#both without qualms to say WHATEVER

[severinaprince]

No okay but like the way I was watching part of the first movie (because it was playing at my workplace for the teens) and when Minerva appears on screen she is legit scary. Mind you, I know Miss Ma’am is a BADDIE but she is also quite intimidating, scary and sometimes kinda mean actually???

And it genuinely surprises me that the parallels in terms of personalities between Minerva and Severus is not as broadly talked or portrayed as (at least I) think it should be.

Some people seriously haven't realised Minerva McGonagall is essentially the same as Severus Snape and it shows

[seventeenpins]

Can we perhaps have something where stepdad Joel makes reader squirt-😗

alskdfjal yes of course this is so perfect :))) thank u for the prompt 💕

practice makes perfect

pairing: stepdad!joel miller x f!reader

word count: 2.5k

summary: follow-up to bad girl. your mom decides to go out one night, leaving you and your stepdad at home alone together. feeling hurt and petty in response to his wife's cheating, he has no qualms with fucking you in your mom's bedroom. you make a mess.

warnings: okay lets go, a lot of fucking (so much fucking), stepcest, infidelity, oral sex (mentioned), unsafe piv, SQUIRTING, dirty talk, fingering, daddy kink, age difference (reader is late 20s, joel is mid-40s), a bit of dom/sub vibes, multiple orgasms, creampie -- let me know if i missed anything?

a/n: i am so completely blown away by the response to my first stepdad!joel fic -- thank you all so much for the comments and reblogs and messages, i fuckin cherish them all. as always, pls feel free to reach out. i hope you enjoy this instalment!

for the first week after joel walked in on you, you were half convinced your entire experience with him had been a fever dream. you hadn't seen all that much of him on account of a big project he's been grumbling about, something about a delayed material delivery that pushed him closer to a deadline than he'd prefer. you were busy yourself, too, going out with friends and spending long hours on some of your freelance work.

there were moments, though, that you'd catch one another and there'd be a glint of something in his eye.

one night, you, your mom, and joel are all sat at the table for a family dinner. your mom has drained her wine glass twice already, and is reaching for the bottle again as she tells you both, "i'm afraid i can't stay for long tonight, i just got a text from vera. sounds like she's having a bad night and needs a friend."

joel makes a sound like a snort that he follows up with a cough. "poor vera," he says, "she's been havin' an awful rough time lately, hasn't she? it's like she's inconsolable every other day."

"yes," your mom says, "she has been going through so much."

joel stares at her for a moment and you almost expect him to challenge her on it, but then he lets out a breath and smiles.

"you're such a good friend, baby," he tells her and she grins before turning back to her glass of wine and taking a big gulp. joel fixes you with a knowing stare and smirks. you both know she's not going to vera's.

after she finishes picking at her plate, she announces that she needs to get ready and dips out of the room.

"so, vera, huh?" you ask and joel snorts.

"can't believe your momma forgot she made me follow that woman on instagram months ago. according to her recent posts, she's currently travelling through iceland."

you roll your eyes and laugh, "seriously?" you ask, and joel nods.

"you'd think she'd be a better liar by this point," you say, and joel smiles but winces a little too.

it's not a game. you know it's not a game. just because you're used to your mother's antics doesn't mean it isn't new to joel, and he's only known for certain for a week that she's been unfaithful to him and that's gotta hurt. despite whatever's going on between you two, you know joel's heart is aching.

you're pretty sure you've just poured salt in the wound.

"i'm sorry, joel," you say, suddenly embarrassed, "i didn't mean to- i don't know. i didn't mean to make fun of it. i know you're dealing with... a lot."

joel shrugs and relaxes, "ah, it's alright sweetheart. just something i need to deal with. but you've done nothing wrong."

"okay," you say, and it's only then that you realise how close you've been leaning towards one another. at the sound of your mother's heels on the stairs, joel clears his throat and the two of you put more distance between yourselves.

your mother's voice carries down the hallway. "will you two be alright without me? i know you haven't had a chance to spend much time together."

"i'm sure we'll manage." you say, and joel smirks.

"she's a real good girl," he says, "'m lovin these opportunities to get to know her better."

"i'm glad to hear it," your mom says, and smiles between the two of you as you do your best not to choke.

"ya look great, baby," joel says, eyebrows raised as he looks your mom up and down. "cute dress. that makeup's gonna get ruined with your face masks, though, huh?"

she blushes and waves him off, "you know i like to get all get dolled up for my girls night," she says, "i can wipe the makeup off later."

"i'm sure you will," he says, and though you can hear the edge to it, you don't think your mom can. he presses a kiss to her cheek.

"i might be home late," she tells you both, "don't wait up!"

"no worries, baby," joel says, "in fact, if vera's having such a hard time, maybe you should make it a sleepover"

your mom grins and it's dazzling and heartbreaking. it's moments like this that you can see exactly why so many men have fallen in love with her. "that's a great idea, honey," she says, "i think i'll do just that! i'll see you both in the morning."

with a swish of her hair, your mom has left through the front door. joel groans, folding forward and resting his head in his hands, letting out a low "fucking jesus" before he sits back and composes himself. he lets out a deep sigh and then turns to look at you and shakes his head, closing his eyes, resigned.

you're not sure what's appropriate. you nearly reach out to deliver a comforting pat to his hand, but change your mind at the last moment, instead batting your hand out like a cat's paw and then recoiling.

joel's eyes weren't, apparently, closed. he sees your indecisive gesture, frowns, and gives you a look, before laughing. "you're okay, sweetheart," he says, his voice still tinged with the rumble of laughter, "it's all a lot to deal with. but i'm managing. and guess what?"

"what?" you ask.

"we've got a whole night to ourselves. just the two of us."

"oh yeah?" you ask, and you suddenly feel hot all over. joel's staring at you with such a darkness in his eyes that you're certain you're already wet.

"'f that's something you'd like, that is." joel smiles and it's almost unexpected the way he checks in with you, that he still has the capacity to focus on your needs. in his position, you might just be out to take what you could get, wholly and selfishly.

he's so... considerate. fuck he turns you on.

"i've got an idea," you say, and you take him by the hand and lead him upstairs.

you can feel his body stiffen when you stand in the doorway to your mother's bedroom. "you want me to fuck you in here?" he asks, and you can't parse his tone.

you're worried that you've gone too far, that despite the filthy way he fucked you only a few days ago, you've hit a barrier you should never have crossed, but you nod. before you can ask is it too much? he's growling "yes" and dragging you into the room.

he pulls you into a kiss, frenzied and feral, his teeth biting at you, nipping at your lips and cheeks, laving kisses down your throat. before you know it, you're both fully naked, clothes littered all over the floor of the room and joel's teeth are gently biting down on one of your nipples as he rocks his hips against yours.

"are you gonna let me take care of you? gonna let daddy take care of you?" he asks, "use your words."

"yes, daddy," you tell him.

"ya know," he tells you, running a hand down your sternum and resting between your breasts, feeling the rise and fall of your breathing, "there have been a few times i've gotten home late these past few days, and when i walked past your bedroom door i could swear i heard the sweetest little moans."

you blush and look away from him.

"uh-uh," he says, tipping your chin up, making you look at him, "were you thinkin' bout me?"

you nod. "yes daddy" it's the truth, after all.

"good girl," he smiles, "thank you for being honest with me. now i already know you're a dirty girl, what with all your naughty videos. and i know you're a fuckin' slut the way you spread your legs so easily for me."

"yes daddy," you echo.

"but what i don't know," he says, and his voice is velvet and dangerous, his pupils blown with hunger, "is just how many surfaces in this room i can bend you over and fuck you till you're so cock drunk you can't speak."

your eyebrows shoot up and your jaw drops.

"i ain't even started with you, honey," he smiles, and he drops to his knees.

it's a fucking marathon.

he eats you out at the foot of your mothers bed till you're panting, his lips glistening with your slick and he makes you feel so good you're certain you're gonna die.

then, your positions are reversed, joel trying his best to plant his feet into the carpet so he doesn't melt off the bed altogether, while you kneel before him. he fucks up into your throat, delighting in every vibration your moans and swallows provide.

soon, you're pressed up against the dresser, your fingers gripping onto the drawer handles as he fucks into your pussy from behind.

then against the bookshelf. the closet doors. there's a moment where joel gets closer than he'd like to coming and he has you grab onto the floor lamp as he eats your pussy again on bended knee, only this time you're standing up and trying your best not to crumple onto him when he makes you come a fourth and a fifth time.

you're starting to get overstimulated. no, you are overstimulated, but it's in the most oddly delicious way. joel has you folded over the foot of your mom's bed, your knees on an ottoman, the rest of you pressed against the mattress, fists groping at sheets, holding on for dear life.

it's a good angle, hell, it's the perfect angle. not only does it feel incredible, it helps prop your ass up to a height that allows joel's huge cock to fuck you deeper without too much more effort, gripping your hips as he pounds into you. the best part, though, is that you're both at the perfect angle to see yourselves in the full length mirror.

"jesus christ, baby," joel is saying, "you see how deep i am? feel how deep i am? pussy's so tight around this cock. can almost feel myself in here," he says, and presses two fingers against your tummy.

you moan, using every ounce of strength you have left to keep your ass in the air and take joel's cock so nicely.

"it feels so good, daddy," you sob, "it's so big, making me come so many times. fuck, i can feel it building- it feels so good, you make me feel so good-"

"yes, baby," he growls, "let go for me, let me feel you come stretched so pretty 'round daddy's dick."

"fuck, daddy," you whine, because you realise it's a different sensation that's been building and even though you know what it is, you've never quite reached an orgasm like this before. "i'm gonna come, daddy! i'm gonna fuckin come-"

"shit, baby," he says as he starts to feel hot wet spurts of liquid splashing out of you, "oh fuck, you gonna wet my cock with your cum?"

you're screaming now, so fucked out and overstimulated

"oh, shit honey, yes-" joel shouts, a man possessed, as he pulls his cock out from you and rubs furiously at your clit, moaning loudly as you gush all over his hand. "oh, i'm gonna need more of that," he groans, and you can't find words to argue. he fucks back into you, hitting that same spot, finding that same pressure.

"could fuckin drink this, baby," he says, "comin' all over my cock like the fuckin whore you are. look at us, baby, look in the mirror and don't you dare close your fucking eyes."

you obey. it's a struggle to get your eyes to even focus, but when you do, you're sent over the edge again and again and again.

the two of you look so fucking good, the jiggle of your ass, the angles of your bodies and the way you slot together, the tan of joel's arms, his muscles, his control, the silver of his hair.

his breathless mantra "good girl, good girl, fuckin' take it, such a good girl-," as you take everything he gives you and more.

he finds a rhythm for fucking every last drop out of you. he'll give you a few harsh, deep thrusts and then pull out and rub your pussy till you aren't gushing around him anymore. then he'll slap your pussy with the head of his cock, making you shudder before he stuffs it back in and builds you up again.

your thighs are drenched and the wetness down your legs is cooling. you've lost count of the number of times he's made you come like this, but finally, you're shaking so hard you can't bear it and his thrusts are getting staggered.

he's breathless when he manages to ask, "you want me to fill up this lil pussy? fill it full of daddy's cum?"

"yes, yes, yeesss-" you beg, and you watch your reflection as joel's hips stutter a final time and he lets out a strangled groan as he loses control and fucks his release into you.

the second after he comes, he collapses onto you but you're so weak and fuck-drunk you collapse, too. joel rolls off of you so you can breathe, but then both of you are laughing. you're disgusting, covered in sweat and spit and squirt and cum, but joel dips a finger into your pussy and then licks up the combination of juices.

seeing your awed expression, joel shrugs and then smiles, a little embarrassed. "just needed to taste ya like this," he says, and it's incredibly endearing.

after a few more minutes of laying around in messy, sticky comfort, joel gets up. and then- "shit".

"what's wrong?" you ask as you look up at him and he's- laughing?

you look down at what he's looking at -- the ottoman. you've drenched it entirely. it's at least three shades darker than it was to begin with, and reeks of sex.

"well," you say, "that's not ideal."

"guess i'll have to buy your momma a new one," he says, rubbing against his temples and barking out a short laugh. then he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your lips, and one to your forehead.

