#the casual intimacy has me screaming

[antaripirate]

lila: *exists*

kell: *blushes like a slut*

i miss them desperately and we get them back in 60 days fuckkkkkkk

[ronnierosest]

Zakkura "So he never initiates, never asks, and waits." - inspired by a fanfiction we're friends, right? (very adult) by totosheadset

[pin-k-ink]

Gojo Satoru X Reader (pt. 1)

pt. 2

CW: teacher-student relationship, male masturbation, lots and lots of sexual tension, third-person perspective

a/n: i just watched miller’s girl last night so this was heavily inspired by it. well…somewhat

Whispers slithered through the hallowed halls of Jujutsu High like ominous serpents - rumors about the scandalous relationship between Gojo Satoru and his sole female student. At first, she dismissed the gossip as absurd. Sure, her mentor could be incorrigibly flirtatious at times, like their first meeting when he mistook her for a new teacher and gallantly swept down to press his lips to her knuckles. Even after she corrected him, the silver-haired sorcerer seemed delighted to have "such a lovely little lady" as his pupil.

He proceeded to give her an unsanctioned personal tour of the dormitories, escorting her to the teachers' quarters, claiming her room was mixed-up just to have her staying close by. Now she has to explain to new students why she’s rooming with that notorious manchild.

The rumors intensified after she officially joined Gojo's class. Though undeniably childish outside the training grounds, he proved an exemplary mentor, deeply familiar with the nuances of her innate techniques. More importantly, he was fiercely protective, exemplified the day he saved her life.

She'd been ambushed during a mission, her ribs crushed by some malevolent spirit. Splayed helpless amid the rubble, she watched in detached horror as the skeletal beast sidled closer, drawn by her agony. Then, a blinding flash of black and white - Gojo had arrived.

The next thing she knew, she was gasping in his arms, pain screaming through her body as he jostled her with calculated roughness. "Glad you didn’t puke on me this time," he teased with a wolfish grin, referencing her violent reaction to her first forced teleportation.

This bizarre, backhanded banter marked the start of a profound intimacy between master and student. What began as a mere academic relationship steadily morphed into something akin to family - perhaps the closest she would ever know. Like now, waiting side-by-side for the train home, his dexterous fingers idly weaving the silken strands of her hair into intricate braids. A futile bribe of mochi had failed to dissuade his pleas to use his teleportation, so she resigned herself to crowded public transit, crumbs inevitably showering her shoulders as he kept himself busy.

Aboard the train, packed amid throngs of exhausted salarymen, she stiffened as unfamiliar calloused fingers trailed up her stockinged thigh. A harsh reminder of her juvenile "uniform" - another of Gojo's juvenile pranks. She clenched her fists, nostrils flaring, determined to withstand this violation with dignity.

Suddenly, a strangled yelp split the air as the unseen hand retreated. She found herself crushed against her mentor's powerful frame, his broad chest pressed to her back, arms enveloping her in an unmistakable claim. His fingers trembled with barely contained fury where they splayed across her abdomen.

After that sickening highway incident, when she awoke battered and bloody amid the wreckage, new rumors swirled about the disturbing closeness between teacher and pupil. Gojo's gentle touch roused her from the hazy brink of consciousness, his thumb swiping some blood from her ashen lips before he murmured, "You look like shit, kid."

From that point, a new routine emerged - one she anticipated with visceral dread, yet perverse longing. In addition to their intensive training regimens, where he enacted relentless "lessons" that seemed calculated to map every aching plane of her body...at night, he would appear in her dorm. Her sanctuary from prying eyes, where he could tend her wounds and brandished injuries with exacting care, stripped down to her underwear.

Even the most casual gestures between them began to carry subtext, like at the school sports festival. One ill-advised taunt from a rival combatant, and Gojo materialized behind her in an instant, hoisting her over his shoulder with barely-veiled possessiveness. His fingers dipped to swat her rear before facing down the offending student, eyes glinting with menace. Mere inches from flaying the young man with his Hollow Purple technique before the principal intervened.

Such public indecencies fueled fevered gossip about the forbidden relationship between the supremely powerful sorcerer and his nubile disciple. Rumors she could neither confirm nor deny...especially after the way he claimed her that night in the sanctum of his apartment.

The celebratory dinner after her sports festival triumph was a blur of italian cuisine and sultry looks. Gojo escorted her back to his flat for "freshening up" before returning to campus. Or so she assumed, until emerging from his steamy bathroom engulfed in a cloud of vapor, wearing nothing but an oversized dress shirt pilfered from his wardrobe. The damp fabric clung like a sensual rumor, outlining her lithe curves in diaphanous definition.

Whatever semblance of self-restraint typically graced Gojo's demeanor nearly disintegrated as he pulled his student into his lap. For a torturous minute, primal instincts threatened to overrule his better judgment - to simply slam her down onto the mattress and fuck her with reckless abandon.

But a flicker of lucidity pierced the haze of lust just in time. This was his precious protégé, the woman who had utterly bewitched him both in body and spirit. He couldn't simply take her like one of his flings. Not without her explicit consent.

Drawing a steadying breath, he reached over to gently take the towel from her hands, using it to slowly dry her hair. All the while, desperately attempting to ignore the insistent throbbing in his groin, the painfully prominent bulge straining against the fabric of his pants.

That night marked the first time he'd allowed himself to truly surrender to the sinful fantasies that so frequently plagued his thoughts when in her presence. As she retreated to her room, Gojo mentally praised his own restraint. But the image of her, draped in nothing but his oversized shirt, branded itself into his psyche.

Only after bidding her a quick goodnight did he seek the solace of his own room to fist his cock with unrestrained fervor, her tempting image fueling each increasingly frantic stroke. When his orgasm finally washed over, her name spilled sacrilegiously from his lips in a guttural rasp.

Come morning, he maintained an aura of unruffled nonchalance around his student, as though the pervious night's events were merely fever dreams. But she could see the hairline fractures in his implacable veneer, instinctively sensing their dynamic had irreversibly shifted after beholding the undisguised hunger burning in his eyes.

Something primal had awoken between them. And neither was prepared to confront the smoldering aftermath.

[adamsrcnan]

pre-pynch adam being unsurprised that ronan would be at his door in the middle of the night just gets me every damn time. like i need to know how that first time went.

the surprise of ronan standing there sullen and looking a little lost. the awkwardness of the cramped space and these two boys trying to fit in it.

ronan saying or doing something that would make adam sigh or roll his eyes. the falling into comfortable silence. ronan throwing himself onto adam's mattress, kicking off his boots and flipping open a text book as if he intended to read it.

adam side eyeing this action. their eyes locking. adam, eye brow raised. ronan, giving back a dead stare (because in that moment he wants to scream at the intimacy of everything so instead he has to pretend he feels NOTHING)

adam shaking his head and carrying on with his studies. ronan dozing off to adam's pen scratching on his notebook. adam kicking his leg later telling him to move he needs to sleep. ronan ungracefully rolling off the mattress onto the floor beside it. adam's scoff as he says "nice lynch" before laying down. (doesn't escape adam's notice that it's warm now and smells like feathers and leather. smells like ronan).

ronan snatching up a hoodie of adam's and balling it up under his head. adam throwing his arm over his eyes and losing himself in sleep immediately. ronan staring up at the ceiling listening to adam's breathing (he's so quiet he could be dead) and then turning his gaze to adam's face and his hand just shy of the edge of the mattress. (he can see the callouses in the moonlight, the faint stains of oil adam couldn't get out, the little pen ink marks) ronan sighing deeply before turning away and muttering "night parrish"

and then the second, third, and fourth times it happens. ronan dreaming up a better set of pillows for adam bc "your hoodies suck ass parrish" and "you have your own bed lynch" and ronan snarling in response and not saying anything back.

like i'm sorry i can't believe maggie just dropped that casual fact into the story TWICE. once from ronan and once from adam and then just never let us see it happen ever and expected me to not lose my mind over it

[webslingingslasher]

https://www.tumblr.com/webslingingslasher/752847373085081600/i-wanna-miss-fratpeters-nose-so-badly

how does he react!!

THAT SENT TOO FAST I WASNT FINISHED😭

does he get shy?? does he pretend he’s unaffected or is he like do it again and again and again!!!🥹

--

soft!frat!peter <3

'what was that?'

you surprise attacked him with a kiss and went right back to watching tv, but this kiss wasn't on his mouth or his cheek so he's a tad bit confused.

'a little kissy.' it happened too quick. he saw a flash, felt a quick peck and you were submerged into netflix like nothing happened. 'want another?' it was rhetorical, you push up to place another to the same spot.

'why my nose?'

you steal another. 'why not?' and another. you go for a third after his bashful laugh, you swear you see a hint of pink coat his cheeks. 'i don't know, i've never had one, i guess.'

sometimes peter drops his lack of intimacy a little too casually. this is one of those times, how has no one ever given him nose kisses?

'have you ever felt like you wanna kiss every inch of me? not in a sexual way, but like, you wanna kiss me because i'm so cute?'

'i'm scared you'll read into my answer.' that's a total yes.

'well, there's a bunch of different types of kisses, so you're welcome for showing you another.' peter bids for your attention. 'what are the different types of kisses?'

'hm,' you sit up to straddle his lap. 'i mean, you know about this one.' a light peck to his forehead. 'and this one,' another on his cheek. your lips brush over his as you whisper, 'and you love this kind.' your hand on his chest tells you your guess was right.

'what else is there?' warm hands rest on your thighs, peter's speaking softly with his focus on you and you only. you could tease him, but you're going to take this delicate moment and file it away to replay when you’re questioning if he’s worth waiting around for. 

'you just learned about this one.' peter didn't know he could like attention on his nose so much. but when it comes from you, of course he does.

'any more?' he doesn't want it to end.

'how about an eskimo kiss?' peter's heard of them, but he's never had one so he pretends like he doesn't know what it is. you lean down to push your nose against his, you dig in at the last second before pulling away.

'the harder you do it, the more you love them.' you're not sure if that's true or not, but you heard it somewhere and it's nice to think about. 'that seems dangerous, you might end up with a broken nose.' you could scream about the undertone of his sentence, but you won't. it's another thing to file away.

'then you might like butterfly kisses.'

'what's-' peter stops, little flutters dance over his cheeks. his heart pounds hard, a swirl of matching insects take flight in his stomach.

'what do you think about that one?'

'do it again.' you cup his face before blinking against his skin.

it's airy, a hint of something youthful, wholesome, comforting. it's like stepping outside and feeling the sun coat over your arms, heating you from the inside out, gifting you with warmth you didn't know you needed or lacked.

it reminds him of you.

it's his favorite.

'you like them?' there's no question this time, he's got a full on blush. 'can i have another?' he savors the tickle. you give a finale, sealing it with an overdramatic 'muah!' against his lips.

'i like your flutter kisses.' you finger comb his hair, laying down any stray pieces from moving around on his pillow. 'you can have flutter kisses whenever you want.'

peter doesn't need to be told twice.

'flutter kisses. i demand more butterflies.'

'be careful, you might attract a whole swarm.'

peter makes prayer hands and mouths a 'thank you,' with his eyes closed before going dead weight underneath you.

'i'm ready to be suffocated.' 

