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haselovesriki · 6 months

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ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 there’s nothing like doing nothing with you

bf!ni-ki x gn!reader

wc : 2165 (oops)

synopsis: after a week of stress following your exams, you can finally unwind and relax at home with your boyfriend.

warnings: kissing, skinship, swearing, fake argument, pet names (babe/baby), riki can carry reader, reader goes to school (college/highschool)

★ continue reading ↓

In all true honesty, the past week had fucking sucked.

Like, a lot.

Coming back from school absolutely and utterly drained was not an uncommon occurrence for you, being the overachiever and determined person you were.

Unfortunately, your despair had only amplified, especially after an entire week overflowing with exams after exams and endless studying.

The week had been anything but pleasant. Not a single day was left for you to rest; time overly consumed by either excess studying—consequently led by your perfectionism—, doing the fuckass exams themselves, or simply contemplating your horrible past decisions that landed you in a situation like this. All while being incredibly snappy and pissed at anyone that even dared to speak, look, or be in your presence…. including your horribly sweet and loving boyfriend.

So yeah, the past week had fucking sucked.

Thankfully, Friday eventually came around (despite having felt like a decade of suffering and unbearable psychological pain) accompanied by the sweet and warm promise of finally obtaining a sense of peace and tranquility with no more reasons to worry.

Preferably, by the side of your boyfriend who, unfortunately, had been the main victim of your impulsive and irritable attitude.

Now, finally being here in his presence cuddling in your warm comfortable bed after what felt like a lifetime of anguish, despair, sorrow and utter misery...

Well, you feel pretty damn good.

“I swear to god Riki, don’t leave me alone. It’s cold!” You exclaim dramatically as the boy decides to peel himself away from your clingy touch. He rolls his eyes playfully at your irony.

“Cold? You gotta be kidding me,” He lets out an incredulous scoff as he steps on the bedroom floor, though his mouth doesn’t hesitate to immediately form into an endeared grin as he watches you begin to sulk, before he continues;

“Baby, I’m sorry, but if I didn’t escape your death grip within the next 10 minutes I would’ve died from a heat stroke.” He sneers, but you don’t miss the gentle glint in his eyes and soft tone of voice.

To your over dramatic silent and sullen expression, he sighs defeatedly and turns around, facing his back to you.

“Fine, I’ll carry you on my back if you’re that adamant on me not leaving you alone.” As soon as the tempting offer leaves his mouth, your face immediately breaks into a bright beam and you waste no time to stand on the bed and piggyback onto him, wrapping your arms and legs around his figure.

You place a disgustingly wet smooch onto his cheek, snorting at his immediate recoil to the unexpected wet mark left.

“You’re so cute,” You mutter to him, happily placing your head above his shoulder and watching as he navigates his way to the kitchen while holding you.

“You’re cuter.” You hear him mutter, almost too quietly, nearly going unnoticed by you, but you catch it anyways and can’t help but break into a gentle smile at his shy compliment and kiss him once again on the cheek; this time softer, flowing with adoration.

Eventually, you both make it to the kitchen as he places you on the counter despite your initial objection. He pulls down the hood of your hoodie, placing an aggressive peck onto your forehead while holding your cheeks in his hands before opening the utensil drawer and pulling out two spoons.

You grin as you watch Riki navigate through your kitchen that he’s become all too familiar with, flailing your legs back and forth happily. As he grabs 2 bowls for you both, you think of how glad you are that no one in your family was home tonight to see you stare at him so lovingly, all too mushy and gushy, as they would probably call it. Of course they loved him, a lot, but it was still embarrassing when they could see how utterly down bad you were for the boy.

The boy takes out 2 ice cream flavours from the freezer and walks back to where you sit, scooping a delectable amount of vanilla ice cream into one bowl and cookie dough ice-cream into the other. Placing your bowl of ice cream between your legs propped up on the counter, he grabs his own bowl and shoves a spoonful of the cold, sweet treat into his mouth.

