it's done."

As you swept across the floor, swaying and dipping with Astarion's light guidance, you saw Wyll leap up and clap his hands, immediately inviting Lae'zel to dance with him.

She scowled and folded her arms, but Gale was always one step ahead.

"Oh, go on, Lae'zel. Weren't you the one who told us you could do just about anything?"

He stood and approached her.

"Of course, you could always dance with me instead. Get a firsthand feel of how soft and fleecy this cardigan is - "

She took a step back, an impressive feat on Gale's part.

"Fine! I'll partake of a ... turn with Wyll. Just this once."

Your dance was brought to an abrupt end when Karlach set the drinks down at the table with a resounding thump and cackled gleefully, wrapping her arms around you, hoisting until you and Astarion were both airborne on either side of her.

"Oh, you two precious things! Thanks for the treat, soldier. Just look at my hat!"

Astarion eyed the red leather dubiously.

"Looks like something right out of a sex dungeon."

"Even better!"

Breathless with laughter as Karlach whirled you around, singing loudly, you tipped the brim of her hat down and placed a kiss on Astarion's cheek, watching the softness build in his eyes, the burnished beauty of the firelight on his gleaming hair.

Seeing them all like this, these companions who'd wormed their way into your heart faster than any mindflayer tadpole, was well worth the battles that had brought you to this point.

You'd see this through, banishing the shadows from their lives one by one until light and merriment pervaded every living moment together.

And damn it all if you didn't look fabulous doing so.

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wintershub · 6 months ago

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With 2025 around the corner I'm going to make a much needed message.

NO ONE EXPECTS PERFECTION FROM YOU

And more importantly

NO ONE SHOULD EXPECT PERFECTION FROM YOU

Typos? Fine. Taking a long time to reply? Fine. Sporadic activity? Fine. Lack of aesthetics? Fine. Iconless? Fine. Literally do what ever the fuck you want, this is tumblr roleplay anyone that expects professional level shakesspear writing 24/7 or even amazing out of this world writing to begin with IS STUPID

Sure a lot of us put a lot of effort into our writing, blog aesthetics, art, and headcanons but that's because this a hobby we all feel very passionate about. We do it for the sake of it, we should only do it for the sake of it, this is not a boring office job where we HAVE to make certain quotas, where we do this because we literally need money to function as an adult, this is a creative field we all enjoy and should be having fun in

If someone comes over demanding perfect grammar, instant replies no matter what time of day or year it is, graphics 99% of ppl don't have the skill for, or what the fuck ever they can pay me and provide me with fucking life insurance, I have a real boss I get enough of I don't need another one. If people are going to make demands they are not good rp partners, cause I'll say it right now.

I value a mutuals mental health and well being far more than any silly rp thread

Need a 1000x years to type up a response? Go for it. Wanna drop a thread altogether? Fine. Wanna restart all our muses relationship? Perfectly fine. Wanna go low effort with no icons or fancy aesthetic shit? DO IT. Wanna make a bunch of headcanon posts and not rp? Love it you're doing great sweetie. Wanna just have your muse be silly and with no serious overarching plot? By all means have fun

Forcing my mutuals to pump out endless content like their Disney writers who don't get work break is not only not cool, but stupid. Especially when they'll be better writers and partners over all if they are given time to breath, relax and simply vibe. If I wanted mindless slop with no heart put into it I'd go chat up an AI bot or something

You do not need to be perfect, no one needs to be held to such an impossible standard. Especially when it comes to something as diverse as simply writing. You're doing great. Do what you need, but more importantly just do what you want. Do not cater to anyone.

#psa #okay to reblog

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zedecksiew · 1 year ago

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(Don't) Incentivise Ethical Behaviour

In the ongoing project of rescuing useful thoughts off Xwitter, here's another hot take of mine, reheated:

"Being good for a reward isn’t being good---it’s just optimal play."

The quote comes from Luke Gearing and his excellent post "Against Incentive", to which I had been reacting.

My thread was mainly intended as a fulsome nodding along to one of Luke's points. It was posted in 2021, and extended in 2023 after Sidney Icarus posed a question to it. So it is two threads.

Here they are, properly paragraphed, hopefully more cleanly expressed:

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(Don't) Incentivise Ethical Behaviour

This is my main problem with mechanically rewarding pro-social play: a character's ethical choice is rendered mercenary.

As Luke Gearing puts it:

"Being good for a reward isn’t being good---it’s just optimal play."

Bear in mind that I'm not saying that pro-social play can't have rewarding outcomes for players. Any decision should have consequences in the fiction. It serves the ideal of portraying a living, world to have these consequences rendered diegetic:

The townsfolk are thankful; the goblins remember your mercy; pamphlets appear, quoting from your revolutionary speech.

What I am saying is that rewarding abstract mechanical benefits (XP tickets, metacurrency points, etc) for ethical decisions stinks.

A subtle but absolutely essential distinction, when it comes to portraying and exploring ethics / morality, in roleplaying games.

Say you reward bonus XP for sparing goblins.

Are your players making a decisions based on how much they value life / the personhood of goblins? Or are they making a decision based on how much they want XP?

Say you declare: "If you help the villagers, the party receives a +1 attitude modifier in this village."

Are your players assisting the community because it is the right thing to do, or are they playing optimally, for a +1 effect?

XP As Currency

XP is the ur-example of incentive in TTRPGs. It began with D&D's gold-for-XP, and has never strayed far from that logic.

XP is still currency. Do things the GM / game designer wants you to do? Get paid.

Players use XP to buy better mechanical tools (levels, skills, abilities)---which they can then in turn use to better perform the actions that will net them XP.

Like using gold you stole from goblins to buy a sword, so you can now rob orcs.

I genuinely feel that such systems are valuable. They are models that illuminate the drives fuelling amoral / unethical behaviour.

Material gain is the drive of land-grabbing and colonialism. Logger-barons and empires do get wealthier and more privileged, as a reward for their terrible actions.

If you want to present an ethical choice in play, congruent to our real-life dilemmas, there is value in asking:

"Hey, if you kill the goblins you can grab their treasure, and you will get richer. There's no reward for sparing their lives, except that they are thankful."

Which is another way of asking:

"Does your commitment to the ideal of preserving life outweigh the guaranteed material incentives for taking life?"

The ethical choice is the difficult choice, precisely because it involves---as it often does, in real life---sacrificing personal growth and gain. Doling out an XP bounty for doing the right thing makes the ethical choice moot.

"I as the player am making a mechanically optimal choice, but my character is making an ethical choice!"

A cop-out. Owning your cake and eating it too. The fictional fig-leaf of empathy over a calculated a decision to make profit.

Sidney Icarus asks a question which I will quote here:

"... those who hold to their beliefs of good behaviour don't feel rewarded, and therefore feel punished. And that's not a good feeling. It's an unpleasant experience to play a game where the righteous players are in rags, and the mercenary fucks have crowns and sceptres. So, what's the design opportunity? How do we make doing the right thing feel pleasant without making it mercenary? Or, like reality, do we acknowledge that ethical acts are valuable only intrinsically and philosophically? I have no idea how to reconcile this."

I would suggest that the above dichotomy---"righteous players in rags, mercs in crowns"---is true if property is recognised as the only true incentive.

Friends As Property

Modern games try to solve the righteous-players-in-rags "problem" in various ways. Virtue might not net you treasure or XP, but may give you:

Contact or ally slots, which you can fill in;

Relationship meters you can watch tick up;

Favour points you can cash in later;

etc.

How different are these mechanical incentives from treasure or XP, really?

Your relationships with supposedly living, breathing beings are transformed into abilities for your character: skills you can train; powers you can reliably proc. Pump your relationship score with the orc tribe until calling on them for reinforcements becomes a once-per-month ability.

Relationships become contracts. Regard becomes debt. Put your friend in an ally slot, so they become a tool.

If this is what you want play to be---totally fine! As stated previously, games say powerful things when they portray the engines of profit and property.

But I personally don't think game designers should design employer-employee relationships and disguise these as instances of mutual aid.

Friends As Friends

In the OSR campaigns I'm part of, I keep forgetting to record money. Which is usually a big deal in such games, seeing as they are in the grand tradition of gold-for-XP?

In both games, my characters are still 1st-Level pukes, though it's been months.

I'm having a blast, anyway.

My GMs, by virtue of running organic, reactive worlds, have made play rewarding for me. NPCs / geographies remember the party's previous actions, and respond accordingly.

I've been given gills from a river god, after constant prayer;

I've befriended a village of monsters, where we now live;

I've parleyed with the witch of a whole forest, where we may now tread;

I've a boon from the touch of wood wose, after answering his summons.

I cannot count on the wood wose showing up. He is a character in the world, not a power I control. Calling on the wood wose might become a whole adventure.

Little of this stuff is codified my stats or abilities or equipment list. They are mostly all under "misc notes".

Diegetic growth. Narrative change that spirals into more play.

This is the design opportunity, to me:

How do we shape TTRPG play culture in such a way that the "misc notes" gaps in our games are as fun as the systemised bits? What kinds of orientation tools must we provide? What should we say, in our advice sections?

A Note About Trust

The reason why it is so hard to imagine play beyond conventional incentive structures has a lot to do with trust.

Sidney again:

One of the core issues is the "low trust table". I'm not designing just for myself but for my audience. For a product. How much can I ask purchasers and their friends to codesign this part with me?

Nerds love numbers and things we can write down in inventories or slots because they are sureties. We've learned to fear fiat or player discretion, traumatised as we are by Problem GMs or That Guys.

The reason why the poverty in Sidney's hypothetical ("righteous players are in rags") sounds so bad is because in truth it represents risk at the game table. If you don't participate in the mechanics legible to your ruleset (the XP and gear to do more game things), you risk gradually being excluded from play.

You have no assurance your fellow players will know how hold space for you; be considerate; work together to portray a living world where NPCs react in meaningful ways---in ways that will be fun and rewarding for everybody playing.

