#share something about yourself and then prompt the other person to do the same

[serialunaliver]

me stepping out of the feminism conversation once I relate a little too much to the self centered behavior being criticized in misogynists

[pierregazly]

in the mind of another ꨄ max verstappen

max verstappen x fem!soulmate!reader

warnings: mentions of sexual themes (no smut), pining/yearning for another, tiny bit of angst but hea! [wc is 5.4k]

in which soulmates always have a way of building the connection with one another. for you and max, you've always been the voice instead the others head, the one thing that has always been a constant presence. but will that voice inside your head, ever be the voice you hear from in front of you?

By legal terms, a soulmate was defined as “person with whom one has a feeling of deep or natural affinity.  This may involve similarity, love, romance, platonic relationships, comfort, intimacy, sexuality, sexual activity, spirituality, compatibility and trust.” In today’s day and age, more often than not, your soulmate was that of romantic origin, a person you yearned for on a regular basis. 

It was something instilled in you at an early age, that everyone had a soulmate, but not everyone met their soulmate. Everyone had a way of interacting with their soulmate before they met. You learned early on, very early on, that you could interact with your soulmate through your mind. Through words, pictures, even internal conversations. But sometimes those interactions would lead to nothing, and your parents tried to ensure you were aware of that in the fear that you would be heartbroken one day.  

One thing you could never do was tell them your name, who you were, or where you were until it was time. It was like your mind would go elsewhere when you tried to tell the male on the other end who you were. He told you the same thing happened to him every time he tried.  

The both of you spent a plentiful amount of time interacting in your shared youth. He would often ramble on about his day, about go-karting, and his dad who he kind of hated but obviously loved, about his mum who he missed, and his sister who he couldn’t wait to see when she came to visit him wherever he was in the world. 

You would do the same, you’d tell him about the things you did that specific day, explain little things about your family, the things you looked forward to for the remainder of the week. It was something you both just got used to. 

The both of you grew up together. Even if it wasn’t physical, you were an emotional tether for one another when either of you needed it. He was there for almost all of your firsts, your first graduation, your first familial heartbreak, your first crush, your first boyfriend (which he was eager to help you through when it ended).  

Ever embarrassing to admit, he was even the one in your mind, more times than you can count, when you felt the butterflies in your tummy growing as your fingers explored different parts of your body. He always pushed you to continue, telling you exactly what he would do with his own fingers, or his own tongue; when he finally got the chance to make you feel the way you were making yourself feel. 

It was something you didn’t speak about after it happened, but it didn’t change the fact he was usually the one your brain went to when you made yourself feel that way. He argued it was the soulmate connection, that your soul just simply wanted him to be the one to do it. 

As time went on, the conversations dwindled amongst the two of you, both of you growing up and growing out of the fantasy that you would meet your soulmate one day, meet each other. 

You still got glimpses into his brain occasionally, pictures of blue and red cars, racecars are what you presumed. His fingers on what looked like a controller, but turned out to be a steering wheel when you asked him what it was. 

“Seems like a bit of an extravagant steering wheel, no?” 

The silent laugh was loud in your mind, as if you could feel his body rumbling in its laughter at your words, “Pretty extravagant, yeah. Not everyone gets to use something like this, though.” 

“Explain the steering wheel to me, there’s too many buttons and toggles,” you prompted him, knowing full well it would dive him deep into an explanation about the object you so often saw inside his head. 

That was another thing you learned about him early on. He liked to explain everything. He used to spend hours describing the go-karts he drove every weeknight and weekend, putting as much detail and emphasis into his explanations so that you would better understand. As time went on, so did his explanations, explaining situations he’s found himself in around the world, explaining how his career was kicking his ass but how he loved it, occasionally getting drunk and explaining how soulmates worked and that it was inevitable you’d meet one day, even if it felt like that day was never coming.  

Not wanting to be the one to burst his fantasy and ruin whatever hope he had, you would usually just nod along and silently hum to him when the conversation of eventually meeting one day was brought up. 

You still shared nights together, even from thousands of miles apart, your brain yearning for him as his did the same. 

There were moments in time, where you were positive you had almost met him, or perhaps had made eye contact with him. It was a small feeling inside of you, like everything you were looking for was in the same building as you, or around the corner, or even in the same city. 

Usually just as fast as the feeling appeared, it was gone. It never lasted for long periods of time, it was like your soulmate bond was teasing you, pushing for you to reinstate your faith in the connection. He always argued that if you lost faith in the soulmate bond, it would lose faith in trying to push the two of you together. 

Yet another thing you learned early on, whoever he was, arguing was in his blood. If he disagreed with you, with something you said, or with an opinion you had, he would go off into a whole explanation and argument about why he knew you were wrong, and how he knew he was right. 

It was endearing, how passionate he was about everything in his life, and seeing how his passion for everything just continued to grow as he grew up.  

Over the last 8 years, you had learned not to even attempt to communicate with him on Saturday or Sundays. He had told you that it was the busiest time of the work week for him, and that he couldn’t handle internal distractions on those days. 

You would only speak to him when he spoke to you on those days. Usually it was a fleeting ‘have a nice rest of your weekend’ or ‘I can’t wait until you’re here with me, celebrating this with me’.  

He never elaborated on the last part, and you never went out of your way to ask. Whoever he was, he was usually celebrating something on Sundays, at least that’s what you assumed from the raw happiness and elation that usually went through your connection on those days. 

You hadn’t heard from him, from your soulmate, in weeks. Which wasn’t necessarily unusual, either of you could cut off the connection for weeks at a time if things were stressful in life, or if you just needed a break from the never-ending person that was inside your head at all times. 

It didn’t mean you didn’t miss his dry sense of humour, the bluntness with which he said things to you, the never-ending arguments about the stupidest things. You would never admit any of this to him, though.  

Ignoring the yearning-feeling from inside of you, you allowed yourself to think about how things would be if you ever met the person on the other end of the connection. Would it be instant happiness? Relief? Joy? 

People always explained their own experiences to you, saying it was like love at first sight, but amplified so significantly, because it felt like your soul was complete, like everything was finally where it needed to be in life. They described it as meeting the one thing that made you whole, the one thing that made you continuously push to be your best self, to continuously push to be better at everything you did in life.  

You truly couldn’t believe what they said, not that it sounded exaggerated or silly. It was just difficult to imagine anything causing a feeling so instantaneously and intense as what they described.  

Your friends had disappeared earlier in the day, eager to try and find themselves different drivers throughout the entrances to get photos or autographs with. You really had no interest in any of it. Your soulmate had eagerly admired, and shit talked almost every single person on the grid to you, at least once or twice, so it really wasn’t worth trying to interact with any of them after that. 

Your paddock pass sat heavily on your chest, the lanyard rubbing against your neck as the bright Sun shined down upon your skin. The cheering of the Tifosi could be heard throughout the entire fan sections. The Ferrari faithful were dedicated, especially at their own Grand Prix. 

He had told you that Monza was one of the ones not to miss. That it was electric, regardless of who you drove for, even if the fans were booing your favourite driver, or your favourite team, it was a delight to drive in Monza. 

You found yourself staring at the different drivers names that were wrapped around the seating section. Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell... Max Verstappen. 

He was handsome, that you could admit. With his pretty blue eyes, and his arrogant little smirk, and his annoying obsession with having to win.  

“Oh, you think Max Verstappen has pretty blue eyes, huh?”  

A small sound erupted from your chest as you listened to the words floating through your head from the man you hadn’t heard from in weeks. 

“Look who’s alive! Thought you got lost with your little controller steering wheel.” 

Laughing at your words, “You didn’t answer my question! You think Max Verstappen has pretty eyes?” 

“I think Max Verstappen himself is pretty. Other than when he’s being an arrogant prick.” 

That feeling had been eating at you all day, again. Like your soulmate bond was trying to force you to go in a direction you weren’t understanding. It was like it was trying to tell you that he was here, that he was so close you could almost smell him, almost touch him. You had been ignoring the little jabs inside of you all day, refusing to acknowledge the fact that maybe, just maybe, the person you were yearning for so heavily, was so close. 

“My soulmate just called me an arrogant prick, without realizing she was calling me an arrogant prick.”  

The Brit in front of him guffawed, his whole body moving as he gripped his side at Max’s words, “Mate, how did that even happen?” 

Shrugging his shoulders as he looked at Lando, “Not too sure. I haven’t heard from her in a few weeks, figured she had shut the connection off for some time alone and all of a sudden, she’s thinking about how ‘Max Verstappen has such pretty blue eyes’ and then told me that I’d... or he’d be attractive all the time if he wasn’t such an arrogant prick.”  

Patting his shoulder gently, all Lando did was grin at him, “Just think, mate. At least whoever she is, she thinks you have pretty eyes and that you’re good looking when you’re not being an arrogant prick.” 

Max shoved him as he walked by, walking away in the direction of his driver's room. He had been having that feeling again, like his body was yearning for something that it couldn’t explain to him. He had tried to ask a few people about it, had asked Sebastian in the past if it was something he had experienced before meeting Hanna. Of course, Seb hadn’t been much help when one considered the fact that he and his soulmate had met in their shared childhood. 

It wasn’t something he could ask either of his parents, both admitting long ago that they weren’t destined for one another and that they had never had a connection with their true soulmates, which allowed them to willingly marry each other. Victoria had met her soulmate and now husband when they were young as well, so she would be of no help. 

He was almost embarrassed to ask Christian, or any other older person who had already met their soulmate. He was a grown man, he could literally just google it if he wanted to, but what exactly would he type in? 

What is that weird yearning feeling I get every now and then, out of the blue, in random buildings or random cities? 

Max was almost positive the answer would be ‘allergies’ or ‘hunger’. He figured that maybe it was soulmate related, it would make sense, but it wasn’t a feeling he had often. It wouldn’t make sense to only yearn so heavily for your soulmate in certain areas. 

It was always the strongest when he felt like he was truly connecting with you. He noticed it for the first time when both of you had touched yourselves to the sound of the other, egging one another on, saying exactly what the both of you know the other wanted to hear. Max couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed that time with you, how intimate it was, how much he craved to be the one making you moan and whimper. 

The feeling always grew after that, the yearning for the other person, the desire to have you there with him, the desire to have you underneath him after a night of celebration, the desire to have you wrapped in his arms, the desire to send you an unnecessary bouquet of flowers... if he could just figure out who you were, all of that would be possible.  

But the yearning today was different. It was like his body was trying to tell him he needed to go somewhere, trying to encourage him to walk down halls he didn’t usually walk down, or trying to push him in directions that made no sense.  

“You gonna tell me why you’re thinking of Max Verstappen so much today, and why you’re thinking so much about his pretty blue eyes?” 

He could feel the involuntary smile reach his lips when he heard your soft laugh. He really tried not to be someone who was smitten with a person he had never met, but he couldn’t deny that he was in love with you, likely had been since the both of you were young.  

You were the one constant in his life, the one person he could always turn to when he needed someone. You listened to all his ranting, dealt with hours upon hours of ‘Maxsplaining’, dealt with unnecessary outbursts and temper tantrums, but you never complained about it. You always eagerly pushed for him to continue, asking him more and more questions, prompting him out of his head and prompting him to get over whatever frustration had pushed him over the edge that day.  

“If you must know. I’m at the Monza Grand Prix, and I had to get away from all the Ferrari fans for a bit, pretty sure they were going to blow my ear drums. Max Verstappen’s name is everywhere, so I, of course, had to internally acknowledge his attractiveness while grimacing at his name in front of me.” 

Max felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. You were here? In Italy? At the Monza Grand Prix? The same place where he was, at this very moment, at this very second?  

He could tell you were waiting for a response from him to your words. It was like he could sense the raise of your eyebrows from the silence that emitted between your connection.  

“You’re in Monza?” He questioned eagerly, his hands sweating as he waited for a response 

“Yes sir, just about to try and force myself to go find my friends and head back to the paddock so I can avoid getting trampled by any other Ferrari fans.” 

Max knew almost instantly that, that had to be what the feeling was. The yearning. You were close by, and his side of the soulmate connection knew it.  

He had tried to tell you who he was before, had tried to explain it to you in words that the connection wouldn’t muffle or meddle with. It never worked. Any time he tried to explain to you who he was, or what he did for a living, it was like his brain malfunctioned and he had to hotwire it back on. 

You had told him the same thing happened to you every time you tried to explain to him who you were, or the easiest ways to find you in the real world. Every time either of you tried, it was like the connection was shutting it down. 

Daniel had told him it was likely the bond, telling him it wasn’t the time yet, that the both of you had to wait until the bond was steady and ready for you to finally meet in person. Max had never believed it, until right now.  

You had never been able to tell him exactly where you were before, at least, not that he can ever remember. You had told him the things you were doing in the past, had told him the people you were spending time with, even that you were getting dinner in certain districts. Any time you had tried to tell him the restaurant, or the city even, the connection would malfunction. 

But you were just mentally able to tell him where you were, you were internally able to tell him where you were going in the place that you currently were. 

“I’m... I’m in Monza too. At the Grand Prix, I mean.” 

He could almost feel the instant shock and excitement at his words. Before he or you could get the chance to say anything else, he heard GP calling for him, the annoyed expression on his face an indication that he had been looking for Max for far longer than he actually wanted to be.  

“I have to get back to work. Please, don’t leave before you hear from me again. Maybe this is a sign.” 

You could practically feel the shock coursing through your body. Both of you were here. In Monza. At the Grand Prix. At the same time, together... but not together? You tried to contain the giddiness at his words, a silent hum in acknowledgement when he told you not to leave. How could you leave? Especially now that you knew he was here? And that he was working? 

It gave you some indication as to why he was always so busy on Saturdays and Sundays, if he worked for a Formula 1 team, or for Formula 1 in itself. Their biggest days of the week were the weekends, especially during race weeks. It made sense why he could never talk on those days of the week, or why he always seemed so happy or moody on Sundays. 

You couldn’t believe that both of you were able to tell each other where the other was, that the connection finally allowed you to give that little tidbit of important information to the other. Maybe it finally was time, maybe the connection was finally allowing you to meet the one person you had been yearning for, even if you tried to convince yourself that you weren’t.  

The text message to your friends asking where they were garnered a response, which prompted you out of your train of thought. Letting them know that you were on your way to their location, your brain moved back to the previous thought your mind was on. He was here, like truly here. Within the same 10 kilometers as you. Probably the closest either of you had ever been to each other before. 

Your friends greeted you eagerly when you finally found them, excitably telling you all about the drivers they had met, how Alex Albon even recognized two of them from previous Grand Prix and how they just knew Charles Leclerc was going to win today because the Tifosi were going crazy and how could you not win with all that support screaming for you? 

Nodding along with a smile on your face, you had an inkling they were wrong. Max Verstappen was likely going to get his tenth win in a row, but you weren’t going to say that to them.  

The drivers parade went by faster than you were expecting, before you knew it, the cars and their drivers were lining up in their respective places along the grid. Your friends eagerly itching for a better view of the upcoming race. You couldn’t even put the effort in to pay attention, wondering where he was right now.  

Was he working? Was he one of the mechanics? One of the pit crew, eagerly waiting for their driver to pull into their spot? One of the engineers, hoping their instructions and their drivers did as they were supposed to? You tried not to let your mind wander to the other possibility, but it was hard not to. 

What if he was one of the drivers? One of the 20 men now pushing themselves around the track at the fastest speed their car could take them? You tried not to stay on that thought too long, but your mind seemed to wander back to it.  

It would make sense, really. Whoever he is, he had been karting since he was a boy. His father had been unnecessarily forceful with him about it, always pushing him even when he was down, telling him that champions didn’t cry and that if he wanted to win everything one day, he had to act like he wanted to.  

He always made it seem like he was on top of the world on Sundays, like everything he ever wanted had happened that day. Would a mechanic, or an engineer, or someone from the pit crew consistently have that level of elation on Sundays?  

You knew it was possible, if they were working for a winning team, or a winning driver, and that driver was making their lives as easy as possible, then you knew it was definitely a possibility. You just couldn’t shake the idea that maybe, just maybe, it was one of the drivers. 

The crowd was cheering as eagerly as they possibly could, Verstappen had overtaken Sainz three laps prior after the Spainard had led for 15 laps straight. The Tifosi were relentless though, cheering as loud as they could for their two drivers. Your friends had resigned themselves to the fact that Verstappen was getting his tenth win in a row, which was slowly coming closer and closer as the time ticked down. 

It felt like time was zooming by; the minutes on the clock trickling down as the stadium waited for that last lap to start. Sainz was battling to keep Leclerc in fourth, doing everything in his power to keep the third podium spot he had rightfully earned. 

The checkered flag waved as the Red Bull car of Max Verstappen passed the finish line, a simultaneous cheer erupting within the crowd when the two red Ferrari’s passed the line with barely a second apart. 

That feeling inside of you, the yearning, it had been getting stronger and stronger throughout the race. Strong enough that you had to rub at your chest with a grimace more than once, ignoring the signs that obviously your soul connection was trying to give to you.  

The television in front of you showed Max Verstappen on the top of his car, both hands and 10 fingers up as he stared at the moving camera, an obvious celebration beginning as he ran towards his team. Verstappen jumped at them, right as you heard his voice in your head. 

“Where are you right now? I want to see you. I need to see you.” 

He sounded out of breath, but elated, as per usual on a Sunday. Must work for Red Bull then, you thought to yourself. 

“I don’t really know how to explain where I am, I’m in the Paddock Club with my friends.”  

Turning away from the screen, you tried to focus on the words coming through the connection. 

“Come to the area where you can go towards the garages, I’ll have someone tell security to let you in. What are you wearing? I don’t think you’ll be able to tell me your name yet, and I don’t want to risk fucking this up.” 

You had absolutely no clue how to find the area he was describing to you, explaining to him that you didn’t spend most of your time at Grand Prix’s unlike someone, apparently. All he did was laugh joyfully, explaining to you in simpler terms how to get to where he wanted you to go. 

“I have to go do a few more things, but just wait for me, okay? I’ll come to find you, the moment I’m done. I swear.” 

“I’ve waited for years; I think I can wait a few minutes more.” 