"you go have a shower," he tells you, "i'll take care of this mess, and then let's get some snacks," he winks, and you smile.

he starts to back out of the room when you call to him, "so, mom's gonna be gone all night-" you start to say, tentative.

"you already askin' for round two?" he asks, incredulous.

"if we're calling all of that-" you gesture around the room, "round one? then yeah. i'm asking for round two."

"dirty girl," he laughs, "you're fuckin insatiable!"

"that's not a no-" you point out.

"no, it's not a no," he says. "let's refuel. rehydrate. and get right back to it."

[maximotts]

Are you just doing x reader drabbles? Because like 84 sorority Wanda and frat Natasha. “This is a one time thing” ahuh whatever you say bbgirl

hello hello here's your thing! It got to be like, twice as long as expected but that's okay!!

cw: 18+, minors dni; smut, soft dubcon, touchy Natasha, light spanking, oral from behind (w receiving), a hint of nerdy Wanda if you squint

“Nat.” Wanda called, the barest hint of warning in her voice, so little that Natasha had no qualms with ignoring it.

She didn’t miss a beat, sliding Wanda’s too tight gym shorts from her hips, catching the hem of her underwear and removing them in one fell swoop. When the brunette sent a text declaring her incoming arrival a few hours ago, Natasha assumed she’d end up in bed with the girl— just not like this. Wanda surprised her with needing a place to take her Russian Literature quiz, claiming both that her fellow sorority sisters were being too rowdy at her place and her distaste with walking across campus to the library for a simple online module.

But now she faced an unexpected distraction: Natasha’s constantly roaming hands. “Natasha…”

If Natasha heard Wanda, she was good at feigning ignorance, keeping her spot on her knees between Wanda’s legs, exploring her impossibly soft thighs with calloused hands. By all standards, she considered herself gracious, letting Wanda set up her bed, books sprawled around while she laid on her stomach in front of her laptop. She’d kept her hands to herself until now, even given Wanda answers to parts of the quiz; Natasha held out as long as she could.

“Natasha, stop it.” Wanda drew the line as Natasha’s warm breath hit the small of her back; she had no hope finishing her assignment if the other girl continued on. Not that her body agreed with her decision, the experimental touches drawing her attention much more than the last five questions on the screen in front of her.

The redhead pouted, an action Wanda would’ve been oblivious too if it hadn’t been accompanied with an indignant huff. Wanda might’ve been stubborn, but she was more predictable than she thought; even as she stood her ground, Natasha grazed one finger over the juncture of her legs and she twitched. “But if I stop, you’ll just lay here and make my duvet sticky.”

“I would not!” The protest was strong, but Wanda cursed her counterpart for being right, having been subtly rolling her hips into the mattress since Nat first sat next to her and started sneaking in those treacherous touches. And so what if she had; today was the last day to finish her quiz and Natasha be damned, she never missed a deadline. “Can’t you go play your game in the corner? I’m almost done.”

“Aww, but I’m playing with you right now, baby,” Natasha grinned, giving Wanda’s backside a painfully hard squeeze. She fell silent in favor of kissing over the round globes of Wanda’s ass almost reverently, covering the expanse of skin as dutifully as the brunette was typing. She took her time, savoring both the lack of resistance and clear frustration the girl under her fought with.

She thought she could deal with it, focus long enough to complete the last quiz question, but of course it had to be an essay question… just as Natasha nibbled along the crease where her ass curved into her thigh. It was so sudden and sharp Wanda didn’t think about hiding her shriek, “Tasha, please! I can’t think!”

In their months as whatever they were, Nat survived multiple kicks and elbows when she happened to push Wanda too far; a squeaky plea more desperate than dangerous didn’t fool her for a second. She wasn’t a bit surprised when she pushed Wanda’s knees up as easy as she would a doll’s, not a defiant push or shove to be found. “I’m only helping, princess. How are you gonna focus when you’re so needy?”

“I was focusing just fine without your help!” The tail end of her sentence fell off into a yelp, the sharp sting of Natasha’s open palm striking her proffered ass. Spanking was a fairly new thing to Wanda, not that she didn’t know what it was, but being on the receiving end… she liked it more than she’d yet admitted.

As if Natasha couldn’t tell after the first time she had her over her knee and was left with a whimpering mess.

She’d only done it now to watch Wanda’s thighs twitch, her sex now completely devoid of friction as she stayed in the air. Nat couldn’t wait any longer, had to get her mouth on the object of her own desire. She dived down, bending deep to kiss the other girl’s mound. “I’ll finish your stupid quiz for you later, just let me taste you.”

“Don’t you understand the word no,” Wanda sighed, well aware she was done for as Natasha’s tongue slid through her folds. As soon as she found her clit, Wanda was rocking back onto her mouth, spreading her legs further just to feel more. She knew she looked wanton, sounded just the same with all her moans, arms sweeping away her laptop to stretch them out and scramble for something to hold. “Would’ve been done by now if you weren’t so horny all the time.”

“You’re the one who came over looking good enough to eat, not my fault,” her voice was muffled, speaking an afterthought to sucking the sensitive bud into her mouth, sucking and slurping lewdly as Wanda’s back arched into the bed below. It didn’t take long for Wanda to drip down Natasha’s chin, hot and messy. “Fuck, I’ll finish your entire course this semester if I can taste this sweet pussy.”

“T-This is a one time thing… ‘m not a cheater-” Wanda prided herself in her good grades, earned all on her hard work alone. Natasha wasn’t the first person to offer their academic services, but she surely was the most convincing. She felt akin to a live-wire, her entire being shuddering each time the rough surface of Nat’s tongue dragged over her most sensitive areas. This was the first time she’d been taken from behind, but she knew better than to believe her own words that it’d be the last.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to work too hard to give Natasha a reason to fuck her.

“Inside… want your mouth..” Nat uttered a strained groan at Wanda’s request, licking the length of her one last time before backing up just enough to change course, sinking her tongue into Wanda’s waiting entrance.

Wanda wasted no time fucking herself on Natasha’s mouth, fingers curling into the sheets as she panted out her need. “Oh god, yes! Just like that, don’t move-!”

The redhead complied, perfectly content to let Wanda lose herself atop her, stiff fingers patting her full thighs to encourage the brunette on. Curling her tongue was Wanda’s downfall, thick muscle teasing her walls and forcing her over the edge. She held Wanda still, trapping her as she writhed and jerked, catching her name amidst Wanda’s cries and selfishly hoping anyone passing by the room could hear them. “Still want this just once, Wands?”

“Shut up and fuck me properly,” Wanda muttered, wiggling her ass against Natasha who was already pushing her sweatpants out of the way. One look back at her not-exactly girlfriend and the generous strap on set at her hips and Wanda knew this too would end up more than a one time thing. “I’d better get a perfect score on my quiz or I won’t suck you off until the next one comes around.”

[juneknight]

Hand Covers Mouth

Kink: sex pollen/aphrodisiac

About this: Takes place during canon events, Steven/fem!reader, Marc/fem!reader.

*

Let’s split up, Layla had said. She tacked on a hurried, ‘You with Steven? Be careful!’ before nearly sprinting off down a tunnel, leaving you (her scowling friend) and Steven (a mesmerized puppy) alone in a sandy tomb.

Look, you understood it was complex. Steven shared a body with her (soon to be? Possibly?) ex-husband, after all; but in your mind, that gave her even more of a reason to be the one responsible for him. Absently, your hand reaches down to lay your palm on the holster where your gun rests. You have no doubt that Harrow’s minions would kill without qualm. While you would not find it so easy to digest, you would do whatever you had to, to keep yourself safe.

To keep Steven safe. No matter what—

“What are you doing?” you ask at a frantic whisper. Steven is barely visible in the darkness where he is brushing sand and dust, centuries of time away from the hieroglyphics on the wall.

He glances back over his shoulder at you, giving you his typical expression of an adorable animal who fears they are about to be on the receiving end of a harsh kick in the rump, but who is so thrilled by their own discovery that they hardly care. He points to the wall.

“Reading these hieroglyphics,” says Steven. “Think they might be important.”

You glance toward the wall. You are not like Steven or Layla, able to read the symbols. You did not have the same practical and personal education which they had so tediously earned for themselves over the years. At the base of the wall sits a gilded table, the bottom of each leg morphing into the paw of some great cat. Some of the items around it are unrecognizable, turned to rubble, after so many years. But resting on top of it, there are a set of neat little figurines inlaid with moldavite, glittering black in the darkness.

“You don’t think—the ushabti?”

“Not likely,” Steven admits with a frown. “But some of the wall has crumbled here, can’t make out the rest, can I? It does say that this is powerful. Maybe we should take these to Layla and have her look at them.”

You fight the urge to scowl again. Layla. Steven was always trailing after Layla…

Alright, perhaps you had another reason for being so sour at Steven’s mention of your closest friend. How could you help being enamored with him, with his big brown eyes, with his undying enthusiasm, with his gentle heart and scathing wit? But Steven didn’t look at you like that. He was always too busy looking at Layla.

When you look at him, the expression of hope on his face is painful. You do your best to bite back any sarcastic or caustic replies. He truly doesn’t deserve them. It isn’t his fault he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings.

“We don’t have time to hunt down Layla with every artifact we find,” you remind him gently. “And we don’t have time to search every little artifact for significance, either.”

He leans against the wall, like some suave Don Juan from a movie.

“Life’s about stopping to smell the roses, love, or stopping to find the roses if no roses immediately present—oh—oh bugger.” Steven slips, more of the wall crumbling away beneath the weight of his elbow. He stumbles into the little golden table—and off go all three of the little figurines, smashing into brittle pieces on the stone floor, the sound deafening in the silence around you.

“Oh my gods,” Steven says, both hands coming up to clutch at his curls. “Oh no, I deserve prison. Oh look what I’ve done—these were thousands of years old and I just destroyed them—”

“Steven—” Your words die in your throat. Your heart begins to race, breathing becoming fast and shallow. He looks up at you from where he has knelt on the floor in anxious guilt over the figurines, and you see something in his eyes which you can’t identify. Something sharp. Something hungry.

Then he blinks.

In the distance, you hear the sound of voices calling, none of them the familiar timber of Layla. He reaches out with the reflexes of a snake and grabs you around the waist, dragging you down to his position. One hand—warm, tasting faintly of sweat and sand—clamps over your mouth as he drags you back against his body, making both of your positions smaller as you hide behind a pillar.

Against your back, he is hard.

“Quit it,” he hisses lowly in your ear, and that’s when you realize that it isn’t Steven at all. That posh British accent has dissolved into something relaxed and loose, a Chicagoan accent that you’ve never heard before but would recognize anywhere. Marc. His words register secondarily, and you realize that you are writhing against him, literally arching your back to try to rub your aching cunt against the hard line of his cock.

A whine slips past his hand, and he lets out an angry, shaking breath against the crook of your neck. His free hand reaches around and slips right down the front of your pants. By the time he is cupping your sex with his broad palm, you are soaking wet, aching, already working towards that blissful crest even with the only stimulation being in your own mind.

“It must have been an aphrodisiac,” Marc whispers, barely audible over the raging pulse in your ears. “If I give you some fingers, can you be quiet until they’re gone?”

You nod, exaggeratedly. Truthfully, you aren’t sure. You just know that you would say anything, agree to anything to have any one of his fingers inside you.

He gives you two. You cum straight away, eyes rolling back, pussy clenching around his digits tightly. Marc gives a choked breath at the sensation of your walls squeezing and squeezing his fingers. His hips work once, twice, three times against the curve of your ass and then he stiffens himself, a breathless, nearly inaudible sound of pleasure passing through his lips.

The sweetest fucking sound you’ve ever heard.

The voices in the distance begin to fade away—the sweetest silence.

Then you have a mouthful of sand, Marc’s hand between your shoulder blades pinning you into the ground. You hear the clinking of his belt as he frantically tries to loosen it, and you wiggle your hands beneath you looking for the fasten of your own pants.

“Didn’t want it to go like this,” he says through clenched teeth. You can’t even imagine his expression: something hard and desperate. You wonder if he took over for Steven forcefully or if Steven retreated, anxious at the potent desire that the aphrodisiac evoked in him. “Didn’t want our first time to be like this—”

“Is he okay?” you whisper, working your pants and underwear down at once, arching your back for him. He still has on his boxers, but he’s grown desperate: hands gripping your hips, thighs snapping against the back of your own as he simulates sex with you. Marc makes a perplexed sound. Fuck, his cock feels good, even covered by soft cotton that you’re drenching with your own slick. You struggle for a moment to remember your question. “Steven—is he okay?”