You are giving up the guarantee of mechanical relevance for the possibility of fun interactions and creative social play.

The "low trust table" is learned behaviour--the cruft of gamer culture and trauma.

When I game with folks new to TTRPGs, they tend to be decent, considerate. I think there's enough anecdotal evidence from folks playing with school kids / newcomers / etc to suggest my experience is not unique.

If the "low trust table" is indeed learned behaviour, it can be unlearned.

Which rules conventions, now part of the hobby mainstream, were the result of designers designing defensively---shadowboxing against terrible players and the spectre of "unfairness"?

How can we "undesign" such conventions?

Lack of trust is a problem that we have to address in play culture, not rulesets. You cannot cook a dish so good it forces diners to have good table manners.

This is too long already. I'll end with an observation:

Elfgames are not praxis, but doesn't this specific dilemma in the microcosm of our silly elfgames ultimately mirror real-world ethics?

To be moral is to trust in a better world; to be amoral / immoral is to hedge against the guarantee of a worse one.

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Further Reading

Some words from around the TTRPG community about incentive and advancement in games:

However, the reason there is a big debate about this is that behavioural incentives in games clearly do work, either entirely or at various levels. This applies outside gaming, as well. Why do advertising companies and retail business use "rewards" structures to convince people to buy more of their products? Why do people chase after "Likes" on social media?

A comment by Paul_T to "A Hypothesis on Behavioral Incentives" from a discussion on Story-Games.com

the structure and symbolism of the D&D game align with certain structures and values of patriarchy. The game is designed to last infinitely by shifting goalposts of character experience in terms of increasing amounts of gold pieces acquired; this resembles the modus operandi of phallic desire which seeks out object after object (most typically, women) in order to quench a lack which always reasserts itself.

D&D's Obsession With Phallic Desire from Traverse Fantasy

In short, my feeling is that rewarding players with character improvement in return for achieving goals in a specific way impedes some of the key strengths of TTRPGs for little or no benefit in return.

Incentives from Bastionland

When good deeds arise naturally out of the players choices, especially when players rejected other options that were more beneficial to them, it is immensely satisfying. Far more than if players are just assumed to be heroic by default. It gives agency and meaning to player choice.

Make Players Choose To Be Kind from Cosmic Orrery

Much has been made about 1 GP = 1 XP as the core gameplay loop driver of TSR D+D. But XP for gold retrieved also winds up being something of a de facto capitalistic outlook as well. Success is driven by accumulation of individual wealth -- by an adventuring company, even! So what's a new framework that can be used for underpinning a leftist OSR campaign?

A Spectre (7+3 HD) Is Haunting the Flaeness: Towards a Leftist OSR from Legacy of the Bieth

Growth should be tied to a specific experience occurring in the fiction. It is more important for a PC to grow more interesting than more skilled or capable. PCs experience growth not necessarily because they’ve gotten more skill and experience, but because they are changed in a significant way.

Cairn FAQ from Cairn RPG / Yochai Gal

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Thank you Ram for the Story-Games.com deep cut!

( Image sources: https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/neuron-activation https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Majesty:_The_Fantasy_Kingdom_Sim https://www.economist.com/sites/default/files/special-reports-pdfs/10490978.pdf https://varnam.my/34311/untold-tales-of-indian-labourers-from-rubber-plantations-during-pre-independence-malaya/ https://nobonzo.com/ )

PS: used with permission from Sandro, art by Maxa', a reminder to self:

#theory #ttrpgs #d&d #politics #ethics

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synnamonroll666 · 2 years ago

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(Hello hi, I love your work, first of all). For NSFW headcanons... maybe sneaking a semi-public quickie with our resident lizard man?

Hi! Thank you so much! 💚 I originally intended on this being shorter but I got very carried away with this. It was so fun to write! 🤭 I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! And let me know if you have any other head-canon or fic ideas! 💚 NSFW below!

⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒

Usually, Syzoth was pretty good at keeping his feelings in order. Whenever he was out and felt the room getting hotter and his pants getting tighter, he would always be quick to put his mind to something else and forget about the feeling until he could deal with it later.

But this wasn't any ordinary day for Syzoth; it was mating season. Usually, during this difficult time, Syzoth could still manage to hide his feelings. Sure, he would be a bit more moody and short-tempered than usual, but he could still keep himself from pouncing on the first girl he laid his eyes on. He's not an animal, after all. (Actually— 👀😂)

But that all changed when he met you. Even when you began dating, he would heavily avoid you during these times because he never knew if he could control himself around you. And that theory turned out to be true when he accidentally ran into you in the streets of Outworld during on one of his most feral days.

He was supposed to be delivering a message for the empress, but that mission was replaced with a much more lewd one when he saw you.

You were surprised when he grabbed you by the wrist and forcefully dragged you behind one of the barren shopping stalls set up in the streets. And you were even more surprised when he slammed you up against the wall and collided his beautiful lips to yours. You figured that the owner of the stall must have been out to lunch, but you didn't know for sure when they would be back. The thought alone made your knees weak from nerves and arousal.

Teaching Syzoth how to kiss was definitely rewarding, and you smiled wickedly into the kiss as you thanked the Elder Gods that you decided to do so that day. He had been so nervous to do such a thing that he didn't think he was ready for. But you slowly eased him into it and found that he was quite a skilled learner.

He pried your lips apart with his spade tongue, and you let out a soft moan as it caressed yours passionately, all while his hands were slowly travelling up your body to intensely squeeze your breasts. When you got too loud, Syzoth pulled away and pressed his hand to your mouth before firmly shushing and scolding you.

Something was different in his eyes that day. They didn't have the usual light and softness that you were used to within them. Instead, they looked hungry and gazed upon you as if you were his prey.

It didn't take long for him to have your pants around your ankles. You tried not to cringe when you heard thread snap as he tore them down, but the burning arousal within your core told you not to worry about it for now. Luckily, the stall you hid behind did sell clothing. How convenient!

Any other day, Syzoth would look up at you apologetically if he did anything destructive like this, but today it was clear that he couldn't care less.

And as soon as his cock was freed from the confines of his pants, he buried it to the brim within you as he let out a hiss of satisfaction. You almost didn't get a chance to see how painfully hard he was—how his tip leaked pre-cum like a facet for you. But that didn't matter because you could feel it deep within your tight walls.

Your head lolled back as you let out a heavenly sigh, but just as you began to get lost in that daydreamy cloud of pleasurable bliss, you heard something that made you go pale. Suddenly, there were more voices than just the usual amount on the busy streets of Outworld. In fact, it sounded as if people were gathering around.

Syzoth let something in Zaterran—which you assumed to be a curse word—slip off his forked tongue. You both clued in at the same time that it was the day for the annual parade the royals would throw. Syzoth's mind must have been so fogged by the heat of his rut that he forgot it was on this very date.

But instead of pulling out—like you expected him to—Syzoth gripped your shoulders firmly and began quickly pumping himself in and out of your hole. You let out startled gasps as he abused your pussy, bruising your cervix more each time he thrusted himself into you.

One of his hands moved from your shoulder to press against your lips and seal your moans within again as he picked up his pace, moving at a speed that was humanly impossible.

Between your walls getting filled perfectly by his thick length over and over, the sounds of your mate's feral growls in your ear, and the thrill of the small chance of getting caught in your naughty situation, it didn't take long for that coil of pleasure within to snap and have you seeing stars as you met your climax. And Syzoth followed shortly after, digging his nails deep into your flesh as he growled like a rabid dog while filling your walls with thick ropes of his hot cum.

You ignored the sting of overstimulation in your core and the angry crescents engraved in your shoulders as you let him ride out his high. The way your walls fluttered around him as you reached your climax must have been the last straw for your poor Ninja, knocking him into one of the most intense orgasms of his life.

After his high came to an end, he rested his forehead against yours while letting his eyes flutter shut. There was a moment of peace and the two of you listened to the people enjoying the festival around you while you could feel his cooling seed drip down your thighs and legs, reminding you that you'd have to get a pregnancy test soon.

After coming to and noticing that your blood had been welling up under his nails from how hard they dug into your flesh, Syzoth pulled away and began showering you with praises and compliments. He asked if you were okay and if you could walk, which you told him you would manage.

After taking some pants from the stall you hid behind and leaving some money on the counter, you and Syzoth shared one final kiss and said your goodbyes before parting ways so he could finish his mission to deliver the empress' message. After being left behind, you decided to enjoy the rest of the parade before going home to prepare for a long night of round two. ♡

⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒⛥⭒

#mortal kombat 1 #mk1 #mortal kombat reptile #mk reptile #reptile #reptile x reader #mortal kombat syzoth #mk syzoth #syzoth #syzoth x reader #SinnamonsSpicyHeadcanons

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initialsaint · 9 months ago

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Hear me out: Duncan's got more homemaker skills than Courtney.

Courtney's parents were always focused on her academic life and career. They got her private tutoring any time she slipped, had her in all advanced classes, and they made sure she never did an extracurricular she couldn't put on a resumé. But they never taught her any regular life skills.

It's not like she's clueless, though. A lot of stuff is common sense. She's too much of a neat freak to have a messy dorm or apartment, and she can do her own laundry, but she can't cook. She ruined her new frying pan the day she bought it trying to make eggs. She doesn't know what to do when her bookshelf collapses the first week of college, and resorts to stacking her books next to her desk. She burns a hole in one of her most professional looking blouses with the iron when she doesn't realise fabric can melt.

So when her favourite jumper begins to unravel, the pale purple one with tiny flowers on the cuffs, she very nearly cries about it. It's just a jumper, but Courtney is nothing if not particular. She knows there's no replacing it.

When she mentions it to Duncan, frustrated and not thinking much of it, he raises an eyebrow and asks why she doesn't fix it, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind.

"How would you even begin to fix it? There must be half a foot of wool coming off already, and the hole's in this super awkward place by the elbow."

"So you didn't try?"