[youneedsomeprompts]

~ FORBIDDEN LOVE ~ PROMPTS about secret dating

requested by: various anons requests: I saw the "Forbidden Love" prompts, mostly about not admitting to themselves / each other, and it really made me yearn for forbidden love prompts where they're together but they have to hide it from everyone else; one sided “keeping a relationship hidden from coworkers”; can you post prompts about two oblivious people who are already dating but the other people don't know they're dating? dialogues or scenarios would do<3 thank you and love your prompt contents!

Feel free to use and reblog!

Part 1: ~ FORBIDDEN LOVE ~ PROMPTS about confessing a forbidden crush Part 2: ~ FORBIDDEN LOVE ~ PROMPTS about showing love without confessing

Setting/scenario:

#1 - keeping it secret at first because they didn't think it would turn into something that serious anyway #2 - enjoying the thrill of the secrecy #3 - being unsure whether that nervous feeling in their stomach is coming from their feelings for the other or the fact the relationship has to be kept a secret #4 - it's killing them that they have no one they can share their thoughts about their new relationship with #5 - making up the most random excuses to secretly meet up with the other #6 - screaming internally because they're having a date but they can't talk about it #7 - trying to act casual and unsuspicious in public when they're together but it's so hard #8 - teasing the other because they know how hard it is for them to keep their affection/arousal to themselves #9 - making promises that they don't have to keep it secret for much longer (but is it really realistic?) #10 - developing a method to communicate in code #11 - keeping it secret to protect the other #12 - keeping it secret until better times come #13 - making up for keeping it secret by extremely romantic/spoiling dates when they're alone #14 - wanting to fix everything before making the other their official s/o #15 - finding it the least stressful way to date to just keep it secret #16 - enjoying their little, happy secret because that way, no one can ruin it/take it from them #17 - it's like living in two completely separate worlds because their relationship is something that just exists between the two of them and the time together is always otherworldly #18 - wanting to stay in their happy dream world forever #19 - making plans for the future together, even though they don't know where they will be tomorrow #20 - they're keeping the other's love letters hidden under their pillow even though they know how risky it is

Dialogue:

#21 - "You're the most precious thing to me. So, I have to keep you as safe as possible." #22 - "Ah, I'm glad to have you finally to myself." #23 - "When I'm with you, it's like the earth stood still. I'm never so at peace." #24 - "You know, I really don't want to imagine what would happen if the others knew." #25 - "We have to be more careful. This was really a close call." #26 - "Do you really think it's necessary we keep it secret for much longer?" #27 - "I'm doing this for you. You're much better off when the others don't know." "You always say that. But I'm not sure if I still believe it." #28 - "It's not ideal but hell would break lose if it came out. I'm really glad we have the moments of peace. And intimacy." #29 - "Could you have imagined that we would someday end up like this?" #30 - "You're the best that happened to me. And I can tell no one about it. But I want to shout it from the rooftops." "Oh, you better don't. But you can always whisper it to my ear." #31 - "Isn't it fun to have this secret?" #32 - ^ "That's one way to call it." #33 - "I was really impressed how you handled that earlier. So cool. So smooth. So casual. As if I hadn't just made you whimper and made your eyes roll back minutes prior." #34 - "It's all worth it. I would risk it all again just to be with you." #35 - "Do you really think this is a good idea? They could find us." #36 - "You'll be the death of me." #37 - "To be honest, it's pretty funny to see you acting so unfazed and oblivious when we both know you were still thinking about me being naked." #38 - ^ "I always think about you being naked. It's not as if it's a new challenge to keep a straight face." #39 - "But you do know that I'm doing this all for you, right? Otherwise, I couldn't care less." "But you have to act as if you were in for the thing itself. They cannot connect you to me." #40 - "One day, I will carry you off to a place where it's just us. So, be prepared to be kindly abducted one day, alright?"

[simpingforheros]

Jason Todd Head canon 1#

I’m bored at work so I’m giving yall silly headcannons to make y’all smile. This is very crack! Headcanon vibes because I’m manic as well right now. But, I love my toxic zombie boy.

Redhood! Jason Todd X Batgirl! Reader

If they had became vigilante’s together, they would definitely reconnect after Jason starts to forgive the BatFam.

Would definitely always pair up with her just so they can cause some mischief during patrols.

Definitely play up the flirting in-front of civilians and would definitely encourage shipping just to annoy Bruce.

Would ditch galas to do riding around.

You two basically just resume your friendship until one night, you both got drunk after hanging out at Roy’s and yall wake up the next day with a broken bed and tattoos on y’all’s hips.

If You became batgirl after Jason’s death, God bless you

Jason would be hard on you with the intimidating and dickish act for a long ass time.

He wasn’t as bad as he was with the others because he understands that you weren’t involved with his death and you weren’t a replacement for him as much as you were Oracle’s.

When the moody stage finally passes and he realizes that you won’t put up with his tantrums, he will try a new approach.

Red hood becomes known as a menace to Batgirl in the media.

Whether it be he would somehow end up saving Batgirl while being a snarky ass hole or do behaviors that would cause her blushing face to be on the covers of tabloids.

At the manor, the pair bicker almost as much as they bonded over common interests.

Now the arguments revolve around those interests even if half of them started because of joke either one of them started.

“Bridgerton is just a horny girl’s excuse to not read Jane Austen” “Take that shit back right now!” “Make me.”

When the feelings actually start to develop, the bickering and the flirtation gets so bad that they become the most shipped ‘enemies to lovers’ ship among the tabloids and Gotham’s youth.

Finally, tension boils over when an incident happens where Batgirl was almost killed by a major villain.

Oh shit, Red Hood was not very happy to find out that Batgirl was currently in a hospital bed after a failed recon mission.

He went head hunting after that 🫢 Not that kind of head.

After that, Jason became unbearably protective of her. Volunteering to be on patrol with her, driving her to appointments, stalking her , breaking in coming over to her room/apartment to hang out.

It all boiled over after a heated and trauma dumping confrontation between the two where the neighbors/residents of the manor heard screaming, yelling, maybe a broken vase, and some creaming.

Red Hood! Jason Todd X Civilian! Reader

Ngl y’all, Jason dating a civilian would probably be a little toxic.

He’s either gonna date someone so fucking sweet that it fuels his need to be a protector and act as a balm to his failure complex.

Or he’s gonna date someone as fucked up as him so he feels some form of trauma bond with them.

He probably would spot eyes with them in a busy setting and because he’s very good at reading people, he would immediately start his stalking because he wanted to know if he can trust them before building a relationship with them.

Would probably never approach them as the Red Hood before meeting as Jason Todd unless it was a situation where he had to step in.

Secret lover boy with self sabotaging tendencies.

He would stage their first meeting as a form of meet-cute scenario. Most likely on the street or a bookstore.

Would play the long game of meeting by ‘chances’ and casual little conversations.

Has a weird prey/predator mentality where he wants them to give him their number first or ask him out first but he’s the one actually pursuing them.

If they started dating, he would treat things very slowly or very casually depending on which type they are.

If it’s the sweet one, he’ll play it slow and gentlemanly, like the romance movie lead.

He wouldn’t want intimacy or pressure anything like that even if he constantly thinks about it.

Maybe a little less toxic but more manipulative.

“Oh baby, there’s been a ton of robberies around that area. Let’s just go riding then we can go see that movie you been talking about.”

“Sweetheart, I love how precious you are, but I’m really busy right now. How about I swing by after work with some treats I already had picked out for you.”

His true nature would come out eventually. His vulnerability would show more, but by then his sweet little partner would be so loving and understanding.

They would comfort his nightmares and rub his aching muscles.

It would be 1.5 to 2 years into dating before he would reveal he’s Red Hood.

The fucked up one is getting toxic Jason.

This pairing probably met at a bar/party, and their relationship started out as a casual friends with benefits.

The two would become closer faster than he would with a sweet one, but oh my god, y’all fight for your lives.

Arguments are usually loud and heard throughout the apartment building before they would either screw iy out or have to separate.

Jason would eventually return with either dinner or a gift to apologize. He learnt that from his daddy Brucie.

Unless that man is down bad, in love, he ain’t telling y’all anything.

Anytime he gets asked about where he’s going to at night,

“It’s none of your business.”

“Work, don’t worry I’ll tell her you asked.”

“You know I’m busy.”

Don’t worry, the longer you two stay together, he sweeter he becomes.

Our toxic king will get better and less toxic.

It takes him to the moment he realizes that you really aren’t gonna leave him and that you love his fucked up ass, for him to tell you he’s the Red Hood.

+++++++++++

AN: That’s all I got for right now. Let me know if you want an Arkham Knight version or if I need to calm down with our Toxic King.

+++++++++++

[deathmetalangel]

HARDLY SEEMS FAIR

robby keene x fem! reader

warnings: "casual" relationship", swearing, arguments, crying, heavily ldr coded, implied hookups, slut shaming, cheating, angsty

“in what world is that fair robby?"

oke so this is kinda a retconnned chapter from my wattpad book that i'm just extending and making more ambigious instead of clearly x oc. i hope y'all like it tho. i am sorry i have been gone for so long :(

Y/n plays with the ends of Robby's hair. He was laying with his head in her lap while they just relaxed in her room. It was calm, domestic. A small and very rare moment for just the two of them. No outside force would intrude and break their safe haven. There was no what if's that lingered in the air. Nor past resentments that hung over them like an ominous cloud determined to damper their moods. 

It was just Y/n and Robby. And that's all they'll ever be. No labels. She figured that much after the last time she'd brought it up. But she's become so full of him she can't even bring herself to care. She'd rather have what they have now, whatever it may be with him. Rather than risking losing him, and the routine she's started to build around him. 

She hums softly. Her mind far off. "Y/n?" She hymns in acknowledgement without turning her head. "Something happened this weekend."

He was lying. This had been going on for weeks. He had been having doubts for weeks. He'd been seeing her for weeks. "What happened? Another karate fight?" She wasn't the girl who got heartbroken. She was never the second choice. She got what she wanted. And she wanted him, however she could have him.

"I kissed Sam Larusso."

Y/n freezes. Her body betraying her as she tenses up. She has no right, she knows that. They were 'casual'. Just her and Robby. Non-commital.

"I mean big deal right? We were drunk anyways. Just felt bad not telling you. I know were not dating so it's really not your business, but don't worry about it. I mean we've fucked so often what does a kiss even mean?"

A kiss. To her it meant everything. An act of intimacy that they rarley ever shared. So innocent, so pure.

"Get out of my room Robby." Y/n mumbles, her voice above a whisper. The teen sits up from her lap and looks at her incredalously. He was only telling her to keep her in the loop. She didnt have the right to be mad. So why was she making a big deal about this?

"What?"

"You heard me. Get the fuck out of my room Keene."

He furrows his brows in a toxic coctail of anger and confusion. "Why? You can't get pissed at me for this Y/n. We aren't fucking dating. Don't get all aggro on me like you're some psycho girlfriend when you're a friend with benefits at best."

Y/n stands up and pushes the boy out of her room. "Get the fuck out of here Robby! If it didn't mean anything why don't you go fuck her then? Go whine about your mommy issues and daddy issues to her and leave me the hell alone."

"You have some nerve you know that right? Don't act all high and mighty now. You're a whore. Why the hell would I ever actually take you seriously when I can get everything I want without the label or work. You're easy, I could never do that shit with Sam."