“Steven is—fucking great,” Marc says, laughing a little derisively. “Trust me. Steven’s been wanting to fuck you since the moment he saw you. There’s a little place in my head where’s he’s beating off furiously, I’m sure—”

“You’re such a dick,” you gasp.

“I’ll show you dick, gonna give you mine,” he mutters through his teeth, finally working down his boxers. “Gonna fuck that girlish expression you give Steven all the time right off your face, gonna make it so every time you look at him, you’re thinking about how good my cock fills you.”

“His cock,” you breathe, arching your back more, fingers curling in the sand and scratching the stone beneath. “His cock too.”

“Yeah yeah,” says Marc testily, finally resting the head of his cock at your entrance. He slips in with one devastating, life-changing thrust. “We’ll test that theory when I let him out for his turn.”

[luveline]

first of all CONGRATS ON YOUR AMAZING MILESTONE!!! Wowwwwwww I’m so happy for u 🥺💘💘💘 you deserve all the love and praise in the world!

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 + 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞

plsss I beg 🥺 either for tasm!peter or miguel o’hara or even joel miller 😭😭😭 I’d think about idiots in love… both pinning for each other but too oblivious to the others feelings. everyone can see it but them. if you can make it super fluffy I’d dieeeeee. I’m obsessed with all 3 of them but tasm!peter will always have my heart <3

hope u have the loveliest of days sweet ! 💘💘💘

luveline's 40k party ☆ thank you so much baby!! have a good day too ♡ shy fat fem!reader

"I look weird," Peter says. 

You bite your lip in surprise. Peter reaches for you like he might take your face into his hand, but you bow out of his touch. "No," you say, hissing at the sudden pain, "you look nice, you don't look weird." 

"A haircut was a bad idea. Now you're injured," he says with a laugh. 

You bring your hand away from your lip and find it unsullied. Peter wants to look anyhow, fighting you for a hand on your cheek. A couple of months ago you would've squirmed away from him, worried he'd feel the soft line of your jaw and drop his hand in disgust, but these days you let him do whatever he wants. 

"Pout at me," he demands. 

You, reluctant, poke your lip out. Peter has the gall to touch it with his thumb, seemingly unaware of the shiver it prompts. He smells like cherry gum today, a little wedge of it between his molars as he strokes your face and pushes you gently back into your chair. He's a sick individual, he doesn't even know what he's doing. Peter's joking and doting is done as your friend. 

"What inspired the haircut?" you ask. He hasn't gone too short with it since his first year of college, but the cute little flicks under his ears have been chopped. 

"Kept getting stuck in my hat." 

"What hat?" you ask. 

"My baseball cap." 

"Since when do you wear a baseball cap?" 

"Wouldn't you like to know," Peter croons, to the outrage of the women sitting across from you. They shush simultaneously, two pit vipers. 

You put your head down, sheepish. Peter rolls his desk chair closer to yours as he chuckles under his breath, to copy your notes no doubt, which is ridiculous. He's the smarter of the two of you. He speaks in mathematics like it's English, chemistry something innate. 

You knock your pencil into his hand, "Do your own work." 

"But you've already done it for me." Peter moves your hand aside, his naked arm rubbing up against yours, rigid cord against softer fat. "Thanks, beautiful." 

You roll your eyes at him but let him copy your work. After a few minutes you swear you can feel eyes on you, glancing up to find the pit vipers talking behind a laptop screen. They look at you at the same time and then quickly look away, spelling out for you what it is that's so interesting. People do this all the time, puzzling at you and Pete like it's insanity. The majority of people aren't as judgemental, but you can guess exactly what it is that they're thinking. Why is he spending his time with her? Handsome, muscled Peter and meek, chubby you. 

It's not the most important thing in your life, but it is a constant. Some people think fat is unlovable, and the rest love without qualm. Peter hasn't ever once been mean to you since he met you; your weight can't bother him. If anything, you'd think he quite likes the way you look. Peter's always calling you beautiful, pretty girl, telling you to get changed before you put other girls out. 

It's a shame he doesn't like you as anything more than a friend.

"I think those girls are looking at us," Peter whispers, pulling you toward him by the shoulder. It's not unlike him to touch you suddenly. "Is the haircut that bad?" 

"It looks nice, Pete!" you insist. 

He wraps his arm around your shoulder, rubbing his cheek against yours quickly. You choke through a laugh. "Daww," he says, "you're just saying that." 

He giggles as you push him away, "Get off me, you loon," you say. 

"You're the loon, loon," he says back. His cheeks are pinking. His sweater must be hotter than it looks.

"Can you just accept it, Peter? Your hair looks nice, you look great, stop worrying about what people think." You look away as you say it, startled by your own brazenness.

He gasps at you. "Hypocrite! You're the worst hypocrite ever, you're always worrying about what people think, and it's stupid because you're so pretty." He shakes his from side to side, eyes dramatically downcast. "Breaks my heart. A babe in denial." 

"Stop kidding around, we have too many assignments for this," you beg, tapping your pencil under the remaining questions you've yet to answer.

"A babe in denial and distress." 

You give up. He's overwhelmingly affectionate, homework sucks, and you're ashamed to know that if you flop down in defeat, he'll hug your arm. He always does. Diving into your space, Peter breathes cool cherry at your cheek as he says, "You know I'm gonna explain them to you until you get them, sweetheart. Don't stress." 

You put yourself in this position, but his closeness has your heart skipping. "I'm not stressed." 

"You're too cute to stress." 

"Pete…" 

"Sorry, I'll stop, I'm stopping. Pass your notebook, I'll fix your equation." 

You pass him your notebook without looking up. You need a few seconds to collect yourself. "Thank you, Peter." 

He sounds dangerously fond, the kind of tone that feeds your delusion, as though he could like you as you like him, "You're welcome." 

[pricegouge]

ur posts about dad nikolai have been festering in my head and all i can think about is his little girl being flirted with while they're out together by a cashier or something and how he reacts once theyre in the car. all possessive and talking about how she's all his.

Honestly much as he enjoys your fashion shows when he takes you out shopping (especially cause he knows the best way to get a perfect fit is to try stuff on and loves when you look your best), this is exactly why he prefers to just order whatever you want. Keeps his credit cards saved in your phone, even, so you don't feel embarrassed about all the cute little panties you buy. Just intercepts the packages at the door, inspects them for security reasons - you understand. Maybe he can use the same excuse next time you want to go out for a proper shopping trip. Spin some lie about rude little boys hiding behind cash wraps, who openly hit on you right in front of him. Brave, considering.

You're all pouty by the time he's corralled you back to the car. Parshivets. What was he supposed to do? Stand there and watch as that little runt tried his best to get your number? While cashing out your pretty new dresses, grubby hands creasing the fine, slinky silk because he wasn't paying enough attention to box them properly? When you weren't even the one dealing with him anyway, stood off to the side while your papa paid for your things, flustered and all but bringing your hands in embarrassment because you're far too polite to let someone down? Please. The boy's lucky Nik didn't pull him over the counter, leaned as he was over it, trying to see past the wall Nik had made of himself between the two of you.

Unprofessional was what it was, and he'd had no qualms letting the manager know, even if you'd thought he'd gone too far.

"Bad enough you were so mean to him," you'd huffed, but really he'd only said what you should have to begin with. He's been spoiling you, it's obvious now. Letting his pretty little malýshka get away with far too much.

Been letting you out of the house too much.

He's patient despite his anger. Waits until he's navigated out of the complex plaza parking lot, hand heavy on your thigh all the while. A warning just as much as it is a comfort to both of you. He does not want to hear any more excuses made for the runt.

When he's back on the highway, the drive easy enough the ratio of his attention shifts in your favor, he turns his dark eyes on you, bites back a grin when he feels your quad tense under his palm. You know, try to reason with him before he even starts. "It's not like I was gonna -."

"No," Nik agrees. Doesn't need to hear the rest of that sentence. "You wouldn't have."

"Papa, he was just being nice."

He damn near snorts. "Boys aren't nice without a reason."

"Well, maybe you aren't, but -."

"Have I not been nice?" he counters, heavy brow arched as he dares you to lie, say you haven't been spoiled rotten.

Struggles to keep an eye on the road when you challenge him. "Are you not after something?"

Clever. He forgets sometimes, how you see through him. See the way his eyes linger too long, his hands rest too heavily when you cuddle up next to him on the couch. It can be nice, though. Not always having to pretend.

Your fingers are cold when his hand finds yours, frigid little digits he takes the time to breathe hotly against when he pulls them up to his lips for a quick kiss. "Not after anything, radnaja. Already have it, remember?"

Another kiss. He keeps your hands entwined when he leans his weight into the center console, broad shoulder crowding you ever so slightly. "You're mine."

[daechwitatamic]

Of Ruin: Chapter 11

(banner by @itaeewon)

Of Ruin (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni Genre: vampire!au magic!au royalty!au, s2l, slow burn, eventual smut, angst and fluff

Summary: Taehyung of House Rune, Prince of Infracticus has been cursed. You’re the human world’s leading curse-breaker. It should be simple. But unraveling the curse becomes the least of your problems in the face of a world on the brink of civil war… and the love you start to feel for the prince.

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @sailoryooons for betaing!!! 💕

//

Section Warnings: language, tense situations with dangerous vampires, kissing, the precarious presence of fangs lol wc: 4.7k

You’ve never seen transportation like that which will take you to Scores’ territory, the region called Lucrotio. From the outside, it seems like a longer version of a carriage, pulled by a dozen amarisca, all pawing the ground and tossing their manes as they wait to run. Inside seems more like a luxury train car - thick drapes around the windows, plush carpeting, comfortable chairs that seem like they could have been plucked out of a sitting room.

There’s no one on board yet when Satuel and Dansoo accompany you and Namjoon inside.

“Where should we sit?” you ask.

“Wherever you’re comfortable,” Satuel tells you.

You and Namjoon settle into two seats with a small, round table between them. As Satuel and Dansoo settle in - one in the rear and one in the front of the coach - Namjoon begins to quietly go over with you what he’ll be looking for in the archives.

Despite the early hour, the sun not yet peaking over the horizon, the bruise-colored sky still littered with stars, you listen attentively. It boils down to the end-of-life intention you’d found in the curse; death magic is technically an elemental magic, and Namjoon is optimistic he’ll be able to find something useful, some clues to how to combat this thread of intention without having to end anyone’s life.

You both fall into silence when Prince Taehyung climbs inside the coach, followed by three of his personal guards, and the young Infracti he’d introduced to you as his best friend, Jimin.

“You’re still here, I see,” Jimin greets you, something mischievous in his glinting smile. “Well done.”

“So it seems,” you say tightly.

Should you trust Prince Taehyung’s best friend? Probably. Should you trust his hand-picked guard? Probably yes to that, too. But you can’t help feel on edge as the coach shudders into motion.

It’s silent in the coach at first. Namjoon seems to be done explaining his research theories with you, and you both look out the window at Infracticus passing by. The last time you passed through, in a smaller carriage, had been in the dead of night as they’d smuggled you in.

Curious, that the prince has no qualms bringing you along today, in plain sight of the Scores. You make a mental note to ask about it later, when you’re not surrounded by Infracti you don’t know at all.

You watch the sky turn from nearly black to violet, finally settling into a periwinkle as the sun rises high enough above the distant treeline to be visible from your window.

The landscape takes your breath away. You watch it rapturously, trying to drink in every stream, every knoll, every flowering field. You want to commit it all to memory; you want to forget that eventually you will have to leave it behind.

After some time, you feel the weight of eyes on you, and you sit back. You meet Prince Taehyung’s gaze in his reflection in the window. You hold his gaze that way, feeling bolder than ever before - maybe because to everyone else, you could still be staring out the window. Maybe because you aren’t looking directly at him - like the sun, it’s too strong that way.

Whatever it is that emboldens you, it doesn’t matter. You hold his gaze and wonder what you see in it. Ever since your last attempt to cure him, the attempt that almost took you out with it, something seems to have shifted between you. The looks you share are heavier, weighty meaning behind each small touch, each exchange of words hiding truer meaning like flower petals slipped between books pages, pressed and saved for later.