Courtney goes a little red in the face at that.

She doesn't expect Duncan to come over the next day with a banged up biscuit tin and ask to take a look at the jumper himself. He inspects the damage, careful not to tug at any of the loose loops of knitting, and looks up at Courtney.

"This is the "huge hole", you mentioned?"

She might have exaggerated a little, but she's emotional about this, damn it. Duncan sighs, and grabs the biscuit tin. He cracks it open to reveal a sewing kit, packed full of loose fabric and needles and threads of every colour.

"This won't take long. Put the coffee pot on."

Courtney bites her tongue about manners and does as she's told, pouring them each a cup while she watches Duncan work.

It shouldn't surprise her that he has this stuff. Most of his clothes look D.I.Y'd somehow, with little tears and patches tacked on. But the scene before her is just so uncharacteristically domestic. He tries mending the hole normally at first, but the yarn keeps fraying when he tries, and he huffs before rummaging through the sewing kit.

When Courtney sets his cup down in front of him, Duncan is sewing what looks like a loose scrap of fabric over the hole.

"I had some blank patches left over and this thing is being a bitch, so it'll have to do."

After some time, he hands the jumper over for Courtney to see. There's an oblong white patch neatly stitched onto the left sleeve, covering the hole, and the elbow entirely. If she didn't know better (and if the other sleeve wasn't blank) Courtney would almost think that the jumper came that way- the evenness of the stitches is shocking.

Courtney blinks. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"My mom. I used to fuck up everything I wore within a week, and she always fixed it. She showed me how to do it myself when I was ten." Duncan takes a sip of his coffee. "You're welcome, by the way."

Courtney rubs the back of her neck sheepishly. "Right, thank you. Really."

"You really didn't think to do it yourself?" Courtney opens her mouth, and it's like Duncan can sense the indignant response before she gets a word out. "I'm not judging, I just figured little miss C.I.T would know how to do this stuff."

She huffs. "Not all of us were burning holes in our shirts before 8th grade."

"It was barbed wire, thank you very much. And it's still a good skill to have."

"My parents were just focused on teaching me other things, and it's not like I ever needed to know before now."

"Uh-huh." Duncan looks at her, thinking.

"I could always teach you anyway?"

"You'd teach me to sew?"

Duncan looks down at his cup. "Well, not just that, but yeah. I just don't wanna be the one to fix all your shit."

Courtney crosses her arms. "It was one hole in one jumper, Duncan."

"And the bookshelf?"

She flushes. "I just haven't got around to it!"

"Sure you haven't."

Courtney thinks, rubbing the soft wool of her jumper between her fingers. She gets a small hole in one jumper, and suddenly it's like she's hyperaware of how little she knows. Sure, not everyone can sew, but it's not just that. She doesn't want to admit to Duncan how many times she's eaten out this semester after burning her dinner, or how many times she's called Bridgette in a panic over her dishwasher making weird noises.

"...I guess it couldn't hurt. To get a second opinion."

Duncan smiles. "Whatever you say, Princess."

#td courtney #tdi duncney #td duncan #duncney #total drama #tdi #this started out as a short headcanon but i cannot shut up ever. 870+ words bbg!#im trying to learn how to put more personality into how i write too- i feel like i write too objectively if that makes sense #hopefully this one comes off as more expressive

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leo-fie · 1 year ago

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Progress Pride Flag Quilt Block Pattern & Tutorial

Don't you just love the flag of our people? Do you have an inner grandma that years to make stuff? Do you want to combine these two things and make a queer quilt?

Well, I've got you.

Behold the pattern! And my lack of graphic skills, so I drew it on paper!

Basically it's a bunch of rectangles, one half square triangle and a fuzzy cut circle. I don't know shit about quilting and I was able to come up with it. Why centimeter, you ask? Because I'm German and that's what I'm familiar with. Why weird measurements and not jelly rolls and layer cakes and stuff? Because I'm German and quilting is not really a thing here.

Onto the tutorial!

You'll need:

A scrap of fabric of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, black, brown, light blue, pink, white each

additional fabric for the border

Cutting mat, quilting ruler, roll cutter

sewing machine

thread

pins

double sided interfacing

iron and ironing board

fabric sheers

compasses

Step 1: Cut everything. Duh. We'll take care of the circle later, don't worry about that now. The half square triangle is exactly what it sounds like. A square and then you cut it diagonally. That's why I didn't give the length of the hypotenuse.

(Note: I'm making two blocks at the same time, that's why there's so much fabric. Also this is a middle of the night project, hence the lighting.)

I'm using all kinds of different fabrics, different weights and drapes, some stretchy, some transparent, so I needed to interface some of them.

Step 2: Sew the rainbow together. 0,5cm seam allowance on everything, that's exactly the edge of the foot on your machine. Double and triple check that everything is facing the right direction before sewing. The seam of yellow and green does not get sewn fully, only 21,5 cm! That's important later! Also backtack there. Don't forget to iron.

Step 3: Sew the strips to the half square triangle. For this you have to switch between the sewing machine and the ironing board constantly. Attach the shorter strip diretly to one side of the HST, iron it open. The second strip of the same colour gets attatched to the other side of the HST and the first strip. Look at the pictures closely if you're unsure how that works. Also the strips are longer than the triangle. We'll square that up later.

All strips attatched will look like this. See how the two strips meet at the tip!

Step 4: Cut the rainbow part to size. The length between yellow and green is 22cm long. The shorter seam from before plus some seam allowance. The outsides of red and purple are 44,5cm long. These two points are the beginning and end of your cutting line. You will cut a little triangle from every single colour. Do this slowly and carefully. Maybe your fabrics have stretched a bit (mine did). Don't worry, it will be ok.

Step 5: The Y seam, part one. Y seams are tricky, but there's only one for this block. So put your strips part on your rainbow part and line them up so that the tip of the strip part overhangs the seam between yellow and green by about half a centimeter. Remember that it's not about the edges of the fabric, but where the seam will be. But don't sew all the way! Leave 0,5cm at the tip!

You can also mark on your strip piece two lines 0,5cm from the edges of the black. They should form a little square at the tip. There they meet is where the actual tip on the finished block will be. So place this spot directly on the seem between yellow and green and only sew right up to it. Not beyond.

Step 6: The Y seam, part two. Now, fold both the rainbow part and the strips part in half and if you've done the last step correctly, the remaining two edges will allign. Pin and sew.

I can't explain it better than I've done here, I'm sure there are tutorias out there. Good luck!

Step 7: Square up. Iron your block to that everything is nice and straight and flat. Then use the fabric edges of the red and purple to cut the remaining ends of the strips. Use the HST to cut the white. Be careful, the long side of the triangle is on the bias and likely stretched a bit.

I already added borders here. I'm making a pillow case.

Step 8: Fuzzy cut and raw edge applique. Double sided iron on interfacing is essentially double sided tape. It has two types of glue, one gets activated by 2 seconds of heat, the other by 5 or so (depends on the product). The second side is also covered with a paper that needs to be removed before the second gluing. Read the instructions of the product you are using!

Use your compasses to draw a circle on the protective paper side of the interfacing. It's actually two circles from the same middle point, see pattern. Cut it out roughly. Then place it with the rougher side on the backside of your purple fabric and iron for 2 seconds on middle heat. If you've just ironed your fabric before and the ironing board is still hot, wait for it to cool down. Also let the fabric cool down after applying. Then cut out your circle. The interfacing will have stiffened the fabric, so that shouldn't be a problem. Then remove the protective paper, place the circle on the yellow triangle where you want it and iron for 5 seconds. Let cool.

And you're done! The applique at this point is only secured with the interfacing, but it should hold fairly well. The quilting will secure it further.

And that's it. BTW, did you know that this design was made by Valentino Vecchietti for Intersex Equality Rights UK in 2021? Now you do. Happy quilting!

#lgbt+#lgbtq+#lgbtq community #pride flag #progress pride flag #valentino vecchietti #quilting #quilt #quilt block #quilt pattern #quilt tutorial #sewing #sewing machine #sewing tutorial #sewing pattern

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the-camp-half-blood-library · 1 month ago

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Hello! I would love some solangelo fic recommendations, specifically longer multi-chap ones. Thanks!

Hey there! We've found five longer Solangelo fics for you with a variety of tags -- just remember to read the descriptions before reading!

threads by balletandbooks

Nico and Will, at 29 and 30, have been together for over a decade and seem to have gotten the hang of life, as a pediatric surgeon and an employee of the underworld. However when things start to change for Nico, it means big changes to their dynamic, their lives, and how the scars left by their past come into their lives now.

the colours of the sunset by Epsylon_K

When Will was born, the days used to pass like that, a continuous coming and going of the sun that would disappear for a few hours before reappearing at the other side of the world. Then, one day, when Will was so small he could barely string together two-word phrases, the sun arrived at its peak and simply stopped there. The Perpetual Day, they called it, sometimes colloquially referred to as The Never-ending Day or This Damn Hot Day.

A Ring On Your Finger; A Hand On Our Hearts by ACcodeword

Will didn't know why he bought the ring so early. He didn't even know if they would ever decide marriage would be good idea, but he bought one. I silver band with an engraving on the inside. The engraving was simply the word forever. It felt like too much, but it also felt like that was the right thing to have for Nico. He hid it in the empty cabinet above the fridge. He probably never use it anyway, demigods normally didn't live happily ever after. Nico found a ring trying to hide a birthday present. He found it, looked at it, and put it back. He felt a little giddy, maybe even joyful that Will had thought that far about them. Nico didn't think it was something he ever desired, marriage. The ring box had collected a layer of dust. He knew it wasn't there when they had moved it; they checked ever cabinet. How long ago had Will bought it?