He didn’t verbally respond, but you could still feel the happiness, the sense of something you could only describe as adoration come through the connection before he shut it off again. It was obvious he had commitments, but it was disheartening knowing you still had to wait a few more minutes, that he wouldn’t be there waiting for you, behind whatever security guard you were going to have to verbally grapple with to be let behind the barricades. 

All you told your friends when you left was you had to go make a call, and that it may take a few minutes. They tried to argue with you, telling you the drivers were just about to do their post-race interviews and that it was always one of the best parts, but you simply brushed them off, eager to get to where you needed to be. 

It didn’t take you long to find where he had told you to go, his explanations as thorough and necessary as they usually were. Before you could even get a word out to the security guard, a tall brunette in a Red Bull shirt lightly tapped your shoulder and gestured for you to follow her, flashing her entry pass at the guard and pulling you along. 

“I’m Liv. I work in PR with Red Bull; I was told to wait for you. Sorry for just like... pulling you along. No one really gave me any explanation, just that I was told to look out for someone wearing the exact same outfit you are, and that it had something to do with a soulmate thing and I couldn’t get involved or ask questions.” 

“This pass will get you in and out of pretty much wherever you need to be in the Red Bull garage and areas nearby,” the brunette rambled on as the both of you walked, pulling a second entry pass from her back pocket to give to you. 

Both of you stopped in front of what only could be the hospitality lounge, if the plethora of food and drinks were any indication. You didn’t necessarily know where to go, or where to stand, so you looked back over at the brunette with confusion evident in your eyes. 

“Just wait here! He shouldn’t be long. Feel free to snack, or make yourself a tea, or you know... drink whatever really. I have to get back to work. Just like, don’t leave. I’ll probably get in trouble for that. Anyways, bye! Good luck!”  

Not giving you the chance to respond, Liv, as you learned previously, turned and basically ran out of the room. You were left alone in the hospitality area, everyone from Red Bull obviously still celebrating Max Verstappen’s tenth win in a row. 

You didn’t know what to do with yourself, deciding to sit down on one of the couches being the only real option you could decipher. The television was on low, the interviewer speaking to Sainz, Perez, and Verstappen. 

“You look eager to get out of here, Max. Big celebration planned for your tenth straight win?” 

The Dutchman chuckled, a cocky grin prominent on his face, “I have something I have to do after this, of course, though, not the celebration right away. I’m sure the team has a celebration planned, but it’s a bit arrogant of me to be involved in my own celebration party planning, no?” 

The interviewer laughed in response; you simply cocked your head at his words. Ironic that Max Verstappen would call himself arrogant, just hours after you had told him how arrogant you found Verstappen.

A few more questions zoomed by; your own thoughts preoccupied by the idea that your soulmate could be coming towards the room at any minute. The feeling in your chest, in your body as a whole, had grown substantially again since you sat down. What you didn’t notice was him grabbing his chest at the same time you did, rubbing it with a grimace as the yearning grew and grew. 

It didn’t take long for the interview to end, the television going back to the reporters as the drivers evidently went to go do whatever it is they do after their post-race interviews. 

You could hear someone walking down the hallway, which was strange considering how busy the Red Bull garage had to be right now. The steps grew louder as they got closer and closer to the room you were in, the door slamming open being the only thing to pull you out of your thoughts as you spun around. 

Making direct eye contact with your soulmate for the first time was exactly how everyone described it. It was instant, the feeling that seated itself inside your heart, inside your mind. It felt like you were whole, like everything you had done in the past 24 hours, let alone the past 10 years, had led you to this exact moment. 

You subconsciously moved off the couch, stepping in the direction of the man that was now eyeing your every move. You couldn’t tell what was going through his mind, whether he was happy, disheartened, you didn’t know. 

He stepped in your direction, just as you put another foot towards him. You could see the corners of his lips turning up, a smile starting to edge itself onto his cheeks.  

“I can’t believe you’re really here. In front of me. Like, a real person.” 

It was the same voice that you’ve heard in your head for years, except the words were coming from the mouth of the man in front of you, coming from the mouth of the man with the prettiest blue eyes you had ever seen. 

You barely had time to process anything before he had wrapped his arms around you, pulling you directly into his chest as you wrapped your own arms around his body.  

He was real. Everything you had yearned for, for years was real, and Max was right there, holding you in his arms as he pressed his lips against the crown of your head, not wanting to let you go. 

Max could barely contain his eagerness as he basically sprinted down the hall of the Red Bull garage after the end of the interview. Olivia had told him where she had brought you, telling you to wait in the hospitality lounge and that he’d be there to see you as quickly as he could get out. 

He couldn’t believe that you were really there. After spending years of talking to an invisible force inside his head, years of having a constant companion who he could turn to for internal comfort, you were barely seconds away from him. 

Max didn’t hesitate to throw the door of the lounge open, making eye contact with you just a second later. 

Everyone was right, the feeling you get when you finally meet your soulmate, the person that’s supposed to complete you in the best of ways. It was instant love, instant happiness, a feeling better than any win he had ever accomplished, a feeling that could barely be explained in one million words.  

He knew right then that he loved you, and when you smiled at him, he knew you knew it too.  

i am obsessed with the soulmate trope so this obviously got out of hand and way more descriptive than i intended. im hoping you all love it as much as i loved writing it!! let me know what you think

my requests are also open :)

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[sinkovia]

-`♡´- ANON ASK -`♡´-

Anon requested that the ask be posted after the fic.

Pairings: SImon Riley x GN!Reader

Warnings: Angst.

As the days passed by, your once perfect relationship with Simon began to fracture. It seemed as though the idyllic days you once shared were slipping away, replaced by a constant tension that hung heavy in the air.

The source of the arguments seems to stem from your "nagging," as Simon puts it. But to you, it's an expression of love and fear - a desperate attempt to hold onto something precious in a world where loss and danger lurk around every corner.

From the beginning, you both understood the risks in your line of work, but it's only recently that the reality of those risks has begun to weigh heavily on your heart.

You've voiced your fears to Simon, your desire to retire together and find solace in a life far removed from the dangers of combat. But each time you broach the subject, Simon's reaction is the same - cold, defensive, and laced with hurtful words that cut deep. It's a cycle that plays out time and time again: he pushes you away with his sharp words, only to come crawling back the next day, remorseful and apologetic.

In those moments of reconciliation, he speaks to you with tenderness and warmth, promising that he's always careful on missions and that this is the life he wants. He reassures you that perhaps, in a few years' time, he could think about settling down. And each time, you find yourself giving in, desperate to believe that his words hold truth.

But as the fear and dread of losing him creep back in, the same arguments resurface, and the cycle repeats itself endlessly, leaving you trapped in a loop of hope and despair. 

The tension in your life reaches a boiling point when you're summoned to the briefing room, where Captain Price lays out the details of a harrowing mission. Your heart sinks as you realize the gravity of the task at hand - infiltrating the heart of Makarov's forces, your fluency in Russian making you the only person who could do it. It's a suicide mission, with slim chances of success and even slimmer chances of survival.

As Captain Price outlines the high-risk, high-reward nature of the operation, your mind races with conflicting emotions. On one hand, success could mean a significant blow to Makarov's forces, potentially saving countless lives and shifting the tide of the war. On the other hand, the thought of risking your life - and potentially throwing away any chance of a future with Simon - fills you with fear.

You weigh the options carefully, torn between duty and personal desire. The stakes couldn't be higher, and the choice before you feels like a cruel test of loyalty and sacrifice. As you leave the briefing room, the weight of the decision hangs heavy on your shoulders, uncertainty clouding your thoughts as you grapple with the choice before you.

You step into your shared apartment, the weight of the impending conversation heavy on your shoulders. Simon is seated on the couch, absorbed in the television. With a heavy sigh, you make your way over and take a seat next to him, steeling yourself for what's to come.

"We need to talk, Si,"

Simon sighs and reaches to turn off the TV, a resigned expression crossing his features. "Here we go again," he mutters under his breath.

Your heart sinks at his dismissive tone, but you push forward nonetheless. “Price gave me a solo mission,” you watch his reaction closely.

Simon quirks a brow but remains silent, prompting you to continue. “He wants me to infiltrate Makarov's forces,”

“Sounds risky,” Simon comments, his tone neutral as he leans back on the couch, crossing his arms. You take a deep breath, "It's a suicide mission," you confess, locking eyes with him, searching for any sign of understanding or concern.

Silence hangs in the air as you wait for his response, “When do you leave?” he asks, his response devoid of the emotion you had hoped for.

Does he even hear you? Does he even care?

“Did you hear what I said? It’s a suicide mission. Do you even care Simon?” you press, desperation creeping into your voice.

Simon releases a frustrated breath, irritation evident in his demeanor. “Of course, I fucking care, y/n. But like I've said a million times before, we chose this profession. We know the risks that come with our job. Any of our missions could easily turn into a suicide mission.”

Your heart sinks at his callous response, the weight of his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “And if I died on a mission, would you be okay with that? With living without me? With going on with life without me?!” you challenge, tears welling in your eyes.

“Seeing how you're always fucking nagging me, yeah, maybe I’d be okay with that!” Simon's harsh words cut through you like a knife, leaving you reeling in disbelief.

Your lip quivers, and you shake your head, unable to comprehend the cruelty of his words. “You're being mean. You don’t mean that Si, I know you don’t,” you protest, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I do. I mean every fucking word,” Simon retorts, his voice rising in anger. “Do you know how easy it would be to find someone else who will give me what I want? I can never get peace when you're around. We are done, y/n. Don't bother coming home after your mission.”

The finality of his words crushes you, leaving you speechless and broken. With tears streaming down your face, you cover your mouth with your hand, muffling the sobs that threaten to escape. Simon turns on his heel and storms out of the apartment, leaving you alone in the wake of his harsh words. 

With a heavy heart, you rise from the couch and make your way to your room, your mind consumed by the weight of the decision ahead. As you gather the necessities for the mission, a wave of despair washes over you.

If Simon wasn't in your life, what else did you have to live for? There had been multiple missions you had turned down in the past, knowing they were nothing but one-way trips. But now, without Simon by your side, there was nothing holding you back.

Stepping into Price’s office, you steel yourself for the conversation ahead. You inform him of your decision to go through with the mission, his surprise is evident, but he and Laswell offer words of encouragement, instilling in you a sense of hope. With your skills as an infiltrator and your Russian background, they assure you that you stand a fighting chance. After all, who would suspect one of their own?

Despite the uncertainty and the weight of the task ahead, a glimmer of hope begins to flicker within you. Within a matter of hours, you find yourself on a plane headed to Russia, the gravity of your decision weighing heavily on your mind. Simon however remains oblivious to your departure, unaware of the path you've chosen. 

Back at home, he returns that night with your favorite takeout and a bouquet of flowers, his heart heavy with remorse and determination. With each step, he replays his apology in his head, rehearsing the words he's been meaning to say. He knows he's messed up, and he's desperate to make things right. He wants to change, to be a better man for you.

Simon's mind swirls with thoughts of seeking therapy, of learning to control his temper and his sharp tongue. He knows he's hurt you deeply with his words, words he never truly meant. He loves you more than anything, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to prove it. But as he steps into the house, the atmosphere is heavy with silence. The air feels cold and unwelcoming.

“Y/n?” He calls out for you, his voice tinged with concern, but there's no response.

Worry gnaws at him as he wanders through the darkened rooms, searching for any sign of you. Finally, he enters the bedroom, and his heart sinks as he sees a note lying on the bed, illuminated by the faint light filtering in through the window. With trembling hands, he picks up the note, his heart pounding in his chest as he reads your words. 

Simon,

By the time you read this, I'll be on a plane to Russia. I've made the decision to go through with it, despite the risks, and I wanted you to know why.

I've heard your words echoing in my mind, the ones about finding someone else who will give you what you want, about never getting peace when I'm around. And so, I've decided to honor your wishes. Once I finish this mission, I'll find my own place, and you won't have to deal with my constant nagging anymore. Your life will finally be at peace, just as you've always wanted.

I want you to know that I've always turned down these types of missions in the past. This isn't the first time Price has offered them to me. But if I had known sooner that you didn't care whether I went on them or not, I would have gone sooner. I'm sorry for making your life so miserable, for not realizing sooner that I was the problem.

I hope that you find peace now, Simon. I hope that you find someone who can give you what you want, someone who can make you happy. You deserve that much, at least.

Take care of yourself.

Yours always, Y/n

With each word, his heart sinks deeper, the weight of your words bearing down on him with crushing force. Tears blur his vision as he reads your farewell, your words cutting through him like a knife. The realization of the pain he's caused you hits him like a tidal wave, leaving him gasping for air as guilt gnaws at his conscience.

When he reaches the part where you promise to honor his wish and stay out of his life after your mission, Simon's heart shatters into a million pieces. The thought of you willingly walking away from him, all because of his own hurtful words and actions, is almost too much to bear.

He crumples the letter in his trembling hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs as he struggles to come to terms with the magnitude of his mistakes. The weight of regret hangs heavy in the air as he realizes the depth of the love he's lost, the love he may never have the chance to regain if you don’t come back from the mission.

The suicide mission.

In that moment, he breaks down completely, the full weight of his actions crashing over him like a tidal wave. Seeing how much he's hurt you, how much he's pushed you away to point that you accepted the mission, shatters him to his core.

With each tear that falls, Simon's resolve crumbles, replaced by a deep and profound sense of regret. He wishes he could turn back time, take back the hurtful words he's spoken, and hold you close, promising to never let you go. But it's too late now, and all he can do is sit in silence, praying to a higher form to keep you safe, to let you come back to him alive.

The next day, Simon walked into Price’s office, his heart heavy with worry and anticipation. He needed to know more about your mission, to find any shred of information that could ease his growing anxiety.

Price informed Simon that you had landed in Russia in the early morning hours. However, he delivered the news that communication would be sparse for at least a month. They had scheduled calls planned for updates on the mission status, but they would have to wait until the designated time for you to radio in.

Simon listened intently, understanding the protocol, but inside, fear and dread gnawed at him. The thought of you out there, alone and potentially in danger, filled him with a sense of helplessness.

As the first month passed, Simon waited patiently in the room with Price, every passing minute feeling like an eternity. But as the hours stretched on, there was no sign of communication from you. No Morse code, no call, no comm. Just silence.

Panic began to set in as Simon grappled with the uncertainty of your situation. He couldn't shake the feeling of unease, the nagging worry that something had gone terribly wrong. But Price remained steadfast in his confidence, assuring Simon that these things happened often, that perhaps you hadn't found the right opportunity to relay a message.

Despite Price's reassurances, Simon couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that gripped him. With each passing day, his fear for your safety only grew stronger, overshadowing any hope he tried to hold onto. But he knew he had to stay strong, to keep faith that you would return safely from your mission.

Month after month passed, and still, there was no word from you. Simon waited patiently by the phone in the comms room center, his heart heavy with worry and uncertainty. He refused to give up on you, clinging to the hope that you would come back to him, despite Price declaring you M.I.A.

Even as Price tried to reason with him, pointing out that none of your mission objectives had been completed in the time you had been gone, Simon remained steadfast in his belief that you were still out there, somewhere, fighting to return to him.

Even as the years passed Simon couldn't bring himself to accept the possibility that you might truly be gone, vanished from his life and the world forever. The thought of living in a world without you was unbearable, and Simon couldn't bear to entertain it.

The last words he had spoken to you echoed in his mind, haunting him with their cruelty. How could he have been so callous, so blind to the pain he was causing you? 

Was this fate's cruel work, forcing him to confront the consequences of his actions? Was this punishment for his harsh words, for pushing you away when he should have pulled you close? Was this what he truly wanted, to be left alone in a world without you?

But even in the depths of his despair, Simon clung to a sliver of hope, refusing to let go of the belief that you would come back to him. He would wait for you, for as long as it took, holding onto the hope that one day, you would return to him and his world would be whole again.

Anon Ask- simon x reader but they are both in the military and reader gets assigned on a suicide mission but has a choice to go or not. reader and simon fight and then they decide to go. feel free not to do this no pressure!!! but if you will dont post the ask until after to make it a little angsty surprise!

[castiwls]

i think he knows - s.w

Paring; sam x reader

Prompt; 'He got that boyish look that i like in a man'

Requested; anonymous

Notes; Im not entirely happy with this one tbh and ill probs rewrite it when I've cleard my inbox tbh requests are open!

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

You’d never been someone who jumped into relationships. You preferred to take things slow and get to know the person before jumping into a relationship with them. You’d dealt with your fair share of heartbreak over your life and had learnt a long time ago that jumping into a relationship was never a good idea.

Yet all that had been thrown away the moment Sam Winchester had walked into your life. You’d been taken immediately by the man and found yourself falling fast and hard. Lucky for you he’d seemed to share the same sentiments you had and your relationship had quickly evolved.

A small groan pulled your attention away from your thoughts and back to the man lying beside you. You turned your head smiling slightly as you noticed his tousled hair from sleep. “Morning.” You leaned down to gently press a kiss to his lips.

Sam smiled. “Morning.” 

He was quiet for a moment before a small smirk grew on his lips. You narrowed your eyes. “What are you planning?” You knew him well enough to know that grin meant he was plotting something. “Oh, nothing.” He shook his head, staring innocently at you. You hummed slightly sitting up in the bed, stretching your arms out in front of you. 

Just as you were about to move your legs off the bed you felt an arm snake around your waist. A yelp escaped you as Sam pulled you back against his chest. “Sam!” You turned your head to face him. He laughed, grinning down at you before loosening his grip enough for you to turn to face him.

One of the things that first attracted you to the youngest Winchester was the way he seemed to be able to still have his boyish charm while also being mature enough to handle a proper relationship.  

His hand moved to push a piece of hair from your face before he cupped your cheek. “I love you.” His other hand rubbed circles against your waist as he smiled softly at you. “I love you too.” 

Sam stared down at you as if you were the most important thing in the world. Ever since the moment he’d met you, he’d been absolutely taken by you. He’d become obsessed with the idea of you and the idea of being able to love you. 