Out of impulse, instead of eating your ice cream, you pat his head, brushing your fingers through his soft yet messy strands of hair. He hums and subconsciously leans into your touch, not noticing your teasing yet warm smile.

The soft moment lasts for a few seconds, before you break the silent shell and ask quizzically, “Why are you having vanilla ice cream?”

“Huh?” He mumbles, snapping back into reality and raising an eyebrow at your question.

“No offense babe, but why the actual fuck would you choose vanilla ice cream over cookie dough.” You answer back, finally taking your own bowl and eating a spoonful before sighing with satisfaction at the taste.

“Well, no offence babe,” He mocks, “But vanilla is literally the best flavour. Why wouldn’t I?” He bites back, before adding;

“Full offence, by the way.”

“Vanilla is fine, at best, but it’s too bland compared to cookie dough.” You respond, rolling your eyes playfully and suppressing a smile that threatens to spill.

“Don’t yuck my yum, jackass,” He says, lips quivering as he holds in a cackle begging to escape. “Vanilla could never be bland. It’s a classic that could never go wrong.. wayyyy better than raw fucking cookie dough!” He exclaims.

“It tastes so much better than you say it does, I promise. Give it a chance, your whole world will transform. Promise!” You answer and place another spoon into your mouth, laughing at his unimpressed expression.

“Fine, let me taste some of yours then—“ Riki says, reaching for the bowl in your hands before you immediately pull away.

“Nuh uh! Get your own!” You exclaim as he lets out airy giggles, your voice muffled by the spoon still in your mouth and holding the bowl high above you so that he can’t reach.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t really thought about his height playing a factor. Which was, albeit, a really dumb move, because he is an absolute giant. Obviously, he would be able to reach the bowl in your grasp. Which is why, before you can even attempt to object, he has absolutely no problem grabbing the bowl from above you.

“Hey! Tha’s unfai—“ You exclaim once again with a voice muffled from the spoon in your mouth. Expecting him to eat from the bowl, you attempt to reach it from him, but to your surprise he places the bowl on the table. Suddenly, your face is barely half an inch away from his when he pulls the spoon out of your mouth and his lips touch yours.

You don’t react for the first few seconds, your lips completely still against his as you try to process what he was doing.

When it finally dawns on you, you can’t help but pull away from him, only to crash your lips back onto him harder. Shyly smiling into the kiss, Riki’s hands that were otherwise holding the bowl come to hold your head in his palm as he deepens the kiss.

His hands, as well as his lips, were cold against your own, due to him (luckily) having more time to indulge in the ice cream. You don’t really mind the numbing cold nonetheless, because a cozy warmth washes over you when you feel his lips on yours.

Your boyfriend detaches himself from the kiss momentarily to nestle himself between your legs and places his hands over your waist, laughing loudly when your lips chase his, wasting no time to crash back.

A content sigh leaves his mouth when you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers grazing at his nape gently and holding him close to you.

A moment like this felt like it couldn’t be broken; time cocooned in the warmth of your shared affection, each kiss a promise.

You gasp when you feel him slightly nibble on your lower lip, a cascade of tingles shooting down your spine when his tongue immediately comes after to ease and swipe against your lip.

Your grip around his shoulders tighten, legs wrapping around him tightly and trapping him as you feel his smile against yours at your clinginess.

Relaxing your shoulders, you tilt your head slightly and start feeling like your body is melting. Your mouths are still somewhat cold from the ice cream, but the warmth of the kiss is scalding from within, warming up to each other’s touch. Suddenly, interrupting the warm silence you both had been able to build, a cold and wet feeling of what seemed to be his tongue shoots way too far into your mouth, almost making you choke as you pull away quickly.

“‘Ki! What the hell was that?” You exclaim, watching as he hunches over in a fit of laughter at your reaction.

“What, don’t you like a little tongue?” He asks between huffs of laughter, holding himself up on the counter edge.