Her breath was stuck in her throat as the boy she truly thought cared began to berate her as if she was a random person on the street. The boy she suffered for. The boy that was really never her's to keep. Y/n forces herself to wipe her anrgy tears and push Robby once again.

Y/n's hands were shaky, she desprately wanted to cry. To scream. To give in and give him the satisfaction of getting to her. "Oh so you can come over whenever you want, make me listen to your shitty life, and basically force yourself into my own life, but all that means nothing right? Well guess what Kenne. You kissed her, and she still doesn't want you!" She presses her finger into his chest while her voice level rises. "That same girl is still with Miguel. So just because you wanna jump ship and 'upgrade' doesn't mean she wants anything to do with you. Face it babe, you're just white trash."

"Shut the fuck up Y/n." Robby practically spits back.

"Oh, so you can disrespect me and belittle me in my own fucking room, but when its you its a problem? Grow up Robby. You're a man baby and a hypocrite. In what world is that fair Robby? Maybe in your little made up fantasy where Sam picks you and you leave me for dead. So go stay there. Cause you're sure as hell not welcome here."

Y/n throws everything he's given her at him. Every last peice a memory they shared together. Posters, drawings, braclets, anything that adorned her room. All of it thrown to him and crashing down like victims of a violent storm. Tears streamed down her face as he backed up to her door.

She opens the door for him and grabs his sweater and keys before shoving it in his chest. The boy watches her dumbfounded.

"Stay away from me Robby. Go back to some other slut that can put up with your baggage and shitty attitude for one night stand status. Because I'm done."

He looks at her, but there wasn't the girl he knew looking back at him. Not with how she glared, not with how she stood, and not with how she felt. Her eyes, the e/c irises reflected love, now they were dark. Harbors for her contempt. The grimace on her face was unforgettable. Especially as the last thing he seen before she slammed her door on his face.

Robby swallows the spit in his mouth, a hard lump of guilt not wanting to go down. He didn't think any of this would happen. He wanted her to care, but he didn't want to fight. His temper, his father's god forsaken temper, and his own damned ego.

He wanted what he had with her, with Sam. The girl next door with a rich family and big house. Like something out of a book. Not the girl that did whatever he said for the sake of making him happy. He really did want to just abandon her, didn't he? After everything.

Choking back his frustrations the boy marches down her stairs and lets himself out. He liked what he had with her, but he wouldn't fight for her. Guys only did that for the girl they want.

[vixstarria]

Communication

Surprise surprise, they're no good at it.

This is a continuation of my in-game bardlock series, seeing as I left a large gap in it between an intimate and emotional scene and a whole bunch of unhinged fucking. Sorry about that.

Takes place after Intimacy but can be read as a stand-alone!

Read on AO3

Astarion x named f!Tav

Early Act 3. It has been nice, but it's time they actually figured out what it is they're doing and what comes next.

Hurt/comfort, some fluff and a drop of humour (I am me after all) if you squint, love, angst

TW: some very casual violence and murder

Approximately 3.9k words. 

“Well?” A very giddy Astarion had appeared behind Asmodea. “Let’s go!” 

The party had finally reached the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate and were setting up camp near Rivington, after a brief excursion in the area. 

“Go where?” she asked.

“Anywhere! I haven’t seen these streets in sunlight in two centuries.” 

“Now..?”

The city was flooded with refugees. Some child whose mother was definitely not coming for her had seemingly declared herself adopted by the group. There was a towering pile of corpses just outside one of the nearby gates. A circus was in town.

It was nice to finally be back in civilisation.

“Yes, now! Forget the bloody tent, maybe we’ll find an inn to sleep in for a change.”

Nothing had been arranged, set up or planned yet. They had only the vaguest notion of where they were going.

“Sure, a walk sounds lovely right now,” shrugged Asmodea.

It very quickly became obvious that finding an inn would be nigh on impossible. The streets were crowded with refugees, frantic citizens and all those who would either try to keep them in order or prey upon them.

“Are we going anywhere in particular, or are we just... going?” Asmodea asked, trying to make her way through the throng. She had never seen Baldur’s Gate this busy before. 

“There is something I’d like to show you,” answered Astarion. “Some place, to be exact. It’s- hey!”

He realised that he was talking to no one, as they had been separated by a group of dwarves pushing their way through between them. Asmodea smiled at him over their heads, raising her arms in an open-palmed gesture of defeat and resignation.

“Can’t you keep up?” Astarion sighed, rolling his eyes, and reached for her, taking her hand and linking his fingers through hers.

This… This was new, particularly in public, and Asmodea bit her lip, fighting not to smile, as he guided her after him. 

Astarion glanced back over his shoulder at her, to see her grinning. 

“Oh shut up,” he huffed, before spilling into a smile too, despite himself, and drawing her close to kiss her.

“Half-elven whore,” a nearby elven woman muttered to her companion in elvish, tsking in distaste at the sight. Either she did not expect to be heard or understood, or simply did not care.

Astarion turned towards the woman, with a glower, but before he could retaliate with his own snide remark, Asmodea told the elven woman to go fuck herself with a splintered broom, in perfect elvish, and pulled Astarion further down the street before the woman thought of anything else to say.

“Such... delightful use of the True Tongue, dear.” Astarion seemed in equal parts impressed and taken aback. “Don't tell me you’ve been holding out on me this whole time..?”

“Oh, no, I only know a little bit,” laughed Asmodea. 

“Do indulge me.” 

“No, it’s really hardly anything,” she shook her head. “I can count, exchange pleasantries and profanities, know a few songs I can’t translate, and a few odd phrases.” 

“Such as?” 

“I can scream for help in elvish, for one,” she offered. 

“Why would you need to scream for help in elvish..?” 

“Men are more likely to come running if they think it’s a little elven maiden they’re rescuing,” she explained with a sigh. 

Astarion mulled that over with a frown for a bit. 

“I’ll have to take your word for that... What else? And for hells’ sake, just say something, I enjoyed hearing it.” 

She said the first phrase that came to mind.  

Astarion stopped dead in his tracks, with what Asmodea knew to be the expression he held when he was doing his best to keep his face straight.  

“So let’s start with what you think you just said.” 

“...Shit. ...Uhh.” Asmodea gave Astarion a sheepish look. “‘My small children have had nothing to eat for days.’?” 

“Darling,” he said, cupping her cheeks, trying not to laugh. “My love. That’s not quite it... Now, how many people do you think you’ve told you’ve ‘eaten nothing but small children for days’..?” 

“Ah... That explains the reactions,” Asmodea said thoughtfully. 

“Horror?” Astarion finally snickered.

“Usually laughter... I just figured most elves were assholes.” 

Eventually Astarion brought them onto a rooftop that offered an impressive view of the city and surrounding regions.

“It’s so strange to be here in daylight,” he murmured. “This was one of my spots,” he said, turning to Asmodea. “I used to come here at the start of my evenings, alone, and just… enjoy the peace and quiet for a while.” Astarion took a pensive look around. “Admittedly, the tiles weren’t as hot at night, and all the bird shit wasn’t as prominent.” 

They found a place to sit down.

“I thought you would try to get your job done as quickly as possible,” said Asmodea.

“There had to be a certain balance to it.” Astarion shook his head. “Start prowling too early, and the potential targets wouldn’t be ripe for the picking yet. And even if I managed to get someone back to the manor early on in the evening, it would only mean I would have to ‘entertain’ them longer.” He shut his eyes and leaned back against a chimney. “It was better to take some precious solitary repose, when I could.”

“Do you think you might have taken me back to Cazador if you’d met me back then?” Asmodea asked quietly.

Astarion opened his eyes and frowned at the sudden question. 

“Not if I’d ever seen you perform, no,” he deliberated. “I never went for the bards. They were almost my co-conspirators, though they didn’t know it. I couldn’t waste them.” He paused before continuing. “But otherwise, if I’d just bumped into you at a Tavern… Probably, yes. A pretty, reckless stray… You would have been perfect. …Would you have followed?” He asked, glancing at her.

“Probably,” she replied, staring off into the distance.

They sat in silence until Astarion broke it with a question.

“Will you stay with me when all this is over?” 

Just the sheer amount of effort he put into trying to make that question sound casual spoke volumes. 

It caught her off guard. They’d spent many evenings in his tent lazily basking in vague fantasies about an ‘after’, usually concentrating on the idea of being able to stay in bed all day, or the concept of their hair and fingernails being free of dried blood and entrails for a change. They’d never actually discussed any realistic nuance of this ‘after’. Or what it might look like, other than what it wouldn’t look like. 

“Are you certain you want to take Cazador’s place in the ritual..?” she asked, carefully. 

“Why shouldn’t I?” Astarion immediately sounded defensive. 

“You don’t even know what it entails or means, not really...” 

“It means having everything I’ve been missing the past two centuries, what else is there to know?” He scoffed. “...You haven’t answered my question,” he said after a pause. 

She said nothing for a while, looking down at her fingernails. 

“Stay and do what..?” 

“Anything!” he exclaimed. “Anything you want. We could do anything. Do you have any idea what I will be capable of? Of the power I will hold. The influence.”

“Yes, yes, legions of wolves, turning into mist,” she recited. “What else… Commanding ghouls, I think?” She threw her head back, looking at the sky. “I’m not sure why you would need to do any of that, though.”

“Unimaginable power, and you mock it…” Astarion said indignantly. “I suppose you would rather go frolic in the woods with Halsin..? …Oh don’t look so shocked, I’ve seen how he looks at you. Sleeping in the dirt, living off the land. Is that what would make you happy?” 

“He looks at you the same way! And must you jump to extremes?” She let out an exasperated sigh. “Even if I were interested in Halsin, there is ample space between sleeping in the dirt and sleeping in that gothic monstrosity, in which I might find myself happy.” 

They sat in silence for a while. 

“I don’t think you should go through with it,” she said, finally. “Something about it just doesn’t sit right.” 

Astarion looked at her with an unreadable expression and didn’t say anything. She continued. 

“I know enough stories - and before you roll your eyes at me, there is usually a grain of truth to them – and I’ve read between the lines of enough history texts, to know there is no such thing as a jolly vampire lord that just has a grand ol’ time carousing in their castle. It’s always centred on cruelty, misery and violence.” 

“I suppose you know plenty of stories of jolly vampire spawn,” he spat. 

“Some, as a matter of fact. They usually revolve around romance and redemption.” She sighed and continued, as he let out a bitter laugh. “I’ve never heard of any demonic deals that ended in anything that wasn’t disastrous, either. The point is, nothing that involves blood or soul sacrifice has ever made anyone happy.” She looked in the direction of Cazador’s palace. “We should kill Cazador, burn it all to the ground and dance on the ashes. I will be by your side. And yes, I want to stay with you. Of course I do.” 

“For how long?” Astarion asked quietly, after a pause. 

“...What?” 

“How long will you stay by my side? You have another... 100 years, 150 at best? I can’t offer any solutions to that as a spawn.” 

She blinked, realisation dawning in her eyes.

“...Astarion Ancunin, did you just say you want to spend the rest of eternity with me?” 

“Oh don’t you bloody dare turn this into a joke,” he bristled. “Just for once.”

“Not a joke, but…” She paused and gave her head a brisk shake, as if to snap herself out of a daze. “Just so we’re absolutely clear, what are you saying?”