Good luck babe! by Dorian060504

Nico, 17, is the son of the city's pastor. Because of his father's strict, religious upbringing he finds himself completely sheltered. Among other things, he isn't allowed a phone, music, tv or time with friends in general. Because of this, he's an outcast at school. Will, 17, is your typical american teenager. He lives alone with his mom, has a pretty close friend group and likes music, pop culture and sports. Being raised as an only child, without a father, he tends to be very responsible and aware, sometimes, even too wary for his own good. Nico, who needs a scholarship in order to get in college because of his economic situation, is failing chemistry, and so his teacher decides to get him into a peer tutoring program, and considering he's pretty skilled in the subject, Will ends up being his tutor.

Meetings Throughout the Years by Palindrome_Mystery

Inspired by the part in The Sun and the Star where Will and Nico recall for the nymph Gorgyra when they first met. Will's POV of seeing Nico over the years. Will Solace first met Nico di Angelo when they were 11 and 10 respectively. Nico was a new unclaimed camper staying at the Hermes cabin. He was brought into the infirmary after accidentally slicing his leg with a sword during training, and proceeded to track blood all over the infirmary as he looked around excitedly asking questions. He saw him again briefly at the Battle of the Labyrinth. He recognized the boy with dark hair who was now holding a black sword and summoning skeletons. He would see the boy, who was now known as the son of Hades, appear every once in a while at Camp to exchange updates and then disappear again. He would see him once again at the Battle of Manhattan, in beautiful and terrifying armor leading an army of the dead and turning the tide of battle as three gods joined him. He had hoped the son of Hades would stay at Camp now that Hades had his own cabin. But no such luck. It took another battle, and forbidding Nico from shadow-traveling away on doctors orders, to get him to stick around long enough to befriend.

We hope we've found some good fics for you! Leave kudos, leave a comment, and happy reading!

#ao3 #fanfic #fanfiction #percy jackson fanfiction #archive of our own #pjo #fanfic rec #riordanverse #percy jackson #pjo hoo toa #heroes of olympus #nico di angelo #percy jackon and the olympians #will solace #solangelo #nico pjo #nico di angelo x will solace

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misspelledwordswizard · 8 months ago

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Chapter 19 - What to do when you are stuck in the sky?

Previous chapter / Next chapter

— Is this good? – I asked, showing my work.

— Good is not the word I would use, but it is better than before. Make the stitches closer and tighter, or else it will be loose. – Legend helped me, correcting my sewing mistakes.

I just accepted the criticism, which was equivalent to praise coming from him, and undid the stitches to redo them correctly. We had been here for almost an hour, probably, even though I knew the basics of sewing – thread the thread in needle, make a knot and pass it from one side to the other in the fabric – the Veteran made sure to hone my skills and prevent me from getting in the way instead of helping.

I was sewing the lower part of Hyrule’s tunic, while he took care of a tear higher up, so we were sitting shoulder to shoulder on the floor, sharing the fabric. After that, We'd still have his own black tunic, but I imagine he would want privacy for that. It wouldn’t be very feasible for him to only wear his newly sewn red one with me in the same room.

The silence between us became comfortable. It was good to have some time of peace and distraction with a manual work that didn’t demand much from me physically or mentally. But I knew there was something bothering my sewing partner. However, knowing his history of not letting anyone help him, I thought it best to leave him alone. If he wanted to talk, I’d be all ears. We continued like that for a few more minutes, until the bedroom door opened, revealing Warriors, who seemed surprised to see us there.

— I found you! The Cook is preparing dinner, in the meantime, Time called everyone to talk about the next steps. – He warned and we looked at each other, shrugging and putting our sewing aside for the moment.

We went out the door, following the Captain to the table, where the others were already gathered, with the exception of Wild who was cooking right next to him. Wind smiled and waved, still sunburned, I don’t even want to know how I look, at least it doesn’t hurt anymore. The others greeted us, some I was seeing for the first time today, so we sat with them in a month.

There were still some side conversations going around the table, but they were all interrupted when the Old Man called our attention to what Sky wanted to say. He cleared his throat when he noticed everyone’s eyes on him, and prepared to explain to us what this was all about.

— Well, you must have noticed that there is no real danger here in Skyloft or on the other islands, what we are looking for will hardly be found here. – The Chosen Hero began to speak, presenting his points. – What is needed now is for all of us to go to the surface, to Hyrule, where we will be free to investigate.

— The problem is that there is no easy way to do this. – Time continued, complementing what the other hero was trying to say.

— Exactly. It was already complex to bring all of you here, taking you to the surface is a very impractical idea. – Sky continued, presenting na obvious point, but one that I myself had not thought about before. – Especially because there would be no way for us to get there with the Loftwings, and to get down each one would need something like Wild’s Paraglider to prevent the fall.

— So, what is the plan?

— We don’t have a plan, that’s the problem. – He answered Four’s question, leaving everyone frustrated.

— Maybe we could start looking for the other islands while we don’t have access to the surface, or we could go there little by little! – I suggested, thinking of different possibilities, most of them incoherent. – There are people working on the construction of Hyrule there, whoever goes down can help with that while they wait for the others, we could organize ourselves and do this throughout the week.

Everyone contemplated, analyzing my suggestion, I know it wasn’t perfect, but I believe it’s a start. The first to criticize my idea was the Captain, who, although he didn’t seem to be rejecting it completely, had strong and valid points that went against it.

— Separating the group for so long may not be the best idea, especially for the first and last to go, since that way they would be alone and vulnerable for longer, not to mention that we would have to get a glider for each one.

— Not necessarily. – Wild intervened. – We could very well take turns using mine, if Sky came down with us, which would be recommended, he could bring it back for the next person to use.

— Hm, it doesn’t seem like such an absurd option to me, but perhaps there are other possibilities to consider. – Time completed.

The discussion of ideas continued for several more minutes, every now and then someone suggested something that was quickly discarded, soon the environment became a mess of noise from all sides, even the Champion who was focused on preparing the meal made a point of participating in the debate that was taking place. There came a time when I wished I could have a whiteboard and a megaphone to be able to organize this crowd of confusing ideas that were mixed up in the midst of the various male voices present in the place.

The hubbub only subsided when the food was placed on the table, everyone losing focus on the discussion and turning their attention to serving themselves with the delicious food that was steaming hot from having just been taken off the fire. It was a tangle of bodies fighting for their place to fill their plates with food, as if they had been hungry for days and were fighting for their survival. And I felt dramatic.

It was only then that everyone calmed down, a comfortable silence while their mouths were full of food, leaving the worry aside temporarily, after all. This was still a subject to be debated not so far in the future, but for now, I believe it is fair to put this aside to enjoy a great family dinner.

Family? Well, they are certainly a big family, but perhaps it is still a little early for me to consider myself part of it. I am satisfied with the category of family friend, for now.

◇

It was the middle of the night and I still hadn’t managed to sleep.

No specific reason, just occasional insomnia. I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling while wandering through random thoughts, some portrayed my daily life, others traveled to the past, and still others just questioned useless, strange and unusual things. I had taken another great shower before going to bed, I smelled like flowers and was very warm and comfortable under a thick blanket, Skyloft can be quite cold at night. I could hear what I concluded was a cat fight, or rather, a Remlits fight, outside, near my bedroom window. This was also a good reason to lose sleep, but it was actually reassuring, in a way it seemed familiar. My mind was very tired, my body not so much, but there was this thing in my subconscious that didn’t allow me to sleep, I imagine it was something close to worry.

Everything has been very calm since we got here, which leads me to believe that the real problem is far away, on the surface, a place we can’t be at the moment. The more I think about it, the less I can calm down enough to rest. At least I still have some time before we have to wake up so early again. I know that even if I end up only going to sleep when the sun comes up, I can rest all afternoon, just this once. But this can’t become a habit. I should be able to control my body, so that I can control when and how much I sleep.

Exhausted and without hope, I removed the heavy blanket from my body and stood up, giving myself some time to get used to it and not get dizzy. I left the room and headed towards the kitchen, trying not to bump into anything with the poor vision I had due to the lack of lighting. I looked for a glass that I could use and poured myself some water that was stored in a barrel specifically for drinking. Thanks to the cold of the night, the water was cool, which was a relief for my body, helping me to clear my mind as much as possible.

After hydrating, I decided it would be best to just go back to the room, there wasn’t much to do and going out there with the monsters on the loose wasn’t really na option. I went back the way I came, up the stairs and into the room, being careful not to slam the door when closing it and end up waking the others. I lay down on the bed that still retained the heat of my body, hiding in the covers and curling up, I finally closed my eyes and forced myself to stay that way until I fell asleep.

To my surprise, after so long, I had another strange dream again. The scary kind, not just the lack of common sense of dreams. I was sitting in a chair, in a dark, cold room that smelled of rot. I was alone, not a sound that indicated the presence of another being in the room, the silence was deafening and made any noise I made seem absurdly loud. Time passed, nothing happened, the silence continued and I didn’t care about trying to change it. I may be curious as hell, but I’m not stupid, I’ve watched a lot of horror movies. The room I was in didn’t have a door, not that I could see, so anyway there was nothing to explore in that dark, cold and boring place.

— You surprised me.

A voice I couldn’t identify spoke, somberly, a distorted tone with interference and glitches, which made the whole situation even stranger. I looked around, confused, the sound didn’t seem to be coming from a specific place, I couldn’t fully understand it, and there were no signs of any other living soul around here.

— I thought I had caught you last time, I didn’t think you would resist. Silly girl.

The voice continued, being very vague about what it was referring to, I don’t know if this thing expects me to answer or something, but I prefer to remain silent and make sure I can get as much information as possible, maybe by connecting the dots I can reach some conclusion.

— You could have been happy there, even if it was a dream, you could have been with the one you love in your last moments of life. So why did you resist? – The voice continued, and I finally identified what it was talking about. – For those people you don’t even know?

A silence once again dominated the room. I took a deep breath, keeping calm. That’s it, it’s just a dream, nothing can happen to me here, whatever this is is contained in the dream world, I’m safe for now.

— You’ve made your choice, now suffer watching your precious real world be destroyed along with those you care so much about. Or maybe, you’ll just watch from afar as they abandon you when they find out the truth.