“Not if you shoot that far down my fucking throat! Seriously, were you trying to kill me?” You ask, struggling to contain your own laughter starting to bubble from your throat as you watch him struggle to catch his own breath.

“In my defence, I was just trying to taste your ice cream!” He admits, holding up his two hands and palms outstretched by his head as a sign of self defence.

Dramatically gasping, you gently kick him in the hip, huffing when he yells out an ‘ow!’.

“You kissed me to taste my ice-cream?!” You ask exasperated, before continuing; “Wow, I see how it is, you’re so cold-hearted Riki. I can’t believe I’m dating you.”

You let out a huff, looking away and crossing your arms and exaggeratedly rolling your eyes but not hiding your amused smile.

He coos at this, breaking out into a smile before pinching both your cheeks, peppering your face with brutal kisses all over while muttering small apologies.

“Sorry—“ kiss. “Baby—“ kiss. “Just wanted to—“ kiss. “See what the hype was about.” Finishing his sentence with a final kiss on the tip of your nose, you can’t help but let out an amused exhale.

When he leans in to kiss you on the lips once more, you lean away. He cocks an eyebrow at that, mouth pursing into an unamused expression.

“Not letting you kiss me again after that stunt you pulled.” You state, avoiding his disappointed gaze that you’re sure would make you give in.

“But—“ He tries to object, but you’re quick to shut it down.

“Absolutely not. It’s what you get for using me for ice-cream, and for attempting tongue slaughter.”

You expect him to silently grudge at that, or at least try to argue in his defence. What you don’t expect however, is for him to sweep you off the counter and hold you in his arms, spinning you around in bridal style.

“Wait— let me go!” You exclaim in surprise, flailing your limbs in an attempt to escape his hold.

“Nope! Not until you kiss me,” He yells, eyes crinkling as his mouth forms into his wide boxy smile. Boisterous laughter fills the kitchen as you try to liberate yourself, him running around the house with you in his arms.

Finally escaping from his grasp, you make a run for it, running to the living room.

Jumping on the couches, you try to avoid him as he tries to catch you. The moment is childish, but fond nonetheless as he chases you around.

“C’mon, leave me be!” You beg as you navigate the room while standing on furniture, but he simply shrugs his shoulders with a beam ear to ear, finally reaching you and tackling you down on the couch.

Laughter continues to fill the room as you both attempt to catch your breaths from the house chase. His arms are wrapped around you so as to not let you escape once again, but you don’t really try to leave his touch this time. Finally, after a few minutes of calming down, he smiles at you and you see his eyes flicker to your lips.

You decide to take matters in your own hands and you reach to kiss him gently on the lips, cradling his jaw in your palm as you do so. As you pull away, you watch his face morph into a sheepish grin and a light crimson dusts at his cheeks.

“See? That's better,” You hear him mutter before he decides to nestle his head in the junction of your neck and shoulder, relaxing his limbs over yours.

By now, the ice-cream is long forgotten, but neither of you really mind, now finally in each other’s presence.

So yeah, the week had fucking sucked. But today wasn’t too bad.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

a/n : THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READINGGGGGGGGGEBDJDNFKSNFKENF

this is my first time writing a fic (also just my first time writing something for the fun of it in general) so it’s like… really messy 😭😭😭 wasn’t really sure what i was doing but i promise i’ll try to improve in the near future!

also i barely proofread,,, just slightly skimmed through to make sure it was alright. sorry if there’s typos or anything that doesn’t make sense!

i really really hope you enjoyed :) comments would be appreciated! and i accept any sort of feedback or constructive criticism that could help me improve my writing.

again thank you!!! 💓💓 have a nice day

#haselovesriki #niki x reader #nishimura riki #fluff #riki nishimura x reader #enhypen niki #niki x you #niki x y/n #niki imagines #enhypen riki #riki x reader #riki fluff #enha riki #enhypen fluff #niki fluff #enhypen x reader

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ryuichirou · 2 months

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Noncon hc

Anonymous asked:

Trey with a rape kink is hot lol oops. Luckily for him Riddle is the perfect victim..among others.