“Isn’t it obvious..?” The grin that had crept habitually onto Astarion’s face felt like a suffocating mask. She only stared back into his eyes, unblinking, waiting for him to continue. “I could turn you. Grant you an eternity.” ‘With me’, he wanted to add, but the look in her eyes made the words die on his tongue.

None of this was going the way Astarion had expected. Not that he had planned any of this… Still, he’d made certain assumptions. He’d anticipated the conversation and day would flow somewhere along the following lines: re-affirm his plans for Cazador. Exchange words of undying love and devotion. Maybe, maybe make love to her again, later, in celebration. Instead everything was slipping like fine sand through his fingers. Words simply wouldn’t come out of his mouth. Everything he thought he might say suddenly felt pathetic.

“Turn me? To become one of your spawn?” Astarion opened his mouth to speak, but she talked over him. “Two centuries as something you say is less than a slave, a puppet, and you would so easily offer the same fate to me..?”

“First of all,” he sputtered, “I don’t know why you immediately assumed there would be others. Secondly,” he continued, slowing down, “there is another way, or so I’ve read. You wouldn’t be a mere spawn, but a-” Astarion winced, cutting himself off. “Never mind,” he said, shaking his head. This was rapidly spinning further and further out of his control. “I thought you trusted me?” he asked instead.

“It’s not about trust,” she said. “If you had the choice between a hundred years of absolute freedom or being enthralled to someone for eternity - doesn’t matter who - me, Gale, your long-lost grandmother, anyone! What would you choose?”

“I would never compel you,” said Astarion, his voice tinged with a hint of pleading.

“That’s not the point,” she said, looking away, running her hand through and tugging at her hair. “Let’s just head back. We still need to set up before it gets dark, and I promised Karlach we would visit that bloody circus…”

Something inside Astarion shattered and spilled, ice-cold, over his heart as she got up and walked away. 

Not even an hour had passed since some of the happiest moments he’s had in centuries.

They walked back in silence. 

Eventually they came upon an outpost of Flaming Fists and steel watchers, who had appeared on the road they had taken into the city. They were apprehending everyone trying to pass through, whether they were leaving or entering. 

“Let’s try a side street,” offered Astarion. 

They found and made their way through a narrow alleyway. It was empty. Suspiciously empty, in fact - no children running through, no one out for a quick smoke, no drunks pissing on the walls.

Sure enough, once they were halfway through, three goons intercepted their way, stepping out of a doorway. Two humans and an enormous half-orc wide enough to block out most of the passage. 

“Alley toll.” One of the thugs flashed a malicious grin, eyeing Asmodea up and down. “Better pay up, doll.” Three more jeering hoodlums appeared behind them as he spoke, armed with crude but lethal weapons. 

“Attempting to detain a Council battlemage on duty? Bold but stupid,” she said gravely. “Hand over your profits and Lord Gortash won’t learn of your little enterprise. This is your only warning.” 

Trying to bluff and deceive her way through, per usual. Was there even a Council anymore? Did it employ mages? No matter. Whether due to the fact that she and Astarion had decided to wander the streets of the city in civilian clothes, without armour, or simply because the lust for money and violence had gotten the better of the would-be muggers, they paid her attempt no heed. 

The leader laughed.

“Or, how about we have some fun with you, and your Lord Gortash can come and collect your body from the river once we’re done with it?”

Astarion’s blood boiled.

He reached for his daggers, thoughts racing. Why in the hells had they come here barely armed..? They were surrounded, but perhaps if she blasted the three in front of them they might run through..? But they were probably too close for that… Could she misty step behind them and get away? His undead body would most likely survive whatever came, even with the tadpole. 

“Take the ones behind,” Asmodea snapped, and Astarion followed her lead, as he had grown used to, silently praying to no particular deity that she knew what she was doing. 

He ducked as one of the goons bellowed and swung a sword at him, dodging the blow to come up next to his attacker, burying a dagger between his ribs and another in his guts, for good measure. At least the alley was too narrow for all of the bandits to come in on them at once. Behind him, Asmodea spat some incantation that he wasn’t familiar with.

The next lout came at him, only to stop short, as Astarion scrounged up his meagre magical abilities to hurl a firebolt at his face, making the man yelp and grind to a halt in shock and pain. Astarion’s dagger followed through his eye socket shortly thereafter. 

The entire altercation with the two thugs took mere seconds. Another controlled shout from Asmodea followed behind him.

The last of the muggers on Astarion’s side backed away, looking at the scene unfolding behind Astarion with a horrified expression, before breaking into a run and disappearing. 

Astarion turned back to witness Asmodea standing with her arms crossed, looking unaffected, just as the half-orc who had been behind the group’s leader pulled his sword back out from the leader’s stomach, having impaled him from behind.

Asmodea barked another command as the leader collapsed, and the half-orc slammed the head of his other cohort, who hadn’t understood what was happening yet, against a wall, with a resounding crunch. 

A domination spell. 

Astarion felt nauseous. If his body had been capable of producing bile, it would have crept up at the back of his throat. For once, the smell of freshly spilled blood all around them was repulsive to him.

 “Kneel,” Asmodea commanded, calmly. The half-orc’s body immediately dropped to its knees, with a thud that spoke of damaged kneecaps.

“I’m running out of time. Do you need him?” She stepped over the body of the group’s dying ex-leader and walked around the half-orc, to stand behind him. 

Disgust and revulsion continued to claw at Astarion’s insides. 

“…What?”

The half-orc’s eyes were void of any emotion. A small mercy.

“Blood. Do you want his blood, before I spill it?” she said nonchalantly.

“…No,” he swallowed. Not like this…

He watched as she slit his throat, carefully standing behind him to avoid blood spraying over herself. Comprehension returned to the man’s eyes just as he made his last gurgling sounds, before stilling forever. 

“That was despicable,” Astarion hissed, finally breaking his gaze away from the body. “Compulsion? Really?!”

She gave him an incredulous look, momentarily speechless.

“This is what I do!” she exclaimed. “This is how I protect myself. You know this! What the fuck did you expect - that I would set off a fireball in an alley?! Or make one of them have a fit of giggles?!”

“You didn’t need to do anything, I could have handled all of them,” he countered.

“Oh, stand behind you like a meek little lamb?” She scoffed. “While neither of us are even wearing armour, and they’re on both sides? Don’t be ridiculous.” She crouched to wipe her dagger on the dead man’s clothes. “What does it matter, anyway,” she said, offhanded. “Dead is dead - who cares how they got there?” 

“It was just like Cazador all over again,” Astarion said, bitterly. “Watching my siblings torture each other, for his amusement, waiting for it to be my turn to be compelled.”

She stilled as she crouched, not looking up at him. 

“You fucking hypocrite,” she said, finally, rising. 

“What in the hells are you talking about?” he grimaced.

“Comparing me to Cazador, when you’re planning to take his very place.”

“How dare you?” Astarion felt the last of his composure leaving him. “I am nothing like Cazador, and I never will be,” he growled.

“No?” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re already thinking of your own spawn. Maybe you would keep your word and not compel me, but you would be curious. All that power that you’ve been wishing was yours for 200 years...” She gesticulated, tilting her head. “First just one teensy little slave - someone who’s wronged you, maybe, someone who deserves to bear your ire. Then, perhaps someone convenient, in a place of power. Someone like what you would have been, had Cazador not botched your death so bad that it became public. Then another. And another. And what will you do with them once you have them? Take them for midnight picnics and host slumber parties?” 

She spat on the ground. 

“I’m going back to camp.”

She stormed off, fuming, exiting the alleyway and mixing into the crowd. Astarion followed at a distance, discreetly wiping the blood that had landed on his hands on the shirt of a random passerby that stumbled out in front of him. He gritted his teeth, watching her.

It had taken every last bit of his self-control to not snap back at her during her little tirade. 

He wanted to stalk off in the opposite direction, but frankly all his things were at the campsite, and he still needed the group’s help, both with Cazador and the tadpole. And he couldn’t discount something else happening to her on the way back. 

No, none of this was what he thought would end up happening today. Was this the end..?

It didn’t matter, he thought. Let her be stubborn. Let her accuse him of gods know what. He would do what he had set out to do. Hells, even if she changed her mind later - it would be too late. Let her live out her “hundred years of freedom” in regret.

And how fucking dare she?! Insinuating that he was or could ever be anything like Cazador. After all he had given her. His trust. His love. He didn’t have anything else. Not as a spawn, anyway.

But perhaps she would change her mind, after she gave his proposal more thought..? He could talk her into it, couldn’t he? He’s talked so many people into doing exactly what he wanted them to do…

There was no point in anything otherwise. It was all for her. All he wanted for himself was revenge. Freedom. Safety. But all the power in the world was meaningless if he couldn’t share it with her.

Astarion winced at the thought, hating that it even crossed his mind. If only he could claw it out of his brain and smash it against the cobbles beneath his feet. How much simpler life would be.

He would not grovel. He would not apologise. He would not change his mind. And he would rather die, again, than be caught running after her like a dog. 

Astarion cursed, slipped into the shadows and turned invisible, breaking into a sprint. He wouldn’t be able to replicate the trick for a while now, if the need arose, but he couldn’t care less. 

He raced up sets of stairs, speeding through a terrace, dodging the patrons of whatever establishment it was he was going through, and leaped, unseen, onto the next building’s, until he was ahead of her, descending back onto the ground and losing his invisibility around the corner from the main street, stepping out just in front of her. 

He caught a glimpse of her scowling and furiously blinking away tears just before she crashed into his chest with a light gasp, as he wrapped his arms around her. She was stiff and rigid, but at least she didn’t try to push him away. Still, a part of him was screaming that it was already too late.

“I don’t want you to have to commit those atrocities when you’re with me,” Astarion murmured into her hair, holding her close.

“You’d rather commit them yourself?” she retorted, her voice weak.

“I don’t want to,” he said quietly, as she seemed to become more malleable, and sank into his embrace, slowly wrapping her own arms around his back. “But I will if I have to. For you.”

“That makes two of us, I guess,” she managed, sounding choked up. 

Astarion took a deep breath, relieved. Mine… Still mine… He thought to himself, touching his forehead against hers and stroking her cheek. Someone in the street heckled them, yelling something about getting a room.

“I already don’t have much to offer, beyond all my burdens,” he whispered. She looked up at him, eyes glistening. She tried to protest, but he pressed a finger to her lips. “I want to do what I can, for you. For us. What good am I if I can’t even keep you safe?”

He pressed his lips against her forehead as she hugged him tighter. He had no idea whether he had convinced her of anything, or if she simply didn’t have the will to argue anymore, but for now it didn’t matter.

“I will love you no matter what,” she breathed.

Another jeer followed from the crowd, and someone cursed at them to get out of the way.

“A legion of wolves sounds tempting right about now,” she added, as he smiled.

“Do you still want to get Karlach and go to that circus?” he asked.

“Fuck the circus,” she mumbled into his shirt. “But I guess we should.”

They made their way back to the camp, fingers interlocked again. The silence that stretched once more almost felt comfortable this time.

~~~~~

Thanks for reading!

This is the last in-game part of the series for now (aside from some smut - see below). If you want to continue reading about my Tav and Astarion, go ahead and check out Bloodbang Chronicles which takes place 5 years after the end of the game.

Series master list

Next in in-game series - A night at the inn (branches off into smut)

AO3

~~~~~

Tag list:

@littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny

@spunky-89 @acourtofpenandpaper @yoonshope @lariatbunny @whiskeyskin

@asterordinary @wingsy-keeper-of-songs @spacebarbarianweird @brabblesblog @littlejuicebox

@icybluepenguin @snowfolly @ayselluna @mj-bites @bardic-inspo

[ventique18]

Please refrain from grabbing my art and redistributing them in your accounts, because it appears as if you made them. Reblogs are here for a reason: because they link back to the artist and give them the credit they deserve. Please support us by reblogging our art or sharing by directly giving access to the original posts we make!