Each time you’d come up against these kinds of thoughts, you’d stopped yourself, told yourself it couldn’t mean anything, couldn’t amount to anything.

And yet.

Perhaps you ought to let Prince Taehyung speak for himself. Perhaps you both ought to speak freely, for the first time since meeting.

Something about him watching you through the reflection feels intimate, and you warm under his gaze. You wish you were alone with him. You wish you could ask him to take you to his private stable, maybe even back to his little hideaway island. Somewhere you could ask him what that look means. Somewhere you could ask him if you’re crazy for wondering.

You’re not and you can’t, so you keep your eyes on the window in silence, until at some point your eyelids grow heavy and you lapse into fitful sleep.

It’s Namjoon who wakes you, shaking your knee.

“We’re at the archives,” he says quietly as you slide your eyes open, casting a look around the coach to see what’s happening. The building outside is tall, so tall that you can’t see the top of it from your side of the coach.

You catch Namjoon’s sleeve as he stands. “Are you sure you’re okay going without me?” you ask quietly. You know that everyone else can still hear you, since they’re all Infracti, but you try to be quiet anyway, to give the semblance of privacy if nothing else. “I’ll go with you, you know. Just tell me.”

The smile he gives you is warm and understanding. He knows what you’re offering, what you’re willing to give up, and his smile tells you it’s appreciated.

“Satuel and Dansoo are staying with me,” he says. “I’ll be fine. It’s you I’m worried about. You’re keeping him safe - who’s keeping you safe?”

“I think it’s gonna be a kind of mutual thing,” you say lightly. But, probably, it’s kind of true.

He gives you a long look. “Be careful,” he says finally, before following your two guards out of the coach and into the street.

You expect the coach to rumble back into motion, and you look around in confusion when it doesn’t.

Prince Taehyung has risen, stretching lithely like a cat. Then, wordlessly, he picks up two bundles of fabric and tosses one to you. Surprised, you fumble to catch it, causing the ball to unravel in your hands, revealing one of the hooded cloaks that you’ve worn a few times in your stay here.

You look at him in confusion.

“You and I are going on foot,” he tells you, swishing the cloak around his back and tugging the hood up and over his head, obscuring his dark curls. “The guards will follow at a bit of a distance. The coach will gather too much attention - I don’t want to be recognized on our way there.”

“Where are we going?” you ask, mostly just curious, as you don your own cloak, pulling the hood up and over your forehead.

“A tavern,” he tells you, shooting you a sideways smile.

“A tavern?” you echo as you follow him out into the street. Beneath your feet, the road is cobblestone, the buildings around you thatched like you’ve stepped into feudal Europe instead of an Infracti city. “Are we going to drink?”

He doesn’t respond to this, instead starting to head down the alley beside the archives building that Namjoon must be inside. You follow at a clip, burning with curiosity. The guards fall back, but Jimin - in his own cloak - brings up the rear.

“I might,” Jimin quips, and Prince Taehyung turns to shoot him a dark look over his shoulder.

“No, we’re not,” Prince Taehyung says firmly. “And you shouldn’t either. We’re going to meet someone.”

“Who?” you ask. You can’t help it - you hate being left in the dark, hate finding everything out as it happens.

Prince Taehyung sighs, turning back to look where he’s going. He leads across another cobblestone street and down another narrow alley. You don’t see another soul as you walk. Above you, white clouds float lazily through the purple sky, and you can hear what sounds like bird calls.

“We’re meeting with Seokjin,” Prince Taehyung says tightly, as if that means anything to you. Needless to say, it does not.

“If the wars had gone differently,” Jimin says, suddenly at your elbow, his voice quiet, “Seokjin would have been prince. He’s the Taehyung of the Scores, essentially.”

Something in your stomach turns to ice, and you will your feet to keep following the prince. “Is that… safe?”

Jimin shoots you a look that seems to say, you already know the answer to that. Out loud, he says, “Why do you think Taehyung wanted his little witch to stay close? The Scores don’t have as much natural magical ability - you should be able to send them running, if it comes to that.”

You wish you had half of his confidence in you.

“It won’t come to that,” Taehyung assures you, without turning.

The tavern blends in with the stone buildings around it. You only know you’ve arrived when Prince Taehyung stops walking and grasps the doorknob. You look up and see a hanging sign above the door, touting no name but a picture of beer steins.

You wonder if they even serve beer here - could you order a lager, or just type O?

Prince Taehyung pauses, his hand lingering on the door, and faces you. “Your presence will draw some attention,” he warns you. “Don’t look at anyone until we’re at our table. I promise - Jimin and I won’t let anyone touch you.”

You nod, suddenly too nervous to speak. As soon as you’re through the door, you feel his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in tight against his firm frame. Jimin sidles up to your other side, effectively flanking you.

The noise hits you first; as your eyes adjust you see that the tavern is packed with people wall to wall. The noise of conversation, glasses clinking, vague musical noises in the background - it all washes together into a dull roar.

It’s dark inside, and the Infracti with you leave their hoods up so you do as well. It’s true that the Infracti at the tables you pass notice you - either they smell you, or they hear your human heart pounding - but as soon as they see the arm around your shoulders they seem to lose interest; you’re not an easy target if they have to fight for you.

Guiding you through the crowd, Taehyung leads you to a table, and the closer you get, you suddenly realize there are two Infracti seated there; it was like they were rendered invisible until you got close enough - or until they decided to reveal themselves.

The two men at the table are beautiful, with glistening black eyes and dark hair, flawless skin, and wolfish smiles. The broader of the two leans back in his seat when he notices you. He looks quickly to the prince, that wolfish smile turning suddenly sharper.

“You didn’t say it was B-Y-O,” he says, one side of his mouth curling up in mirth. “Jungkook and I would have brought a snack, too.”

“Watch yourself,” Taehyung snaps, eyes narrowing. You notice he’s let them go black - outside, they’d looked human, deep and brown. The only time you’ve seen them like this, in their natural state, was when he was under the effects of the curse. You shudder, and the Infracti watching you - Seokjin, you assume - smiles even wider at this.

Beside you, Jimin lifts his chin just slightly. “I wouldn’t try snacking on this one,” he warns, his sweet voice coming out cool and unbothered. “She put a hole in the palace walls last time someone tried.”

Seokjin raises a brow, clearly still amused with himself, but curious.

Prince Taehyung opts not to explain who you are or what you’re there for. You stay silent, hoping the hood creates enough shadow to really obscure your face. Let them wonder about you. Let them wonder what you can do.

“So,” Seokjin says finally. “I suppose you asked me here to talk about the fires.”

Brave of him, you think, or maybe stupid, to just say it like that. But, to your surprise, Taehyung shakes his head no, and sits in one of the empty chairs around the table. Jimin follows, so you do, too.

“Not quite,” Prince Taehyung says, something resigned in his voice. “Though I certainly didn’t appreciate that.”

Seokjin and Jungkook just watch him, wait him out, faces impassive.

Taehyung sighs, pushes his hood back just a bit, enough that his face is visible. He looks around the table imploringly. “I’m not here on the crown’s business,” he admits. “I’m here as your friend.”

Seokjin stares him down, but after a tense moment, he seems to break, his shoulders losing some of their tightness.

“My friend,” he muses. “What could my friend Taehyung want to talk to me about?”

You watch as the prince casts a look around the room. When he determines that no one is paying your table any attention and that the noise level is high enough to cover this conversation well, he says, “It’s about my father. About what your family, and the Cleaves, have accused him of.”

“We didn’t accuse your father,” the slighter Infracti, Jungkook, points out petulantly. “We accused you - all of you. The Runes, at large.”

Seokjin waves a hand at him, effectively silencing him. He eyes Taehyung with clear interest, as if this conversation is going nowhere near where he’d thought it would, but he’s pleased with the twist.

“Come to deny it?” Seokjin asks lightly, but it doesn’t seem like he means it.

“On the contrary.”

Taehyung is always a vision, unearthly beautiful, striking and intense. But when he levels a look at Seokjin, eyes flashing, jaw jutting slightly in determination, something goes through you like lightning.

Taehyung shakes his head, once, tightly, black curls swinging above his brow. “I’m here to discuss what we should do about it.”

—

Seokjin folds his arms over his chest, looks sideways at Jungkook. They seem to have a silent conversation, at the end of which Seokjin’s frown deepens. He looks at Taehyung seriously, then glances at you and Jimin, as if you include you in his displeasure.

“Since you’re here as my friend,” he says, a touch of sneer on the word, “then consider it a kindness between friends when I tell you that I don’t trust you.”

Your heart sinks, but if Taehyung is disappointed, he doesn’t show it.

“I wouldn’t either, in your position,” Taehyung admits.

Seokjin shakes his head. “Your father won’t hand over control of the kingdom, not now, when things are already fragile.”

“Then help me make them less fragile,” Taehyung says intently, leaning forward. “Back down. Call off the Scores. Get the court families back in line.”

Seokjin’s eyebrows shoot up, quick as a flash, and beside him Jungkook lets out an indignant breath of a laugh.

“Even if I fully believed you,” Seokjin says slowly, as if explaining a complicated concept to a child, “even if I thought Taehyung will be true to his word, even if I thought you had a solid plan for after - which, I don’t - none of that is up to me. I can’t call anyone off.”

“You can,” Jimin says, palms flat on the sticky tavern table. “You can and you know it; maybe not officially, but we all know how much sway you have. Your people will do as you say - they’ll do as you do.”

“So you want me to say what, exactly?” Seokjin tilts his head to the side. “That there’s a plan to overth-”

“That isn’t the plan,” Taehyung bites out, and Seokjin stops mid-word, the first sign of deference he’s shown this whole time. “The transfer will be willing, you just have to trust me to handle that part. What I need you to say is, perhaps, don’t attack the palace, or even maybe tonight your family should attend dinner at court.”

Jungkook leans in, shoulder to shoulder with Jimin. “Let’s say we do,” he says, eyes glinting. “Then what?”

“Transfer of power,” Taehyung says, much more quietly, his lips barely moving. “Then, justice. Change.”

Seokjin purses his lips. “Those are big promises, Taehyung. I’m not sure I can really cash them in when all is said and done.”

“My father will see justice,” Taehyung says, his deep voice firm and cool.

“And then?”

“And then we’ll build something better.”

“That’s the part I find hardest to believe.”

“What’s the alternative?” Taehyung demands, frustrated. “The Scores stay powerless? Or worse, another thousand years of war, fighting for the throne? We know how that story goes - someone will win, someone will rule… until another family tires of it, and the cycle begins again. If we do this my way… it never happens like that again.”

Seokjin lets out a deep breath, but it seems to indicate that he’s listening, that he’s considering, even if he isn’t fully convinced. He turns to you, which is so surprising that you barely register the question he levels at you.

“What about you, venefici?” he asks, and it both startles and pleases you that he’s clocked you as a magic-wielder without being told. “What do you think about His Majesty’s plan?”

He asks it with a bite, a bit sarcastically, but you press your lips together, considering.

You look at Taehyung, who looks back at you impassively. He hadn’t talked to you about his plan before now. It is as new to you as it is to the Scores at the table.

“I believe him - I believe that he’ll try,” you answer, your eyes still on the prince. You’re not sure what you expect to see - gratitude, maybe - but his face remains as unreadable as stone. You remember the day that Taehyung brought you to his little island, had talked to you about his guilt and grief after the curse had led him to violence. “I believe that he’ll seek justice. And I believe that he’ll try to create a better way forward.”

“Try,” Seokjin echoes. His arms are still crossed over his chest defensively. “Do you think he can succeed?”

You’re not sure why he’s asking you - someone from the human world, the person at the table with the least experience with Infracticus and the ancient politics.

You meet his gaze anyway, and tell the truth. “Not alone,” you say, trying to emulate the even way you’ve seen Taehyung speak when he’s making a tricky argument. “That’s why we need you - now, and after.”

Everyone is quiet for a long time. Seokjin and Jungkook exchange another look, another silent conversation. Taehyung and Jimin do the same. You watch Taehyung, only Taehyung. Your magic can feel his, has gotten acquainted with it, and you can feel it thrumming, telling of his nervousness.

Finally, Seokjin purses his full lips. “I’ve known you a long time,” he says finally. “I know you mean well - I know you want what you say you want. I’m just not confident we’ll see it through. I’ll do what I can on my end, and if the power transfers to you… let’s talk again.”