Is there anyone else you headcanon has the same/similar kinks? 👀

Anonymous asked:

Who's most likely to rape someone? If u already made a rape fic I wanna see

I can’t believe that I triggered this Pandora box by mentioning Trey’s possible kink in one of the hc lists lol But I am glad I did! Thank you for your asks, Anons.

Of course and as always, it’s as possible for all of these boys to be that bad and also equally possible for them not to be, and for someone who loves darker themes and dub/noncon it’s interesting for me to write about it, because I have to fight the urge to yell ALL OF THEM and call it a day lol But also! I’ll try to think about it (kind of) rationally, so let’s go through the list!

(I’m only writing about the tops this time, not because I don’t think bottoms are incapable of raping, but rather because this particular set of bottoms isn’t, in my opinion. My bias, as always <3)

So yeah, three questions: who has this kink/actively thinks about it; who would actually do it; who has done it.

Ace – not really, I don’t think his mind goes that way at all. He did watch some porn with pretend rape before and thought that it’s kind of stupid and isn’t hot at all, but something did tingle in his brain and he did keep thinking about that one porn for weeks after watching it. Still, normally he wouldn’t do it...

Trey – just thought I’d mention this man so we could point at him and say “shame” once again. He is haunted by his kink. He hadn’t done anything yet though, and he doesn’t think he could. Who knows? It’s always a battle in Trey’s head.

Cater – he does have a little bit of this kink. The power and control aspect speak to him in a very unexpected (for Cater himself) manner. He isn’t as haunted by this kink as Trey, but he does fantasise about it sometimes... If it’s just in his head, it doesn’t hurt anyone, right?

Ruggie – nah, I don’t think he overlaps with this kink in any way shape of form.

Jack – no kink, but his instinct does take over sometimes, so there is always a risk that he could lose control and do something that could be at least described as dubcon. I think the deep shame that he is feeling over this could morph into weird enjoyment though, so maybe he’ll get himself into a Trey situation at some point...

Azul – he doesn’t really think about these things, so while he isn’t aware of it, he does have a kink. He is even more into power and control of it than Cater; in general, Azul is a sucker for destroying someone. But in practice, he would only do it if it’s a part of his twisted convoluted plan. Otherwise, it would just be a waste.

Jade and Floyd – I try not to write about both of them at the same time, but: yup. Both of them have it, both of them would do it, both of them has done it. Sometimes they act together, sometimes they do it separately. But they also don’t consider it as big of a deal as some other boys: in a lot of ways, it’s pretty much their default state...

Kalim – I know we all love darker twists for Kalim, but nah :) Look at him. He doesn’t have this desire to break, ruin and dominate. I wouldn’t call him 100% innocent, but I also don’t think he has either desire or guts to pull off something like that.

Rook – I will once again remind everyone that he explains his friendship with Trey by saying that birds of a feather flock together. No matter how much Trey insists that he is the normal one, neither of them are normal, and of course Rook finds the idea of rape hot in a sickly poetic way. Would he do it? Absolutely. Has he done it before? Well, that’s a secret...

Ortho – AI!Ortho doesn’t have kinks, but he does have phases during which he tries to mimic certain behaviours, so no one is 100% safe. For now though, he is a good boy! And human!Ortho probably wouldn’t necessarily have this kink, but he is one unstable boy, probably the closest to a yandere out of everyone in twst, so he could definitely do it. Although I think this would put him in a bit of a different category...

Sebek – this kink is a little sapling that is desperately trying to bloom in Sebek’s head, but he is pushing it down with all of his will. He doesn’t want to think about it and he doesn’t fully understand it, but it feels indecent. Not even because it’s non-consensual, but because it feels dirty... and makes him lose focus every time he is being extra aggressive with Silver during their sparring and Silver makes an unexpected sound or looks at him in confusion. Yeah, I think Sebek is capable of doing something like this at some point.