Some other personal thoughts:

I'm only uploading my stuff on Tumblr and Reddit because twst is very personal for me. I don't want the stuff I make for this particular fandom to be taken out of context and given new meanings, like what happens when people see them on mainstream platforms like Twitter. It's happened to me on Genshin and other otome games I've made stuff for; with my art being used for music videos on TikTok, my casual intimacy sketches used for horny thirst traps instead of the comfortable romance they're meant to be, dialogues in heartfelt comics are even changed for some reason, and other uses I've never consented to. I've learned to ignore these and accepted them as beyond my control at this point. But for twst, I'd have wanted to be as quiet as possible as it's a piece of my personal life that's most precious to me at the moment.

Since the start of twst en, Tumblr has become a sort of the peaceful home I turn to after a hectic day. Here I can scream about my interests as loudly as I can, without people looking at me weird for it and telling me to act like the proper lady I should be. This place is where my selfish heart is; a place where my problems are nonexistent, where I don't constantly have to divide myself between people who need me; where I don't have to be the reliable sister, the dutiful daughter, the caring lover, the diligent student, or the obedient worker. I'm just me.

But it looks like I can't keep it idealistically "private" within a small circle of like-minded people anymore. Recently there's been multiple cases of people redistributing my works here and there because "they found it on pinterest", it's at the top of google search, or some such. I'm actually not angry because as I've said, it's out of my control, but it's looking like I need to stretch myself again and start posting in other platforms just to maintain a direct link between myself and my works. I don't want others to receive praise for my hard work. I want to have the ability to contest an artwork's message when it's being manipulated to suit other's interests.

This is just a small rant, but it's really very personal to me. My little notes about Malleus, my heartful interest, are important to me. Thank you so much for listening and I hope you continue supporting me by helping me keep a link to my original posts by, like I've said, reblogging. 🫂

[dokk-fukuro]

On Call. Pt.2

Characters: Edgar Allan Poe, Ogai Mori

Minors DNI

TW: SMUT, dirty talk, afab reader, imagine threesome w Poe and himself (whoah...)

۞₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪۞

For Edgar, this is a real test: not to succumb to your charms when you call him and say that you are only wearing his shirt. Poe has no luck in life with his fantasy - unfortunately, it works very well for him. Therefore, in the head, without unnecessary problems and tension, your image appears in the rays of sunlight.

You stand in front of a floor-to-ceiling window, sunlight filtering through a thin curtain illuminates your figure, and even the shirt that should hide your naked body does not cope with its task as it should. Of course, the fabric does not flaunt everything that you have, but even the outlined silhouette is enough for a young man to want to touch you.

“My angel, this is not fair!” Sitting in his chair, Edgar tries his best to keep control of himself and his emotions as you whisper to him how well his cock stretches you, how much you love his big hands squeeze your boobs.

Thinking soberly and sensibly is hardly possible, because the young man returns to your image over and over again in the light of the sun's rays. You are beautiful, too beautiful. Po really wants to be with you now, but he can’t do anything, ‘cause he has urgent business waiting for him. However, his hard cock demanding attention gives a pretty clear hint: Po won't leave his office until he does something about it.

“You know, I would love to lock you up in one of my novels that I would write for you. Just imagine: a house on the coast, an early, sunny morning, you in soft sheets, me pounding into you, and me using your mouth. You're so cute when you're on your knees in front of me, trying to take my cock all the way,” Edgar is pleased with himself, knowing how much it provokes you. He clenches his cock in his hand, thrusting into his fist as he hears your waning attempts to embarrass him more. The idea of being at the mercy of him alone is attractive. It sends goosebumps all over your skin as Poe continues, “Your walls are squeezing around me as I circle your clit. You want to scream with pleasure, right? Alas, my angel, will not work. You remember that in this novel you’ll be having your way with me? Your moans and screams are muffled with my cock in your mouth. But it's better if I make you mine once again in reality. What do you say?”

It takes a lot of effort to keep himself under control, but the young man almost copes, feeling his orgasm approaching. And your moans only spur.

“Come on, angel, cum for me,” Po exhales, hearing your moans and wet sounds. You reach your orgasm together. Edgar leans back wearily in his chair and smiles contentedly. “But you don’t think it’s all going to end like this, do you?”

۞₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪۞  

Mori left you early in the morning. As much as he would like to, he is the boss of the Port Mafia, and therefore he has to be in his office more often than in the apartment that you share together. Surprisingly, this man has photos of your beautiful body. He sometimes rewatches them, listening to Alice's resentment that it's not safe for him. “Suddenly someone will see. You're a dumbass, Rintaro! You should not allow even the slightest chance of compromising your personal life!” the man hears, but does not answer. No matter how you look at it, Alice is right. But the temptation to see you in a negligee is too great at times.

And it's not some kind of explicit pornography, no. Photos of your body have an incredible aesthetic that Ogai keeps to every time it comes to your photos.

You call him yourself, you discuss everyday topics, without even touching on the issue of intimacy. Suddenly you casually say “Oh, honey, have you seen my panties? I think I lost them while you undressed me." You didn't actually lose them. And he understands this when, straightening his tie, he settles comfortably in his chair. Your pair of panties is in his trouser pocket. How they got there Mori does not know, but guesses.

"Sweetie, we're not teenagers anymore to do this kind of thing, are we? Leave this entertainment for young people,” the man smiles, but it’s hard for him to deny that your antics aroused excitement in him, as if he were in his early twenties again. In response to this, you retort by saying that it is entertainment for young people to keep photographs of the naked body of their beloved. And your slightly shaky voice attracts attention. "You're not wasting any time, are you? Then let me remind you that I’l punish you for it. My hands will mark your skin, digging into it with my fingers while your wrists are chained to the bed. Why do you think I let you touch yourself?”

His firm voice only turns you on more when Mori reminds you again what a naughty girl you are to decide to touch yourself while he's not around. Yes, you know the rules, but you can't help yourself. You love this man way too much in every way.

“But, if you don’t want to be punished, you need to do something for me,” Mori says insinuatingly, and you already listen eagerly, wanting to do anything for this man. “Imagine that it is my hand touching you now. Imagine the warmth of my body next to you. Be my obedient girl and cum for me when I tell you to.”

Hearing you moan and not being able to touch you is like torture. However, Ogai is a strong person who can keep his desires under control, unlike you, who loves his touch to the point of trembling fingers.

You spread your wetness over your pussy, stroke it with your fingers, rub your clit. The second hand is squeezing your boob, playing with the nipple. As you slide your fingers inside, you let out a moan of disappointment. It's not Mori's fingers that fill you up so well, but your walls tighten as the man whispers to you:

“Come on, sweetie. You’re my good girl. You take my cock so well inside you. You can't imagine how nice it is inside you, how wet and warm” in response to your pleas to let you cum, Mori clicks his tongue. “No, not yet. You promised to be a good girl, remember? That's right, and... now I have to gonow, wait for the evening and don't try to touch yourself. I’ll find out it.”

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

Nightmares

Just absolutely wholesome hurt/comfort fluff. I just needed something that made me feel gooey inside. It's only very vaguely suggestive, in the way that very casual intimacy is. It's not NSFW by any means.

In which Kit, my non MC, seeks comfort from her lover, Sylus.

Hope you enjoy, and please like or reblog if you did. It encourages me to write more💖

---

It's five in the morning.

No, scratch that, six. Kit groans as she realizes another hour has passed without her noticing, tossing and turning in her bed just trying to sleep.

Images pass through her mind, reflections of what she saw in her dreams, things that forced her back to consciousness with a silent scream.

She'd been taught young not to make noise. It only causes more trouble for everyone else.

Still, this is ridiculous.

She gives up around seven AM. Her exhausted brain forces her to go to the nuclear option, and she slips out of bed, grabbing Faust and bringing the crow plushie with her.

Sylus's bedroom is dark when she pushes open the door. Mephisto isn't at his perch, probably kicked out for making too much noise.

She pads over the plush rug, towards the form underneath the covers. She clears her throat as she approaches.

“It's Kit, Sy.”

The form barely twitches. “I know.” His voice is husky and low, slurred with sleepiness. “C’mere.”

She pulls back the blankets, slipping underneath. Faust is set on the bedside table.

Strong arms wrap around her, pulling her into the crook of Sylus's body. His skin is heavenly warm, bare from head to toe.

The leader of Onychinus doesn't really need to worry about being dressed in bed, of course. Any idiot who tried to attack him like this would die before they even laid eyes on his form.

“You're warm,” he mumbles, seemingly echoing her thoughts. His hand slips under her sleeping shirt, palming at her chest absentmindedly. He just…holds her like that. Without expectation of anything more.

She nods. “I couldn't sleep.”

Lips press to the top of her head, and his hold squeezes in a gentle hug. “Nightmares?”

Placing her arms over his, she hums an affirmation.

His foot slides along her calf, leg pressing in between her thighs and thoroughly tangling the two of them. He is the world's sleepiest octopus, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

“It's okay,” he mumbles. “I'm here, love. I'll keep you safe.”

Her breath catches, heart swelling with a fondness that makes her ache. A simple slip of the tongue, a pet name uttered as he falls back asleep with her in his arms.

It's everything to her.

As she lies caged in his arms, she finds his accidental confession has chased away the darkened wisps of her mind.

Finally, she is safe.

Finally, she sleeps.

[frickinsleepdeprived]

NSFW Tomioka headcanons

Ah yes, I finally gave into temptation... lord forgive me 😅 either way I hope you guys enjoy these headcanons, ya nasties LMAO

***MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. INTERACTING = BLOCKED ACCOUNT***

...

Giyuu is, as we all know, reserved and definitely very quiet

However, when you get him alone, a more tender side comes out in him... Unless he's had a hard day or is severely backed up

So you notice this and you ask him what's wrong he just. Pins you to a wall and looks down at you not menacingly but definitely with a look that says "Tonight you're mine and I'll make sure everyone knows it."

Oh yeah, Giyuu has this thing where he likes to make you scream his name to the point where it's almost embarrassing.

He's definitely a switch. I can see him being dominant when he's pent up and just needs to let it out somehow, but when you guys are just having casual sex or even making love he'll definitely be more on the submissive side. Be it giving into your bidding or just wanting to be taken care of

But obviously if you requested the opposite when having casual sex or making love he's more than happy to do so.

He loves giving oral, just the sight of you squirming and writhing from pleasure as he licks your clit is just top teir to him

But when you're giving him head it's almost as if he just completely melts at your touch, and you can't help but bask in the power it gives you

His favorite position is anything that requires him to stare down at you. Be it missionary, laying on your side, or even during morning sex when you're laying down with him, facing him of course.

He feels like it just adds a lot more intimacy whenever he gets to stare at your face making little moans and mewls of ecstasy.

Usually, he prefers morning sex, especially on rainy mornings when you guys can't train. Besides, it's scientifically proven that an hour of sex equals out to about thirty calories that get burned. So good for you guys!