“When the crown passes to me,” Taehyung says, something dark simmering behind his words, “I’ll send for you.”

You’re not sure how they communicated that this little meeting is over, but everyone but you rises to stand, so you hurry in suit.

“As an act of good faith I’ll tell you,” Seokjin says, and then leans very close to Taehyung’s still-hooded head, “don’t take the main road home tonight.”

Outside, the sun has slipped towards the treeline, indicating late afternoon. Seokjin and Jungkook vanish - solidifying your theory that they can control their visibility, and Taehyung and Jimin lead you swiftly around a corner and into a dim alley, their hoods still drawn.

Immediately, they begin to gameplan a new way home.

“We should send the coach back the way we came,” Taehyung reasons. “They’ll see it go that way, they’ll be prepared to attack and won’t watch the back roads as closely.”

Jimin nods seriously. “Send me with one of the guards,” he says. “If we’re stopped, they’ll find no one that they’re interested in. I’m sure we won’t have to fight.”

Your stomach twists as you understand the plan. You’re hardly close with Jimin, but you’re immediately nervous for him. And for yourself.

“And the rest of us?” you can’t help but ask.

Jimin and Taehyung look at each other seriously.

“I’ll send you with two,” Taehyung says decisively. “Then we can send back Satuel, Dansoo, and the human in a carriage on the western bank. We’ll take the two remaining guards and take a carriage up the eastern side a bit later.”

You gather that you’re included in the we, that you’ll be staying with Taehyung.

Jimin nods curtly, then clasps one of Taehyung’s hands in a firm handshake, leaning in close in some semblance of a quick hug. He gives you a quick nod and peels off back to the road the tavern sat on. As he leaves, one of the three guards who had ridden in with you appears out of nowhere to tail him.

“Come,” Taehyung says, holding a hand out for you to take. “We’ll go commandeer a carriage.”

As you often find, here in Infracticus, you just have to trust him, and you follow him deeper down the alley. You walk through town this way, hoods up, ducking into alleys, until you emerge on the far side, near a lazy stream. You can see, further upstream, a few water wheels turning slowly with the water’s movement.

Taehyung leads you to a stable, where a carriage sits on the cobblestones, two deep green amarisca already hitched to the front. Apparently, one of Taehyung’s guards beat you here and put in the request.

Taehyung helps you into the carriage and closes the door, untying the woven curtains and tugging them to cover the windows. You hadn’t seen a single employee of the stable, and your stomach twists with nerves again.

Taehyung removes his hood, but leaves the cloak on, so you do the same.

“One of my guards went to tell Dansoo and Satuel what happened,” Taehyung explains quietly, turning to face you. “So, we can’t leave until he returns.”

You nod in understanding. “I’m sorry that didn’t go as well as you’d planned,” you say, thinking of Seokjin’s cold expression as he’d heard Taehyung’s ideas.

To your surprise, Taehyung cracks a smile. “Are you kidding?” he asks. “I expected him to try to fight me - that’s why I brought you to put up your walls. That went way better than I’d hoped.”

You must look bewildered, because he laughs a bit at your expression.

“Infracticus has always been ruled the same way, even when different families had power, thousands and thousands of years ago,” he explains. “I didn’t expect anyone to trust my plan immediately. But I think he’ll come around - the fact that he’s willing to hear me out is huge.”

“Well,” you say slowly, “good, then. I’m glad. It’s a good plan, Maiesti. I want to help you make it happen.”

“You already have,” he says seriously. He reaches across the plush carriage seat and takes your hand, his touch cool and soothing. “I wanted to thank you. For today - for supporting me in there - but also, for this whole time.”

You feel your face heat, and you look away, watching your hand, small in his, instead of his face. “Of course,” you demure. “I’m just doing my job.”

You expect this statement to act as a splash of cold water, to deter Taehyung from the intense way his eyes - human again, now that he’s in the carriage with you - roam your face. It doesn’t; he pushes on.

“You continue to surprise me,” he admits. “Even when I think I’ve seen the true measure of you - you surprise me again and again.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. It just slips out.

He smiles, head shaking a little. “Your talent shocks me,” he says, “but it’s more than that. Your bravery - your unwillingness to back down. You’ve faced so many frightening things, I keep expecting each one to be the one that sends you packing, back to your home. But you never go. You stare down each new threat, and you dare it to try you. I’m amazed every time.”

You try to smile, embarrassed. “People say brave and foolish are two sides of the same coin.”

He shakes his head. “I’m foolish. You’re… incredible.”

His eyes are on you, and you bite your bottom lip, looking up at him through your lashes. This is an Infracti, a powerful one, a magic-wielder like you; this is a ruler, a crown prince of a land you don’t belong to; this is a man so beautiful and charming that you feel dumpy and awkward in his presence. And somehow, he is looking at you with something akin to admiration.

“What you’re doing… what you’re trying to do… is very brave, too,” you whisper.

“It’s selfish of me,” he says, voice also near a whisper, although you’re quite alone here, “but I really want you to be here, to help me see it through.”

God.

Is that an actual invitation to stay?

He shifts closer, just slightly, and your body mimics his. He’s still holding your hand, you realize.

“You’d make a hell of a Queen,” he murmurs, leaning closer. Your eyes fall to his mouth, finding the little freckle on the edge of his beautiful, bottom lip.

Could you kiss him? What would it be like - to have his lips on yours?

“I think I might like that,” you whisper back, raising your eyes back to his and leaning to fill the space between you.

His mouth on yours is cool and tentative, gentle. You lean closer, pressing your mouth more firmly against his, trying - already - to have more of him. He smiles against your mouth, lips quirking, and then he kisses you again, more insistently, dropping his hold on your hand to rest a chilly palm against your cheek instead.

You’d wondered if kissing someone with fangs would be different, or challenging, but he must have them tucked away, because when he licks into your mouth they aren’t there at all. His fingers twitch where they rest near your jaw as you bunch his white shirt in your fist, trying to pull yourself closer as you open for him.

He shifts, leaning up and over you, sending you laying back against the carriage door behind you, your head finding the window with a dull thud. Neither of you cares, kissing more frantically now, hungry, mouths moving together as you taste him, as you pull him over top of you.

He holds himself up over you, one arm snaking under your back to pull your torso flush against his as he devours your mouth. You clutch at his upper back, half to help hold yourself up, half to feel the muscles move there as he shifts. His spare hand caresses your waist, then slowly explores its way up, skating over your ribs, climbing higher and higher.

He breaks the kiss, both of you panting heavily, and then he attaches his mouth to the warm skin of your neck, tongue laving as he traces a path, chasing your pulse. You close your eyes and whine, low, the feeling of him washing over you like a rising tide.

And then, something sharp, tracing a line up your throat so lightly that it tickles. Your eyes fly open, your hands tighten on his back, your body suddenly screaming with adrenaline. Those are his fangs teasing your carotid artery.

“I won’t,” he promises, ragged, sounding half-broken. He nuzzles his nose against the spot, breathing deeply. “I won’t, but god,” he gasps, before placing a closed-mouth kiss against the same place. Your pulse thunders, but you loosen your grip on his shoulders.

He pulls himself away from the temptation, presses a hard, lingering kiss to your lips again, and then sits back, breathing heavily. You sit up, too, readjusting and trying to get yourself under control.

He smiles at you sideways, shy and playful, as he tugs his shirt back into place from its rumpled state.

“Like I said,” he teases. “Brave.”

“Like I said,” you shoot back, but your heart is singing singing singing and you’re sure he can hear it. “Foolish.”

<- Prev | Next ->

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THEY DID THE THING!!!!!!!!!!!!! lots more to come!! thanks for reading!!

[binhourly]

⇨ MASTER LIST !

i’d like to reiterate my previous warnings, most of my works will deal with NSFW themes, which may include explicit smut, or heavier topics. please read at your own discretion while looking closely at my KEYS to help you navigate individual warnings.

S — smut / explicit sexual content / V — heavy or sensitive topics (violence, abuse, death, etc) / A — angst / emotional themes / M — suggestive / mildly explicit content / F — fluff / lighthearted content

BANG CHAN

‣ Raw - Underground Boxing AU | V. M. A

Chan isn't some saint. Or rather he once was, but in this hellish version of reality, he auctions off every bit of his innocence to make ends meet. / Status: still in progress

LEE MINHO

‣ Sanctuary - Royalty AU | A. M

A princess bound between an indefinite pull of duty and forbidden love. / Status: complete ( wc: 4107 )

drabble: #251124 / #230425

SEO CHANGBIN

‣ Love In Four Instalments - College AU, Rom-Com | S. F

Status: still in progress

drabble: #251124

HWANG HYUNJIN

‣ Soul-Tied - Vampire, Medieval Gothic | V. M

In the forrest, an unmade man seeks to overthrow the reigning King. He figures to do that without any qualms, he must first establish an unbreakable tie with the heart of the kingdom itself—the princess. / Status: still in progress

HAN JISUNG

‣ Do No Harm - Spider-Man Verse | V. F. M.

As the neighbourhood vigilante, Jisung believes he has the most effective decision-making skill. It's his personal oath. To make the absolute best choice to ensure peace on both sides without doing any harm. / Status: still in progress

LEE FELIX

KIM SEUNGMIN

‣ Coming To Terms - College AU, Baseball Player | S. F

What could go wrong when your love life involves bad sex, good imagination, and a best friend who seems like the answer to all your unspoken desires? / Status: complete ( wc: 11,928 )

YANG JEONGIN

‣ Death, Remembers You - Magical Realism | A.

Getting into Heaven isn't smooth sailing. It has pit stops you need to pass through before you're granted the escalator into the sky. The first happens to be a quaint European cafe in the middle of Seoul that serves their morning special; the angel at the counter says it'll help with regret. / Status: still in progress

MISCELLANEOUS

‣ Devil Between Us - Jeon Wonwoo | S. A.

A man was dead, and whatever was left of him—that same residual energy—relied on Wonwoo to make sure his death meant something. But with you in the picture, he's caught up in a conflict far worse than justice—his own jealousy. / Neo-noir, Crime, Mystery.

[emblemxeno]

Meetcha half way: Miklan and Xander are both awful, terrible people.

You're allowed to think that way, I genuinely think whatever floats your boat is good, anon.

I don't share that opinion. Forgive me for the rant ahead.

Fates, IMO, made it clear what nuance it was going for. Aside from the little sisters and non-story important characters, there weren't purely good people. However, there were always clear hate sinks that the player was meant to despise.

War makes good people do bad things; evil people start or take advantage of war to benefit themselves; good people are taken out of the equation early on or don't get involved as often. Bam, that's it.

3H on the other hand, tries to justify every fucking action an antagonist takes. It tries to make everything an "I can see where you're coming from" situation, even when it falls on its face. For example, Lonato. No, actually, I don't feel bad for the guy trying to assassinate the archbishop in a plot of revenge for the execution of his son who was caught trying to assassinate that person already, especially when he's mowing town resistance in the process while knowing he could potentially harm or kill his other son in the process.

For fairness, Xander also does bad things and has no qualms harming a former sibling. But that was a fact established as soon as chapter 2, early in the story to intentionally give the audience a lasting impression. Yes he cares for his family, but his fear of his father outweighs that. The next logical step in analysis would be to discover why.

Lonato doesn't get that. He gets praised, shows that he's actually a douche, yet gets off the hook in various directions, excused by the Western Church (undeniably horrible group, but he himself shouldn't be exempt), the Central Church (should Ashe be on Crimson Flower because most of the cast isn't allowed to have a rigid backbone since they must be allowed to steamroll their own homes on Byleth's word), and even in Ashe's support with Catherine.

Miklan is no different, where they shift blame from the individual's actions to being about Crests, something that's contradictory to ingame information. He was disinherited well fucking after Sylvain was born, so it stands to reason that it's because he was an irresponsible, jealous, violent creep, and not because of Crests. But the game wants us to feel bad! He doesn't get a nuanced death because whining about Crests takes priority in the game's writing. Three Hopes cemented this by making him a fucking ally, highlighting that "oh he's actually a good leader even without a Crest!!1!" Yeah, I'm sure all the women he kidnapped, villagers he robbed, and families he tore apart will just be hunky dory with knowing that.