And it seemed like for once the world was on his side. As he lay beside you he felt as if he was the luckiest man in the world. And you felt the exact same. 

You frowned feeling one of his hands slowly creep up the side of your chest slowly. You watched his hand for a moment before opening your mouth to ask him what he was doing. Just as you opened your mouth he quickly turned his touches from feather light. You squealed pushing at his hand.

“Sam. Stah-stop.” You kicked out your legs slightly feeling his grip only tighten on you. He smiled shaking his head. “I’m good.” His hand moved slightly higher to your arms which only made you thrash more. 

Your breaths came out in pants as he finally let up. You lay back against the pillow as you caught your breath, after a moment you turned your head back to look at the man beside you. 

You’d both hit the jackpot and you both knew it.

[drtanner]

You know, I think I'm starting to understand why the sharing culture on this site is such dogshit now.

As I mentioned earlier in the week, I spent several solid hours going through my art and writing tags as far back as 2012 and manually deleting everything I found, including all of my own reblogs, because I don't expect my opt out from having my blogs' data scraped to be honoured, and seeing the difference in the way people interacted with my work back then and the way they interact with it now (or the way they don't interact with it at all, more specifically) was deeply and tragically enlightening.

tl;dr, despite having had a fraction of the followers back then that I have now, as well as being an objectively better artist and writer than I used to be 10+ years ago, my work travelled further and people engaged with it more, and they also sent me asks with drabble prompts and questions about my OCs all the time, whereas none of that happens at all anymore. This place was a lot more communal back in that pre-2016 era and generally a lot more rewarding and fun.

There's been plenty of posts going around over the last few years begging people to reblog because that's how this site works, but every one of those posts always winds up lousy with people saying they just click "Like" on things because they like them but not enough to put them on their own blog, or because they don't want to clutter their blog, or because tagging things is too much effort or whatever, and I'm noticing a pattern. There's something that all of these common responses have in common:

All of these people are wholly concerned with themselves and the way their blog looks, or what their blog is supposed to be for, or some other similarly entirely self-centred point of focus.

Listen. Other people have already tried to explain to you that that's not what this place is about or what this place is for or that you can make as many sideblogs as you want if you're trying to curate something specific, and they've had little success in emparting understanding to you, so I'm going to try a different approach.

Here are ten (10) benefits of reblogging that will make this site more fun and engaging for you, personally! ( b ._.)b

You get to keep the thing for yourself, but you also get to pass it along for other people to play with, too! Best of all worlds. How often do you get to keep a thing and share it?

Look in your Activity after you reblog something you enjoy to find other people who like the same things that you do! This is a terrific way to find new people to follow.

Sometimes you'll make a comment when you reblog something and later find that an awful lot of strangers are reblogging it from you directly for some reason. This is usually because someone else later down the line made a much stupider and worse comment and those strangers are now all clicking on your reblog so that they can reblog the post without that other person's stupider and worse comment on it. I like it a lot when this happens. You can get a lot of new followers this way, too!

Even if you don't have the time or spoons to play with jpegs like dolls yourself, your reblog can put the post in front of those folks who do. Playing with jpegs like dolls is half of what makes this site function; give it a bit of time, and the jpegs will cross your dash again with new additions. As it is with anything you love, set it free, and the love will come back to you one hundredfold. 💜

Look in your Activity after reblogging some art or writing to see people going nuts in the tags. You can also go nuts in the tags if you want; everyone loves seeing this when it happens, especially the artist or writer themselves.

Commenting with your reblog is like raising your hand to share your opinion with the whole room, whereas reblogging with your comment in the tags is more like whispering to the person next to you and keeping it between yourselves. Contrary to what you might have been told by others, both are perfectly fine and good and they each have their place. You can do both on the same reblog, even! Take part in the conversation!

If you're too shy to talk, reblogging without commentary is a lot like parallel play. You're all enjoying the same thing quietly together!

When you reblog things a lot, you'll start to see the same people popping up in your Activity feed all the time. These people are your friends whether you actually talk to them or not.

Stuck for something to say? Point out something you liked about the post! It can be something small! Acknowledging things that make you happy out loud is good for your mental health and also your soul.

Reblogging also invites other people who are doing all of these things to find and follow you!

There's so much to do on here beyond checking your dash and occasionally looking at the For You tab. You can discover all kinds of people and things by making a bit of an effort and having a poke around in your Activity feed and on the blogs of people who interact with the posts you're seeing and passing along! I promise you don't need an algorithm to do this for you; the action of exploring the landscape around you on this website is fun in its own right!

Get out there and see who your neighbours are. 💜

[tugoslovenka]

Safehaven

Summary: You have felt a little insecure in your situationship with Halsin as of late. Fortunately, the druid seems to have taken notice—and takes some steps in consoling your fears and self-consciousness.

A/N: I just want to say this was something of a self-comfort fic. I don’t often see plus size/fat bodies in these fics (I’m responsible for doing the same in all of my work too) and I felt like making active efforts in remedying that. Especially when it comes to Halsin. With that said, obviously don’t take this as anything other than an exercise in writing something different. All bodies are beautiful, I just want fat ones to be more represented in fiction sometimes.

This is also my first time writing in second person and I must say, it’s very unnatural for me to do so. But I hope it at least tickled someone’s pickle.

Also available on AO3!

The tent was haphazardly made. Having lived in Baldur’s Gate for most of your life, nature was not where you felt most comfortable. Although, this entire adventure has been an exercise in understanding yourself ever since the Nautiloid crash a couple of weeks ago. Sometimes you felt utterly useless, having to trek through some of the rougher parts of this strange land. Other times, you felt strong—a leader, even, among your companions. It was an odd feeling, stepping in to mediate a confrontation, consoling others or simply having others come to you for advice.

The anonymity brought upon by the abduction slowly turned into a journey of self-discovery. Baldur’s Gate was too big a city to truly achieve the passions you wanted to. But out here, in the middle of nowhere, with strangers who are equally as confused as you, it’s different.

You’re different.

The shadow looming over you brings you back to the sound of crackling fires and whetstone against metal. In tattered leathers, Halsin stands, a hand outstretched towards you.

“Yes?” you ask, following the bulging veins on his arm until you note some of the scarring on his shoulder from today’s goblin encounter. Your eyes quickly divert to meet his—warm brown, with a speckle of ember that almost glows at night.

“Where have your thoughts leapt?” He cocks his head to one side, observing you with care. The druid had an uncanny ability to sense your discomfort from a mile away. You sometimes wondered if he had an infinite supply of Potions of Mind Reading, topping up each hour just to ensure he was inside your head at all times.

“Oh?” you quip, hugging your own body in response. “It’s been a long day, I suppose.”

He kneels down, blocking most of the light from the campfire. With elbows resting on his thighs, he continues to stare. Instinctively, you raise your knees until most of your body is covered. You wrap your arms around them, placing your chin in between. His eyes simply follow your movements.

“Is that all?” He turns his hand until his palm faces you, offering it in case you felt the need to hold it. You always did, but embarrassment or pride often had the last word in the conundrum of comfort.

Halsin never pushed you to share more than you were willing to, and so very quickly, he retracts his hand. The air is particularly chilly tonight, and even though you handle the cold better than most, the goosebumps spreading on your skin prompt you to involuntarily shake when a gust of wind passes by.

“I do not mean this to offend you, but your tent is…” he trails off, looking at the deflated fabric that could serve as a second blanket if need be. “... Not very—”

“—It’s shit, I’m aware,” you chuckle, letting out a yawn when you feel the shakes come again.

Halsin smiles. Almost immediately, you grin back at him. There is something so captivating about the wrinkles on the sides of his face showing each time he is chuffed with your comments. He would call them ‘direct’ even though you knew he probably meant rude. Not that he would allow himself to say so.

“I was going to say not very safe,” he corrects. “I can feel a storm brewing below my feet. If it encourages the bunnies to burrow, then I imagine it will not be pleasant.”

“After all this, dying from drowning by rainfall sounds rather embarrassing.” Your hands begin to rub your shoulders in an effort to raise your body temperature.

“I know we have both been rather busy as of late, but I do miss you, little one.”

Little one. Your teeth grit at the sound of it. It takes the willpower of a thousand suns to not bite off a chunk inside your cheek when he says it. The first time he did, it was following a particularly generous indulging of your cunt—when he refused to be serviced in return—and wrapped you in his arms instead. A thank you, he called it, for aiding him in the fight against his captors. The second time was after your face was painted in his seed, scorching hot like the anger he had for Kagha’s activities in the Grove. A kiss on the forehead followed. The third time was during a cuddle atop one of the particularly beautiful outlooks near the settlement—where he Wildshaped into a bear to keep you cushioned against the uncomfortable floor.

It was frustrating. Never have you felt so secure yet vulnerable with a person. At times, he made you feel like the most unique flower in a gardenia of preciousness, and yet he almost seemed frightened to touch you. You couldn’t remember the last time his touch was wanting, and it had been a month since your last indulgement.

“You certainly don’t act like it,” you murmur, scooting away until you felt your back hit the tent—or whatever was left of it.

Halsin’s eyes narrow. You have studied his expressions well enough to know this was his way of practicing his thoughts before he felt comfortable enough to speak out loud. He opens his mouth to utter a protest, but the loud cheers from Karlach interrupt him. You both turn to see the tiefling using a stick to gently pet over Scratch’s head, squealing in excitement when he drops a ball with a bark.

You take the time to disengage.

“Nevermind.” Standing, you pat away some of the dirt on your thighs and pull down your top, careful to pull at the bottom until it covers the bits you want it to. The druid is quick to follow, and you find yourself blocked by his giant frame as he looks down at you with concern.

“Come,” he instructs, limply pointing towards a direction away from the camp. “Follow me.”

“Halsin, it’s late and if this storm is—”

“Please.” 

You relent. With a groan, you lean down to pick up the giant blanket one of the tieflings knitted as a farewell present and wrap it around your front. Halsin is the first to move, occasionally looking back to check if you’re nearby. Once you’re far enough that the noise from camp turns distant is when his hand intertwines with yours, squeezing a few times to offer reassurance. 

Rolling your eyes would have been the appropriate response, were it not for the exhaustion you feel in fighting the inside voices and the man responsible for them.

The journey is spent in complete silence, though the tension in the air could be cut with a knife. It takes some time until you reach a nearby creek. Halsin lets go of your hand once you reach a spot he finds appropriate, but not before giving it a gentle kiss. He tells you he will take precaution in scoping the area for any threats. You take the time to sit on a nearby rock, curling the blanket until it covers every inch of your body save for your head.

It doesn't take long. The approaching footsteps catch your attention and you see the large druid return with a couple of branches. He kneels next to you, using some of the nearby rocks to create a campfire.

“I know you are upset with me,” he murmurs, striking two sharp stones against one another until sparks fly in the air. “But I wish to understand why.”

You sigh. “Halsin, is this the time?”

“I miss you,” he retorts, continuing to smash the pebbles more aggressively this time. “And I cannot bear this tension.”

“Tension?” you scoff. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“No, you are not.”

Another spark.

“And how would you know?”

“Because I know you.”

More sparks.

“Do you?”

“It would help if you allowed me to discern what troubles you.”

A flame. A small one, followed by smoke that quickly blows in the wind. Halsin finally turns to you, one knee on the ground as he rests his body weight on one hand.

“Do I trouble you?” you challenge, gently rocking your knee in frustration.

His expression softens. “What?”

“It does seem practiced for you to whisk me away somewhere where no one else can see us any time you want to show me affection,” you snap. “I wonder if I’m the trouble here.”

Halsin shakes his head. The fire next to him begins growing until you feel a wave of heat in your direction.

“You are… anything but. What would make you say that?”

You shrug, pressing your lips together. Either he was rather oblivious at his actions, or just well-rehearsed in the responses he typically gave. You see him searching your eyes, darting left and right as though they would give him the sense he sought for.

“When was the last time you touched me in front of everyone?” you ask, voice lowering barely above a whisper. “When was the last time you touched me with purpose?”

“My heart, you misunderstand,” he responds, inching closer until you can smell the salt and earth his body carries. “My lack of affections have nothing to do with you, but with—with… well, me.”

Another excuse. One that you’ve heard many times before.

“Of course,” you scoff, turning your gaze to the creak nearby.

He reaches through the blanket until you can feel his hand tightening around yours. “Look at me.” 

You do so, reluctantly.

“I have lived for many years. I have taken many lovers. You are not some conquest I keep on a tab of many. I have—the shadow curse, it has been preoccupying my daydreams and nightmares. It has nothing to do with you.”

Your eyes narrow. “Then why come to me in the first place?”

He takes a few minutes before answering. “Passion. Attraction. Long lonely nights that needed—”

“—So that’s the reason. You needed a quick release.”

“No,” he quickly interrupts. “You are much more than a passionate night. But that’s precisely why I don’t wish to rush this. I don’t want you to have the wrong idea.”

“And what idea is that?” you arch an eyebrow.

“That somehow you are a quick solution for my frustrations. Yes, I am lonely and I have been, ever since I’ve had the Grove responsibilities thrust upon me. And yes, you have ignited a spark within me that threatens to explode into a wildfire.” Halsin’s thumb begins circling your hand. “But you are also wonderful. I can hear you speak about your love of painting until I grow old. I can watch you playing with those tiefling children until my eyes wet with tears. I can’t bear to see you fight, because my heart tears each time I see another scar on your body.” 

You search his eyes for deceit, the corners of which begin to sparkle in the dim moonlight. He curls his hand until it’s holding yours tightly, while his other reaches to touch the side of your face. You’ve always compared the rough skin on his palm to tree bark, and you would have melted into his touch were it not for the many questions you felt necessary to ask.

“It has nothing to do with the others or with you. I would happily cradle you in my arms each day, professing my adoration for you the moment the sun’s rays illuminate the skies until it dims down to the blackness of night. And I apologize that I have not done that.” His thumb rubs small circles on your cheek as he speaks, making sure to stare at you as though speaking to your soul.

“Do you mean that?”

“I do.” He tugs on your hand until you allow him to pull it towards his lips. He gives a gentle kiss on your knuckles, leaning his cheek against them. “I was not aware you wished it of me.”

You shake your head. “Much more than that, Halsin. I want you to crave me,” you profess. “I sometimes feel like you’re not willing to take the extra step. It’s as though you pull back from me when I need you most.”

He nods. “I do, but that’s mostly to contain myself. I may be an old bear, but there are some parts of me that I cannot fully control. I don’t wish to cause you any harm should it come to it. I am especially prone to outbursts at this time, given the circumstances.”

You pause. Halsin has sometimes spoken of his drawbacks—the side he’s not proud of as he would say—of being a druid. His Wildshape afforded him many conveniences, though even you have seen the yellow glow of his eyes at the height of his emotions. You didn’t mind it. In fact, you often had to squeeze your legs together to suppress the gushing need that rose from there at the very thought of it.

“Alright…” you trail off, forming a fist with your free hand, letting the anxiety rest there. “I suppose I’m not used to this. I more so felt you had changed your mind—didn’t find what you were expecting.”

“What do you mean?”

You nod towards your body in gesture. It takes him a short while before he understands the meaning, and quickly reaches to rest both hands against your cheeks. He shakes his head. “No. Never. You are important to me, attractive to me, as you are. What a privilege I have been bestowed upon, having mattered to you this much.”

With some apprehension, Halsin begins tugging at the large fur that covers most of your body. It easily slips down, allowing him full view of your frame, curled against yourself. He reaches forward, touching your neck first, dragging a finger from your chin until he reaches the shirt that covers the valley between your breasts.

“All of you—your softness, your plumpness, your swell,” he mutters, leaning until you feel the surprisingly soft lips against your skin. He inhales deeply, lips hovering over your left breast. “It does not matter. I love every bit of it.” Taking a hand, he reaches in the spot between your waist and hips, squeezing delicately. Instinctively, you jump at the discomfort, but he quickly stills you.

“Halsin, you don’t have to say any of this.” The nervous chuckle betrays you when your hand grabs his in an effort to move it aside. To this, he only hums. Before you have time to react, both hands tear the front of your shirt until your upper body is exposed to the elements. The same slow instincts fail to cover it, because his hands have tightened around your wrists before you can do so.

“Besides,” he continues, easily holding you down when you try to move your hands away. “Your voluptuousness makes for a greater resting place for all the seed I’m going to spill on account of this night.” 

Immediately, you stop fidgeting. Blinking a few times, it takes a moment for your brain to understand what your ears have perceived. The druid takes the opportunity to lean forward and take one of your breasts in his mouth. The contact makes you hiss, and still, you are unable to move from his grip. Instead, you moan, not caring for the loudness. His tongue has always been exceptionally good at weakening you. You can feel him twirl it around your nipple, followed by a light teething that prompts you to buck your hips forward.

“Halsin,” you moan, attempting to release from his hold for a second time. Fluttering your eyes closed, you lean back until you feel the tree trunk against your shoulder blades. He follows, not allowing you a moment of peace as he swirls his tongue over your hard nipple. Biting down, he begins suckling at the soft skin when you attempt to close your legs together to satisfy the ache between them.

With a pop, he releases your nipple, cheek resting against the skin as he looks up at you.

“Would you like that?” he wonders, a gentle bucking of his hips making it evident he too was seeking friction. “For me to show you how much I truly crave you?”

You bite your lip in response, hard enough that the metallic taste starts swirling somewhere inside your mouth. Nodding slowly, you attempt to tug away once again, and this time the druid allows it. With newfound freedom of movement, your hands find themselves fisting his messy hair when you propel yourself forward, landing on your knees and capturing his lips in yours. He is solid as stone, unmoving when you do so, and only grunts when your tongues find each other.

Hands begin roaming—his, yours—over soft and hardened bits, frantically looking for somewhere to rest, to hold. Halsin’s are particularly active, first finding your hair, then your cheeks, then your shoulders, then your hips, before finally resting at the front of your belly. You cringe and suck in air on impulse—habit. It only makes him squeeze harder.

“This is the body I have adored since the first time you granted me permission to touch it,” he growls, pulling away from your heated kisses. “I have hungered for every inch of you. Through sleepless nights and anxiety-ridden trips, I have grown to know this is what I want.”