However another time when he prefers having sex is about a day after he gets home from a mission. He takes the day he gets home to relax with you, then he'll take the next day to get whatever aggression he needs to let out get out of his system.

He doesn't like rough sex, simply because he doesn't want to hurt you in any way.

The only time you guys have rough sex is when you're begging for it. I mean like pleading, begging, mascara running kind of begging. He thinks it's really hot lol

He wouldn't try any kind of potentially dangerous kinks (such as knife play) BUT, I have a sneaking suspicion he's really into those wax candles that are specifically made for BDSM/kinks. He'd obviously be super careful of course, and would ask you about ten times over if you're really sure you want to try.

Overall: Giyuu is really respectful when it comes to sex and frankly he's also super wholesome with it too half the time. But the other half is reserved for special ocassions or when you've been especially naughty

......

I feel.

So fucking WEIRD AFTER THAT-

But n e wayyyyssssss feel free to leave requests for this kind of content, I need to get familiar with it before I post a project I've been working on. I hope you guys enjoyed the first of the NSFW headcanons. Let me know who you want to see next!

***As a reminder, Minors please do NOT interact with this post***

[thebigsl33p]

Last Words of A Shooting Star (2/?)

A/N: Hello!! It's been a while!! This took me ages to start and ages to finish, it will probably need editing but that's alright!! Hope you enjoy!!

Word Count: 4176 Thank you all for the sweet comments and reblogs!! unfortunately, my comments don't work!! but they're appreciated all the same!!! <3

people I thought might appreciate being tagged: (If not, sorry!!!):

@augustwithquills @myanmy @noortsshift @archangelslollipop @vaguekayla @budugu @inlovewithfictionalmen444 @weallhaveadestiny @dreamlandcreations @bookloverfilmoholic @lost-tothe-centuries @myanmy @oliviaewl @summersummoner-pat @augustwithquills @lost-tothe-centuries @wonderland2425 Part 1 - Masterlist -

The rumours around The Sanctuary start instantly. The change in the Shadow Summoner and the Star is clear to see - their little giggles which are closer than before, the casual touches - a hand on a back, a hip, an arm, the occasional kiss to the cheek or playful glance across the mess hall - it’s all noticeable to those who are watching.

And people are watching. It’s endearing in a way; it brings a warmth and a light to the halls which had previously been found in the other young couples. For a little bit, life in The Sanctuary is quiet and good and domestic.

Winter changes that.

Winter brings harsh winds and even harsher journeys. More groups of Grisha begin to arrive at The Sanctuary, with that familiar hollow gaze and blood stained nails, throats screamed raw and clothes muddied and singed at the edges. Winter brings an increase in Royal patrols and Druskelle raids. Winter brings war, and death and hunger: the sudden decline of crops means rations are implemented, and with the ever rising population it suddenly becomes very hard to feed all the Grisha.

Living becomes a team effort - it has to be, or else if one person goes, everyone goes with them.

The Sanctuary, once filled with warmth and sunlight and laughter, becomes quiet and cold, pensive and reflective, serene in a melancholy way. The world, once golden, has been bathed in grey.

They’re laying in bed together one night, an act done in intimacy, but also to preserve warmth, when Aleksander murmurs something against Y/N’s hair. When she hears the muffled noise, she pulls the lower half of her face out from under the patchwork sheets and glances up at him, “What’s that, lapushka?”

“I think we should leave The Sanctuary.” And her heart stops.

He pulls his face out of her hair to repeat, “I think we should leave The Sanctuary. For good. We could go - and make our own life. Away from all this suffering.” he says quietly, and he knows it’s selfish but suddenly he finds himself with something to lose - he refuses to lose her to this life.

Her eyes widen a fraction, her brows drawing together, “…How?” She says softly, “Everything we have is here We can’t just…”

Aleksander leans up onto his elbow to gaze down at her, his eyes almost pleading, “But it wasn’t always. We survived together when we first met, we can do it again until we find a… a home. Please, Zvezda.” And his spare hand came up to cradle her face, “Let me take you away from all this. Please.”

She swallows as she leans into his hand and lets her eyes flutter shut. The Star sighs, “Aleks… You really want to?” She asks hesitantly.

He answers instantly, “Yes. I do. Let me take you somewhere where we’ll be happy, and we’ll always be safe.” He leans his head down to press a kiss to the apple of her cheek, “I promise.”

-

They leave in the early morning, their few belongings packed into bags and placed on the back of a brown speckled horse, which they ungraciously name Madga, after the fairytale. It’s the type of morning where the sun doesn’t rise properly and instead paints the sky a pale blue, a low fog has settled on the grass and the mud has yet to thaw. The only noise for miles around is the brush of the wind and the leaves, and the crows calling down the morning.

The goodbye is hard. Consisting of furrowed brows and slight sniffs, Aleksander and Y/N hug, and shake hands, and kiss cheeks with the people whom they have lived with, survived with, for the past few months. The people who are the same as them, who they have an identity and kinship with - who know their struggles and feel their hardships.

They know they’re leaving together, neither one of them is alone, but it’s still the loss of a community. And a damn painful loss at that.

The final goodbye is said and done, and suddenly their backs are to The Sanctuary and the winding path in front of them is daunting yet manageable. One of his gloved hands is holding the reigns of the horse, the other finds hers. Likewise, one of her hands rests limply above the handle of her sword, tucked neatly into its holder, but the other’s fingers intertwine with his, an unspoken I’ve got you. And then they’re going, leaving their home and their friends and their cause, in hopes of a better life.

With each crunch of their boots the mud begins to melt, the winter morning sun doing very little to soften the blow of the winds which knife them. The horse trots happily behind them, whinnying and huffing sometimes but overall content with the gentle pace they’ve set. It’s the beginning of their journey and their not trying to exhaust themselves on the first day. The first day, which they spend walking among trees and branches which have been stripped by winter, is gentle. They talk idly and laugh occasionally, settling into their choice that they have made. Coming to terms with it.

They spend the first night in, what was once, a field, but was now mostly cold dirt and frozen mud. Aleksander and Y/N set up a small fire just big enough to cook the little meat they had decided to use with a tiny bit of bread, and they place their roll mats side by side, layering their thin blankets with their coats and jackets and curling up beside one another to preserve heat.

They exchange soft kisses and quiet murmurs, compliments and hands slipped under shirts, her fingers tracing over scars, his thumb rubbing circles over her hip. It’s comfort and sweetness in a journey that is unsure and vague, but familiar in its routine. They’ve been here before.

The first village they come upon is uninhabitable. The signs of struggle are clear - the piles of belongings abandoned on the road, the out-of-place burnt husks of homes, sandwiched between pristine cottages and buildings. Makeshift memorials and graves. The entire village buzzes with paranoia and anger, people’s heads whip around too fast and the entire market is full of yelled accusations - so they make a point to avoid it.

It’s clear what’s happened here: any and all Grisha families, travellers, people even so much as suspected of being Grisha, have had their homes and livelihoods stolen from them, their belongings, their toys, photos, trinkets and memories, tossed onto the street like rubbish. As they pass both Y/N and Aleksander keep their heads down with the quiet knowledge that, hopefully, those people had a peaceful end.

The Star and the Shadow Summoner pass through the village quickly, hiding any and all marks of being, or being associated with, Grisha - both their Kefta’s hidden by large coats and layers for warmth. They get a few odd looks but nothing that’s out of the ordinary for travellers. They pass through with pits in their stomachs and tightly clutched hands.

Their journey is long and never easy. Winter only gets harsher, only seems to punish them. There are moments where leaving the Sanctuary feels like a mistake - cold nights with only one another for comfort where they miss the food and the beds, and the warmth of a proper fire or the food-hall.

And it’s hard with both the Druskelle and the King’s Men suddenly being so much more vigilant. They’re everywhere, around ever village, town, city. Which means their journey is limited to lesser travelled paths and darkness - which isn’t too much of a bother. Aleksander is a Shadow Summoner, and Y/N’s a literal star. So, darkness is something they’re rather familiar with and is hardly a daunting or unwelcomed propsect.

However, an odd tension rises when they pass by another city - this one, ransacked by the King’s Men. And the flyers which litter the town: she manages to catch one under her shoe, and she bends down to pick it up, Aleksander’s brow furrowing, “What do they say?” He asked softly.

Y/N turns it around, her eyes scanning over the paper to read the words. A demand from the King, calling for the arrest of the Shadow Summoner. Her eyes flickered to him, wide and alarmed, “Sasha…”

“…damn.” He muttered, running a hand through his dark hair, “…Y/N, zvezda.” He sighed, taking the pamphlet off her, “…We’ll have to take extra care to avoid towns. C’mon.” And he took her hand, guiding her out of the town and to the path which went around the settlement, a good distance away.

During the journey he’d taken on that brooding look she was so accustomed to, which she recognised as him either being deep in thought, annoyed, or angry. And it seemed to be an odd combination of all three. She let him simmer in it for a bit, until she tapped his hand with her fingers, “Love?”

He glanced towards her, acknowledging her questioning. He simply squeezed her hand softly.

“We should talk about it,” she said gently, “This is a big threat, and we can’t just pretend-”

“I promised you safety.” he muttered, his eyes dark and focused on the path ahead, “I promised you safety and happiness, and just you being with me jeopardises that. Jeopardises you, and I refuse to be the reason that…”

Her brow furrowed softly, her eyes pinned on him as he continued, “I refuse to be the reason that something happens to you, all because you… and…” He swallowed, “You are… so, precious to me. And the idea that you just being around me may put you into danger - if anything happened to you-”

“I know.” She said softly, “Sasha, I know. We’re both hazards to one another.” She acknowledged, “I mean, Saints,” she playfully untucked a strand of her silvery hair from her hood, trying to lighten the mood, “I’m a glaring obstacle,” she weakly joked, “And- not to mention our Keftas. So, yeah, we’re risks to one another. A risk I’m willing to take.”

Aleksander sighed, finally glancing at her, still burdened but slightly relieved. He nodded firmly, his thumb tracing her knuckles.

-

The end of winter brings the husk of a tiny cottage, on the edge of a glade. The trees are sparse and the ground is mulch but there’s a stone structure, half falling apart, the walls slightly toppled and with little proof of previous inhabitants save for an old wooden table and the shell of a bed: just a wooden structure.

They spend the first night there, make a mattress out of their clothes and bags and coats, light a meagre fire in the unused hearth but it’s enough to provide heat. The first night, turns to two nights, then to three, and then a week, and all of a sudden things are… comfortable. Suddenly their belongings find homes - their little trinkets kept on mantles and sides.

By the second week, it’s decided they will stay. And they settle into domesticity. The first action is to fix the bed, and they quickly discover there’s a nearby village, tiny, but enough to purchase produce and other resources. She goes, having teasingly banned him from entering any villages or towns due to the declaration. The declaration which they keep as a slightly playful memento above the fireplace, pinned to the wall and the stones.

Gradually, the seasons change.

It gets warmer, sunnier, days become longer. They fix the walls, make a mattress, they take it in turns to chop firewood and cook, days are filled with joy and ease and love.