Before I could react, the room began to change, tremble, shake and throw me into the air. I felt my body collide with several things as I was thrown from one side to the other, a particularly strong stitch hitting me in the rib and then everything passed, when I opened my eyes, I was back in bed, sweating after a bad nightmare.

◇

— Hylia, you look terrible. –

Warriors commented when he saw me in the morning, something that I assume is true. I didn’t even bother trying to get ready before leaving the room. Of course, I couldn’t sleep after that and I kept tossing and turning in bed. My hair must look like a bird’s nest and I don’t even want to imagine what my dark circles are like. And of course, thanks to that, my mood isn’t the best, it’s around six in the morning and now my mind is working to choose between two options: Stuff myself with caffeine or try to go back to sleep. The lack of coffee around here was what led me to choose the second option, but first I came to eat something so I wouldn’t have na empty stomach.

— Bad night. – That was all I could answer with my hoarse voice and my discouragement due to tiredness.

— Geez, I’ll tell Wild to make you a full breakfast and for everyone to leave you alone for today. The last thing we need is a woman with PMS.

— I didn’t say I’m PMSing.

— I’m assuming I am. – He replied, leaving me to talk to Wild who was already at the stove, while I looked away due to his comment.

Poor Champion, so early and already having to work to make sure we all don’t die of hunger or food poisoning. When I can, I’ll take over his job for a whole day so he can rest, at least I can cook safe food that won’t make people want to vomit. I think.

— Good morning. – The Sailor spoke with a voice as hoarse as mine as he approached the table, and I had to hold back from laughing at the sight of his state so similar to mine. The boy’s hair was so messy, tangled and spiky that it deserved to have been electrocuted and then passed through a hurricane right after. He had a big sleepy face and was staggering as he walked, still not fully awake.

— Wow, you two look exactly alike, you even look like siblings. – Four joked, also arriving for breakfast.

The youngest just ignored the comment, or maybe he didn’t pay attention to it, and sat down next to me, making us look like a pair of sleepy zombies. Before I could complain again or pass out from sleepiness, a plate of food was placed in front of me, the delicious smell waking me up and making my stomach growl.

— So, have you guys thought about what to do next? – I asked as I stuffed a large piece of pancakes into my mouth.

— Oh, I was thinking about going for a swim in the river later, it’s hot outside. – Wild commented as he looked out the window, noticing the strong sun.

— No, not today, I mean regarding the surface!

— Oh, about that, yeah, I still don’t know.

— I think the best option would really be to go slowly, and take turns using the Champion’s paraglider, but there are still holes in this plan that need to be filled. – Wars answered me, sitting at the table with his own plate of food.

— I see, so there’s not much to do for now. – I commented as I ate, shuddering at the thought of having to jump and glide again.

For the rest of the meal I remained quiet, just listening to the others’ side conversations, without the energy to actively participate beyond some occasional laughter. After finishing eating, I got up and went to wash my plate, stretched and started walking back upstairs where I could rest.

I walked slowly down the hallway, discouraged just remembering that I have a staircase to climb, but I remained firm in my decision, I need to get some sleep. As I walked, I felt a small shadow behind me, following my slow steps blindly, turning around, I saw Wind who wasn’t even paying attention to what he was doing, just following me like a puppy. A sleepy puppy.

— Can I sleep with you? – He asked before I could say anything, making me chuckle in agreement. I don’t know if he just wants to sleep a little more after yesterday’s long day, or if he’s in the same situation of lack of rest as I am, but maybe company is what I need right now.

— Okay, you can go to my room, I’ll try to take a shower before bed, I’m tired and smelly, it wouldn’t be nice to share the bed with me in this state, would it? – I joked, making him laugh a little and agree. We finished climbing the stairs together and the blond boy promptly went towards the bedroom.

I straightened my posture, feeling a relief as I stretched my muscles, sighed again, looking for strength to stay standing and walked towards the bathroom. Opening the door, I was thankful that it was empty at this hour, tested the temperature of the water with my fingertips and was gratified to notice that it was warm, it would be good to relax my sore muscles.

I began to undress calmly, taking care not to lose my balance and fall straight to the floor, yawning a lot in the process. Soon my clothes had already been discarded and I stretched lazily, gathering the courage to get into the bathtub full of hot and seductive water. I’m afraid that when I get in, I’ll end up falling asleep right there and be shamefully found by someone later.

I hurried to get in, this should be a risk I’m willing to take. But it’ll be okay, the guilt of leaving Wind waiting for me for so long will prevent my conscience from giving in to this temptation. In this heat, I wouldn’t complain about a cold bath either, but in my situation, a hot bath is much more welcome.

I put my feet in the bathtub, being careful not to slip, and slowly began to lower myself and get into the water, feeling the heat welcoming me comfortably. After the water reached my waist, I relaxed and got in completely, immersing my entire body in the hot water, and bitterly regretting this decision right after. A huge burning sensation hit my ribs, burning my skin, which was strangely sensitive at that point, scaring me and making me jump in place in pain. Without really understanding, I looked at the place that had hurt so much and I could see a purple spot, as if from a blow. I was confused for a moment, trying to remember where I had gotten this single random injury, until I realized the real situation, which made my heart race with fear and concern instantly.

— Fuck!

#legend of zelda #link x reader #linked universe x reader #lu x reader #tloz #linked universe #linked universe fanfic #x reader #link x you

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waitmyturtles · 9 months ago

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Thinking About QL Fandoms and Markets For Indian Queer Media

Alright, ::rubs hands together::, let's see if this old auntie can get the link history of this thread straight first.

@impala124 originally wrote in an ask to dear @lurkingshan about Shan's thoughts on a developing fandom for Indian queer media.

Shan subsequently asked a few of us on the internet, brown Asian and/or otherwise, to weigh in, which @starryalpacasstuff did here. Starry's piece has a few great reblogs with media resources that everyone should scurry to check out.

The inimitable @neuroticbookworm then decided to show us her literary Tae Bo skills and dropped an absolute MONSTER of a must-read regional media and industry analysis here. (Let me emphasize that this is a MUST-READ PIECE if you're interested in Indian media.)

I'm going to use NBW's piece as a reference throughout my weak-ass response tea here, because she covered almost everything that needed to be said about why there ISN'T a robust or developed fandom on the internet for Indian queer media. So go read that first, and if you forget to click back here, it's all good, because I'm just gonna offer some unorganized macro-level thoughts at this point.

****

I'd like to first amplify a number of themes that @neuroticbookworm made clear in her piece about the "media industry in India." I'm only putting that phrase in quotes not because NBW wrote it (she didn't), but because it's a wholly inaccurate phrase.

1) INDIA IS *NOT* A SINGLE, UNIFIED CULTURAL MONOLITH. Remember your early social studies classes on early civilizations? The Aryans, Harappa, Mohenjo Daro? Those specific civilizations arose in the north of the Indian sub-continent, and not a lot of social studies spaces outside of Indian classrooms give love to the other regional areas in India -- like, say, all of South India, hello -- that belong to other civilization definitions.

To be grossly overgeneral, ancient civilizations in the northern subcontinent were known as Aryan civilizations, while those of the southern subcontinent were known as Dravidian civilizations. We see these differences today in the food we brown people eat, and ESPECIALLY in the languages we speak. Tamil (a Dravidian South Indian language) couldn't be farther away from Hindi (a North Indian language emanating from Sanskrit).

2) While the prominent political nationalists of India (😐) would like to have you believe that all Indians are monolithically similar -- or rather, SHOULD be monolithically similar by way of all Indians speaking Hindi, consuming Hindi media, and erasing religious diversity (🤬) -- nothing could be farther from the truth of our incredibly diverse and complicated subcontinent. We Indians are regionally, and therefore culturally, diverse in a great myriad of ways, way beyond our food, language, and religious preferences.

[For my non-Indians and non-Asians reading this, think about the two dishes you see the most on Indian restaurant menus outside of India. Chicken tikka masala and tandoori chicken, right? That's typical "Indian" food to the untrained eye. CTM is a British dish borne from immigrant South Asian chefs; and tandoori chicken was created by North Indian Punjabis. My own Indian origins are half-half (lah), I'm half-South and half-North Indian (with some SE Asia thrown in there, boleh!). My brain fucking freezes when I speak to someone who thinks the extent of "Indian food" is CTM and TC, and I have to explain, for the millionth time, the basics of the incredible array of South Indian vegetarian food that I grew up eating and loving.]

Thus, what I'm trying to say is, when we say the word "INDIAN," there are some questions that a curious listener should be tuned into asking to get specifics about just what kind of "India" or "Indian" the speaker is speaking of. I'll often get the question, "but WHERE in India are your parents from," from tuned-in Asians, who want to know specifically about my regional background.

VERY SO OFTEN IN POPULAR DIALOGUE ABOUT "INDIAN MEDIA," THE UNDERLYING ASSUMPTION OF THE CONVERSATION IS THAT THE SPEAKER IS ONLY SPEAKING ABOUT HINDI-LANGUAGE MEDIA, WITHOUT RECOGNIZING THAT REGIONAL AND/OR NON-HINDI LANGUAGE MARKETS MIGHT BE MAKING MEDIA, EVEN POPULAR MEDIA, FOR THEIR SPECIFIC REGIONAL MARKETS AND AUDIENCES WITHOUT AS MUCH OF A GLANCE TO THE DOMINANT HINDI-SPEAKING NORTH.

NBW says this brilliantly in her incredible piece, which delineates the major differences in the MANY regional and even sub-regional media markets of India, that produce a VAST array of media in the languages of the regions, markets, and audiences that this media serves.

On a personal note, when I was a kid, I only watched old South Indian films subtitled in English that my South Indian dad found. My North Indian mom watched them with us happily. We didn't do Bollywood in my house because frankly, dad hated those films and wasn't into them. Now that I think about it, it's probably because those Hindi films didn't bear a single resemblance to the cultural and life he lived growing up in South India.