Xander meanwhile dies like a little bitch, taking himself out by letting Corrin stick a sword through him. That's thematically poignant, because he was the most common antagonist and a plot consistent hurdle that Corrin had been preparing to face ever since he made the choice to side with Hoshido. It's supposed to hit that it was really fucking easy, that Xander wasn't taken out through raw strength, but the weight of his own actions. That's exponentially more ingame acknowledgement of the wrong that Xander did, than any one character in 3H can manage to say about anyone they're fighting against besides maybe the Slithers.

[paragonrobits]

There’s a phrase I like to use when people question why, in fantasy series, people don’t just take the most efficient and ruthless option. I say, “This isn’t Game of Thrones.” Bluntly put, apart from having a very unsatisfying ending to its character arcs due to a realistic but very abrupt swing from the character arcs it had been building up (and in one notable case, a character arc that WAS built up the whole time, but not in a way people anticipated), Game of Thrones is most notorious for a very realpolitick approach to how the characters make their decisions.

Efficiency, immediate needs and ruthlessness regardless of personal qualms comes up a lot in what people seem to have taken from that show’s success, and you see a LOT of people thinking that pragmatic ruthlessness is the most basic and standard solution to any story’s problems, regardless of whether or not its consistent with a story’s given themes and morals.

The Avatar setting is NOT one of those. In this setting, spirituality is vitally important; the reason WHY things are done, as well as HOW they done, are just as important as the actual end result, if not more.

So, one thing I see a LOT in fandom circles (usually in bad takes floating around and being mocked by the circles I am adjacent to, or ideas popular among Big Name Fans who are kind of sheltered from the actual themes of the show itself and have distanced themselves from what the show is actually like in favor of what is functionally a completely original series that appeals to their own preferences) comes down to discussions arguing that AtLA would be better if Aang just took down every one he fought and killed them all without hesitation; there is a popular implication among these ideas that Aang is considered weak to them BECAUSE he doesn't want to kill. Because killing is anathema to his people, because the deliberate taking of life is a HUGE deal to both the Air Nomads and the real life religions that they are based on.

These takes conclude that none of that matters; that his morals and compunctions should just be immediately tossed aside in order to achieve his goals. There's usually something like 'who cares about spirituality when the world is so bad' or the ends justifying the means. And the thing is that we DO see characters in AtLA saying that, quite often. Characters who don't care about the spiritual consequences of their actions, who do whatever it takes to accomplish their goals.

They're the villains.

In AtLA, ruthlessness, pragmatism and 'whatever it takes to get what I want' is SPECIFICALLY and EXCLUSIVELY associated with the antagonists. General Fong; Azula, Ozai, the entirety of the Fire Nation... one thing they all have in common, besides opposing Aang, is that they're not just willing to be ruthless, they have no interest in achieving their goals or really doing anything at all without being ruthless and amoral about it. There's a common point in the narrative here, and I think the episode the Avatar State neatly sums it up through its story, as we are presented with Fong, who is seemingly an ally, demanding that they ignore the spiritual demands in favor of just weaponizing a force of nature no one involved really understands.

His emphasis on the people dying in the meantime does make for a potent image, but he is ultimately and frequently established as a ruthless jackass who cares more about trying to weaponize the Avatar State (and mere mortals do not get to have a say in its decisions or what the World Spirit, in its fullest power, wants to do). Apart from this indicating a more or less full departure from a strict moral binary within the series, there's also an emphasis on Katara growing increasingly uncomfortable with the non-spiritual plan they're taking, to the point that she won't have anything to do with it, and she is very much the show's heart. If she disapproves of something with plot relevance, its usually a bad sign.

So this whole THING you have with people going 'everything would be better if Aang killed everyone immediately except for the secret Good Guys even though he has absolutely no way of knowing them out of context'... its genuinely really bewildering and I think its kind of proof of people not engaging with the show's themes or ethics, but assuming that ruthlessness and efficiency are the default way of handling everything. AtLA is not subtle about this and if you think that the show at any point suggests that this is a likely outcome, I don't think you're really engaging with it, or you're misunderstanding the context (such as the Ocean Spirit rampaging being framed as a last second moment of hope; I think people conflate its destruction as generally a Cool Thing, rather than the world itself protecting a dying culture from near certain destruction as the moon itself is... well, dead.)

(There's also a protagonist-centered morality in that they seem to want their characters to BE rather amoral, being all about love and acceptance and tolerance but also brutally and remorselessly kill everyone in their way without hesitation, and the people making these statements don't see any kind of logical flaw. I dunno but that's WEIRD to me.)

[silverthehedgehogcharacteristics]

Silver Characteristics Part 2

Warrior -  fought and struggled for half his lifetime in the hellish Iblis future, constantly fighting against Iblis, monsters and putting out disasters including Flame Tornadoes for most of his life to bring peace to the world. Shadow describes him as a Fighter in Team Sonic Racing. Enjoys Fighting and can be quick to start fights(Fights almost everyone for both in Rivals 1+2 and Infinite in Forces, almost fights Blaze in Colors DS and Otherworld Comedy and Bowser Jr and Jet in the Olympic Games). Extremely Brave(No regard for his own safety, Instant fight response when surprised in Sonic Generations, fought Iblis monsters since he was Cream’s age). Values bravery and dislikes cowardice/cowardly tactics(Rivals 1+2, Colors DS, Team Vector interview). Has high aggression, determined expressions and aggressive body Language during anything he's focused on. Often makes fists, punches things when he’s frustrated and gets up with his fists in Sonic Forces. Due to his backstory he is deeply appreciative of peace and prosperity but also has a violent personality.

Focused - Is Focused on saving the Future(06 design docs). Very serious and focused when it comes to his mission or dealing with potential danger. Very proactive in dealing with things as he was the only one actively trying to defeat Iblis and change the world(06) and the only one trying to find the truth of Dodon Pa and Eggman(TSR). Has a Straight-To-The-Point mindset(doesn't care what the plan is called, only that it works in Forces) and doesn’t like things getting in his way. Very goal focused(even during competitions, he says the Jade Wisp Ghost ability is the only item he likes because it lets him disappear and focus on racing(Team Vector interview)). Takes things much more seriously than Sonic and sometimes gets mad at Sonic for not taking things seriously or messing around(JP TSR, PlayStation Comic). Has pointed angular eyes like Sonic’s other rivals which represent intensity, danger and seriousness in character design.

Can be Ruthless - “sometimes calls forth great power without mercy”(Sonic x Silver). Has fought dirty(Played possum to hit Sonic in 06), tried to assassinate Sonic, snuck past Soleanna guards. Mugs Tails in Sonic Rivals 2, has no qualms with fighting small children like Tails or Bowser Jr. Leaves his enemies to die even if they beg for life. Has the pragmatic “get-it-done” mindset of Future Trunks/will do whatever it takes to save the future.

Intuitive - Solves problems by using his mind in all his major game roles including figuring out how to revive Sonic(06), being a detective(Town Mission 13), uncovering Eggman/Nega’s plots(Rivals 1+2, TSR) and solving various puzzles. Very perceptive(Sees through Eggman Nega’s disguises by noticing small details), turns his fight with Sonic into a race to collect Chao to advance his mission(Crafty). Intuits Blaze trying to control great power when seeing it for the first time(Otherworld Comedy). Not trusting(Didn’t initially believe in time travel, Immediately suspicious of Dodon Pa in TSR, questioned Mephiles’ mission even as Blaze reaffirmed it as their only option, takes time to work with others in the Rivals series).

Challenger - Enjoys challenges and seeks out ways to test himself(Climbed Tokyo Tower, disappointed when Orbot and Cubot don’t pose a challenge). Very Competitive(Almost fights Blaze when they start one-upping each other over who could deal with Orbot and Cubot on their own in Colors DS). Self-confident and has a smug attitude about his abilities but is otherwise pretty humble. Cherishes his friends and strongly believes in/very grateful to those who help him. Regularly trains off screen like Sonic’s other rivals and said to make Steady efforts to improve(Wallpaper Comedy). Bold and undeterred by any threat(“We can take them all on!” when facing Eggman, Knuckles and Rouge in Rivals 2, “I’ll just destroy him everywhere at once” when facing Solaris)

Curiosity - Has a certain curiosity and likes seeing new and different things(“Interesting”).Can praise or call things cool as much as he insults others. Might have a weakness for cute things(Has a soft spot for/plays with Chao in Sonic Rivals 2 and an official PlayStation Magazine comic). 

Skills - Powerful psychic with various super powers(Sonic Runners). Like Sonic’s other rivals he has various skills including car racing, acrobatics, fighting near the level of Shadow, sharp shooting among the best in Soleanna’s 1500 year history. Has been a detective, delivery boy, butler, top ranked ice skater and “genius” skating coach celebrity(He takes offense to being treated like an amateur for a reason). Fly/Skill-type character so he specializes in more technical sports like ice skating and drives a car with high balance(TSR, Team Vector Interview).

Polar Opposite of Eggman Nega(Blaze’s best friend, Pure, Young, Honest, Rude, Empathetic, Impulsive/Reckless, Naive, Practical/Focused, Altruistic, desiring Peace and Happiness and willing to die to protect the world opposed to Eggman Nega being Blaze’s arch enemy, Twisted, Old, Deceitful, Polite, Psychopathic, Calculating, Sophisticated, Petty, Egoistic, desiring Chaos and Destruction and willing to die to destroy the world)

Enhancer-Emitter - Enhancer being someone that is determined and simple, never lies, hides almost nothing, is straightforward in actions and thinking, whose words and actions are often dominated by their feelings and is very focused on their goals. Emitter being someone that is impatient, not detail-oriented and quick to react in a volatile manner but can also calm down and forget easier

Lives in the good future when not helping Sonic in the present the same way Blaze lives in her dimension. Thinks things in Sonic’s time are dated (sometimes, in Sonic Rivals and Colors DS) Often implied/shown to like apples(Ate apple flavored calorie bars in the Iblis Future according to Sonic Pict) and live in Soleanna(He was originally going to be named Venice because he lived there, he may be Italian coded as his counterpart Galahad uses an Italian dagger as a sword). 

[lilac-gold]

guess who's back to drop another out-of-the-blue hero analysis! i've been looking at & comparing hero's sprites both in the real world and in headspace, and i couldn't help but notice a couple things :]

exhibit a: the hurt animation

rw hero just looks a little nervous; it's the kind of smile we see when he's uncomfortable or upset but trying to hide it. he smiles even when he's hurt, which provides a pretty stark contrast to hs hero. in headspace, his injured face is the same one he sports when encountering a spider. he has no qualms about showing he's scared because he knows he's around people he can trust & confide in. he doesn't try to mask it with a smile. and yet, while hs hero only has one bead of sweat, the rw version has 2.

we see a similar expression to the rw injured expression in headspace when hero tries to reject sweetheart, but there are quite a few differences between them. hs hero looks more outwardly outwardly alarmed; his teeth are gritted and his eyebrow's arched, his eyes more incredulous. on the other hand, rw hero's eyes mostly just seem sad. without the reassuring smile, he looks miserable. without the creased eyebrows, he seems perfectly fine.

hero hurts more in the real world, but he's far more determined to not let it show. he'd much prefer people to assume he's fine and move along than to give any sign that he's not okay.

exhibit b: the angry animation

again, let's evaluate them. hs hero's lip seems a little curled where rw hero's is smaller & more pursed. hs hero has a clear target for his rage, his eyes focused and squinted in anger. on the other hand, rw hero looks away from whatever- or whoever has got under his skin. his lips are tightly shut, a shadow obscuring his face as he tries to keep his expression controlled. there's disappointment there. he doesn't want to get angry. he doesn't want to hurt anyone, especially after he hurt kel in their fight.

exhibit c: the reassuring animation

hs hero's smile is bright & genuine. he empathises & understands with the others, and shows he's there for them. then there's rw hero, who looks far less genuine. that's not to say he's not as determined to help people! quite the opposite. he's just far less prepared to show vulnerability. he uses a fake smile to make himself seem perfectly okay, does a complete 180 from misery to keep up the facade.

there's more i can say- particularly about the happy & sad sprites- but i'm running out of time & feel i've gotten my point across pretty well. after mari's death, hero learned to hide his feelings as a way to cope. he pretends he's fine when that couldn't be further from the truth. he's so much more complex than people typically give him credit for, and it's always such a pleasure to dive into that :]]

[razrogue]

Because they are on my mind this morning...