Responding in full sentences is not an option. Not when he dips his head, trailing kisses along your belly, on the folds that he so carefully grabs hold of with one hand—while the other pushes itself through the confines of your trousers to find your soaking nub. Delightful cries escape your lips when he begins circling his fingers, putting enough pressure until your eyes roll in the back of your head from the feeling.

“The stream of pleasures you produce, I will lap like an animal starved,” he coos, free hand pushing you to sink lower, until he has enough space to lodge himself between your legs. “Then I will fuck you until you are mute from screaming. Are you content with that, my heart?”

Gods above and below, you think. You can only nod, and you do so, rather vigorously. The chuckle that escapes his lips seems to contend him for now, and so he momentarily leaves your aching clit to help free you from the confines of fabric. Resting slanted, partway exhausted and panting could not have been a sight to behold, but Halsin’s bulge spoke differently.  

“Please…” you beg.

“No need to beg,” he comments before standing up, hands finding the belt on his pants until they release the cock that bounces lightly against his stomach. “There is nowhere I would rather be than inside you.”

The very thought of having him rut into you was an occupying thought during most evenings. And despite the bruises your throat suffered for days the last time you attempted to take him fully, the gush of wetness sounds the night at the thought of your cunt choking it.

“Spread your legs,” he instructs. “I need to see you.”

You sit up, carefully aligning your backside until you are able to find a somewhat pleasant spot to rest against. Halsin’s hand reaches for his throbbing member, where you spot a bead of pre-cum forming at the tip. He uses his thumb to spread it across his head, letting out a low groan as he does so. Needing no further encouragement, you spread your legs per his command, carefully analyzing his features and how they soften when you present yourself to him.

“Praise Silvanus,” he says, almost to himself. “How beautiful you are.”

Following his line of sight, you look down to see the mess that you have become. Glistening in the fire and moonlight, there is a trail of wetness that begins at your drooling hole, leading in both directions of your thighs. The druid clears his throat, and when you gaze up, you see the faintest glimmer of yellow light leave his eyes as he shakes his head. Letting go of his member, he drops down on his knees in front of you, staring at your pulsating cunt.

The heart that threatens to escape your chest follows the same rhythm between your legs. It’s craving to be touched—to be adored—and as though listening to your thoughts, Halsin leans in to give a soft kiss to your right thigh. Then your left. You look down to meet his eyes, as he meticulously drags his tongue where his lips first kiss, with enough hunger in his eyes to make you audibly moan at the sight.

 “I thought,” you gasp when he bites at your inner thigh. “I thought you said I wouldn’t have to beg.”

“No, but I will indulge in this for as long as I can,” he responds, scattering kisses in painstakingly slow fashion at the soft flesh of your thighs. He uses both hands to hold them, and with no effort on his part, sinks you lower on the stone until you are halfway lying down on your back. With legs in the air, he takes his time to study you.

You can see his hips moving rhythmically despite the control he attempts to assert, as though urging him forward. Still, he takes one hand to glide over your stomach, moving lower until it finally meets your center. You immediately hiss, pushing your head against the rock at the gentleness he offers. With two fingertips, he begins circling your clit again, while his other hand holds your leg in the air for support. 

“How warm you are,” he says, picking up the pace once he finds you are able to squirm too much for his liking. You push your pelvis forward, needing more friction. “How much warmer you will be when I spill all of myself into you until morning comes.”

Intelligent thought leaves your senses the more he speaks, you writhe and moan like a wanton sinner. This seems to please him, and so with no real warning, he slides not one but two fingers inside you. Your head raises to look between your legs, but you are met with the druid’s intense stare as he leans in to kiss your neck.

Closing your eyes, you allow yourself to indulge in the explosions that are firing inside your head. His teeth find their mark at your throat and he begins sucking away while his fingers pump in and out continuously, the heel of his palm slapping against your slickness with each thrust. You don’t notice when, but his other hand has found your nipple, carefully pulling at it to elicit a scream loud enough to be heard in Baldur’s Gate.

“Halsin!” you moan, incapable of saying anything else at the intensity of his ministrations. He smiles against the nape of your neck, biting before moving to kiss your lips instead. Your tongues battle—indulge—in one another’s mouths as he continues this delicious assault on your senses.

He breaks the kiss suddenly, resting his forehead against yours. You whine when he pulls his fingers out of you, noting the considerable lack of fullness he has provided.

“I need to prepare you for me,” he sighs, hands reaching out to his throbbing member once again. He lets out a moan when his soaked hand begins pumping the tip, where you now see a considerable dollop of pre-cum mixing with your juices. “Do you think you can handle three of my fingers, little one?”

His fingers were particularly attractive to you. The way he would whittle with enough dexterity to preplex you. The grip he held his staff with each time he would cast a spell. The roughness contrasting your soft skin any time he would touch any part of you. Though, he had a particular love of stuffing you with them, as you have come to find.

The beads of sweat forming at your temples coupled with the messy hair and half-opened eyelids was enough to define you as fuckdrunk, that you were sure of. Even still, you steel your will enough to nod in his direction.

“Is that a yes?” he muses, fingertips finding your clit once again.

Proud bastard, you think. Smacking your lips, you utter a simple, ‘yes’. It’s barely a whisper and you think he doesn’t register it, but quickly find out his movements are much faster than your reflexes. Three fingers push themselves inside you, and a thumb finds your clit as he continues to stretch you to what seems like impossibility. 

“Sing for me,” he sighs. “I want the spirits in these forests to awaken to the sounds of your pleasure.”

“I need you inside of me,” you mutter, mustering up enough strength to look at him again. “I want you inside of me.”

“Soon,” he assures, quickening his pace until you feel the familiar pressure pooling at your entrance. “I need you to let go first.” As though compelled to, your body releases, all manner of reason escaping you as your screams are carried by the wind of the woods. Legs trembling, you lose control of every limb as you pant, completely encased by a coating of fulfillment you thought long gone.

Halsin only watches you, whispering something your ears do not pick up. A faint buzzing interrupts all manner of sound as you relax your body until he’s able to catch you in his arms before you land on the ground. The firmness of his chest greets your cheek, where you are able to pick up his racing heartbeat.

“Are you spent for tonight?” he asks, hand sliding up your back until it reaches the back of your head.

Quickly, you shake your head. “No. I’m just… I didn’t expect this, is all,” you confess. He hums in approval, and positions you atop his thigh while still kneeling. Your leg bumps against his hardness and he hisses, praising the Oak Father’s blessings before turning to look at you.

“You’re pooling for me,” he smirks. “Had I known you were this eager, I would have done this long ago.”

In response, you begin grinding against the flexed muscle, grabbing hold of his bicep to steady your rhythm. It didn’t take long for the need to take hold, and you soon find yourself moaning as you continue moving against his thigh. You glance down to his cock, licking your lips at the sight of the dribble going down the shaft.

As though challenging him, he swiftly grabs hold of your waist, pushing you onto the cold ground with a soft thud. You lay there, blinking up at him. His hand caresses the curve of your body until it reaches your core. There, he spreads your lips apart, sighing approvingly when he hears the squelching sound of your desire for him. Using a finger to trace your cunt, he lifts it to his lips and begins licking away without breaking eye contact. 

“So tender, so delicious…” he comments, sucking his own fingers until only his spit coats them.

You attempt to shimmy, feeling the stickiness of his cock meet your folds once you move closer to him. His head drops at the contact, a growl escaping his lips when he looks down.

“Can you take me, my heart?” he questions, grabbing his member and lining himself at your entrance.

You bite your lip, taking the moment to admire the beast of a man whose cock was prodding at your entrance—tapping with feather-light touches, enough to drive you to moan.

“Yes, please,” you beg again, searching for grace in his expression—the grace that would compel him to fuck you.

He pushes slowly, enough to give you the accommodation you know you will need. Once you feel him coating himself in you is when he finally moans—deeply—slamming a hand against the dirt to restrain himself. Halsin was thickest at the top, and his mushroom-like head felt as though it split through every fiber of your being even with caution. To say you were not expecting him to split you apart so early was an understatement, but when his hand finds your clit, your wincing turns into mewing as you attempt to swallow his every inch.

Taking the time to push and pull against his cock to the same rhythm of your breaths, you find that the druid has some trouble keeping calm.

“You are a tight little thing,” he chuckles. “Let me in. Open up for me.”

His instructions help you relax enough so he can guide his tip inside you. Once there, you let out a long exhale, suddenly aware of the sweat coating your body. The chills going up your spine are soon replaced by hot flashes once he hits a particularly delicious spot on your clit and you grab a hold of his wrist with both arms, keeping him where you most desire.

“I can feel you squeezing me,” he moans. “While I rather appreciate the snugness of this predicament, I would like to bury my seed deep inside you.”

To this, you only groan. Halsin uses his free hand to wrap around your throat, keeping himself steadied as he positions himself fully on top of you. With one more look, he slides himself deeper, and you wince at the size that is piercing through your core. He growls, tightening his grip on your throat as he attempts to exert some control through sheer willpower alone.

Your eyes roll in the back of your head when a second wave of pleasure coats your body, and you open your mouth to scream. No sound comes, but you feel yourself loosen up completely, giving Halsin the chance to push past until he is buried to the hilt.

The pain that you momentarily feel turns into bliss. You ride the orgasm, clutching onto his wrist as you pulsate on his cock, which only encourages him to push deeper—as though he could. Any further and he would surely be inside your guts. Every ridge, every vein, every curve on his member jabs at your insides, teasing every spot deep inside you—stretching and filling you until you may just burst.

He doesn’t dare move, not yet. He heaves, chest rising and falling as he waits for you to settle. You reach up, touching the fuzziness on his muscles, tracing your hand until it reaches the side of his face. He’s warmer than you know him to be, and you smile at him reassuringly when he gives you a questioning look.

He doesn’t continue.

Instead, you feel yourself being lifted from the ground, yelping as Halsin grabs a hold of you with one arm, positioning you so that you straddle his waist while the other rests against the curve of your ass, keeping you impaled on his cock. You find the prickliness of the tree hit your back and he settles you there before pulling out completely.

The loss of contact causes you to whimper. You look down, finding him slap his member against your folds, slowly pushing between the sensitive nerves, but not enough to enter.

The sound that escapes your lips is part frustration, part eagerness. The arm holding you up is firm, keeping you steadied with no effort whatsoever.

“You have no idea,” he sighs once he traps his tip between your folds. “How much I wish you rut into you. To fill you.”

“So do it,” you provoke, rolling your hips until you feel your entrance beginning to consume him. “I need you to cum inside of me.”

Halsin snarls and straightens you both, hitching you higher until he finds a comfortable spot. With one push, he settles inside you, slowly bouncing you—breasts jerking in tandem with his thrusts. You note his stare and fist his hair, pulling him forward until he captures a nipple into his mouth. Sucking away, you moan at the intensity building inside you for a third time.

Your clit feels sensitive, as though a bruise being rubbed continuously. The only reason your legs are managing to hold is because of his grip, otherwise you are certain they have gone numb. But Halsin shows no mercy, reddening the flesh with his love bites, creating a line until they reach your throat. You feel his fingertips digging into your skin, but whatever pain you will feel tomorrow is nothing in comparison to the euphoria that’s electrifying you. His thrusts become sloppy, hips hitting against yours as he mutters something incomprehensible.

“Take me,” he commands.

Two strokes.

“All of me.”

Three more strokes.

“By the Oak—”

He doesn’t finish his words. A gushing of hotness overwhelms your cunt, as thick, spurts of cum cover your insides. You feel it hitting your most sensitive parts, coating you until you feel the urge to also release. He slams a hand next to you when he stills, bursting with enough seed that you feel certain would plug you entirely. Glancing where his cock meets your core, you see some of it spill out, dropping on the mud between the druid’s legs.

Halsin leans forward until your foreheads touch once again, heaving from the exhaustion that surely has taken hold by now. You push against him, encouraging him to move and allow you room to land on your feet—or at least try to. With a wobble, you balance, spreading your legs until you’re certain you won’t topple over.

The looming figure in front of you suddenly lowers, and you watch him kneel between your legs, focusing intently on your stomach. He presses a kiss there, before saying, “This is good, but not exactly what I had in mind,” he taps against the softness. “I need to fill your belly until it swells completely, full of my cum.”

A shiver runs up your spine. With a finger, he reaches for your entrance, as though examining you. He tuts. “It seems I have my work cut out for me, little one,” he laughs. “Keeping you stuffed is what I intend to do for the rest of our nights together.”

[2soulscollide]

10 underrated tips to become a better writer

hello hello, it's me again!

today i want to share some tips to improve your writing!

1. write in a different style

sometimes it's important to step out of our comfort zone, especially when it comes to writing. the next time you sit down to write for a bit, try to do something different from usual... try poetry if you always write prose; try fantasy if your thing is mystery; try adventure if you only write romance. it's up to you, just do it! who knows if you discover a new passion while trying this exercise...

2. write from a different point of view

i know it can be tempting to always write from a certain point of view, or to always use the same narrator voice, but (like on the first topic) sometimes change is needed to improve. you'll see things from another perspective, and maybe you can have a brilliant idea!

3. write with music

this one is one of my favorites! i love music, my spotify is full of playlists, one for each mood. try to create different playlists for your stories, and pick songs that motivate you, or that make you feel like you're one of the characters of your novel. this will not only give you a boost to write but also make you feel inspired.

4. set a timer

i always do this! it's a life changer. i started doing the pomodoro method to study and realized how effective it is. it's the same when it comes to writing: set about thirty minutes to write (it's up to you, depending on for how long you can be productive) and ten to fifteen minutes to relax. you'll see how much more work you can do with this method!

5. use prompts

you know how much i love prompts! i think they're so useful and help us so much to become more creative. they are a great way to step out of our comfort zone and develop someone else's idea in a span of a few minutes or hours.

oh, and if you're feeling adventurous, try this month's writing challenge!

6. write in a different place

guys! change your writing environment sometimes, especially when you're feeling overwhelmed or drained. i know it can be tempting to always sit on your sofa / bed / favorite chair, but sometimes we get so accustomed to the same place, that our creativity slows down, as well as our motivation. try to go outside to a park or a café, it can be so fun and you'll feel like the main character. or maybe, if you don't want to be in public, try another room in your house! just make sure you feel comfortable and don't have distractions around you.

7. change your writing support

do you always write on your computer? try to disconnect for a while, grab a pen and a paper, and let your imagination flow. it can be so freeing to write by hand sometimes, especially when you're plotting a novel! how cool it is to draw a scheme to connect all the characters and locations, and to doodle...!

8. find a writing buddy

personally, i don't have one, but i know it can be such a fun way to keep you motivated and to keep yourself (and the other person) accountable. it's great to have someone to share your ideas with, to give and receive feedback, and to lift you up to write when you don't like doing so.

9. write yourself a letter

trust me, it's amazing. it can be to your present self, past, or future, it's up to you. tell yourself what your writing goals are, what you are writing, how you see yourself in the future, what you're satisfied with your writing style, etc. just let it flow and re-read it whenever you feel unmotivated.

10. write with a sense of humor

i know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but it can be so fun sometimes. try something less serious when you don't feel like writing. try to come up with a joke mid-dialogue, write a fun scene or re-write a serious scene in a less serious way. this exercise can be great to see things from another perspective, to try a different style, or to lift up your mood.

i hope this was useful! have a nice day!

[ilguna]

Can you do finnick with the number 13 ?

☼ too close (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing,

wc; 2.6k

prompt; 13. fake engagement au

notes; made this a modern au as well. also, too close by alex clare was the first thing that popped in my head... but it’s not a songfic!!

--

At this point, you think that setting yourself on fire and standing still while the skin melts off your body would be less painful than the conversation you’re having with Finnick, Annie and her boyfriend, Rain. At least then, Finnick might pay attention to you.

In the past fifteen minutes, you don’t think he’s taken his eyes off of her once. He won’t even look in your direction when you speak. It’s like she’s the center of his room, all the time. You thought that when they broke up a year back, he’d change, figure out the world doesn’t revolve around her. 

He can find other things—other people to invest in.

You didn’t realize just how much he loved her, especially when he was so casual about it. He wasn’t compelled to spend every waking moment with her. They’d make plans, of course, but it wasn’t as frequent as it could’ve been. In fact, he spent more of his time with you.

It has something to do with how long the two of you have been friends. Ever since you’ve graduated high school, there’s never been a time where either of you have gone somewhere and the other didn’t follow. If there’s a pair of people on this dying planet that are attached at the hip, it’d be you two.

While you thought Finnick would be hurt when Annie broke up with him, you were under the impression that it wouldn’t bother him much. Not with how sparsely they’d been seeing each other in the weeks leading up to it. It was partially his fault, because he stopped making time with her, but that happened because she’d shoot down every attempt.

And then she did it. Finnick told you that she showed up at his apartment, on an evening where they’d planned to have dinner, wanting to talk. She started by telling Finnick that he was amazing, and the best boyfriend she could’ve asked for, but they didn’t share the same interests, and she needed someone who was more like her.

She wanted to see other people, and she couldn’t find herself committing her life to Finnick, knowing that they weren’t a perfect match. It was harsh, and brave of her. Personally, you think that it was a stupid decision, because they’d been together for over a year and a half. 

She didn’t give Finnick any room to talk, canceled the dinner, and left. 

The next time they saw each other, you were asked to be there as a mediator, per Annie’s request. It was a little odd, because she knows full well that you care more about Finnick than her. Though, over the time of them dating, you’ve grown to be better friends with her.

You felt a little bad for Finnick, but with how long you’ve been rooting for their downfall, it was like your prayers were answers. 

Finnick’s reaction to the whole ordeal took you off-guard. You knew that he’d need recovery time, you just thought that he’d bounce back after a month or so. That’s what he’s done with his girlfriends in the past, you had no reason to believe that this time would be different.

Well, she rocked his world, hard.

And it’s clear that it was selfish of you to think that you could pounce on him. That’s why you were punished about three months later. When Finnick came to you in the middle of the night, sobbing because Annie had announced a new relationship. It tore you to pieces, listening to his feelings, how he thought she didn’t wait long enough.