3) Alright, so we have established that in terms of media, to speak about "Indian media" as a monolith is utterly incorrect, and just, go back to NBW's piece to get an excellent analysis of the details of that situation.

NBW does a bang-up job highlighting important pieces of regional media throughout her post, and like I mentioned before, there are multiple lists of media in the reblogs Starry's piece linked above ( @silverquillsideas notes in her reblog of Starry's piece that two important films come out of the state of Bengal, a market that us Indians should certainly pay attention to in particular.)

I therefore might posit that there might not actually be a unified "fandom for Indian queer media."

IT IS CLEAR from the reblogs of the various pieces that we've written over the last few days, that us Indians who love QLs certainly don't INHERENTLY know, universally, about ALL the queer media, across the subcontinent, in the MANY languages we speak, that has been made.

We have a lot of learning to do across our own regional identities.

I'd argue that, instead, from an organic growth perspective, that regional media markets in India would respond to THEIR OWN AUDIENCE'S AND MARKET'S DEMANDS and create queer media WITHIN THEIR OWN REGIONS

a) if their market(s) demanded it, AND b) if there was either pre-production funding, or a guarantee of net revenue from the airing of such media.

A fandom doth not create media.

It is filmmakers that create media.

And those filmmakers need

✨ MONEY ✨

to make media.

Some regional markets will, by nature, be willing to take risks on a filmmaker's desire to make queer media. Those projects could succeed, or could fail. Badhaai Do is one of the best examples of a Bollywood breakout piece that gained even some international attention, and certainly attention ACROSS the subcontinent.

But I want to emphasize this point about

MONEY.

The question that we're pondering is, why isn't there a more prominent fandom for Indian queer media and/or QLs?

@twig-tea made note, in her reblog of Starry's original piece, about the importance of accessibility and subtitling, an important note not just for international audiences, but for regional Indian populations that don't speak the same language(s). Accessibility allows fans to watch the media of their own markets, and markets outside of their boundaries.

But even bigger than this is, before we even get into accessibility, is: the filmmakers need money to spend to MAKE projects, and in an ideal scenario for themselves and/or their studios, they then need to (hopefully) make a PROFIT to demonstrate a sustainable desire and demand for the media they're producing, a profit that could hopefully be re-invested into more and new queer media projects.

Let me not get into all the obstacles in which filmmakers, queer or otherwise, might run into issues with production fundraising for a queer-centered project. We Indians know about our conservative, often violent, obstacles.

NBW does a fabulous job in her piece discussing what COULD be made by way of queer media that COULD gain a stronger cultural foothold over time across the subcontinent.

4) A fandom, most often, develops as a response to media already created. A fandom, HOWEVER, *IS*, often, in today's digital age, often recruited to fundraise for projects they want to see! GoFundMe, right?

I think it was @impala124 in a reblog that mentioned that there's already a "market" for Indian QLs. But we've established now that there are actually many unconnected regional media markets in India that can't be assumed to be glommed together.

If a fandom WANTS to see a particular kind of media, in their own specific regional market, it's certainly well within its rights of speech to create internet buzz for it.

But I think we as fans also need to take responsibility for a better understanding of the economics of media creation, and to be patient as queer media is produced across the subcontinent, and to simply do our best to hype it up on the internet when we can, so that commercial sponsors and potential production funders can then pay attention to what us fans want -- and what we're willing to pay for.

And let me be honest, this is a *tremendously difficult proposition* for a field of media that's just really small against the giant, mainstream, well-funded media markets of India. And this field of queer media would be guaranteed to face crippling and disgusting conservative criticism as it gains more of a prominent cultural foothold -- as we are seeing in South Korea literally at this very second.

Looking on the economic bright side: we see in Thailand and in Japan that QLs make MONEY. Shit, not just Japan being into Japanese QLs, but also, Japan is so into Thai QLs that the major Thai channel and studio, GMMTV, has a distribution deal with the Japanese channel TV Asahi to air Thai QLs in Japan. MONEY, BABY! INTERNATIONAL DOLLAS. Great Sapol, of the QLs Manner of Death and Wandee Goodday, just wrapped a stint in a mainstream Japanese drama, and I'll assume that's because he's hotttt and talented gotten a lot of attention in Japan from his previous Thai QL work, as well as his lengthy resume in Thai mainstream media.

The hunger for QLs is there in these two major national markets, and the Thai and Japanese audience markets have proven that the demand for content for these countries can be economically fruitful. So the media markets of these two (much smaller than India) countries are pumping ever more money into production, and filmmakers are responding with more QL content than ever.

We have not even begun to contemplate reaching that tipping point in India, across our regional markets, yet. Again, NBW offers some creative paths forward that will take time to develop.

Fuck, I mean. Imagine Bollywood looking towards Thailand and its branded pair formula as an inspiration to develop queer media. (IMAGINE.) Get two super popular Bollywood actors together in a branded acting coupling/partnership. Shah Rukh Khan and Saif Ali Khan doing India's version of What Did You Eat Yesterday?. In aprons! Making keema and rajma and chapatis. ShahSaif (SaifShah?!). KhanKhan. How would that go down?

It's a proven economic formula in Thailand. And that's just one example. We're well familiar, separately, with how Japanese QLs gain traction in bigger media spaces for its audiences, with media being adopted for the screen, as they mostly are, from popular yaoi and yuri mangas.

India and its regional media markets need some proven economic formulas within its regional markets to prove that queer media can gain culturally important footholds across the mindsets of various audiences -- and to prove that those footholds can produce profits.

The fandom element in this is that the regional fandoms, while creating buzz, could also prove to be important economic factors to a regional queer media industry being able to survive, and maybe even thrive.

Assuming that I am speaking to a mostly progressive group of fans here: we can only hope for this, and we must support the queer media that the subcontinent currently produces, IN *ALL* THE LANGUAGES (!!!!), to demonstrate to producers that Indians, wider South Asians, and even non-South Asians, WANT THIS MEDIA. We want it, we SHOULD want it, and damn it, we should SPEND OUR MONEY on it, to show our appreciate to the filmmakers taking risks to make this media.

I'm out! I need a chai and a samosa and a dosa.

#indian media #indian queer media #indian ql #bl industry #fandom #fandom things #fandom meta #khankhan #MAKE IT HAPPEN

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coleskingdom · 1 year ago

Text

Laundry Day

Will Ospreay x female reader

Minors DNI NSFW

@midwestmade29

The rain had soaked my clothes as I came in through the laundry room. I hadn’t expected to see Will in the laundry room, waiting on me with a warm towel. “There’s my girl" His mischievous grin, making me smile, as the wet clothes clung to my body. “This feels good” I said as the warmth of the towel and his body heat surrounded me. His hand tilted my chin up to look at him.

His lips crash into mine, all consuming. His tongue ravishes my mouth, plundering and exploring as he lifts me off the floor, spins us around, and plops me onto the washing machine. He sucks my lower lip between his teeth. “I’ve missed you” he whispers. He wraps my legs around his waist and scoots me to the edge of the washer, so his hard cock strokes my center. I suck his lip into my mouth and nibble at the soft pillow. He rocks his hips, rubbing his rock-hard erection against my clit. Once, then twice. My entire body shudders at the friction, and then he stops.

Before I can yank his joggers down he's yanking my wet shirt off and diving headfirst into my breasts. His mouth closes around a sharp peak, and my back arches from the pleasure that races straight to my core. He lifts me off the washer long enough to tear my yoga pants and panties off in one swift move. Then he drops me back on the cold metal of the lid. Will snakes a hand around my back, presses a button and a chime rings out over our ragged pants. The washing machine begins to vibrate beneath me, stoking the rising heat between my sensitive folds. "Oh, Will" I moan. “This machine has been vibrating for months, I ordered a new one, I figured we might as well put it to good use.”his voice raspy and full of lust.

He spreads my legs and trails his lips across my inner thigh. My hands wrap around his wild hair, fingers threading through his silky locks. I'd been so consumed by his tongue I'd completely missed when he'd shed his pants and boxers. He's working his mouth toward my throbbing center, and I'm completely mesmerized by the Blonde head of hair bobbing between my legs. Will sucks my clit into his mouth, and stars dance across my vision. My core clenches as he nibbles the overstimulated bud, and my legs wrap around his hips, drawing him closer.

One hand travels up my torso, and his fingers close around my nipple. He pinches, and a squeal bursts free as the pleasure surges in a direct link to my core. Releasing the delicate peak, he palms my breast, squeezing and kneading until my hips buck against his mouth.

His tongue dives into me as his thumb circles my clit, and my head tips back, fingers scrambling for something to hold on to across the smooth metal of the washer. Its vibrations combined with this man's skills are almost too much.

He plunges a finger in next, and my insides clench around him. Oh, fuck, I'm close. The onslaught of sensations drive me closer and closer to the edge. “Will, I want you inside me” I moan, “First, I need you to just let go for me, I’ve got you.”his words alone wring the orgasm right from my clenching apex. I ride his thick finger and his devastating tongue, hips rolling as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me.

He holds me in place until the final rush ebbs into a faint buzz. Will pivots an inch, just enough to keep me writhing for more.

My breasts rub against his bare chest, drawing the nipples to tight points.

“Will,you can turn anything into the hottest place to have sex.”I murmur against his ear before nibbling on his soft lobe. My hands clench around his ass, forcing him closer. His thick shaft strokes my still pulsating center. He hisses out a curse, his own head falling back. It's all the urging I need.

With the washer still vibrating beneath me and my ass perched on the edge of the machine, I guide his cock to my entrance. “Only with you, my sweet girl.” he rasped his piercing orbs diving so deep into mine they nearly touch my soul.

"Come for me, first." His hands clamp around my ass, and he lifts me from the washer, so I cling onto him. At this angle, his head finds that mythical spot and thrust with confidence of a man who knows my body is his and only his. I moan as he plunges deeper, his hands guiding my hips over his shaft.