Lilia – yes, yes and yes. Well, he used to do a lot of fucked up shit when he was younger, and he does have the biggest body count in the entire cast, and he absolutely didn’t ask for consent every single time (with anyone other than royalty of course). I would even say he only started asking for consent relatively recently... But the more “consensual and proper” Lilia becomes, the more this desire cements itself as a kink in his brain. Is it nostalgia? He does fantasise a lot... especially when some brat pisses him off or acts in a way that is annoying <3

#replies #headcanons

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margowritesthings · 2 years

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The Greatest Gift A Cowgirl Could Ask For

a @rdrevents Valentines gift exchange for @cowboydisaster

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader word count: 4,400 words warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, explicit language, sexual themes, vaginal sex, mentions of death, unprotected sex, throwing up (TW EMETOPHOBIA), very brief mention of SA in the past, unexpected pregnancy, mentions of Micah Bell a/n: am I britney spears in her 2000 grammy award winning song??? because oops, i did it again. i don't know how I managed to get Bea as my recipient for a SECOND time, but it only felt right to carry on building this universe I've made for her and lying to her about it all week. Whoops.

Bea, my beloved, Happy Valentines Day. You deserve the world and Im so glad I could dedicate this fic to you. Honestly I probably couldn't have gotten the motivation to get back on my feet and write again if it wasn't for you. Thanks for everything you do bby and I hope this lives up to your 'if by some miracle you get me for your gift exchange disregard my prompts and write a TGG prequel' (yes she actually said that) idea. Love you lots xxx

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes @luvliewriting @mrsarthurmorgan7 @photo1030 @snobbybastard

My Darling Wife,

I’m writing to you from up near Tempest Rim. I’ve tracked this bounty all over the goddamn Grizzlies and I’m ready to come home to you. I miss you so much and I’m real sorry I can’t be home in time for St. Valentines. Hopefully I can catch this bastard soon and make it up to ya. We’ll go to the theatre and sit right at the back, how’s that sound? I’ll move heaven and Earth to be beside you soon, you know I will.

I can’t wait to see you, sweetheart. I’ll be there as fast as I can be with enough money to take you out on the town. Won’t be long, I promise.

All my love, Arthur

Your finger runs over his looped script, over and over as if it will somehow will your husband out of the crumpled paper and into your bed. It’s been 2 months since the letter arrived, 2 months of the agony of not knowing if he’s dead or alive robbing you of sleep each and every night. You miss him, more than you could ever imagine one person could miss another and you honestly don’t know what you’ll do if he doesn’t come home.

It’s a 600 dollar bounty, it’s sure to be a tough job you constantly reassure yourself, unable to focus on anything but the absence of half of your very soul in every waking moment.

The day he comes home starts like any other. Time's arrow marches on, the sun rises and sets over your makeshift family as they work and plan and rob and hunt. You busy yourself planning a job with Karen, cushioned into your schedule between menial tasks so that it’s just that bit easier to not think about him. As usual, your efforts are in vain, but at least the chores are done, your steed Diesel is happy, and, all being well, you and Karen will have about 30 dollars to split between you when the week is out.

An hour before he comes home, everyone retires to bed, save for John (who’s on watch tonight) and you’re left alone by the campfire. It crackles and pops, embers swirling the air around you. It feels like you stare at the twisting flames until your eyes blur and burn and you can’t tell which are tears of irritation to your senses and which are your heart breaking once more.

Moments before you’re reunited with the second half of your heart, you hear John yelling. It’s instinct that drives your hand into your holster, still resting against your hip despite the late hour, and you perk up like a startled deer, straining to decipher Marston’s words.

“Who is it?!” “Arthur, you dumbass!”

Arthur.