It’s a quiet evening, the two of them sat side by side at their dining table as the share intimate memories and stories, Aleksander’s voice low as he recounts the stories she knows on surface level, “…I travelled around a lot as a kid. My mother - well, we’re both Shadow Summoners - She works at The Sanctuary. She meant well when she raised me, I think. Now, she’s just bitter.” he murmured, “We stayed at a Grisha camp…” And the story goes on, as he finally tells her the truth of his childhood.

And his first incident with The Cut.

In return she tells him of her experience as a Star. The years spent above, witnessing human life, longing for that. Of having an unimaginable understanding of human civilisation and development and being entirely unable to partake in it. And the stories which the mortals make of her and her kind, this need to understand and name, to see figures and shapes in the constellations.

They listen to one another’s stories respectively, offering soft smiles and gentle encouragements. They listen to one another’s stories with love.

-

It’s been months since they’ve settled at the homestead, and it’s late summer. The air is thick and warm and comfortable, and they’re working in the field together. She’s hanging up their laundry, while he folds what’s been taken off the line and places it onto a chair they’ve brought outside. The line which they put up together, connecting from the side of the building to the treeline. He’s sitting in the grass as she rinses off and wrings the clothes, shaking them out and putting them out in the sun.

And then suddenly water hits her cheek. And she makes a show of gaping at him, “Oh, you did not.”

He’s got his hand in the bucket, sitting cross legged in the field with a mischievous grin on his handsome face, “And if I did?”

Y/N narrows her eyes at him, and then makes a show of dipping clothes in the bucket, wringing it out, and then shaking it out in his face so the water flicked all over him, “Milaya!” He cried out, as she chuckled at his reaction, “Fine, I suppose I deserve it…” And then suddenly, he pauses.

She’s standing above him, the setting sunlight just behind her head, lighting up her hair like… well, starlight. Spun silver. And she’s laughing, and his heart stops in his chest.

“What?” She laughs, noticing his expression, “What is it?”

Finally, Aleksander shakes his head and returns to folding, an amused quirk at his lips, “Oh, nothing, zvezda.”

She mutters something in return, making another show of huffing as she returned to hanging up the laundry.

“You’re so pretty when you’re annoyed,” he teased, resting his head in his hand.

“Aleks…” She warns, a playful glare in his direction.

“What?” He laughs, leaning back on his hands, “I’m simply stating the truth.”

“You are insufferable.” She huffs.

“You love me.”

“I do.”

And he softens like ice cream on a hot day at her words, his smile shifting from teasing to adoring, dopey and warm, “I love you too, zvezda. Even if you think I’m insufferable.” In return she gives him a smile over her shoulder, finishing up the laundry, “C’mon. We’ll cook together tonight, love.”

“If you insist,” he muses, standing with a soft groan. As they go into the house together, he wraps an arm around her shoulder, “I’m getting old, lapushka.”

“Oh, please,” she playfully scoffed, “You’re barely…” She falters then, her brow furrowing, “…I don’t actually know how human age works.” She admits.

His brow raises a fraction, before he begins to explain to her how human’s - mortals - classify age. Which leads to their evening being full of age-based jabs and him explaining to her the concept of birthdays over stew. It’s easy, and they tumble into bed together that night in fits of giggles and quiet kisses.

It’s home.

They sleep peacefully through the nights beside one another and gradually the searching and persecution begins to die down. Just enough for them to toy with the idea of going out together for the first time in months. Typically, only one of them goes out a time, keeps their head down and focuses on getting whatever they left to get and returning as soon as possible. But things are changing, and Spring always has a certain… ability, to put a haze on life. Especially when you’re in love.

And so, on an early Saturday morning, they set out for the nearest town with the hope that the market will be busy and they can slip right in with all the other travellers and unfamiliars.

When Aleksander and Y/N arrive the market is busy. Thriving. Wonderfully convenient for the two of them to walk hand in hand and to browse things they’ll never buy: various fabrics and jewellery, cheeses and jams and expensive cuts of meat. It’s easy to get swept up in the current of the constantly moving bodies.

“Hey, look at that,” he lets out a soft huff of amusement through his nose as he points out a little stall of baked goods, already taking her hand and dragging her there, “Shall we?”

“Aleks-”

Before she can stop him he’s reaching into his pocket, handing over a number of coins to the vendor and receiving two slices of cake. He nods his thanks before turning to her with a cheeky grin, holding out the slice, “For you, milaya.”

Y/N sighs but takes the cake with a grateful smile, “Thank you.”

Simultaneously both the Star and the Shadow Summoner raise the cake to their lips and nod in agreement that it’s good. And they keep walking, arm in arm and eating their cake.

For a little bit they’re just… normal. He doesn’t have shadows at his fingertips, and she’s not a celestial body. For a moment, as they buy carrots and onions, garlic and cuts of meat, they’re just an average couple without an arrest warrant on their heads. They relish in it, the lack of stares in the busy market, their anxiety doesn’t spike, her hand doesn’t clutch his any harder. It’s sunny, and they’re browsing, and somewhere church bells are ringing, announcing mid-day.

They return home, arms full of produce to ensure good-tasting meals for the next few days. And they don’t suspect a thing.

-

“Milaya,” he says, entering with a panic and already gathering their bare necessities, “We need to go. Now.”

It’s a mild summer evening, she’s sitting at the table when he enters, her brow furrowing. Aleksander’s panicked and tense manner is clear. He had only gone into town for an hour or two, she doesn’t understand what’s changed.

“Sasha,” She stands, discarding whatever she was doing at the table, “Calm down - what’s wrong?” And then a noise from outside, the huff of a horse. “Sasha, why is Madga?- What- What’s happening?” As she watches her lover hurry around their small home, swiping things into two bags.

He doesn’t look up as he hurriedly answers, “We were too careless, Y/N.” She can hear his anger in his tone, “God- I don’t know what we were thinking,” He huffs. And finally pauses and looks up at her, “They’ve found us.”

“Who have?” she urged, rounding the table to stop him, taking him by the arms, “Aleksander, who have?”

His dark eyes, as dark as his shadows, meet hers and he swallows, his hands shaking slightly as he urges them to still, “…The King’s Men.”

“…The King’s Men.” She echoes, her eyes widening before she turns and hisses, “Shit. Shit. Alright, let’s go.” And begins to help him in gathering their belongings, “How? I don’t- we-”

“We were careless.” He says, his voice low as he begins to gather any food they can take with them, “Careless and presumptuous. We got too comfortable.” And it all clicks into place - busy markets and bustling stalls hide more than just Grisha.

“The market,” She mutters, “And then we just- kept going back.”

He glances up and nods, “Yeah,” he sighs, a shaky exhale, “The market. I noticed them there today and… well, they noticed me, Lapushka… we don’t have long, before-”

The sound of hooves on the dry soil outside still both their hearts and their eyes widen. There’s yelling - goading and jesting - laughter echoing through the summer air and causing nausea to well up in the guts of the two lovers.

They both know it’s too late but still Aleksander’s shadows swarm the room in a mass of black and extinguish the candles, she barely has time to see his hands move before they’re plunged into darkness.

The only thing she can hear is their breathing and, guided only by moonlight, her hand slips into his, their mutual fear palpable. She want to whisper to him, to tell him no matter what happens she loves him. She doesn’t. Instead she attempts to swallow her nerves and blocks out the sound of footsteps around the house.

And then a voice, low and teasing and menacing, “We know you’re in there, Grisha scum. And that whore you keep with you.” It earns a round of laughs, “Come out. Or we’ll have to come in.”

Aleksander can feel his heart in his throat. And Y/N’s hand in his. The decision isn’t hard, and he’s quick about it, too quick for her to stop him as his hand slips from hers, and he steps out of the house, moon and firelight flooding in through the door.

She watches him go with words of protest dying on her tongue as he steps out, his hands raised at his side, still and displayed, “I approach peacefully,” His voice low and calm as he steps into view of the King’s Men, “With a message for the king: if he or his men slaughter any more of my Grisha-”

She takes the chance to gather final belongings, her back turned to the door as she listens to the exchange, desperate for any kind of final escape.

Y/N can hear another man’s voice, a low chuckle, “The King wants you back alive…” there’s footsteps, she can see Aleksander’s expression in her mind’s eye: disdain and anger, “…but maybe you resisted, so…” it’s taunting and it turns her stomach.

There’s a sound of piercing clothes and flesh, a low grunt and her heart seizes as her head whips around to the doorway. But it’s too late, and she makes eye contact with a man in a royal uniform, twice her size. She lurches forward for her sword but he grabs her hair and yanks it back. Y/N falls against him, right up to his chest, whereupon the soldier wraps his arms around her neck and torso, keeping her pinned to his body and unable to struggle, his grip tight as he marches her out the house and into Aleksander’s line of sight.

She watches his face pale and fall, “Zvezda…”

“I’m sorry,” is all she can murmur, “I’m sorry…” And there’s an overwhelming fear running through her. This sudden realisation that this is it, her short-lived life as a human brought to an end by their own carelessness and comfort.

Aleksander turns to the man who is obviously the soldier’s leader, “Not her.” He says, “Please, not her, she isn’t apart of this- you don’t need her! I’m begging you-!”

And the soldier laughs, “Our orders were to bring you in. And you alone.”

“If you want our co-operation-”

“Not our orders.” The soldier repeats, and he glances at the other man, the one with his arm tightly around her throat.

It all happens so quickly. His knife is drawn, panic filling her eyes as she mouths the words I love you, a pit settling in both their guts. The blade shines in the twilight of the evening. The moment is slow, the drag of the knife across her throat, her eyes widening as she gargles, and the spilling of blood down her throat. Silvery blood, shiny and metallic, viscous and hot, which shimmers like the ocean in sunlight.

Aleksander can barely feel his hands, his legs, his face, for the pounding of his heart against his ribs, the lump bubbling in his throat. He is silently distraught.

The soldier sneers, “Still have a message for the king?” He taunts, holding his lover’s limp body, still twitching.

It isn’t long before the surrounding world is plunged into an irredeemable darkness.

[stopaskinf]

“I think we can last forever.”

Things Ateez boys remind me of:

Summary: This is the part.2 of my series of “things kpop idols reminds me of”

Genre: Fluff, Ateez hyung line

Word count: 1K

CW: Honestly, there are a few suggestive lines in this, but other than that nothing much. (MDNI on my page in general)

A/N: This one is more casual than my BTS reminders. Honestly don’t know how I feel about this, but hope yall enjoy.🫡

Hongjoong:

🪲Scorpions: It might have to do with the fact that he is canonically a Scorpio, but also the contrasting idea that something so small can be so prickly and deadly when it wants to be. 

🪲To add to that thought: Hongjoong reminds me of bug lollipops. Specifically ones with scorpions, spiders, and beetles. Combining the sweet, childlike flavors and colors of lollipops with the primal fear and disgust people have of bugs screams Hongjoong to me. Maybe it's the deadliness transparent beneath the sugary outside.

🪲Smoke, specifically cigarette smoke. I’m not sure if he smokes in real life or not, but he always gives me the vibe that he smells of nicotine and Jean Paul Gaultier cologne. Imagine he takes a break during an interview and he just has a Marlboro between his fingers that he steps out as the staff calls him back to continue his captain duties. 

🪲Additionally, this is very specific but I feel like he has a tad minty smell to him. Even if he does or doesn’t smoke, I feel like he’s the type to always have gum on him. Type of guy who needs to be prepared for any situation and to calm his nerves.  He also may have an oral fixation

🪲 Chipped nail polish. I feel like he’s been seen with chipped nails before. However, I cannot remember. It’s pretty self-explanatory; his love of queer and androgynous figures combined with being an idol on top of his bad sense of self-care leads to chipped nails. 