The next morning, you found him wide awake on your couch, eyes puffy, bags beneath them. You opened your mouth to ask him if he’d even slept, when he told you that he’d come up with a plan, and he needed your help.

He wanted to make Annie jealous enough to leave her new boyfriend, Rain. The issue is that she’d never had a problem with any of his girl friends before. Except you. He said that there had been a few times where she mentioned how she wished she had a better connection with him, like you have.

The more he spoke, the worse it got. And when he asked if you’d be his fiance, you couldn’t help the way you looked at him. It was nothing close to adoration, it was resentment, because you’ve dreamed of him asking you plenty of times before. In those fantasies, you were actually together because he loved you. Not because he couldn’t live without another girl.

You knew he was desperate, he’d mentioned it before. You never thought that he’d ask you to do something like this. You were sure it was a joke, one that you couldn’t bring yourself to laugh at because you were too stunned to move. When he looked at you and you saw the expression on his face, you realized that you’d given him more credit than he deserved. 

Finnick begged you for an hour straight, telling you that he couldn’t trust anyone else to do something like this for him. You’ve been best friends since you were teenagers, you knew that he wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t important to him. When you didn’t agree by the time he left, he told you to think about it.

And it ate you up inside. Every last word of his. The look on his face. The years you’ve been waiting for an opportunity. And so, you stupidly thought to yourself, “Well, maybe this is how I get a foot in the door.”

You texted him later on the next day, thinking that this pretend engagement couldn’t possibly last longer than a month. If Annie had a scrap of love left for Finnick, and as much jealousy as he was saying she did, she’d come back. It wouldn’t be immediate, but she’d come and prove that he was still hers, even if they weren’t together.

When Finnick told Annie that he’d gotten engaged to you, after discovering a slumbering love, she had the opposite reaction than what you thought she would. The smile that spread over her face lit up her eyes, she was genuinely happy for the two of you.

You knew from that moment forward, it would be like swallowing poison everyday, because you’d have to lay it on thick in order to convince her. A part of you didn’t believe her happiness. It had been three months and a week since she and Finnick broke up, and you were suddenly engaged to him? With no prior mention of the two of you dating?

If you were her, you think you’d be more worried about him cheating the entire time, because that could explain the quick ring. Finnick thought of that, too, telling her that the two of you have been around each other so long that you skipped the dating stage.

Stupid.

You wanted to do this for him, though. You wanted to still be the person he could trust the most, afraid that he’d pull away if you denied this request.

And so long for sticking your foot in the door, because eight months later, he hasn’t shown an ounce of affection toward you. He’s stuck on Annie, and that’s where he’s going to stay, because she’s not budging, either.

“So, (Y/n), have you decided what season you want to get married in?” Annie asks, she’s got her eyebrows raised, looking at you between the pasta on her face.

You give her a smile, even though you’re growing tired of the questions about the wedding. You have to come up with reasonable answers that you’ll have to write down later to keep from forgetting. She’s caught you a few times. 

“We were thinking about spring.” You tell her, reaching over to place your hand on top of Finnick’s, trying to make it convincing. “Isn’t that right, Finn?”

Finnick turns his attention to you, finally, gazing into your eyes with a dimpled smile. If you didn’t know that this was for show, you’d say that there’s something more between you than just air.

“New love and all.” He murmurs, fixing your hands so he can hold yours to squeeze it.

A flurry of butterflies rise in your stomach, swirling around your heart.

“Spring?” Annie echoes, a little surprised. Despite wanting to stay here forever, you tear your eyes from his to look at her. “I’ve always said that’s the perfect season to have a wedding.”

I know, you want to tell her, because Finnick told me.

“Really?” You ask. “Well, I hope there’s no hard feelings if we use it first?” You ask.

“Of course not.” She waves her hand, “I wouldn’t want to come between the two of you.”

Finnick’s hand loosens around yours, something you were prepared for.

“I’m sorry, (Y/n),” Rain starts, “Is there any way we could take some of this home? It’s getting late.”

“Of course.” You slip your hand from Finnick’s, rising to your feet. “I have the rest in the kitchen, if you want to come and tell me how much you’d like.”

“That sounds amazing.” He nods, leaning over to press a kiss to Annie’s lips, before getting to his feet, too. 

You glance at Finnick, hoping that he’s looking at you. He’s not, his attention is completely set on Annie. You place a hand on his shoulder while you move around your chair, causing him to reach up to grab your fingers. Almost a natural reaction, if it wasn’t planned. 

You move your hand before he touches you, heading through the dining room doorway and into the kitchen. The stove is on the far side, the pots and pans still sitting on top. Rain follows behind you, you can hear his footsteps on the tile.

“I’m not really one for leftovers, so please take as much as you’d like.” You tell him, opening one of the bottom cabinets to grab a container. You sit it on the counter, as well as the lid.

“What about Finnick?” He asks, you shake your head, closing the door. “He’s got his own food, at his apartment.”

“That’s right.” Rain says, grabbing the noodle scooper, taking off the lid on the pot. “I forget that the two of you aren’t living together yet.”

“It’s because of his lease.” You shrug. “It’s coming to an end soon, though. We’ve agreed he’ll move into my place.”

Rain lets out a laugh. “I would too, honestly. You’ve got such a nice house. Your parents bought it, right?”

“Yup, and gifted it to me when I moved out here. I was supposed to share it with Finnick in college, but he wanted an apartment so it wouldn’t be weird when he brought girls around.” You tilt your head, looking off to the side.

“Now look at you two.” Rain smiles. “You’ll get to share it, after all.”

“Yeah.” You murmur.

Once he’s loaded the container, and promised that he’ll bring it back to you next week, you two join Annie and Finnick back in the dining room. The second you step inside, you can tell that there’s something goin on, but Rain must be oblivious, because goes to take his coat from the back of his chair.

“Well, thank you for the dinner, (Y/n).” Annie says, joining Rain. “I’m excited to see what you’ll cook next week.”

“If you have any requests, let me know.” You wink at her, she rolls her eyes.

Finnick walks them to the door, while you begin to pick up the plates from the table. You can hear the door shut, and that’s when the air begins to get heavy. With them no longer here, there’s no need to keep up the act. Which means that Finnick will go right back to talking about her.

“I think I had her for a moment.” Finnick says, coming in with armfuls of plates and glasses. “When you went into the kitchen, she told me that she missed me. That was a great idea, (Y/n).”

You bite your tongue, back turned to Finnick as you turn on the sink.

“At this rate, I think she’ll leave him soon. She told me that they’re not as happy as they look.” He sets the dishware next to the sink, pulling out the trash can to scrape away the waste. “I’ll get her back in my arms, soon.”

You lean over the sink, closing your eyes while you take deep breaths. An ache is forming in your throat, tears appearing in your eyes. You grit your teeth, trying to tell your body to knock it off, because now’s not the time to cry. You save it for when Finnick leaves.

This isn’t right, it’s not healthy to be doing this to yourself.

“Then we can go back to normal.” Finnick says, bumping you with his shoulder. “I owe you, (Y/n).”

You back off of the sink, reaching for the engagement ring that’s been passed around his family for generations. The one you thought that would one day belong to you. You grab his wrist, turning his hand over, and placing the ring in his palm. He looks down at it for a second, before at you.

“You know I don’t need this back, I trust you to keep it safe.”

“I can’t do this anymore.” You tell him, throat closing in.

His eyebrows twitch. “No, (Y/n), we’re almost there. Just a few more weeks—”

“I don’t have a few more weeks in me, Finnick! It’s killing me!” You burst, throwing a couple plates into the sink. You shut off the water, walking out of the kitchen, shaking your head. “I just—when I agreed to do this, I thought, ‘this won’t be so bad’. I thought this couldn’t last more than a month, yet here we are, still going.”

“I told you it’d take time.” Finnick says, following after you.

You lead him to the front door, stopping next to it, hand on the handle. “I thought my feelings for you would go away if I gave myself a taste of what I could have.” You admit, Finnick’s face drops, skin paling. “It’s fucking ruined me. I can’t do this with you anymore, because you don’t love me. And I want to throw up my heart each time I see you look at her like that.”

You open the front door, shoving it open. A fall breeze blows through, pushing a few golden leaves into your house.

“(Y/n), why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because it’s written all over you.” You motion at him. “You love Annie, and there’s nothing that I’ve done in the past eight months that have made you change your mind.” 

Finnick stares at you, shaking his head.

“Go.”

“If I leave right now, you won’t talk to me ever again.” Finnick tells you. “You said that nothing would change between us if you did this for me. You said it wouldn’t ruin our relationship.”

“I lied.” You tell him. “Now, go.”

He sighs through his nose, “I’m going to come back.”

“Doesn’t mean I’ll open my door.” You push his shoulder. “I’m serious, leave.”

He doesn’t say anything else, stepping onto your porch. You take a few steps toward the door, reaching out to grab the handle, face beginning to contort, body having enough. Finnick turns around in time to catch the first tear fall, before you slam the door in his face.

You turn the lock, head dropping as the first sob leaves you.

--

this was part of my 3k celebration!! also, you didn't specify a list so i went with the mystery list :))

[soulessjourney]

T'ill I Go Blind

Paring: Astarion x fem!DurgTavReader

Word count: 2.2k

Summary: When Gortash reveals details about your past relationship, Astarion refuses to entertain any of it.

Warnings: OOC Astarion, angst, mentions of truama, mentions of death, jelous Astarion, Gortash, fluff, Humor, Astarion of course making a few out of pocket comments, Scared Astarion

A/N: It's basically cannon at this point that Gortash and the Durge are exes or had something going on, so enjoy my depiction of just how their first meeting after so long would be like.

Who would have thought that you would find yourself standing in Baldur’s Gate, face-to-face with Gortash, who gazes at you with surprising tenderness? "Well, isn't it my favorite assassin? It has been too long since we indulged in each other's presence," he remarks. You raise a quizzical brow as your arms fold over your chest, leaning against the protective metal.

"Ah, yes. How could I forget? You lack the memories of what we once shared. A shame, truly. Your father never was one for the ideals of... affection." You resist the urge to let your jaw drop at his words, while Wyll stifles a laugh beside you.

"I'm sorry, but you're telling me you and Tav had some sort of connection?" he asks, looking between both of you. Beside you, Karlach goes stiff, and you reach out through your connected minds, assuring her that you have no clue about the nonsense the man is spouting. Upon your words, she visibly relaxes, folding her arms and shifting to stand a step in front of you, ready to protect you from the person she once trusted if need be.

"We did, in fact, have a connection, and that connection was the reason why your friend now has no memory of who she is," Gortash states, a frown appearing on his lips. "Her father felt threatened by the idea that his perfect assassin was falling for someone, so why not punish those who fell into forbidden love." From beside you, a sudden gag sounds, and Astarion clears his throat.

"I do apologize, but that had to be the most sickening thing I've ever heard, and I don't mean the fact that her father stripped away her memories." It's hard to suppress a laugh at Astarion's words, especially since you can feel the jealousy radiating off of him. Astarion is what you'd call a cat; he thrives when affection is given on his terms, but he is quite territorial with things that belong to him. In this case, you are that thing—mind, body, and soul. You are his human, and he would rather tear the world to shreds than give you up.

Reaching back, your fingers gently brush against him, and he seizes the opportunity to interlace his fingers with yours. A sense of safety and confidence washes over you as his hand firmly holds yours. Gortash, observant of the interaction, advances toward both of you, prompting a tenseness in your body.

"I see you've found a replacement, Little Flower," he remarks. The use of that nickname freezes you, causing your body to stiffen as memories flood your mind. Flashbacks of your younger self and Gortash flow through your consciousness. Despite the rugged and worn-down appearance, Gortash possessed qualities that rendered him remarkably handsome. In the recollection, you both stood in the middle of a flower field, having sneaked off after some convincing. He delicately placed a flower in your hair, affectionately uttering the same nickname.

Gortash notices the recognition in your eyes, prompting him to smile at Astarion. "Seems she remembers that exchange very well. The kiss we shared sealed our promise to one another. Yes, you two are quite...adorable, but let her stay where she belongs. It won't be long until your little romance disappears when her memories return."

Astarion vibrates with anger, and all you can do is squeeze his hand, offering silent reassurance. Gortash attempts to provoke him in a way he knows best, wanting to witness the dissolution of the bond you share. However, Astarion surprises everyone. Instead of reacting impulsively, he closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths, and regulates the tightness of his grip around your hand. He's wrestling with the urge to draw his knife and thrust it into Gortash's chest.

Your chest swells with pride at how far Astarion has come from the first encounter when he held a dagger to your throat. "I'll never let her go, not until she tells me to. And when she does, I'll do everything in my power to protect her from a distance because she doesn't deserve to revert to the life she once lived. Not when she's worked so hard to build herself a new life. Not when she's almost killed herself fighting the demons that claw at her, begging to escape."

A snort escapes Gortash as he listens to Astarion's words. "To think someone as powerful as you settled for that," he spits, redirecting his gaze toward you. "Have your fun, Little Flower, but as much as I would love to bring up the past and the memories we share, I have other matters to discuss with you," Gortash states, pacing around the room. "Your sister is stirring up trouble and making things difficult. Her newfound thirst for power after you left is creating tension in my city." You know precisely who he is referring to. In your few encounters with Orin, she made it clear that you both shared the same father.

"What Orin does is none of my concern. If she's hell-bent on trying to take something I don't even want, then let her. I don't know what kind of life I lived before this, but I don't want any part of it. I was given a second chance to finally live, and I won't be ruining that over some family drama," you shrug. You notice Karlach adopting a look of approval at your words. Seeing Gortash again is tough for her, especially now that you know you apparently had some kind of relationship before waking up on the ship.

Gortash sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, and nods. "Yes, yes, I quite understand what you are saying. You're breaking free from those torturous chains, but your family matters affect the lives of those in Baldur's Gate. I don't care if you are sweeping your matters under the rug, but I want you to kill her. Take out Orin and bring me her stone, and when you do, I'll assist you in defeating the Elder Brain." Something about his words is taunting, making you question the truth of his alliance with you. Almost as if sensing your doubt, he leans against the table behind him.

"I do not wish to fool you; I don't stand for the loss of innocent lives. Orin is out of control, and the brain will wreak havoc if given the chance. If we can control the brain, we can destroy it."

Your mind races as you consider the situation. Releasing a defeated sigh, you clench your jaw, allowing your face to fall into a blank stare. "Fine, I'll kill her." The sound of your group protesting fills the room, echoing off the walls. Gortash only smiles at your words, letting his eyes lock onto yours as your friends attempt to talk some sense into you. After a few minutes, Gortash dismisses you and leaves the room.

Your companions follow behind you, attempting to get your attention before Karlach finally speaks up. "Tav, stop walking away. You know what he did to me and the hell I've lived through. Accepting his offer is a betrayal to me, so you better explain. If you don't, then I have no choice but not to trust you or to stay in the group." Her words hit you hard. She was like your sister, a reason for you to live.

"I'm playing him at his own game. We saw the power these stones had over the brain when we fought Thorm, meaning he had plans for them when he got them all to himself. Trust me, Karlach, I don't trust him either, but we need to take advantage of this. He could be the key to leading us right to the brain so we can destroy it, so I can save all of us," you whisper, looking up at your friend.

Karlach meets your eyes, searching them as if trying to detect any lies in your words. So, you open your mind to her, letting her read your intention with Gortash. Silence fills the area around your group as they wait for Karlach's response. "I trust you," she finally says, sending you a bright smile. You let out a breath of relief at her words as Astarion walks up beside you. You could feel how tense he felt, and you immediately knew something was wrong.

Things between the group had gotten tense after you entered Baldur's Gate. You felt the urge calling to you more than ever before; Astarion was only steps away from having to see Cazador again, and Karlach finally had to come face to face with the person she trusted her life with and who stabbed her in the back. Sending him a look, he nods slightly before looking away. It was a silent communication that you two would be talking when you got back to camp, and you could only hope this wouldn't end in a fight between you two.

---

Upon your arrival, you couldn't help but notice how Astarion immediately headed toward a shaded area. Jaheira spoke quietly to you about matters that needed attention in the city, but your gaze remained fixed on your lover. Jaheira fell silent before laughing quietly, drawing your attention back to her. "You two are quite fond of one another. Go to him; you've been worried about him since the walk back," she said, patting your arm soothingly. Nodding in gratitude, you walked towards Astarion.

He sat on the ground, gazing up at the sky, with rays of sunshine warming his face through the leaves. Stopping behind him, you were unsure of how to initiate the conversation between the two of you. "Star," you said, your voice carried by the slight breeze swirling around you. You sensed him tense, knowing that the forthcoming discussion would likely be tense as well.

With his back to you, he leaned his arms on his knees, shifting his gaze ahead. "So, you were the one involved with the absolute and why we're like this," he stated. Your heart dropped as you looked down. Indeed, you were. Your memories flooded back when you entered Wyrm’s Crossing, remembering who you were, who your father was, and what he wanted you to carry out.

"As angry as I want to be with you, I can't. I know what it's like to feel trapped under a command without being able to escape. I mean, look at what Cazador made me do. I want to be angry, but I just can't," he continued, and your shoulders dropped as you listened to his words. "But that's not why I'm questioning things. Not us; I could never question us. What I'm questioning is what will happen when you fully regain your memory. You and Gortash obviously have something, or rather had something. He talked to you like he was seeing his lover all over again. He looked at you like he was undressing you, ready to show our group of lovely friends that you still belong to him."

There it was—the feeling of your heart shattering in your chest as you listened to his words. He was terrified of losing you, and you had no idea how to reassure him that you're his.

Moving to stand in front of him, you drop to your knees and gently grasp his face in your hands. Opening and closing your mouth, no words escape you. Lost in his eyes—those crimson-red orbs that appear scared and broken—a part of you feels angry, angry at yourself and angry at Gortash for dredging up a past you have no memory of, a past you never want to revisit.

“I meant it when I told you that you mean a lot to me, Star,” you finally say, brushing your thumbs against his cheek. “You’re my entire world. You stayed by my side when the urge wracked my body, when I attempted to take your life that night. You didn’t judge me when it got so bad I caved and harmed an innocent person. You held me and told me that I could beat those urges. You saved me, Astarion, and I will not be leaving you.” His tears begin to pool under the pad of your thumb as you speak.