Harder. Faster. The orgasm builds at an alarming rate. I wriggle and squirm, the sensations too overwhelming. “Will, oh fuck, I’m about to “An explosion of pleasure floods my core, and for an instant, my heart stops, my lungs fail, every part of me ceases to function. Only the fiery sensations exist.

He drives harder, a deep growl vibrating his chest a second before his dick twitches inside me. My pussy clenches around him, wringing out his own pleasure. Warmth spills down my legs as he buries his face in the crook of my neck. His muffled groans shake my entire body, only intensifying the powerful release.

We remain there, motionless, for a long moment, him standing and me with my legs wrapped around his hips, holding on for dear life. We untangle ourselves. “Where the hell did you get this idea from?” I asked, “It was on an episode of Mad Men. Betty Draper accidentally found out. “ his grin making me laugh and bury my head in his chest again.

#aew smut #aew fanfiction #will ospreay x you #will ospreay x y/n #will ospreay x reader #will ospreay fanfic #will ospreay smut #wrestling smut #aew imagine #will Ospreay imagine

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morri-draws · 1 year ago

Text

Gwaine x Reader - 'The Threads That Bind Us' - Chapter 13

Story Summary:

You, a humble dressmaker from Camelot’s lower town, are commissioned to make a new gown for Queen Guinevere. Impressed by your skills, she offers you the position of Royal Clothier. During your time in the castle, you catch the eye of one of the knights of King Arthur’s inner circle, Sir Gwaine. What starts as a sweet courtship is turned upside down when misfortune strikes and you must deal with the aftermath, as well as an unwelcome visit from Gwaine’s unpleasant sister.

Rating: Mature

Tags: Female Reader/Gwaine, set between seasons 4 and 5, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

Words: 3,795

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

Read on Ao3

The next morning after breakfast, you draft a pattern for your new gown, then start making a mock-up. By sunset, the mock-up is sewn and has been tried on about four times, adjustments being made in between, until at last you are happy with it.

The next day, you cut the pattern pieces from silk and begin sewing the proper gown, working non-stop after breakfast until you are interrupted by a knock at your door. You put down your needle and cross the room, opening the door to find Gwaine looking back at you.

“You’re up and about!” You exclaim.

“And glad of it too. I was beginning to wonder if one could die of boredom,” He replies. “Anyway, want to walk down to the market with me and get some lunch?”

“Isn’t it a little early for lunch?”

Gwaine quirks a brow. “I don’t believe so. This is about the usual time,”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been so focused, I didn’t realise how much time has passed,”

“You’ve been working? I thought you’d finished the king and queen’s attire?”

“I did. I’m working on something for myself,”

“For the feast?”

“Yes,”

Gwaine peers over your shoulder. “May I see?”

“No, you may not,” You give a sly smile as you close the door a little, so it’s just wide enough for your face. “I want it to be a surprise,”

He crosses his arms. “Now you’ve got me curious,”

“Well, you’ll have to be patient,” You smirk. “Wait here. I’ll just grab my shawl and then we can go,”

Gwaine asks you to show him where you bought the pies for the indoor picnic, so you lead him to the shop and he purchases one for each of you. You sit on a bench just outside the shop to eat them, before heading back up market street. Gwaine seems to take an interest in the market stalls, his eyes darting over their wares.

“Looking for something in particular?” You ask.

“Hmm?” Gwaine snaps to attention. “Oh, not really. Just taking in all that our glorious city has to offer,” He grins.

You continue up market street at a leisurely pace, allowing yourself time to peruse since Gwaine seems to be doing so.

“It’s so good to see you up and about again,” You say once you reach the end of the traders’ stalls. “Does your wound still cause you any pain?”

“Occasionally, if I move a certain way,” Gwaine replies. “But it’s mostly alright,”

“I’m so thankful Merlin helped,” You sigh, dreading to think what the outcome may have been if he hadn’t.

“Merlin?” Gwaine frowns. “It was Gaius who healed me,”

“He did initially, yes. But whatever he was doing wasn’t working fast enough. Him and Merlin argued about how to treat you, and Merlin had to apply his remedy behind Gaius’ back,”

“Well, I’ll make sure to thank Merlin then,” Gwaine smiles. “Sounds like you were quite the regular visitor to my bedside,”

“Of course I was, I was worried sick! I… thought you might die,”

Gwaine halts and takes your hand in his, giving it a firm squeeze. “It means a lot that you were there with me,” He says seriously, before smiling. “But it’ll take a lot more than bandits to get rid of me,”

Your hand remains in his as you continue up the street.

“Merlin said you tended to me while I was unconscious, helped keep my fever down,” Gwaine says.

You nod.

“Spent a lot of time seeing me shirtless,” He smirks.

Your cheeks flood with warmth.

“Did you like what you saw?” Gwaine asks, eyes twinkling with mischief.

You give him a playful shove. “Being improper, and fishing for compliments,” You shake your head, but can’t hold back a smile. “I shan’t say anything,”

“I shall take that as a yes,”

“You’ll do no such thing!”

You continue walking, biting your bottom lip to hold back your grin, while Gwaine keeps step beside you, looking very amused and pleased with himself.

It’s not until you arrive at your chambers that you realise your hand remained entwined with Gwaine’s the entire way back. He unthreads his fingers and hooks his hand under yours, raising it to his lips. He plants a soft but lengthy kiss at the base of your fingers, his eyes locked onto yours. Your heart thumps as you hold his gaze, a flare of desire tearing through your body. He pulls his lips away and he lowers your hand, but still holds it in his.

“I shall leave you to your secret business now, my lady,”

At last, he pulls his hand away from yours, agonisingly slowly, so his fingers caress your skin from your palm to your fingertips, until the contact is finally broken. Heat pools in your core, the skin on your hand buzzing, as if it can still feel his touch. Gwaine gives you a warm but slightly mischievous smile, as if he knows exactly what kind of reaction he has stirred within you, before he turns and heads down the corridor, disappearing around a corner. You step into your chambers, resting your back against the door as you close it behind you, relishing the pleasant sensation coursing through you. You raise your hand to your face, the feeling of his lips still lingering on your fingers, and press it against your cheek, longing for more of his touch. You recall the long talk between you those days ago, the feeling of his arms around you when you were upset, and wish for him to hold you again, but in a moment of joy rather than sorrow.

You stand with those feelings for a time, unaware how many minutes have passed, until your heartbeat settles and you come to your senses. You must refocus your thoughts. You have a lot of work to do before the feast.

You spend the last few hours of daylight sewing before stopping to make dinner. Your thoughts remain on the gown as you eat, visualising it finished and how you will look in it, but your imaginings stop short at one detail: your hair. What are you to do with it? You can’t wear your cap to an event like this. Not only is it inappropriate for the occasion, it will completely ruin the look. But your hair length is also inappropriate for any occasion. You would be gawked at and you’d be an embarrassment.

Once you’ve finished washing up, you go to your bedchamber and sit in front of the mirror, unpinning your cap and removing it. Your hair has grown some since it was cut, but nowhere near enough to be socially acceptable. Your mood darkens as you wonder if you should bother continuing with the gown, and the part of you that still fears Gwaine will find your true appearance repellent rises to the surface.

You stare back at your reflection, hair flat and frizzy from being under the cap all day. You tear your gaze away, fists clenched, and prepare for bed.

You continue on the gown the next day, though your mind drifts and progress is slow, since your previous ambition has dwindled. As your length of thread is running short, you finish your current line of stitching and fiddle with the needle between your fingers, trying to decide whether you should rethread it or stop for the day, when there’s a knock at your door. Placing the needle down, you stand and cross the room, opening the door to find Gwen.

“I just thought I’d check in,” She smiles. “I haven’t seen you since receiving my gown,”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been busy. Though I still should have made time for you,” You step aside to allow Gwen to enter.

“It’s quite alright. Have you been spending a lot of time with a certain knight?” She raises a brow mischievously.

“I have,” You admit, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “But I’ve also been working on my own gown for the harvest feast,”

“Oh, may I see?”

You nod and lead Gwen to your work table where the gown is currently laid out, though a bit crumpled.

“That’s coming along nicely,” Gwen carefully smooths out the fabric with her hands, inspecting your work. “I can’t wait to see when it’s finished,”

She looks up at you with a smile, but upon seeing your expression, and your lack of response, her smile falters.

“Are you not happy with it?”

“It’s not that, it’s just,” You sigh. “I don’t know what to do about this,”

You remove your cap, hair falling against your neck and brushing along your collarbones. Gwen approaches, lifting a hand and running a lock of your hair through her fingers.

“It’s grown some,” She says.

“But not nearly enough,”

Gwen’s gaze wanders over your hair thoughtfully. “Have you ever curled your hair before?”

“No,”

“I wonder if we should try it, then it wouldn’t look so flat. I think once it’s got a bit of curl to it, it could look quite pretty,”

“Perhaps,” You shrug. “But I don’t know how to do that. I’ve never been good at styling hair,”

“Well, I am. I did used to be a lady’s maid,” She smiles and glances toward your fabric shelves. “Do you have any linen scraps?”

“I should have something,” You walk over to the shelves and rummage through the collection of fabric, until you find a square scrap of white linen. “Will this do?”

“That will do very nicely,” Gwen holds out her hand and you pass her the linen. “May I borrow your scissors?” She asks.

“Of course,” You retrieve them from your sewing box and give them to her.

Gwen thanks you and she lays out the piece of fabric on a clear section of your work table, before cutting it into strips. Once all the fabric is cut, she stacks the strips into a neat pile.