I truly believe Briva and Zevran saved each other. Briva had no qualms about dying after rescuing her cousin and neighbors. She was ready to go down fighting right there in the alienage cause fuck shems thinking they can do whatever they want. Duncan saved her then but that feeling of fuck it, it's whatever never went away. After finding out about the ritual's effects and what it meant for her life, her attitude was just whatever, it is what it is. If she was meant to die then she would. It made her dangerous but reckless and Alistair and Sten were the only ones willing to tell her (in their own ways...well Sten was straightforward but still) you need to chill out a little bit. "I'm ready to die" was always in the back of her mind whenever they got into a fight. It was always the last one to her.

And then there was Zevran...

The assassin who failed miserably at his task thanks to the dangerously reckless elf standing over him as he came to, hoping he'd died himself. He pledged himself to her cause despite his own internal death wish. And despite everyone's protests, as Briva stood over him that day, she reached her hand out and said come with me.

Then one night after dinner, sitting near each other by the fire, Zevran asked her if she wanted to have a little fun and Briva said sure. And they continued fighting and continued having fun, until one day Briva decided to ask him sincerely to hang out together. Never mind that they'd seen every inch of each other and did things with each other that some didn't until at least 3 dinners and a drink together. It was the first time that both of them were just honest with each other. And so that night the two of them just talked. They talked honestly and openly and without judgment and they talked so long that the sun began rising and the camp began stirring. That night was the turning point for them. Not all the wonderfully delicious sex they'd had but the night the two of them let their guards down fully and really exposed themselves to each other. It was uncharted territory for both of them but they embraced it and walked on together.

From then on, they watched out for each other a little more. A throwing knife into a dark spawn who was getting a little too close. Sand thrown in the eyes of a bandit swinging in the other's vicinity. It was a bit of a dance for the two of them as they watched over each other while cutting down foes. They'd developed not only a harmony but a friendship then a relationship that was new for them both but a journey they'd decided on together.

And so the night before the archdemon's army reached Denerim, they laid together in silence, wrapped in each other's arms. Neither knowing what to say exactly but wanting to cherish the moment like it was the last. As Zevran slept soundly beside her, Briva thought to herself that she wasn't ready to die anymore. She wanted another day, another night, and to have many more with him at her side, in her bed, and in her heart. And she promised to him as he slept, "I will come back to you." With a renewed purpose, she was determined to not allow this battle to make a liar out of her.

[tora-the-cat]

That's some real shit you just said about Hinata in Boruto!! It'd make so much more sense for her to be very indulgent with her children, and it'd better explain why Boruto acts the way that he does.

Instead of being afraid OF her, the more in-character reason should've been because he hates the idea of DISAPPOINTING her. Like god damn, Hinata and Temari are two entirely different characters with veeeeeeeeeery different temperaments; Shikadai fearing Temari MAKES SENSE. She can be scary as hell and she's got no qualms with using corporal punishment!! WHY WOULD HINATA DO THE SAME AWFUL SHIT SHE GOT PUT THROUGH to her own kids?????? It doesn't make sense!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yeah yeah, I get that narratively, it ties back into Naruto thinking "Moms are scary" and continues the idea that the more things change, the more they stay the same. BUT. Boruto and Himawari should've thought that AFTER Hinata popped a can of whoop ass on someone who threatened her family; NOT by unleashing her wrath on her fucking kids!!!!!!!!!!

And I'm not too sure if you're reading the Boruto manga too or if it's just the anime, but there's a scene in the manga that's HIGHLY out of character as well. When I saw it I was just like, "Wtf????" So unfortunately it's not just an anime specific problem... :(

Right??? Hinata and Naruto are both the kinds of parents that would spoil their kids fucking rotten, cause they just don't know any better. poor auntie Sakura had to teach Boruto table manners because Hinata is scared of being too assertive and Naruto never learned them. Hinata and Naruto would NOT be perfect parents, but they'd be bad parents in a very specific way. They'd be overindulgent. Naruto would treat them like adults WAY too young without realizing it's bad. Hinata would never believe a bad thing a teacher said about her kid if the teacher was not LITERALLY Shino Aburame (this is, in fact, why Shino is Boruto's teacher. I will be taking no further questions). And we almost see this in the show!! Boruto IS arrogant! He IS selfish! He has never been denied a thing in his life! His mommy says he's a miracle!!!

But then. Boruto talks about Hinata. and it's just like....'haha, moms, am I right? moms? all moms are exactly the same? annoying and scary but only COMEDICALLY scary. because they're women' and like. sigh. so close Ikemoto now try again without the sexism. And maybe. Read Naruto?

Yes!! You see, Boruto being afraid of disappointing Hinata makes a lot of sense!!! Honestly, another point on Hinata and Naruto being flawed parents is that Boruto....probably has to do a fair amount of emotional labor at home. Not gonna get into it cause that would be its own post, but Boruto is probably VERY aware of his mom's emotional state and REALLY hesitant to upset her, just cause it sucks when his mom is upset and it always feels at least a little like his fault. #eldestkidproblems or whatever ykyk. Being afraid of disappointing her would just make so much sense given the characters and their dynamics, while still filling the purpose of showing how light Boruto gets off for domestic terrorism lmao

As far as the 'moms are scary' throughline....We've got plenty of scary moms. Naruto thought moms were scary because he grew up a pariah that was probably threatened by MANY moms to not talk to their kids, he's not familiar with 'protective anger' because no one has ever gotten angry on his behalf, and Kishimoto thinks its funny to pretend women pose any threat to his cool male characters #feminism. It just so HAPPENS that if he DID have a living mom she would've been scary as shit, but. in canon it's just not a perspective it really makes sense for Boruto to have picked up because it was cultivated by very specific rearing factors.

Much as I would LOVE for Hinata to have a badass protective moment, I sadly doubt it's gonna happen, given that post shippuden Hinata seems to just....not be a shinobi anymore. which, and I say this with full scincerity, good for her! But like. the fact that she can't even stick to a wall to LITERALLY save her life in The Last is. blood boiling lmao. And! even if she did get a little protective moment, it'd be cool for her kids to realize how cool she is, but even then they wouldn't really be scared of her, you know? Like event trying to give Boruto the benefit of the doubt, there's no angle I can come at this where it makes sense for Boruto to be SCARED of Hinata Uzumaki.

I have watched an entire six episodes of the Boruto anime, and all due respect I have less then zero intention of reading the manga. As you can see, I'm clearly having a great time. SO I have NOT read that scene, but I'm more then happy to take your word for it lmao. thanks for the ask <3

[split-spectrum]

Water and Rock

Chapter 1

Pairing: Obi Wan/FemReader

Warnings/Tags: (None in the first chapter, but more to come) explicit content, drug use, dubcon, character deaths, slow burn

Description: There are only so many excuses a master and padawan can make to kiss under "extenuating circumstances" before circumstances stop arising and start being created. You are an expert at your craft - a Jedi knight in service as a spy for the Republic. When your former master Obi Wan joins you on a mission, it's clear things aren't the same as they once were. The trials you face together may break your bond, or turn it into something else entirely.

--

A second explosion rocks the port side of the ship, and you can barely hear your own muffled voice over the ringing in your ears.

"They've disabled our hyperdrive."

General Kenobi's face is grim. "Not good."

Your legs are struggling to keep you upright as you stumble against the bucking of the dying ship.

"Any suggestions, Commander?" he asks, a note of detachment in his voice that you wish you could mirror while plummeting to certain death.

☆☆☆

"Now would be the time to share any skills you've acquired on your solo missions."

You bite back a sarcastic comment about espionage missions rarely ending in dogfights. "Sir, if you're able to clear the atmosphere, we might still lose them in the asteroid field. If you can keep us from getting shot down for the next few minutes, I think I can manage the changes needed in the power converters to get the hyperdrive back online."

He considers this, then nods. "Fine. Do it. Divert as much power as you can without shorting the main systems."

He takes his place back at the helm and you slide a few feet to the back of the ship, dropping to the floor and immediately getting to work on the wiring. Another glancing blow hits the ship, and the tool you've grabbed skitters across the floor.

"I would love to recommend that you stay low until you reach the city limits, in case they have any qualms about shooting their own people and decide to use less firepower... but you're in command of this mission and I don't give the orders," you say, as if talking to yourself.

You snatch the tool back up and send a quick look to the captain's chair where Obi Wan is giving you a mildly unimpressed look. But he adjusts his controls, lowering the trajectory.

Too late. Another blast, and the ship is now shaking violently.

"All main engines are down on the port side." You flip through diagnostic screens, reading them aloud as Obi Wan struggles to keep the controls steady. "Remaining engines operating at only sixty percent. No, fourty... we're not going to make it."

All hope drains from your face while Obi Wan pulls up a map on the main console, adjusting coordinates. "Even if we manage to survive, our location has been compromised and our cover blown. I see only one option at the moment."

He zooms in, highlighting a nearby moon, Keoth. "We can try for a landing, and hope they believe we've died in the crash."

You take yet another hit, and this time you're knocked to the floor. You give a desperate smile. "They certainly aren't giving us many other options."

You stand back up and manage to strap yourself into the copilot's seat just in time for the power to begin failing. The ship begins its death spiral toward the moon below, its surface filling the viewport much too quickly for your stomach to handle. You give yourself over to the force, your master's piloting, and whatever luck has brought you this far.

Wordlessly, you plummet to the ground, reminding yourself not to give in to fear as the belly of the ship scrapes first against the trees, then against the rocky terrain. When the skidding finally stops and you haven't burst into a fireball, you silently thank the force as both of you remain in your seats for a moment, catching your breath.

"Let's hope the Black Sun didn't see where we went down," you say, finally unstrapping your belt once your legs are steady enough to stand up.

Obi wan stands as well. "I suppose we'll know soon enough."

His comment is enough to silence both of you again, and you listen in anticipation of more blasting. When nothing immediately happens, Obi Wan makes his way to the back of the ship and opens the cargo bay door. It creaks, straining against broken hinges, and slowly reveals the dense jungle outside. You step out, inspecting the damage to the ship. It's catastrophic.

"Black Sun or not, we aren't going anywhere anytime soon. It appears we'll need to send a status report to Coruscant and wait for rescue," he says, heading back into the ship to access the comm panel.

You step forward to follow him and wince, touching your head. Your hand comes away with blood, which must have been trickling down your forehead. He stops on the cargo ramp, placing a hand to the back of your head, steadying you for inspection.

"Hold still."

He turns your head this way and that, and steps back, walking into the ship to get a medpac. He takes one out of storage and makes his way back to you. "I am no medic, but that needs attention."

You wave a hand dismissively. "I'm fine. I must have hit it when I was working on the power converters. I'm more concerned about the ship's condition than a bump on the head."

He ignores your protest and starts to unpack a gauze pad, leaning toward you. Instead of letting him finish, you take the pad from his hand and press it in place, holding it there. You give him an appreciative look, which is enough to end the conversation. He turns his attention back to the comm panel. After a moment, he sighs.

"The normal communications systems are too damaged and the long-range communicator can't get a signal. We're cut off."

You close your eyes, trying to accept this new turn of events and find a way to move forward. You open them again and stare out of the cargo bay for a long time, thinking. Finally, you speak.

"If we can boost the signal of the long range communicator, we might be able to get a message back to one of my contacts on Oba Diah," you point, and his gaze follows your hand to the top of a mountain. "We just need to find higher ground."

"It's a possibility." Obi Wan considers it further, then gives a small shake of his head. "Probably our only possibility at present. We'll need supplies."

The both of you get started packing, eating and drinking as much as possible before leaving the rest of your supplies behind on the ship. With the pressing heat of the jungle, you consider leaving your robes behind, but ultimately pack them for extra bedding.

You shed the rest of your layers and leave on your tunic, arms bare. It doesn't do much to alleviate the pressing heat, but at least the fabric is light. Meanwhile, Obi Wan somehow decides to leave his outfit unchanged, removing only the most outer layer. It seems unbearable, but then, he's always been one of those jedi who choose to wear the most uncomfortable clothing. He told you once it was a constant exercise in learning to ignore the distraction of discomfort. You simply thought of it as unnecessary suffering.