“Losing my memory was my second chance at life, and then I met you. You gave me something worth living for. Hells, all of our friends did, and I refuse to go back to that life I once lived. I don’t want to be a killer, and I don’t want to be his daughter. I want to be my own person. I want to be able to make my own decisions and control my own body and mind. So, my little Star, I won’t be going anywhere because my home is right here by your side.”

You can tell your words have moved him in some way as he is now fully sobbing. Pulling him to you, you let his head fall onto your chest as you allow him to fall apart in your arms. The fear that plagued him during your meeting with Gortash finally leaves him as he deflates in your embrace. Soon, his sobs quieten, and you both lie under the tree, his arms wrapped tightly around you, almost as if he fears you will disappear if he lets go. In that moment, a peaceful and intimate moment, three words are finally shared between you two. In that moment, you vow to destroy Cazador and show him what true power is. In that moment, the urge claws at your insides, begging to be unleashed, and soon enough, you will let it take over your very being.

[fleurriee]

from the jealous, protective and territorial prompt list LOVE THE WAY YOU WRITE NETEYAM 💗💗

❝  i just didn’t like the way they were looking at you.  like you weren’t mine.  ❞

+ [ CLAIM ]  for one muse to possessively place their hands on their shoulders or hips. 

ILYYYYYYYYY

so, this was a lot longer than i'd originally anticipated lmao. think i got a little to into the back story here <33 hehe tyyy im glad im doing him justice!! ily too 2k drabbles!

pairing ; neteyam x fem!reader

synopsis ; neteyam never did like it when others looked at what was his.

themes ; fluff, suggestive content - including heated kissing & groping, established relationship (mates).

Change had always been something you struggled with. From a very young age, you couldn’t stand it when even the littlest thing changed - whether your family had to move your tent to a different spot, no longer in the one you had grown to love; or, on a much larger scale, when people in your clan started to die more frequently due to the raging war.

You liked routine more than anything, you enjoyed the idea of doing the same thing everyday, nothing unexpected turning up out of the blue to catch you unawares. It was always considered more stressful if something changed within your day, because then the rest of it would.

The only change you ever did love, was when you became mated with Neteyam. It was obvious from the moment he had asked to court you that things were going to become different in the long run, but for once in your life, you didn’t find yourself worried about it. Instead, you craved it more.

It was so easy to fall in love with Neteyam Sully, that he eased you completely until you felt like you were an entirely different person. You weren’t scared when it came to having to meet new people who would eventually become your family; you weren’t scared of having to move your whole life into a different tent that would now be shared with your mate; you weren’t scared of waking up every morning with a different routine.

You weren’t scared - not if it meant Neteyam was by your side.

But, just because he had helped guide you through such a big change for you, that didn’t mean any other future ones to come weren’t going to scare you.

So, when it became known to the entire Omatikaya clan that the Sully family would be leaving to find another, somewhere far away so the dangers would follow them, no longer harming others that weren’t involved… it absolutely terrified you.

Of course, it was expected for you to go with them, too, as you were mated to the eldest Sully, and he was your entire future. And, whilst the reassurance of having him with you was comforting, the idea of leaving everything you’ve ever known behind - your family, your friends, your routine - was attempting to outweigh all of that.

Nothing would ever be the same again - not truly. You didn’t know if the next time you’d see your parents would be when you were much older, a family held safely under your wings they could scarcely recognise you. But, you didn’t have much of a choice, not when you were Neteyam’s other half - where one of you goes, the other follows.

It was safe to say that you struggled more than you’d care to admit when you first arrived in Awa’atlu. Everything was so startlingly different, you were surprised you didn’t create a headache from how much your eyes were flickering about the place, taking each and every thing in before the possibility of it disappearing could arise.

The Metkayina clan were so opposite to your old one in the way they do certain things - the way they hunt, the way they fight, the way they celebrate. It was a lot to take on board for a newborn, let alone someone who now needed to change their ways for a fresh start away from any lingering danger.

And, that’s what you kept in your mind, constantly repeating it to yourself whenever things got tough. This was for your family - now that every Sully was away from where they’d always been, the danger would disappear from the forest and struggle to find them. You were doing it to ensure everyone’s safety.

You’d repeat such a thought in your mind when you got things wrong, when you couldn’t control your breathing correctly so you could swim with the rest of them, or when you couldn’t understand what they were signing and instead laughed at your confusion.

So, the offer of Tsireya teaching you on a one-to-one basis everything you were struggling with was the best it could get. She was the kindest of the lot you’d met so far - her free-spirit and calming demeanour always making you feel all the more welcome - and you couldn’t have thought of a better teacher.

You’d been there for a little while now, the two of you conversing about the different signs that were of paramount importance when under the ocean. Her fingers were depicting a variety of shapes, pointing this way and that, until they dropped down in her lap, her expectant gaze looming on you.

“Um,” you thought, repeating the action within your mind and contemplating up an answer, “not here… danger nearby…?”

Your answer came out as more of a question rather than exuding any confidence, but when her once encouraging smile grew larger and her eyes lit up more, you felt pleased with yourself. “Yes!” she congratulated you, small claps from her lowered hands, “correct!”

A giddy laugh escaped your lips, feeling proud you’d manage to finally understand something they were saying. Ears perking up, they caught onto something else that didn’t include the obvious exuberance of yourself and Tsireya - turning your head, you noticed a group of boys lingering on the forest line, looking over at the two of you and watching you with hawking eyes.

Shrivelling in on yourself, eager to disappear from their view, you were moments away from turning back to Tsireya and telling her if you could go somewhere else. But, before you could, a pair of gentle hands placed themselves upon your shoulders, thumbs rubbing into the skin there. When you looked, it was Neteyam, back bent forwards so he was closer to your sitting figure, a hint of a smile on his lips - albeit, one that was slightly tense.

“Hi,” he greeted, “can I borrow you for a little bit?” he questioned, eyes flickering over to Tsireya for permission. Neteyam knew it was important you learnt their ways just as much as the rest of them, so he didn’t want to upset the one who was teaching you.

With an understanding nod, Tsireya got up from her spot and left, sending you a look that told you she’d find you later. Once gone, just the two of you left along the shore, your mate stood up straighter, gesturing with his head for you to follow him. Confused, you did as he’d wanted, his hand grasping your own as he led you further and further away, until there was nothing left but the sounds of the waves clashing against one another.

Bringing you to a stop, he placed you in front of him, so he could see you entirely. His features were pointed, slightly scrunched, as though he was agitated. It wasn’t often when you saw your mate such a way, so when you did, it was always something that must’ve annoyed him quite a bit.

“Ma’teyam, what-” you started, but there was no chance to finish, not when he suddenly grabbed you by your hips, pulling you into him until you were chest to chest, and placed a firm kiss upon your lips. His tongue clashed against your own, such passion and aggression intermixing together until you could feel your knees go weak.

Subconsciously, your own hands lifted higher until they were placed upon his broad shoulders, steadying yourself just in case you toppled over from the extreme love he was showing you - despite knowing he wouldn’t let you fall, not with the grip he had on your sides, anyway.

It was so rare to see Neteyam like this, especially when the two of you were in public, but it only made you all the more flustered.

Pulling away from one another, a subtle smirk stretched across his lips, pulling at the edges until he was only exuding cocky confidence. “Had to get you out of there,” he explained, words a slight pant from the breath you’d stolen from him. But, his words only made you more confused, considering you were only with Tsireya. He chuckled. “I just didn’t like the way they were looking at you… like you weren’t mine.”

Eyes widening just a smidge, you realised he’d been jealous of the group of boys. Still, that didn’t seem to explain much, seeing as you were sure they were mocking you. “But-“

“No,” he cut you off once more, shaking his head adamantly and stepping somehow closer to you. He squeezed your hips, dangerously enough to bruise you, something the two of you loved - showing off the marks that showed you belonged to someone, to Neteyam. “No, you’re mine, you understand that?” His smirk grew wider, fangs on display wickedly. “Hmm, maybe you need reminding of that, huh?”

[virescent-v]

School Yard Bully

hi hello! a cheeky bingo req incoming!

could i request Emily x Reader with the prompt „I want to hear you beg”? Maybe a bit of enemies to lovers? <3

Filling the prompt for the lovely @prentiss-theorem bingo :)

Summary: Emily's had it out for you since you joined the BAU. What is her deal?!

Word count: 2k+

Warnings: Some light cursing. Surprisingly, no smut yall, sorry to disappoint ;)

You’ve busted your ass every single day since joining the BAU. You got the job on a whim, a chance connection between your previous boss and someone within the office. You didn’t ask too many questions; you were just excited for a once in a lifetime opportunity to show off your knowledge and skills. 

Of course, that doesn’t mean that everyone found your presence…helpful. Most of the team had no issues with you, accepting you with open arms, showing you the ropes and learning as much as they could about you. 

Actually, there was only one person who seemed to have an issue with your arrival. 

Emily. 

You weren’t really sure what the problem was. From the get go, she’s seemed to have it out for you in some way or another. At first, you thought it was just normal newbie hazing. But, it’s been months and she’s never warmed up to you. 

She constantly berates you in front of others, never taking your suggestions seriously, always doubting the information you shared, finding second opinions from other team members when she could. She always found excuses to never be alone in the same room with you, always got out of doing interrogations, stakeouts, or assignments with you. She didn’t ask you any personal questions; hell, she barely tried to talk to you. If she did, it was usually snarky, sassy, and to be honest, a little rude. 

At this point, you’d learned to try your best to stay away from her. 

Hotch had noticed almost immediately that something was off. He tried talking to the two of you together about it, but both of you said nothing. He kept Emily in his office after you left, their voices raised from inside the office. She left not five minutes after you, slamming his door shut on her way out before leaving the office for the day. 

No one else on the team seemed to know what was up with Emily either. 

Penelope, JJ, Derek, and Spencer had all had separate conversations with you regarding her behavior, trying to get to the bottom of it. None of them had a clue. 

Regardless of her behavior, you knew that she wouldn’t let anything happen to you in the field. She was no nonsense, and somehow that made you feel a little bit better. 

Still, it pissed you off that you knew you hadn’t done anything to her, and yet, she was still a bitch to you. 

At the six month mark, you could tell the team was getting frustrated by the lack of connection between the two of you. You oftentimes didn’t do after-work social gatherings because you didn’t want to make Emily hate you even more. She was here first after all. 

“Oh, come on! You never hang out with us!” Penelope exclaimed, tugging on the sleeve of your blazer. “Just this once, please!” 

You could feel yourself giving in to the temptation of a night with the group. After a hellish week at work, you could use the drink and some unwinding at David’s. 

But, you knew that Emily was going, as her and JJ had been talking about what food from Rossi they were most looking forward to at lunch. 

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. “I don’t know, Pen. I’m not really feeling up to…all that,” you sighed, taking a sidelong glance at where Emily was in conversation with Reid. 

Penelope sighed right back at you. “I know, sugarplum. But you two need to work out your issues. For the betterment of the team. And both of your sanities.” 

You rolled your eyes, Penelope’s truthful words putting you on edge. You knew that you couldn’t let Emily bully you forever, but you really just didn’t have it in you to deal with her sarcastic comments tonight. 

You crossed your arms before looking Penelope in the eyes. “Fine, I will go,” you said, Penelope whooping in excitement. “On one condition.” 

Penelope’s face went straight, one of the most serious looks on her face you’ve ever seen. “Name it.” 

You smirked. “You run interference and don’t leave me alone in a room with her.” 

Penelope’s smile grew. “You got it, sweet cheeks.” 

*

You and Penelope arrived at David's at the same time, heading immediately inside to his stocked bar, quickly making yourself a drink. 

You had barely taken a sip before Emily was in your face, making some snarky comment about how you handled yourself during the case this past week. You could feel your irritation growing, even though Penelope was trying her hardest to distract and move the conversation along. JJ shuffled her feet, trying to pull Emily away towards the dart board Rossi had for a game. 

For whatever reason, Emily wasn’t taking the hint or bait. She stayed focused on you, her dark eyes burning holes into you. You could feel the heat flushing up your chest, finding a home on your round cheeks. 

You felt like the odd kid out, just like you did in elementary school. You didn’t deserve her hatred, her comments growing more and more fierce. You hated how well Emily could read you, even for someone who didn’t know you that well. She was finding every insecurity you had and digging her claws into them, overwhelming you. 

Instead of embarrassment or shame heating up your insides, all you felt was fury. It had been months of rude ass comments and you were getting absolutely sick of it. 

“Fuck off, Emily,” you all but growled. You watched as she paused for a second, almost as if she was in shock of you finally sticking up for yourself. 

She quickly refocused, a slight smirk on her lips. “And if I don’t?” Her eyebrow lifted. 

You scanned your eyes up and down her body, noticing how Emily’s body was almost leaning closer to yours, ready for a fight. Your expression mirrored her own. “You don’t know me, Prentiss, of your own doing,” you paused, watching as Emily seemed to be hanging on to your every word. “I’ll kick your ass if I need to. Now, leave me alone and let me enjoy my drink in peace,” you turned back to the bar, trying to find the rum to make yourself another drink. 

Before you could, you felt two warm hands on your hips, forcibly turning you around. 

You came face to face with Emily, her body so close with every breath you could feel her breasts graze yours, her arms on either side of you on the counter, closing you in. “I’d like to see you try, princess,” she whispered, her breath ghosting over yours, the smell of liquor present, but not overly strong. 

At this point, you were absolutely fed up with Emily. You shoved her off of you, causing her to stumble a little over her own feet. Before you could rush forward, Derek was pulling you in the opposite direction, Hotch pulling Emily in the other. 

“Enough!” Hotch yelled, causing the irritated banter between the two of you to stop completely. “I have had enough of this, whatever this is, between the two of you. It ends tonight.” He motioned to Derek, both of them dragging you off further into the house, shoving both of you into one of Rossi’s guest bedrooms. 

Before either of you could make towards the door, you heard a lock click into place. “No fucking way,” Emily hissed. She tried the handle, finding it impossible to move. “Let us out! Come on guys, this isn’t funny!” 

“No, what isn’t funny is your behavior towards each other for the past six months. It ends tonight. I’m serious,” Hotch spoke. “You two will stay in that room until you work whatever this is out.” 

“You’re treating us like teenagers, Hotch! Now let me out!” Emily said, banging her fist on the door. 

“I wouldn’t have to treat you like teenagers if you acted like grown adults. Have a good night, guys!” 

You and Emily could hear multiple sets of footsteps leading down the long, secluded hallway away from the room. 

“Those sons of bitches,” Emily muttered. “I will make them pay when I get out of here.” 

You scoffed, drawing Emily’s attention once more. “Oh, come off it, Em. This is one-hundred percent your fault.” 

Now it was Emily’s turn to scoff. “My fault? Mine?! How the hell is this my fault!?” 

You rolled your eyes, the anger simmering just under the surface. “You’ve been a raging cunt since I got here, Prentiss. I tried for months to befriend you. To get on your good side. But no matter what I did, I couldn’t. So, I gave up. I stayed away from you.” You could feel the fight slowly leaving you, entirely spent on this ongoing argument. 

You stared down at your hands, fiddling with the wristband of your watch, a nervous habit you’ve never been able to break. “I begged Hotch for a transfer, but he denied it. You’ve made my life hell since joining the BAU, Emily, so much so that I wanted to leave.” You sighed. “I don’t know what I did that pissed you off so much, but I’m done fighting with you. You win.” 

You weren’t sure how you were going to face the team whenever they decided to let you out, but you could feel the blush staining your cheeks already from embarrassment. You wondered if this was going to be the straw that broke the camel’s back and force you to quit, a thought that’s been rattling around for a few weeks. 

“The first day you walked into the BAU, you took my breath away,” Emily whispered. 

Your head snapped up, trying to catch her eyes, but finding her facing away from you, her arms curled around herself protectively. 

Emily chuckled humorlessly. “God, you were so gorgeous and bright eyed and excited and I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted to kiss you.” She paused, looking up, finding a dumbstruck expression on your face, your mouth hanging open in shock. 

“Probably wasn’t the best way to go about things, ya know, but I settled into the middle school-bully your crush-ideal and it just stuck,” she sighed. “I think it was a way to protect myself.” Her eyes caught yours. “Because I knew that you were capable of tearing my heart to pieces.” 

You felt about ten different emotions run through you at once. “Are you fucking kidding me, Emily?” 

You watched as Emily instinctively took a step back, wincing at the tone of your voice. “I’m sorry, I-” 

“No, Emily. It’s my turn to talk now,” you said, making your way towards her. “You bullied me for months just because you had a crush on me?” You asked incredulously. 

Emily went to talk, but you smacked your hand over her mouth. “You bullied me, Prentiss, when we could’ve been kissing this whole time?” 

You found it almost comical how wide Emily’s eyes got, your sentence sinking in. You started to giggle at her attempting to speak with your hand still over her mouth. “Wanna try that again?” 

She took a deep breath, settling her eyes on yours. “Can I take you out to dinner to make up for it?” 

You closed the distance between the two of you entirely, your chest flush with hers. You could feel the quickened rise and fall of her chest, feel her stuttered breaths against your face. You trailed your hand down the side of her face slowly, watching her pupils dilate as you moved down her jaw, across her collarbone, before settling it on the middle of her chest, feeling the rapid pace of her heart beneath your fingers. “I want to hear you beg, Emily,” you smirked. “You owe me that much.”

Emily licked her lips, her smile growing large and sinister. She leaned forward, her lips brushing your ear. “Please, princess,” she emphasized the pet name, almost mockingly. “Let me eat you out. Sorry,” she cleared her throat. “Take you out. Let me take you out.” 

You threw your head back and laughed, full bellied and loud. Your hand lightly smacked at her chest. 

“Next Friday, seven p.m. sharp. Take me out and make it up to me, Emily.” “Yes, princess,” Emily winked.