Arthur?

“Arthur?!” It’s a breathless shout, barely heard over the rushing blood in your ears as your feet take you to your husband before your mind can even fathom that he’s here.

But sure enough, when you reach the edge of camp, heart racing, you see Arthur Morgan riding his chestnut mare straight towards you, spurring her into a gallop as soon as he lays his eye on his waiting wife. Marston probably makes some remark about who ‘decided to show up’, but to you, there is nothing but you and Arthur, two magnets parted by an unnatural force finally reaching each other again with a deafening crash.

And it is. A crash, that is, when Arthur all but throws himself off his saddle and your bodies collide, great big arms wrapping around your frame. It is then that the tears fall down your cheek, soaking into Arthur’s coat that smells so much like him it truly feels like a dream.

You thought he was dead.

Only when you’re safely in his arms, when he’s pressing frantic kisses to your head, whispering your name over and over into your hair do you allow yourself to admit that fact. You thought he was never coming back, and yet here he is. Words fail you, the overwhelming emotion settling right in your throat.

“Oh, god… oh, darlin’ I-I missed you so much…”

You feel two large hands cup your cheeks, pulling you in for a kiss that holds everything and anything the past 3 months could have been had you not spent it apart. But everything fits back into place, the world starts spinning again and you’re whole the second Arthur Morgan’s lips meet yours. It lasts a lifetime, it lasts a fraction of a second. You want to stop time, keep Arthur in your arms forever and never again have to go through the torture of being away from each other. The two of you only part to throw near identical scowls at John, who is amusing himself by telling you to get a room.

Unfortunately, as Ms. Grimshaw so often reminds you all, the Van der Linde Camp is not a hotel, so tonight you will not be afforded the luxury of a private suite as John so kindly suggested. There is only your tent, hitched against the gang’s weapons wagon, the old canvas pulled around to offer a little privacy when you and Arthur first started… well, needing the seclusion.

Calloused fingers intertwine with your own digits, Arthur’s other hand flipping John off before his weight pulls you towards your little corner of camp. There's so much purpose in his stride, the need to have you all to himself, not even share you with the lord above or wildlife below, driving him forward. Driving him home.

When you’re finally, truly alone, the tears welling in your eyes glistening in the candlelight, no words are needed. Soon enough, you’ll talk for hours on end, catching each other up on every little detail of the last few months. But for now, all that there is and all that could matter is right this very second, when Arthur reaches for you, brushing a thumb over the tear tracks on your left cheek. His eyes, looking almost emerald in the dark of night, roam over each and every detail of you with such an intensity in him that you think he’s trying to remember this moment for the rest of time. You’re sure it’s one you could never possibly forget.

Arthur snakes both arms around your waist, guiding you backwards until the backs of your knees gently hit the cot and you lay back onto it. He covers the full length of you and then some, making you feel so fragile and small. It’s nice to feel breakable for once, to let go of the need to be the strongest in the room, lest you be ridiculed for being too sensitive or too weak or too womanly. Arthur knows just how strong you are, you need to prove nothing to him, so you can submit to his embrace, allow yourself to just breathe for once knowing you can break and there’s re will always be somebody to put you back together.

He lowers himself to your lips, pressing a kiss to them that doesn’t last nearly long enough. Arthur then kisses your nose, then your cheeks and chin, before trailing down to the crook of your neck. Your skin feels as though it’s on fire, so starved for the man you cannot live without that now he’s finally here everything feels that much more intense. The tiniest scrape of Arthur’s teeth against your flesh shoots through every single nerve in your body and you moan right into his ear. You can actually feel him harden against your thigh at the sweet melody of your pleasure.

Pushing Arthur’s hat off to the side, your fingers rake through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp encouragingly as he nibbles at your skin.

“Oh, Arthur… Oh, I missed you so much…” You breathlessly whisper, feeling your heart skip a beat when he pauses his movements to glance at you from under impossibly long eyelashes, jade green eyes glistening up at you.