"If I remember correctly, this moon has a 9-hour rotation. Looks like we have about 3 hours of daylight left," you say, pulling your bag over your shoulders.

Obi Wan follows you as you enter the jungle, stepping over vines. "We should make the most of it, then. Be wary. We don't know what kind of wildlife we may find."

"Actually, I've read the wildlife on Keoth is non-aggressive. So long as we don't provoke anything, I imagine we'll be fine."

"You keep your studies sharp, as always."

There's an unfinished lilt to his voice at the end of his sentence, where years ago, the words 'my padawan' may have fit.

When the jedi council had been deciding where to place you as a youngling, you hadn't made the choice easy for them. You didn't have any decipherable talents. At least, not at first. You weren't skilled with a blade, nor with hand-to-hand combat, and you weren't a particularly quick study at meditation. You weren't *bad* at any of those things, just not as adept as your peers. Nothing about you stood out, so finding a master with whom to place you became an ongoing task.

At first, you were sent to spend time at the healing houses. Often if a youngling wasn't predisposed to combat, their healing abilities soon revealed themselves. After months of training, not even the faintest sign of a healing ability made itself known. After that followed new master after new master. You learned from all of them, picked up skills from each of them, but none had been able to bring out your true strength. Your only consistent abilities seemed to lie in making rash decisions and engaging in reckless behavior. And as you neared the age for knighthood, it was becoming more of a liability to the order with each passing day

Thankfully, the council decided to counteract your behavior with a jedi who was the embodiment of forethought and decorum: Master Kenobi. You thought of your new assignment as a punishment at first, being placed with one of the strictest masters in the order, but with time and patience, he had shown you how to connect with the force like no one ever had.

It was through his guidance that you had discovered your unique talent for mind tricks. Most jedi could control one person with a weak will. You, on the other hand... you could control whole rooms of people with nothing but a suggestion. You could influence the minds of those with stronger wills and higher intelligence. You could disappear into a crowd by hopping from one consciousness to another almost effortlessly. It was a very rare gift, and it made you the perfect Republic spy.

It also meant that your tutelage under Master Kenobi was short-lived. Once your exceptional talent was revealed and honed, you were soon urged by the council to take the trials. A part of you always wondered if the need for your specific skillset in the war effort had driven you to take the trials before you were ready. Nevertheless, you passed. You struggled terribly, but you passed. And you were soon inundated with intelligence missions. Many jedi worked in partnership with one another, but on your assignments, a partner was often a liability. Instead, over the years, you formed a network of contacts in some of the seediest places throughout the galaxy. It was crucial work leading to vital information, but it was also isolating.

So, when you were given an assignment on Oba Diah with your former master, it was welcome news. Your mission had been to spread a rumor within the Pyke Syndicate that someone was selling a rare jedi holocron on the black market, in order to draw the attention of Lord Tyranus. When Tyranus arrived on Oba Diah to investigate, an attack would be launched in an effort to capture him. But the jedi council hadn't been aware of how deeply in league with the Black Sun Clan the Pyke had become, and weren't aware of their full numbers, or their access to information. Your deception had been revealed, and as a result, you're now staring up at the peak of a mountain that's miles away, while trudging through hot, sticky jungle air.

You've been walking for hours at this point, hardly able to see in the dimming light, and you ignite your lightsaber for the dual purpose of lighting your way and cutting a few branches out of your path. "It's nearly dark. Maybe we should make camp soon."

Obi Wan nods, although he keeps walking, and you keep following. "You're right. We'll make better time when we can see where we're going."

He finally stops in a small clearing, pulling out his water ration and taking a drink. You pause as well, using your lightsaber to slowly walk around the area and inspect. The trees aren't so dense in this area. Once you clear the brush off ground, it should make a reasonable-

You cut your inspection short, hearing a loud cracking sound in the darkness. You lock eyes with Obi Wan.

"Yes, I sense it as well," he says, lowering his voice. He ignites his lightsaber and you take your automatic positions, backs to one another, as you peer into the darkness of the jungle. Something is out there. You can feel it watching you.

A ravenous snarl suddenly erupts nearby, as a creature twice your size lunges out of the vegetation at Obi Wan. He deftly moves to the side, dodging its enormous claws. The beast's eyes glitter in the green reflection of your saber. Its teeth are so large it can't even seem to entirely close its mouth, drool dripping onto the ground below.

As the beast circles you, searching for a weak point to attack, you look over the matted hair covering its body, its raked-back ears and its short, stunted nose. You don’t recall this species in your study of this planet's moon. It roars and launches itself toward you again, and you slash upward, singeing one of the tufts on its ears. The smell of burnt hair and flesh hangs in the humid air, and the creature howls in pain, scrambling back toward both of you.

Obi Wan force pushes the beast backward, but it uses its legs like a springboard, ricocheting off a tree to snap its jaws at his neck. Again, he dodges, but not quickly enough to avoid its claws, which manage to catch his shoulder. Obi wan returns the stab by driving his lightsaber through the creature's arm, which finally causes it to relent, letting out a screech of pain.

It shuffles backward, then quickly disappears back into the jungle, leaving as suddenly as it had arrived. The two of you remain on alert, panting and glancing around the trees surrounding the clearing, now completely pitch black. After a few moments, it seems the creature has no plan to return, and Obi wan sighs.

"Non-aggressive, I believe, were your exact words?"

You grimace. "Perhaps the archive could use an update on Keoth."

He gives you a slight raise of his eyebrows, turning to say something else, but grits his teeth when he moves his arm. You shine your light toward his shoulder, seeing the blood seeping through his clothing.

"We should clean that," you tell him. Though your voice holds concern, it isn't the first time you've seen him injured. And because you've seen him injured plenty of times before, you're aware he'll ignore his injuries until you start to waste time over it. So you wait, patiently, unmoving.

He pulls his pack down from his shoulders and drops it to the ground. "We only have two medpacs. I'm not certain it's necessary."

He waits for your response, but you don't give him one, so at last, he searches his bag until he finds a medpac. When you see that he appears willing to listen to you in this instance and he begins to open a medpack, you drop your own pack to the ground and busy yourself with starting a fire.

You clear a small area of the ground and cut down some branches. Then you use the heat of your blade to burn some kindling you make by cutting off the bottom fringe of your tunic. Within a few minutes, the fire is crackling and you turn your attention back to Obi Wan, who has prepared the bacta spray and is pulling off his clothing.

He's... you swallow. Your eyes are drawn to his skin as it's revealed, and all at once it occurs to you that you've never seen your master without a shirt on. Even during late nights, you've seen him in his bedclothes, but never... never like this.

He's facing away from you, already having removed his belt and tunic, and he's quickly and unceremoniously pulling his dark brown undershirt over his head, dropping it to the ground. Despite trying to focus on the claw marks, you can't help but stare at his golden skin, the muscles of his back tapering down to his narrow waist. Then, all at once, your eyes fixate on the tattoo that graces his shoulder.

You can feel the synapses in your brain as they short circuit. You don't recognize the symbol, just a black marking of some kind which you've never seen before.

It's at this moment he seems to feel your gaze and turns around, holding the bacta spray. You tear your eyes up from his bare chest to look him in the eyes. He raises his arm, turning to the side. "Is it quite deep? I can't tell."

You blink, trying to steel yourself and focus on the task at hand. The injury doesn't seem serious, just a surface level puncture. You shake your head. "It's not that bad. You've had worse."

You try to force a smile but you imagine it comes off as nervous. Your eyes keep darting up to the tattoo as he displays himself for you.

"You look concerned, Commander. I assure you, I'm fine." He lowers his arm, giving you a strange look.

You stifle a cough, caught staring. "No, I know. I was just surprised."

"Surprised?"

"Yes, your... tattoo. I, uh, didn't know you had one."

A look of understanding passes over his face. "Oh, that. Yes."

He looks a little shy, but still as unreadable as always. "I had it done when I was much younger; a padawan. At the beginning of my time with Master Qui Gon."

You finally manage to regain control of your expression. "I see. I would never have suspected."

He dabs at his wound with a medical pad, then starts to spray it down. "You would probably be disappointed to learn that many jedi choose to mark themselves as a sign of their culture or for other reasons. In that way, I'm not as unique as I would sometimes like to believe."

You shake your head. "I'm aware. I just... wouldn't have expected it from you."

He smiles a little, then winces when he places a gauze pad onto his skin. "It was... a different time in my life."

The fire pops loudly beside you, the noise pulling you out of your trance. You sweep some more underbrush off the ground, throwing it into the nearby bushes while keeping your gaze firmly on your work. When the ground is clear enough, you lay out your bed roll and try to ignore him while he pulls his undershirt back over his body.

When your breathing finally returns to normal, you're able to turn your thoughts to something safe, like food. You pull a supply bar out of your bag, break it in half, and hand the other half to Obi Wan.

"Thank you," he says. Then he stares at you for a moment. His eyes narrow and he takes a step to close the distance between you, reaching his free hand out to nearly touch the side of your face.

Your breathing becomes shallow again. "General...?"

"You might do well with some of this spray, yourself. Your head isn't looking much better after all this walking."

You realize he's staring at your injury and your shoulders relax a little. "Oh. Yeah, thanks."

You take the spray as he offers it, then change the dressing as well. When you've finished, you climb, exhausted, for many reasons, into your makeshift bed and close your eyes.

You feel Obi Wan settling into his bed roll beside you. "I will take first watch. Rest well. It seems this journey may be more difficult than we had anticipated."

You stare up at the leaves above your head. Yes, you think. Yes, it may.

Masterlist // Next Chapter >>

--

[oddberryshortcake]

Silver and the KoD share the traits you posted! I know that Fairy Gala showed him being a pushover most of all, but even before then there were instances where he went with what others were saying despite his own qualms about it.

They do! Despite not remembering or even being raised by the Knight for very long, Silver and him are definitely a lot alike.

However, I think how they deal with conflict is completely different (or will be completely different as the story continues), and that comes down to how Silver was raised.

Silver was raised by Lilia, who placed a lot of importance on ensuring Silver could overcome a multitude of possible challenges both if he were with someone he could trust (namely Sebek) or on his own.

Lilia grew up without a family or anyone to rely on for an unknown amount of years of his life. When he was taken in by Maleficia, it's pretty obvious she didn't raise him like a son and instead brought him up as a servant/guard and soon-to-be general to serve Meleanor.

The Knight of Dawn actually had a similar situation to Lilia, he was blessed by fairies and taken in by Leia's family, but he was raised to be a knight and guard (most likely to Leia) and he didn't truly gain a family until he and Leia wed and had Silver.

The Knight fighting for his soon to be father-in-law's life came from a sense of duty, feeling like he owed it to him (Silver also feels this way, except Lilia also raised him to think for himself too, which comes out more in 7.)

Lilia also raised Silver to be open-minded, compassionate and understanding of people's differences. He's essentially the perfect olive branch for fae and human-kind.

You'd think that Silver would just do whatever Malleus and Lilia tell him to, just like how the Knight of Dawn did whatever Henrick told him to do- and there are moments where Silver acknowledges this, believing that he needs to repay his family for taking care of him and even thinking that he would never oppose them in any way-

But when it comes to Malleus cursing all of Sage's Island and keeping them trapped to prevent Lilia from leaving him (and especially Silver, as Silver's sorrow inspired him to do this), Silver defies Malleus who is not only his older brother but the prince he is expected to serve as he gets older,

The Knight of Dawn was instructed to duel Meleanor and while having the sense that it was wrong, did not fight against his orders.

Malleus gives Silver multiple ultimatums to just accept the perfect dream world, but Silver rejects it every time. Even though he's sad and doesn't want his father to leave, he knows what Malleus is doing is wrong and doesn't listen to his orders.

Maybe a 'good knight' would do everything his lord wants, but Silver does what is actually right, and that's stopping Malleus's dream world and allowing change, no matter how painful.

And that's also why I think history won't repeat itself. The Knight of Dawn went into battle without speaking to Meleanor like he wanted to. I don't think Silver would do that. Based on how both Silver and Malleus were raised, there's no way they would intentionally look to kill each other, and Silver will always try to talk Malleus back to his senses with compassion.

And so Silver is still a pushover among his peers, the person with the least to complain about, who doesn't stick up for himself and even believes people who tease him may be correct in doing so,

But when it really matters, Silver does what his bio dad couldn't.