------

A/N: thanks for reading yall :) I might turn this into a part 2 with smut but idk lololol

[back2bluesidex]

Cold War - JHS (PWP)

Pairing: Idol!Hoseok X Fem!reader

Theme: SMUT, PWP, NSFW (MDNI), some angst, established relationship au.

Summary: In which Hoseok fucks you for all the time he has lost due to his own mistakes.

Word count: 2196 (pure smut lol)

Warnings: explicit sex, rough sex, domish Hoseok, orgasm denial, cream pie, Hoseok ties her hands down y'all.

A/N: based on a request from the prompt list. The prompts are written in italics.

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

There's a cold war that has been going on between you and Hoseok.

It was last week when he nonchalantly forgot that he promised you a piece of quality time and went out to meet his celebrity friends. When you tried to talk to him, he snapped. He shouted at you saying that you give him absolutely no space and privacy, that he has been feeling trapped with you in this house. It stung you hard when he said those words.

It was the first time in your two years of relationship when you saw Hoseok this much furious. And a person as lively as him, wouldn't say anything out of anger only. It made you wonder for how long he must have been feeling "trapped" to finally call you out like this.

It did hurt you like no other. You love him so much that you are ready to leave him for his good. And if he's really not happy with you then it's better for you to stay away.

So, you decided to give him all the space he deserves and wants. As a result, you barely show him your face, you've shifted to the guest bedroom leaving the shared bedroom all to him, you eat before he comes home, and leave for work early before he manages to wake up from sleep. He made no advances to talk to you even if you two live in the same house, so you concluded that he is fine and he finds it better and much less burdening without your presence in his life.

Nevertheless, you miss him and you want him to miss you too, to finally come to you. And if it doesn't go as you want then you will take the cue and leave him, even if it kills you inside and sucks the soul out of your body. It's better to get hurt than being an unwanted presence in someone's life.

However, what you don't know is that Hoseok is going crazy. Waking up to an empty bed without you beside him, coming back to home without you jumping on his arms, eating dinner alone, not being able to hold you close, inhaling your natural pheromones, venting out to you about his day, having a heart-to-heart conversation, melting his tiredness in your embrace, kissing you, groping you and fucking you till night cracks into dawn, everything has been taking a toll on him. He hasn't even seen your face properly since the night of the fight. He knows you are angry but at the same time it's the first time you have stayed angry with him for so long. And he simply doesn't know what to do about it.

But he knows what is the first step to take, which is apologizing to you for his behaviour. He promises he will melt your heart tonight. He will make sure at least you start to converse with him even if you stay cold towards him.

When Hoseok reaches home, he finds you in the kitchen. You have your earphones on. So, you don't notice him coming towards you.

You have been eating out since the fight in order to avoid your boyfriend. But your stomach started acting up against you. So you decided to cook at home instead. You are pouring chopped veggies into the boiling stew when you feel a hand on your right shoulder. You are not surprised, neither are you jumpy enough to hurt yourself. You know it's your boyfriend, his touch is tattooed in the back of your brain. You turn your face to meet his eyes. Giving him a small smile, you return to what you were doing.

"Hey," says Hoseok. But you don't hear him due to the high volume of your earphones.

Hoseok plucks an earphone out of your right ear and you turn your face to look at him again.

"You wanna say something?" You ask him flatly. Your tone is so flat, so devoid of emotions that it breaks Hoseok's heart. The lack of usual 'hey baby' or 'hey hobi' drops his heart to his stomach. But he knows it's his fault. So, he gives you his biggest possible smile as he backhugs you, burying his face on the crook of your neck.

He catches you off guard with his behaviour. It's not what you expected even though deep down this is exactly what you wanted all along. Your heart flutters at his cuteness but you are determined to make him play hard this time around.

"Baby, I'm so sorry for the way I behaved that night. I- I really didn't mean to say that stuff. I was just- frustrated." Hoseok mutters in your neck.

"It's okay. You don't have to apologize, rather thanks for being honest and showing me my place in your life." You reply immediately. You have practiced what to say in a time like this.

Hoseok detaches his face from your neck within an instant and turns you around all while making sure both of you are away from the stove.

"No, Y/N. I know I am the wrong one here but - trust me. You really are important. I can't imagine my life without you in it, baby. Only I know how I have been living these days, since you totally stopped talking to me." His eyes are glassy, you notice but stay reluctant.

"It's what you wanted, Hoseok. You wanted space, I am giving you so. There's absolutely no reason for you to suffer. You should be happy instead. And also, if you want me out of your life, tell me now and you'll see me gone before you wake up in the morning." You reply as calmly as possible.

"Y/N! How many times did I tell you not to talk about breaking up?" He shouts at you, yet again. But this time for a completely different reason. You see vulnerability in his eyes, the fear of losing you is there as well.

You know talking about break ups triggers Hoseok, and you are evil enough to use that now but there's no better way to give him a taste of his own medicine.

"But I feel like you want it. It feels like you want me gone." You reply, voice cracking a bit. No matter how much you tried to keep this hard exterior, the thought of losing Hoseok breaks you into half.

"No! Fucking no! Y/N"

"Show me that you mean it, Hoseok."

And within a heartbeat, you feel his lips crashing into yours. The kiss is urgent, passionate but harsh at the same time. Hoseok grabs the back of your head to push you towards himself even more. You don't kiss him back until grabs your ass and smacks it harsh enough to make you yelp.

You then kiss him back as your hands reach to play with his dark and silky hair. Hoseok leaves your neck and places both of his hands right behind your ass and pulls you up on him. You wrap your legs around his torso as he carries you towards your shared bedroom.

He drops you not-so-gently on the bed and starts looking for sometime in the drawer. Upon finding a piece of silk, what you recognise as your scarf, he marches towards you. His hands work fast as he strips you off and leaves you bare for his eyes. You don't utter a single word, you stay there as if none of it is mattering to you.

He then takes the scarf, pins both of your hands above your head and ties those with the scarf. That's when you open your mouth.

"What are you trying to do?"

"Trying to ruin you for every other guy. So that you can't even think of ending things with me." Hoseok says as he finishes tying you up. He then strips himself off. His cock stands half erected, you eye him shamelessly.

"I’m not letting you go until you’ve either drenched the sheets, or passed out.” Hoseok says briefly before he almost pounds on you and attacks your lips vigorously.

His hands run down through your sides and find your cunt. One of his hands grabs one of your tits as the other one runs up and down your slit. You start leaking right away.

His mouth leaves your lips as he places small kisses on your jawbone, your chin and then he bites down on your neck. You moan out loud.

His teeth worry the skin of your neck all while his fingers draw small circles on your clit. You suck in a deep breath, you know it's gonna be a long time tonight.

Hoseok's kisses trail down to your collarbone as two of his digits probs on your entrance. You hate to admit it but you are already getting weak. His mouth takes one of your nipples in as he bites down on it. You muffle a moan.

"Let me hear you, baby. Let me know how good I am making you feel." Hoseok says. His words slurs as his tongue plays with one of your hardened buds.

Without a warning he puts two of his digits inside your cunt. He doesn't waste time as he puts his fingers knuckle deep.

His muscle memory takes his fingers to that one place that gets you all weak. He presses down on your g-spot and you arch your back as a response. Your moans know no bound at this moment. You feel yourself getting close but you don't say anything, you don't wanna give him the privilege of denying your orgasm.

But Hoseok being Hoseok, knows your body too well, as a result he removes his fingers right when your walls starts to clench the fuck out of his fingers.

"You are cumming only once today and we are going to cum together." He grits through his teeth as he pumps his rock-hard cock. Ready to bottom you out.

He teases your slit by rubbing the tip of his cock on your clit. You hiss. This man really has the audacity of teasing you after denying your orgasm once already.

"Don't tease, Hoseok!" You warn him.

He smiles, as if it's no big deal but he complies with your warning.

He uses both of his hands to spread you open. Placing both of his hands on both of your thighs, he takes a look at your leaking core.

"You have deprived me of this pretty pussy for an entire week. All the week-worth fucking will be done today." Hoseok grunts as he takes his cock and puts that in, in one go.

"Ah! Hoseok!" You moan out loud. Your moans seem to encourage him to go fast from the very start so he starts rutting into you like an animal. You weren't ready for the pace. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out other than some gibberish. The bed starts to squeak violently, so much so that you think it might break.

His pace was too much already and now he started stimulating your clit with rough eight figures drawn by his thumb. You start to see stars. You are gonna cum within seconds if he keeps doing what he is doing.

"H- Hoseok, plea- please.. I can't take it! Go sl-slow" you manage to say somehow although you are drooling, crying and making a mess of yourself. Your tied hands takes your pain mixed pleasure to a different level as you can't even grab the sheets or scratch Hoseok to divert your mind.

Hoseok doesn't budge. Either he doesn't hear to you or he doesn't pay you any mind willingly. So you open your mouth again.

“I-I can’t take anymore, please.”

“You can take it, and you’ll do it graciously, one more complaint and I’ll edge you all month.” Your boyfriend growls. You open your mouth to say something but Hoseok shuts you up by placing his fingers on your tongue.

"Suck" he orders, you obey.

However, you feel yourself getting close once again and Hoseok too probably feels it. His thrusts lose rhythm and become rigid. You, too, start to clench around his shaft.

"Cum, baby. Cum on my cock." Hoseok breathes out. You cum immediately as he follows closely behind. He fills you up with his white, hot seed as you almost lose your consciousness.

His body falls on top of yours. You feel his cum all over your mound, thigh, and slit as his softening dick rubs against your body.

His chest presses onto yours as you both try to catch your breath. He unties your hand, throws the scraf away. He cups your cheek with one hand and stare into your eyes intently.

"I know having sex is not the right way to prove myself but… I promise, Y/N, I'll make it up for you. Just- just don't leave me. Please." Hoseok mutters right beside your ear. You know he is vulnerable right now and he isn't lying, not in a time like this. This intimacy isn't something you could lie beneath.

You smile at him and reply, "I won't."

His smile finally reaches to his ears for the first time in a week as he kisses your forehead as if to seal the deal.

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

Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @soraviie @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @sukunabitch

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

26 and 42 for the touch prompts please? They feel like they’d work well together

hope you’re able to get through the next couple of days alright :)

Astarion x AsexualBard!Tav Masterlist

Prompt: kissing the top of their head + braiding the other’s hair + @cakeboxie request: thoughts on bard tav having a hard time perfecting a piece and then astarion like, sits with them, and suddenly they’re able to finish it fine?

A/N: I thought these two would just go together. I hope that's okay!

Word Count: 1.4K

This was getting ridiculous. The melody had come to you so easily the other night. You’d felt it in your fingers the moment your head hit the pillow. All you had to do was remember it.

You plucked another handful of bars, hoping to spark something, but nothing came of it. This was normally when you would give it up. If it was actually memorable, you would have had it by now. Still, you played on. 

Something told you this one was special. It just needed a bit more patience. Maybe if you just—

"You’re repeating yourself again, darling.”

You jolted, the smooth notes scratching under your fingers as you whipped around to find Astarion standing in the doorway of your bedroom, his expression caught between exasperation and amusement.

You let out a long groan as your chin fell to your chest.

"That bad?"

You nodded.

“Aw, poor little songbird," he said, with a mocking pout.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’ve listened to you play the same four chords for the past twenty minutes. I’ve earned it.”

You wanted to say something smart, but came up short. He was right, damn him.

He took your silence as the defeat it was, smiling in triumph as stepped closer to the bed. 

“It might help if we get this out of the way,” he said, leaning down to brush aside a few of the loose strands out of your face.

“It’s not that bad.”

He gave you a doubtful look. “Just because your head is in a scramble doesn’t mean your hair has to be. You’re just inviting the rats at this point.”

You bit back a laugh. He was probably right. Now that you were paying attention, you could easily picture just how much of a mess you were. You’d been sitting cross legged against the headboard since you got up. Add on the fact that every moment your fingers weren’t running up your instrument they were running through your hair, and you’ve got yourself quite a nest for roosting. It was a wonder he hadn’t said anything sooner.

You shrugged, not really having anything else to say. 

Astarion just rolled his eyes before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

“Honestly, what would you do without me?” he grumbled, but with no real bite to it. 

You then watched him as he rummaged through the night stand, coming back with a brush and small strip of leather.

“Move,” he prompted. 

You did so without question, moving up the bed just enough to allow him to kneel behind you. It was an act you would have found odd not even a month ago. You’d hesitate to call it routine, but it wasn’t not that. It was just something that happened sometimes: something you were growing to like.

He worked silently, brushing out the mess of tangles with ceremonial concentration. His fingers slipped themselves into the mix as well, pulling gently on the strands as he ran his nails gently across your scalp.

You closed your eyes, feeling your whole body relax under his touch.

You weren’t quite sure when he figured out this particular weakness of yours. You’d always played with your hair as a form of self-soothing, but you never shared that fact with anyone. It felt too personal, an admittance of something lacking inside you wished to fill. 

There was never a discussion about it. He hadn’t teased an explanation out of you. He just started one day and suddenly, you didn’t feel quite so empty.

It took you a moment to realize you were humming. The melody from before vibrated against your lips with the gentle ease of water over stone. 

As if in a trance, you picked your lute and started to play, the notes floating into the air and before your eyes. You let go, following the music where it led with only the slightest turns here and there to keep it on course until it faded towards its ending.

“Lovely,” Astarion whispered, his voice low and warm against your ear. 

“You think so,” you asked, turning your head just enough to catch his eye. 

His gaze lingered on you a moment, the corners of his mouth curling with a fondness that made your head skip a beat. His finger traced along the top of your head and down your hair guiding the newly crafted braid over your shoulder. 

“It may be my best work yet,” he said, grinning. 

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to take the high road and assume you just mean the hair.” 

“Well, yes, but you must admit the song is the superior creation.” 

“And it was all your doing, was it?” you said, dryly. 

“I wouldn’t say it was all my doing,” he allowed. “Of course you’re the talent. But seeing as I am your muse, I believe I deserve co-authorship.”  

Your eyes narrowed. “Who says you’re my muse?” 

“Every note you play, darling,” he said, his voice imbued with delighted mischief. “Complexity disguised in simplicity. Beautiful. Mesmerizing. More than a little dangerous and all shone through the lens of someone utterly devoted.” He leaned in closer, his nose just brushing against your own. “Am I wrong?” 

You could feel a creeping of heat come up your neck, but couldn’t bring yourself to break eye contact. This thing between you was still new. Neither of you had sat down to figure out exactly what it was. Granted, you had started with an openness you’d never had before. Knowing he could read you so easily left you a little off balance.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you warned. 

“Me?” he said, clutching a hand to his chest in a mockery of offense. 

You had to laugh. “Fine. If you are to be my muse, sit there and look pretty awhile while I work the rest of this out.” 

He gave a beleaguered sigh. “On any other day, I would be happy to oblige, however, other matters take precedent.”  

He then leaned over and pulled the lute right out of your hands. 

“Astarion!” 

“Nope. You haven’t eaten since last night. Keep that up and both of us are liable to go hungry.” 

Your frown deepened. He was cheating. There was no reason for him to starve just because you were. You’d agreed that feeding of the occasional bandit was a perfectly acceptable substitute. Besides, you were well out of the Shadowlands. All the same, he knew that line would work. You could never be too sure when your next meal was coming. 

“Fine. Fine. I’m moving. I’m moving,” you grumbled, pushing yourself off the bed and back to your feet. 

Blood rushed downward, making your light headedness and empty stomach suddenly impossible to ignore. Gods, it was almost midday. Had you really been sitting there that long? 

“Easy darling,” Astarion said, coming up behind you. “You’re welcome to swoon when Karlach can be the one to carry you.” 

“Perhaps I should dedicate my next piece to her then.”

His eyes narrowed, leaning down just enough to growl in your ear. “Don’t you dare.” 

You gave a light laugh, turning in his arms to face him. 

His features struck you as oddly serious.  His brow was furrowed and his lips were turned decidedly downward. No spark of humor laid in his eyes. He was genuinely upset. 

A part of you wanted to laugh harder at the absurdity, but you held back, knowing exactly where that hurt lay. For all his talk, he was just as unsure as you were. 

With great care you reached down, taking his hand in yours His eyes moved downward, watching in fascination. Knowing you had his attention, you raised it to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss against his fingers.

“I’m just teasing,” you assured. “If I’m lucky, you will be the last muse I ever have.” 

Astarion stayed silent a long while, searching your face for any sign of deception. Slowly, his shoulders began to relax, as a deeply held breath pushed out of his chest. 

He turned his attention to your hands then, examining them with careful consideration. His touch moved across your knuckles and fingers, lingering on the skin as if to memorize every line and hair. With gentle guidance he pried you hand open, allowing him to lean down and press his own kiss deep against your palm.

“Good,” he whispered.

Your breath hitched, your eyes widening as you felt every part of you melt. There may come a time when you would become used to such tenderness, but you doubted it was coming anytime soon.

He took a moment to press one more kiss to your fingers before fully pulling away. 

“C’mon, the others are waiting,” he said, keeping your hand in his as he pulled you towards the door. 

You let him lead you, neither of you letting go. And if you were very lucky, you never would. 

[gunnerfc]

🎄WOSO FICMAS: Dec. 20 - Steph Catley🎄

Steph Catley x Reader (Arsenal & Matildas) | WC: 717

Dec. 20 prompt - secret santa

-> woso ficmas masterlist can be found here!

The idea of a team secret santa was fun, you all knew each other very well and were very confident that you’d each have the best gift. However, you were a bit surprised when you drew Steph’s name. Of course, you would pull your fiancée’s name instead of a teammate’s.

As you went to say something about your pull, Leah was quick to shut you down saying “No one is allowed to switch, because at least two people would know who the other got.” She had her captain voice on when she said but all you could do was playfully roll your eyes at her statement, finding her seriousness on the exchange funny.

Steph had pulled Beth, which seemed like the best person for her to pull aside from you considering how close they were. The Aussie had found two gifts for the forward that fit within the limit set pretty quickly. You on the other hand weren’t sure what to get your girlfriend that wouldn’t give away who it was from or one of her actual Christmas presents that you had already gotten.