“Wet your hair tonight,” She says. “But don’t soak it. It needs to be just damp. I’ll come back after dinner and show you what to do. This can be a trial run. If you like the results, we can repeat the process the night before the harvest feast. If not, we can try something else,”

Gwen arrives at your chambers about an hour after you finish your dinner, and you carry a chair to your bedchamber, Gwen refusing one for herself since she says it’ll be easier to do the process while standing. You place the chair in front of the mirror and sit, while Gwen arranges the fabric strips and comb on the vanity. She takes a section of hair in one hand, and with the other, places one of the strips, which is much longer than the hair, beside it, then wraps the lock of hair round the strip in a spiral. Once the entire length of the hair has been coiled around, Gwen holds it in place with one hand, while with the other, she wraps the remaining length of fabric around the hair, working from the bottom up this time, until the hair is completely covered, then ties the two ends of the strips together, securing the hair inside. She repeats this process until all your hair is secured.

“While you sleep tonight, your hair shall dry and set into the curls,” Gwen says, looking at you through the mirror, a hand on your shoulder. “Take them out tomorrow and see. It might look silly at first, as they will require a fair bit of brushing, but I think you will like the result,”

You reach up and rest your hand over Gwen’s. “Thank you for this,”

“You are welcome,” She smiles. “I shall leave you to enjoy the rest of your night. I might stop by tomorrow to see how our little experiment has gone,”

After breakfast the next morning, you return to the mirror and remove the rags from your hair, revealing tight ringlets. You are alarmed at first, but remember what Gwen said about brushing, so you pick up your hairbrush from beside the basin and begin working on your hair. At first, the curls seem to just bounce back to exactly how they were once the brush has run through them, but after a time, you notice them begin to soften.

After about fifteen minutes of continuous brushing, the hair has taken on some kind of style. You put down the brush and turn your head side to side, inspecting yourself in the mirror. You still look odd compared to other women about the castle, but… perhaps you could be seen like this?

You rush from your bedchamber and grab your unfinished gown, returning to hold it in front of you before the mirror. With a little squinting and imagination, you envision the final look and think it may just work. You leave your bedchamber again, gown draped over one arm, with a renewed vigour for sewing, when there’s a knock at your door. Placing the gown down, you move to answer it, before remembering your hair and stopping in your tracks.

“Who is it?” You call out.

“It’s Gwen,” A voice says from the other side of the door.

You continue to the door and open it, Gwen gasping when she sees you.

“(Y/N), that looks lovely!”

You grin and show her inside, closing the door behind her.

“I just came by to see how it went, but I can see right away that it’s gone very well!” She beams.

“You think so?”

“I do!”

“So, you think I could go to the feast like this?”

“(Y/N), you can go to the feast however you like. I know you are afraid of being different, but different doesn’t mean bad. I don’t believe anyone there will think poorly of you. If anything, they will be intrigued by your unique beauty,”

You chuckle. “I’m not so sure about that,”

A thought occurs to you and in an instant, your newfound excitement dissipates. There could be someone there who thinks very poorly of you.

“Will Gwaine’s sister be at the feast?” You ask.

Gwen frowns. “The nobility are invited, so I suppose she will be,”

“I can’t possibly go if she is going to be there,” You shake your head and begin to pace.

“I’m sure you will still have a good time,”

“I don’t think I could have a good time with her there. I wouldn’t be able to ignore her, I’d be waiting for her to say something unkind, or do something. Who knows, she might purposely spill her wine on my gown or something,”

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I wish I could tell her she can’t attend, but I’m afraid I cannot,” Gwen purses her lips thoughtfully. “Perhaps I could engage her in conversation for the whole evening, so she won’t have the chance to do or say anything to you,”

You cease your pacing. “But then your night would be unpleasant,”

Gwen shrugs. “I have gotten rather good at talking to people I don’t like since becoming queen,”

“I don’t know,” You sigh. “That is a kind offer Gwen, thank you, but I think I should work this out myself,”

“Alright, but please don’t let the prospect of Erika being there quell your excitement. Your hair is going to look beautiful, and I can already tell that your gown is going to be stunning. Not to mention, you’ll be going with Sir Gwaine. He’s known for being lots of fun, not to mention the fact that he adores you. Everything will work out,” Gwen smiles and gives your arm a reassuring squeeze. “But if you are still feeling apprehensive, please talk to Gwaine about it. Don’t keep your feelings to yourself, alright?”

“Alright,” You nod. “I will speak with him today,”

“Good,” Gwen smiles. “I shall leave you to it,”

After working on your gown for another two hours or so, you leave your chambers to see Gwaine.

You reach his door, raising your hand to knock, but falter. You shouldn’t bother him with this. It’s your issue, so you should work it out for yourself. Besides, what do you expect him to do? You lower your hand and turn around, taking a few steps back the way you came, when you hear a door unlatch and someone call your name. You turn around to see Gwaine standing at his chamber door.

“Is everything alright?” He asks.

“Yes, I’m fine,” You force a smile.

Upon hearing approaching footsteps, you turn to see Sir Elyan striding down the corridor. He nods in your direction and smiles.

“Good day, (Y/N),” He says, before disappearing into presumably his own chambers.

Gwaine steps out into the corridor, dressed very casually in his grey tunic and trousers, with only socks covering his feet, and closes the gap between you.

“If there’s something on your mind, I’m happy to hear it,” He offers.

The sound of approaching chatter has you turn around again to see Sirs Leon and Percival appear at the end of the corridor. They incline their heads in your direction as they advance, as Sir Elyan did.

“Good morning, (Y/N),” Leon says kindly.

His hair is damp, some of his curls sticking to his sweaty forehead. They must have just come back from training.

“I hope you’re well?” Percival says from beside Leon, with a grin, his gaze flicking between you and Gwaine beside you.

“I am well, thank you,” You reply.

Gwaine grimaces and watches his comrades until they enter their respective chambers, before addressing you again.

“Would you like to come inside?” He takes a step back toward his chamber door. “Then we might have some privacy,” His eyes flick to the entrances to the other knights’ rooms.

You nod and follow him inside, where he invites you to sit at the table. You take a seat and he closes the door before sitting down across from you.

“I shouldn’t bother you with it,” You say quietly.

“(Y/N),” Gwaine smiles sadly. “You never have, and never could, bother me. What’s the matter?”

You sigh. “I just realised today that… well, it hadn’t occurred to me that Erika would be at the harvest feast,”

“Ah,” Gwaine crosses his arms. “I spoke with her today,”

“You did? What about?”

“Just… everything you and I spoke of. I suppose I wanted to confront her, but also try to understand why she did what she did,”

“I see,”

“I needn’t speak of it,” Gwaine shakes his head.

“No… I would like to know what she had to say for herself,”

“Alright,” Gwaine straightens in his chair. “It turns out she’s been bitter all these years about me leaving home when I did. She felt I left her to fend for herself, while I had an easy escape. She’s been cruel to you because you make me happy and she thinks I don’t deserve to be happy. She came to Camelot to try to find a place for herself here. Supposedly none of the men back home are good enough for her,”

“When I overheard her in the courtiers’ wing, her companion mentioned something about Erika’s ‘quest’, and Erika replied, saying something about someone falling in love with her,”

Gwaine nods. “She’s been speaking to the other knights, clearly trying to gain their favour. Leon, Percival and Elyan have all had her approach them. They’ve all managed to shrug her off, though she was quite persistent for a time,”

“So, she was hoping to secure one of the knights and what, get married and live in Camelot? What about your mother?”

“If Erika was to settle here, I would see about finding a place for my mother as well. That is if she’d even want to live here,”

“Why wouldn’t she? Isn’t she in, please excuse the term, a reduced position?”

“Not so much anymore,”

You raise your brows in question.

“Since I became a knight,” Gwaine continues. “I’ve been sending her a portion of my wages in an attempt to better her and Erika’s circumstances,”

“And still Erika treats you so poorly?”

Gwaine shrugs. You reach a hand across the table and he places one of his own around it.

“Sending part of my wages was the least I could do after I ran away. There was no money being sent to them then,”

“You mustn’t punish yourself for your past mistakes, especially since you are doing what you can now,”

“You are kind to say so,” He gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “Anyway, back to the matter at hand: Erika being at the feast,”

“Do you think she’ll behave, now that you’ve spoken to her?”

Gwaine sighs, running a hand over his chin. “I don’t know. She never actually said she was sorry,”

“Oh,” Your heart sinks.

“I’ll work something out,” He strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. “I won’t let anyone spoil our night,”

Gwaine waits beside the courtyard steps, greeting his fellow knights as they approach, chests heaving and brows sweaty from their afternoon training.

“Enjoy your respite while you can, Gwaine,” Percival grins, giving Gwaine a playful slap on the shoulder as he passes.

About a quarter of an hour goes by, and the man he’s been waiting for comes into view, a bundle of swords and shields slung over his back.

“Merlin!” Gwaine calls out as he crosses the courtyard to meet his friend. “Let me help you with that,”

“You shouldn’t, it could aggravate your injury,” Merlin says in a strained voice.

“I think I can manage carrying a few swords,” Gwaine says, already taking some from Merlin’s bundle.

Merlin nods in thanks and keeps walking.

“Everything alright?” He asks as they climb the courtyard steps.

“Yes and no,” Gwaine replies. “(Y/N) is going to the feast with me,”

“I heard,” Merlin grins. “I’m glad you two were able to sort things out,”

Gwaine smiles. “Me too. There is a problem though. My sister is going to be there and it��s making (Y/N) anxious. Honestly, it’s making me anxious too,”

“You’re worried she’ll try to ruin yours and (Y/N)’s night?” Merlin asks, stepping inside the castle and turning down a passage.

“I am,”

“What are you going to do?”

“I wondered if you, being the physician’s apprentice, might know of something that could… prevent Erika from attending,”

Merlin stops in his tracks. “What, like poison?” He says in an alarmed whisper.

“No! Who do you think I am, Merlin?” Gwaine shakes his head, wide-eyed. “I mean something that might make her a bit… unwell, or unsightly, so she won’t want to be seen in public,”

Merlin purses his lips thoughtfully. “Leave it to me,”

#gwaine x reader #reader x gwaine #merlin fic #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #bbc merlin fic #gwaine #sir gwaine #reader insert #my writing

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