Seonghwa: 

🐇Lofi beats: The aesthetic of his Lego building lives is this. Additionally, whenever I see him, I feel like he’s the type who needs something lowkey in a lot of moments. He needs something almost comforting after he finishes his work. 

🐇 Anime endings: The same reasoning applied to Lofi beats applies to this. A constant need for something more soft and sweet. Almost melancholy and quiet when compared to the bright energy of their openings. It’s something to signal that there’s no need to put in more energy because you’ve already completed what you needed to. 

🐇 Polaroids: Another thing that I’m pretty sure has been attached to either him or Ateez. I feel like Seonghwa if given the time, would be good at photography. Polaroid cameras would be his favorite because of their easy portability and the intimacy of it. He can just pull it out any moment and take a beautiful candid shot that he can keep hung up in his room. Something that he took himself and gets to keep. 

🐇 Valentino perfumes- this one is pretty simple. Valentino prides itself on their gender-neutral scents so it makes sense that Seong Hwa gets associated with it. Specifically, the Uomo born in Roma perfume reminds me of him. Genderless, sleek, and subtly powerful. 

🐇 Cute keychains - Seonghwa looks to love cute things. He’s also constantly on the move, so cute keychains seem up his alley. Something small from a lover that he can carry around as a sign of devotion and affection. Something superficially cute but to him holds a silent love story.

Yunho:

🌼 High school crushes - The type of guy you see in class once and you instantly get attracted. He’s tall, sweet, friendly. Everything you could want in a high school boyfriend. He’s a little awkward and uncoordinated, but the small things like walking you to and from your classes and sitting with you at lunch? Makes every flaw unnoticeable. 

🌼 Headphones - He seems like the type who likes to enclose himself. Specifically, with music. The ability to focus and lose himself within the melodies and lyrics refreshes him. Especially when he’s listening to a song that reminds him of his lover.

🌼Anime love interest - He feels like a shoujo ML. The guy who is desired by all, but had by only one. The tall, beautiful man who calmly introspects and throws himself into vulnerability. He is the type of guy who looks at you and says, “I like you way more than you think…” He has the type of love that feels pure, almost everlasting. 

🌼 That one ML manhwa sweater - Y’all know exactly what sweater I’m talking about. This connects to the anime love interest in that he feels too good to be true. The guy who you’ve always dreamed about, but thought was unrealistic. Additionally, whenever I see comfy sweaters, it always reminds me of him. He needs to wear something comfortable to keep himself cozy and soft. Oh, and to make sure you have something to borrow from him. 

🌼Old white sneakers - Yunho feels nostalgic. The type of person who gladly accepts change and challenges because he sees them as a sign of love. To be loved is to be changed. He’ll wear his scars and rough edges with pride, for you shaped him.

Yeosang:

🍄Green - This is mostly due to his crazy form hair and that one SCRUMPTIOUS bouncy shirt. However, it’s also because he reminds me of nature. He has an almost fairy/nymph-like quality. The beautiful face lures you deeper and deeper into the woods, only to trap you within its beautiful prison. You’re both moths to each other’s flame. 

🍄London blue - This color feels elegant, almost regal. It gives the feeling of something encased within time but also out of it. Something that feels freighting and mysterious when it encompasses a house, though that quality makes it even more alluring. 

🍄 Music boxes - Yeosang reminds me of very material but immaterial things. A small dancer frozen in time that only shows their beauty when called upon. Something delicate but sturdy. Beautiful, but skittish. 

🍄 Precious little moments - Another thing that is immaterial and a little silly. Something about those little porcelain figures with their big eyes and warm but stagnant smiles. It’s familiar, friendly, but immovable. 

🍄Faded scraps/scabs - This is different when compared to the rest. They’re little blemishes that tell long-ago stories. You fell on concrete when you were a child, you accidentally cut yourself with a knife, or you fell out of a tree. Moments that brought so much pain that it’s engraved onto you. Something that seemed so harrowing, but now you hardly notice. Unless someone else points it out, of course.

[conostra]

Sexual Abuse in the Golden Age

Berserk’s beginnings make me sad. From the very start, the series was incredible. Great art, a rich world, complex and interesting characters, terrific explorations of motivations and philosophies and relationships and everything you can think of. Even including, despite all the airs around the manga, the intricacies of sexual assault and abuse!

At least, against men.

Casca, Griffith, and Guts all have their lives irrevocably warped by both the threat and pursuance of sexual assault against them in the Golden Age. It goes on to define their various pathologies, influencing how they interact with the world around them. And this is handled with incredible nuance and care, up to and including events like Donovan’s assault on Guts, Griffith selling himself to the Governor, and Casca being sold off by her family to the noble in her town. These events are all pivotal to the development of the characters into those we know and love. But unfortunately, at least in the beginning, this is where the praise ceases. Allow me to expound:

Guts’ entire life, from his literal conception, is drenched in vulgarity and gore. Born and baptized in blood from his mother’s hanging corpse, and rescued by a band of lunatic roaming mercenaries, Guts is far from a stranger to the horrors of the world. Forced to carry a sword for his survival, trained under an uncaring brutal mercenary who gave flashes of approval to a boy desperate to please, who was only truly “fair” to him when paying him for his work of slicing down men twice, thrice or more his age in combat to the death, Guts’ perspective would be warped further still. 

And yet, no matter how warped his perspective could have been, it was not warped enough to handle what fate still had in store. One night, Guts is set upon in his tent, and viciously raped by a member of his own crew. A demon of a man named Donovan violates Guts’ autonomy to the highest order, proclaiming that this was allowed, as Guts’ very independence had been sold out by Gambino, the distorted version of what some would call the only thing resembling a father figure Guts had ever had. 

And this affected Guts in a way that became prominent through the story. He becomes incredibly reclusive and aggressive. Even the lightest of contact from even his hirers, offering extensive gold in exchange for his service on the battlefield, flashes him back to that time and place. Even the lightest allusion to operating under anything other than his own will (or, to some degree, blind allegiance to Gambino) is heresy, and a violation of his autonomy on par with spitting on his face and telling him to wipe it down. This is especially seen in his first interaction with Griffith, where he flat-out asks him upon hearing him speak: 

“Are you a homo?”

And even though he definitely is, it’s almost irrelevant to how Griffith is talking about him. Griffith objectifies Guts here, places him as an item of desire, to own, to wield, and to do as one wishes with. And Guts objects to that to his very core. There is no part of him that does not scream and rail against the very notion.

And in the beginning of his tenure with the Hawks, Pippin of all people is the salt that pours over Guts’ old wounds. While played somewhat casually, Guts still freaks out at Pippin’s casual disregard for his personhood. Whether or not that is Pippin’s goal is meaningless in the face of what it actually does to Guts and how it makes him feel.

Even later on, when Guts has his sexual encounter with Casca, the physicality of the intimacy they partake in flashes him back to that moment with Donovan. It takes him and Casca time to process everything that’s happened to him, for him to finally vent and take at least some of that pain off of himself alone, that allows him and her to finally love each other.

Griffith is not too far from this. Although this life was forced upon Guts, it feels only partially thrust upon Griffith by himself. From the very beginning, his sexuality was paramount to his mission. The fawning of common citizens and women and men and nobility all alike over his body, over his presence, was something he decided he had to exploit in order to do what he thought must be done for him to gain what he knew would one day be his. From his interactions with the Governor, to how he almost leads on Casca, to the entirety of his relationship and the strange power dynamics at play every time he and Guts are alone in a space spilling their guts to each other, everything Griffith plays at is tinged with a man who has, since a boy, been tainted with a nearly-religious worship by zealots of various degrees, including some who have no qualms over tainting the statue they kneel at and pronouncing it to the world as worship. This puts him at odds with Guts from the very beginning, the man he loves, violating his self-sanctity, as this is the way Griffith knows to attain what he desires. 

This plays out further with how he… interacts… with Charlotte after Guts leaves him, and how he treats Casca, uses Casca, throws her back in Guts’ face to get at him. Ownership, dominance, and usage are what Griffith knows. And he knows how Guts feels about Casca. So he tries to, from his perspective, ruin her. The same way Guts was ruined. Honestly, it’s incredible, and would be a great way to handle it- if it didn’t completely strip Casca of her character for the next 300 chapters.

Casca was affected by all these things too. Same as Guts, sold off, but by her actual family. Almost immediately, assaulted by the stranger who now owned her life. Then, a murderer. Then, over the course of the rest of her life, despite becoming one of the most prodigious warriors the very world had ever seen, she was often reduced to the butt of the joke- always laughed and jeered at, not taken seriously by Guts or unfavorably by Griffith. Always caught off guard, always caught weak, or tired, or on her period, always taken advantage of, always on the ground, threatened to be molested, stripped bare for the usage of whatever the army they’re fighting at the time is. Always having her sexuality used as a catalyst for other characters, always used as a damsel to allow another to save the day- her body is a resource pulled at by Miura to cash in on more grandiose moments for the narrative. 

Even in the road to the eclipse, there are at least two separate occasions where Casca is sexually taken advantage of, with soldiers slowly stripping her armor when Guts steps in and earns his title as the hundred-man slayer, and then the Apostle Wyald, leader of the Black Dog Knights, completely strips her bare and literally molests her, only not managing to penetrate because he is murdered by Guts in a stupendous rage.

And then the eclipse happens. There are so many things I can say about what occurred on the Eclipse, but ultimately, it is Casca’s humanity that makes the Eclipse so tragic. Scorned by her infatuation, unable to be saved by her lover, she is finally destroyed the way both of those mentioned prior have been. But this time, there is no growth from this. There is no development. There is no greater story to be told from this for Casca. As incredible as this moment and the development from it are for Guts, there is nothing gained from this for Casca. Her entire arc has simply been to be… what, torn apart for the sake of the boys around her masquerading as conquerors? To be used and abused, ultimately fridged for literal decades, kept around as important but unable to be anything more than arm candy? What happened to Casca is a tragedy, and is great writing as well in full admittance- but with two entire chapters devoted to her violation, a view of her complete degradation from the male gaze, and her complete loss of ability after the fact, it makes me view how she was treated before that with some amount of… anger? Frustration? 

Something. It makes some amount of sense, of course- but if this was her penultimate conclusion, at least for as long as she has remained in this state, I would have appreciated if the other attempts at violating her were treated with the sanctity of Griffith’s and Guts’ encounters, if not even the attempt made at her in her past. You can only have a female character as incredibly skilled & competent as Casca trip herself into a terrible situation and threaten to be raped by the big strong men around her so many times before the singular self-save against the leader of the Blue Whale Ultra Heavy Armored Fierce Assault Annihilation Knight Corp, General Adon Coborlwitz, loses a bit of its luster, no matter how many different variations of the reason you can find.

Ultimately, I’m glad that Miura has other very well written women in the series- after all, even Charlotte is given time to shine, shown as able to play her role and shoot for lofty goals even under the crushing weight of Griffith’s ambition later, and both Schierke and Farnese have great arcs. I just… I’m just glad Miura rectified this later on, all in all.

God damn it lmfao. It was handled so WELL for the boys! and then casca kinda got the "yo isn't this so crazy? she's not a character now btw"