Ever since you drew names Steph had been trying to get you to spill whose name you had gotten but each time her pleas were met with a shake of your head and a kiss to her lips, telling her to "be patient.”

“You could give me a hint and maybe I could help you, baby.” your fiancée sleepily stated as you lay in bed, ready for sleep to take over. Once again trying to get you to tell her who you picked.

“You heard Leah, babe. No telling,” you whispered to her, feeling her lightly laugh against your chest.

Steph was the first to fall asleep, having a harder training session than you did earlier in the day. As you lay in bed, an idea pops into your head. Would it technically go against Leah’s rule? Yes, but you didn’t care. You saw your idea as a way to one-up Steph in a small argument you were having.

A week later the team is gathered in Leah’s living room, ready to start opening presents. The team went back and forth debating whether people should go one by one or if everyone should open gifts at the same. The argument lasted two minutes before Kim used her ‘captain voice’ to vote in favor of going one by one.

After each person opened their gifts, everyone tried to guess who their secret santa was but no one had gotten their guess right. Not until it was Steph’s turn to open hers.

You watched your Aussie girlfriend open the box containing an Arsenal shirt, confusion clouded her eyes as she turned the shirt over. You laughed quietly to yourself as you watched her eyes scan down the back, seeing “Y/L/N 7” printed in white font.

“The whole point of a secret santa is that it's a secret, Y/N,” Leah groaned, having seen the words printed on the back of the kit.

You laughed before responding with “then maybe you should have let me switch when I tried to ask, Williamson.”

You figured the Arsenal kit with your last name was fitting since you and Steph had been playfully debating who was going to take whose last name once you were finally married.

Steph turned to face you, giving you a quick kiss on your cheek before making a joke about how you needed to get a shirt with your number and her last name on it now. You rolled your eyes at her comment, but you knew she was serious about getting you one.

Once you returned home, Steph changed into her new Arsenal kit. You watched your fiancée change, seeing her in a kit with your last name doing something to you.

“You look hot wearing my name, baby,” you smirked, Steph rolling her eyes at your suggestive tone. The Aussie joined you in bed, her lips meeting yours in a heated kiss, the first of many that night.

Steph’s new jersey didn’t stay on long that night and while you still hadn’t decided on whose last name would be your shared last name, the defender wasn’t complaining about how you reacted to seeing her donning a “Y/L/N” shirt.

[drconstellation]

First-Order Archangels

Part 1: Maybe You'll Spot An Archangel

GABRIEL: I told you you could ask. However, I am the only First-Order archangel in the room, or, you know, the Universe, so I'm not gonna answer so much. But you feel free to knock yourself out with all the asking.

While I was writing my meta series The Passion Of Jimbriel it became fairly obvious to me there was something more going on between Crowley and Gabriel in S2 than just the numerous pointers to Crowley's pre-fall angel status. They are acting as both parallels and foils to each other, and in places you can swap their characters and get the same story at a different time – and that just opens up a whole new window of context and insight into things. For pre-reading, see this meta from @vidavalor that nicely lists some obvious parallels. It doesn’t mention everything though, so I’m going to discuss parts in more detail.

A foil is a character who contrasts with the protagonist, to highlight or differentiate certain qualities between the characters. Crowley and Gabriel do this because they have come from essentially the same place, and share some story elements, but they still end up in different places.

There is a lengthy original discussion about Crowley's pre-fall angel status here, for pre-reading. It points out the obvious and some not so obvious points that ops have noticed in S2 telling us about Crowley's pre-fall status. Rather than just go through them all again, I'd like to look at some other scenes in S2 that also tell us something about both the similarities and the differences between these two high-powered entities as I go along. In addition, I’ve done a series of posts looking at Gabriel as a shoulder angel (links at the end of post,) because quite often he’s on the demonic left-hand side – which makes sense when you realize he’s a Crowley parallel.

Take the arrival of Gabriel to Whickber St and the bookshop. I’ve already mentioned this parallel story line a couple of times now, but lets look at it again in more detail. It mirrors the opening of S1E1 where the serpent climbs the wall of the Garden of Eden, morphs into a demon and starts to converse with the angel standing on the wall.

Back in the present day, we have a Gabriel, who also tends to present on the sinister-side, walking up to the gate of the present day Garden (the bookshop), which is still guarded by the same angel as it was 6000 years ago, and basically tells Aziraphale he has “fallen.”

How to we know this? It is a reference to the Fall of Man, when Adam and Eve ate the apple the serpent offered them, they suddenly became aware of their nakedness, and hid from God. Gabriel has already upset the love-apple tomato cart on his way to the door of the bookshop, its a sign of the chaos to come.

The fallen angel is not sure of his name, so he prompts with a question…

And asks for shelter under the (reluctant) angel’s wing..

But there is one thing he does know, the one thing that drew him to Aziraphale in the first place:

AZIRAPHALE: Then why did you come to my shop? GABRIEL: I don't know. I just thought I should. You know what it's like when you- when you don't know anything at all, and yet you're totally certain that everything would be better if you were just near one particular person?

Later, Aziraphale realizes that he must give Gabriel a new name to hide him – because fallen angels take on a new name, don’t they? Just like Crowley did.

Then we get a confession:

Which is what Crowley loves about Aziraphale as well - that bit of unpredictability, because you know how humour kind of works? It throws the unexpected at you.

Early on in S2 we find out they are both in trouble: first His Royal Smugness, then Our Hero himself. Our view is turned upside down, with the angel made the bad guy and the demon the good guy who needs to win. But both of them are being hunted by Shax.

Then we get one of the early clues pointing to Crowley's high status as an angel:

SHAX: A miracle of enormous power happened last night. The kind of miracle only the mightiest of Archangels could've performed. CROWLEY: Mm? SHAX: Somewhere very close to your friend's bookshop. Are you telling me you don't know what caused it? CROWLEY: How'd you know I didn't do it?

Shax stalks and threatens both of them, sometimes at the same time:

Another parallel Gabriel and Crowley shared in S2 were associating their identity - no, lets rephrase that - "essence" was one description I've seen - with boxes.

Gabriel arrives with a box that strategically covers his front, and quickly tosses it aside once Aziraphale opens the door to the bookshop. It lies forgotten until Gabriel mentions it a while later. Inside it is the fly from Beelzebub - an object from Hell - so it really needs to be 'invited' across the threshold of the bookshop by Aziraphale to be able to enter. The box initially appears to be empty, Once inside, the fly is free to roam. It has a message written on one side of it.

The same goes for the matchbox. Message included.

ah, wot? you say. Yep.

The matchbox represents Crowley, probably in more ways than one, but I'll just go through the stuff relevant to this meta here.

I notice I'm not the only op to connect the line from the Book of Job on the side of the matchbox with Crowley. The line is from Verse 41, which talks about Leviathan. Among the various shapes it is described to take is a great sea serpent. This deserves its own meta for further discussion, which I plan to do after this one, because yes, Crowley is Leviathan in disguise, but there is much more to it than that. But for now, just know that the matchbox is Crowley.

Once you know this, it makes sense that Muriel finds it - a discarded cardboard box by the front door to Heaven - and deals with a material object that shouldn't by rights exist in Heaven. Then a certain demon finds Muriel lurking outside during the siege on the bookshop at the end of S2E5, and talks them into letting the certain demon be escorted up into Heaven where he doesn't belong, where he's free to roam around - only he needs a guide because he's not sure where to go. Ah Muriel, you poke the Serpent, he's going to poke you back. Good thing he likes you, and it just was a gentle nudge.

Two empty boxes, two cases of memory-loss. That is what S2 seems to suggest to us at first glance.

Gabriel's seems to be the most straight forward in hindsight - find the fly and restore Gabriel to his original "Gabriel-ness." But its more complicated than that. When pushed to remember, his lilac eyes return and another voice can be heard speaking through him of the past. This happens twice, with the second one being part-prophecy. What is really triggering these episodes of channeling? Is it God or someone else speaking through him? We really aren't sure at this point in time.

Then there are questions around Crowley's memory. Did he have his memory wiped when he fell? Was it wiped repeatedly? Was it not wiped at all, and he just pretends he doesn't remember? Neil has even said he is an unreliable narrator about his own Fall, so who are we to trust at this point? Crowley does seem to understand in the end some of the problems Gabriel is having with his absent memories and that brings them to a temporary truce.

Both Aziraphale and Michael inspect their respective "empty" boxes, and neither notices anything obviously amiss. Gabriel's box just seems empty to Aziraphale, he takes no notice of the fly container in there, and archangel Michael tentatively inspects the matchbox brought to them by Muriel but nothing seems out of place there either.

Crowley's change in costume in Heaven during his little infiltration caper with Muriel is also another clue to his past status as an archangel. He has a silvery-gray suit, similar in style to Saraqael's to reinforce the link with them, but at the same time he is also mocking the other archangels and their elite status. We've assumed for a while now that the appearance of the tactical turtleneck signals that Crowley is up to something sneaky or spy related, but I'm starting to think it also relates to a bit of a power play (and Crowley certainly laid the power on for Mr Brown in the pub!) Looking back at S1, Gabriel's not adverse to wearing one either when he needs to be at his worst (or best. Your choice.)

The way one dresses is a way of expressing and reinforcing authority, and its something both Gabriel and Crowley do without much thought. They have been used to being in a position of power and/or independent authority for much of their existence, and I would say that even if Crowley is a few steps down now from where he started, and he's more cautious around those higher ranking than him than he used to be, he still retains that knowledge of what its like to be at the top.

Crowley's usual near all-black costume is a form of power dressing in itself. Whether is was in the past, when black was an expensive color to buy and maintain in clothing, or in the present day, we are still respectful of those in a stylish cut of black.

Gabriel's impeccable tailoring as Supreme Archangel also commands respect. So it's no wonder that one of Gabriel's first requests on regaining his memories was to ask for new clothes! He wasn't just being the vain archangel we believe him to be (although, I think there is still some of that) you also need to consider the elements of the reference characters that went into his shop assistant character: Granville, the belittled shop assistant nephew from the sitcom Open All Hours, who got stuck with all the shop duties from his uncle and felt like life was passing him by, and the silly Monty Python gumbies, that complained of hurting brains - lovable and much loved characters, but not ones you'd really want to be forever. We all want to be loved, but we want to be respected as well.

For all his fierce posturing around Gabriel, there is a brief moment in S2E3 where Crowley backs down and treats Gabriel as an equal - and that is reflected in a change of dress as well. His outside jacket off and sleeve-garters on, Crowley sports a look we haven't seen since S1 when he was home alone in his Mayfair flat. He patiently explains gravity to a curious Gabriel and then describes his "Operation Lovebirds" plan to his puzzled companion. He admits he hasn't "done weather in ages." It's just a quiet, charming moment, watching two ex-archangels get along together.

You're smiling, aren't you?

This meta continues in Part 2: Foils of War, where the differences between Gabriel and Crowley get explored in more detail, and how Aziraphale and Beelzebub act as mirrors to each other a few times as well.

This meta is part of a series on Gabriel: Gabriel as a Shoulder Angel: S1 Study S2 Study Part 1: Ep.1 The Arrival and Ep. 2 The Clue S2 Study Part 2: Ep.3 I Know Where I'm Going and Ep. 5 The Ball S2 Study Part 3: Ep.6 Every Day

First-Order Archangels Part 2: Foils of War

First-Order Archangels Part 3: Seeing Eye to Eye

[honeylations]

- Angry Pupu -

KIM CHAEWON x FEM!READER

Prompt: Chaewon is known for her anger issues, always yelling at the smallest things whereas you’re her calm and collected girlfriend, always so soft spoken and doing everything with a cute smile. Your members wonder how you two ended up dating despite the obvious opposite personalities.

Warnings/Notes: cute pupu, angry pupu, reader is adorable tooooo, soft and fluffy, a mix of comedy

———

“YAH WHO ATE MY MINT CHOCO ICE CREAM!”

———

“YAH WHO USED MY HAIR STRAIGHTENER? WAS IT YOU HUH YUNJIN? WHY THE FUCK DO YOU NEED A STRAIGHTENER WHEN YOU’RE NOT EVEN STRAIGHT YOURSELF!”

———

“WHERE THE HELL ARE MY TAMPONS?!”

———

“WHO WENT INTO MY ROOM AND TOOK MY FAVOURITE PEN?!”

———

The members lost count at the amount of times their leader had screamed today and you seemed to be the only person unbothered by it. Sakura had just finished taking pills for the headache she received from hearing the short girl’s anger.

“I swear this is her new record. How is her throat not hurting?” Sakura whined, rubbing her temple and flopping down on the couch next to you.

“How are you even dating her, Y/n?” Yunjin groans as she joins you two with a bowl of popcorn in her hand.

“Y/n is like the off switch for Chaewon’s tantrums” Kazuha appeared shortly after with a whisper, tensing when she heard Chaewon’s little feet stomp downstairs.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY ZUHA?!”

The youngest Japanese girl ran to you as a shield, angering the leader even more. “BACK OFF MY GIRLFRIEND, NAKAMURA!”

Kazuha squeaked and ran to Yunjin instead, not daring to say another word. Eunchae comes in with a bowl of strawberries and feeds you one before going upstairs to finish her Lilo and Stitch marathon. You hummed at the delicious taste of the fruit and turned to your girlfriend who got jealous of the hand feeding gesture between you and the maknae.

“We should buy more strawberries, love. They taste amazing” You spoke with a smile, Chaewon’s anger disappearing almost immediately.

She cupped your face and pecked your lips. “You’re so fricking cute. ISNT SHE GIRLS? SAY IT TO HER!”

The 3 girls sitting on the couch flinched and started complimenting you chaotically, voices going over each other, not wanting an ass beating from their short tempered leader.

“TOO MUCH COMPLIMENTS! BACK OFF!”

“Love, calm down please” You said, caressing her arm and Chaewon obeyed, sitting in your lap.

“Ok, babe”

“Whipped” Yunjin commented, earning a couch cushion to the face. “OW! God Y/n, I want you to answer my question for real this time. How the hell are you dating this monster?”

“She’s not a monster. She’s my hero~” You cooed, hugging your short girlfriend tighter.

“I’ll be needing a hero if I get screamed at one more time” Kazuha muttered, seeing Chaewon glare at her.

“Chaewon? A hero? You’re saying this girl who’s scared of a mouse toy is your hero?” Sakura scoffed as the leader flipped her off.

“You’re just jealous” Chaewon hisses.

“And you’re a comedian.”

You held your girlfriend back down on your lap before she drop kicked the eldest member.

“Chae saved me from so many people before we debuted. Her yelling may be annoying to you girls but it always reminded me of why I love her! She’s so tough~ Without her anger, she wouldn’t have saved me from the bullies back in high school. She does the same now with anyone who shares hate comments about me. I’m too shy to stand up for myself like that” You explained, your heart swelling at the memories.

“Yeahhhh. Y/n was this cute little chubby nerd in high school” Chaewon grinned, pinching your cheeks again.

“Woah wait what, okay, this was something we haven’t been told before” Yunjin said, adjusting her sitting position and looking at you, Chaewon growling.

“Oh please, pull your head out of your tiny ass Kim, I’m not gonna take your girl. I just wanna know more about this cute little chubby nerd you were just talking about” The American added.

Chaewon got off your lap and sat next to you instead, pushing Sakura further into Kazuha who was already getting squished. The younger Japanese member gave up and sat on the ground instead, snatching Yunjin’s popcorn bowl.

“Yeah it’s true. I wasn’t that good looking in high school” You shyly smiled.

“Hey don’t say that. Nobody starts off as a hottie, like, me in high school with the dark ass eyebrows that didn’t match my hair colour? Goddamn” Yunjin joked, making you all laugh. (A/N: I’m not actually talking about Yunjin like that guyssss! The whole dark eyebrow thing is something I added based on my experience in high school💀💀)

“I’m being honest, I swear! I was super chubby, wore these thick purple glasses and always got bullied for reading books all the time. See?” You pulled out a photo of you in high school and all the girls (besides Chaewon) gasped.

In the photo was 14 year old Y/n with a bob cut and thick fringe, using one hand to hold a thick novel to her chest while the other put up a peace sign. Your purple glasses were indeed huge and you smiled widely, presenting the braces you had at the time.

“Oh and here’s Chae” You zoomed out of the photo and 14 year old Chaewon was exposed. She looked the same, only difference was the long hair in the photo. Sakura squinted her eyes and noticed how Chaewon’s hand was around your waist in the picture.

“Awwww! Chae did you have a crush on Y/n at this time?” The eldest asked as you closed your phone and returned it to your pocket.

“Yeah I did. Couldn’t tell if she liked me back though”

You blushed and slapped your girlfriend’s arm. “I did! I told you before, I just thought you were too good for a nerd like me”

“Nerdy y/n is cute, don’t get me wrong, but you’re absolutely stunning right now. Hellooooo? Your body? Your abs? Your facial structure? It’s so hard to believe that was you in the picture” Kazuha complimented.

“I just finally took the initiative in eating healthier and working out” You shrugged, letting Chaewon play with your fingers.

“Was Chaewon this loud back in highschool too?” Yunjin asked with a blunt tone.

“YAH IM GONNA KILL YOU, HUH YUNJIN!” The shortest member screamed and jumped onto the tallest member, shoving the couch pillow into her face.

You rolled your eyes with a smile and looked at Sakura. “You grab her legs, I’ll grab her arms”

“Absolutely not, she kicked my face last time we did that. Get Kazuha”

The said member stood up. “Sorry I don’t speak nor understand Korean very well so imma just go” Kazuha quickly says and runs upstairs to join Eunchae.

“Stop pretending you loser!” You screamed out to Kazuha in Japanese, knowing damn well this wasn’t the first time she’s done that. (A/N: Fun fact for everyone, Kazuha sometimes pretends that she doesn’t understand what the members are saying to her in Korean😭)

You sighed and stood up, patting down your pants. “Come on, babe, let’s go to bed”

“WHY DO YOU ALWAYS PISS ME OFF WITH EVERYTHING YOU SAY!” Chaewon continued to scream while violating Yunjin with the pillow.

“Y/N HELP PLEASE!”

This was gonna be a long night.