“I missed you too, sweetheart. So so much.” His voice is soft, as if he’s handling the peacefulness around you so delicately and it causes the overwhelming emotion to well in your chest and choke up your throat. Arthur sees this, trying not to be too taken with his own surprising amount of emotion himself, and relieves you of your job of a response by directing his attention to the buttons of your shirt. You don’t remember him pushing your jacket off your shoulders, but there it lies on the floor beside the entrance to your tent, so he must have.

Despite the juxtaposition of such dainty buttonholes and such large fingers, Arthur expertly undresses your top half until you’re bare to him. He takes no time at all to take one of your nipples into his mouth, kissing and sucking at it with a hunger you feel right in your toes. You moan loudly, unable to stop yourself after yearning for this very feeling for so long.

Arthur coos and shushes you and it vibrates across your skin, not helping you stay quiet in the slightest. The hand not tugging on his dirty blonde locks reaches between your two longing bodies to begin to unbuckle his belt. You can feel your own heartbeat throbbing between your legs, your coil growing tighter and tighter by the second. It’s been almost 3 months since your bodies have joined like this, and yet you’re not sure you can wait another minute.

You’re purring for Arthur, twitching and grinding as your hand fumbles desperately at the belt. His absence from your skin is agony the second he pulls his hips back to sit up straight. Spotting your downright bratty expression, bottom lip protruding in a pout, Arthur chuckles lowly, “Patience, baby… I gotta get these damn clothes off us.” He gestures to his belt, still very much buckled around his waist. Definitely not your fault. He was being far too distracting.

He’s quick, you’ll give him that, shedding his clothes without taking his eyes off you. You burn under his stare, even more so when he crawls back on top of you to slide your boots off one by one and peel your pants and undergarments down your legs.

The heat radiates off his huge body, his cock pulsing with need. The way he’s putting his weight into his arms to stop from crushing you with his weight adds a definition to his already beautifully sculpted body. Reaching down, you brush the tip of your finger oh so gently over his rosy head, finding a bead of cum already leaking, and you snap. You can’t wait a second longer, scratching and gripping at him like he’s the air you need to breathe.

“Please, Arthur, please I need you. S-So long, it’s been so long-” “Shh, I know, princess, I know. I’m gonna take care of you, okay? Gonna take care of your pretty little cunt, I promise.” He soothes you, though his own voice is shaky from the very effort of restraining himself, maintaining his control to not drive into you and ruin you. While he whispers to you, he lines himself up at your entrance and you quiver in anticipation.

In all your years before you met Arthur, you never really saw sex as anything but something to give, or worse, something to be taken from you. You never truly understood, not until you met Arthur, who taught you it’s something to share, to experience. With Arthur, it’s different. It is connection and pleasure and it’s wonderful and god damn it, it’s addictive. So when Arthur slides into you, letting out a visceral, guttural groan as he does, everything is right in the world.

You feel so full, especially when Arthur pushes all the way to the hilt, connecting you completely at the pelvis. The moan that escapes your lips is downright obscene and Arthur crashes down into your mouth to swallow it.

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s been so long, or the emotion of it all, but you swear you can feel everything. Every vein and ridge, every twitch and movement of his perfect cock as Arthur slowly starts to move in and out of you.

“Fuck… s-so good, darlin. So tight- y’feel so fucking good, princess…”

You’ve never hurtled so close towards a climax so quickly in your life. His torturously slow, deep thrusts drag into your sweet spot every fucking time and trying to hold back brings a blur into your vision. Your own hips grind against his, Arthur gripping into your flesh to guide you perfectly in time with him.

“I-I’m so close already, Arthur… fuck…” You breathe out, your breath tickling Arthur’s ear and sending a visible shudder down his spine. He looks proud at your admission.

“You missed me that much, huh? Gonna cum for me already, darlin’?”

He gives you no time to respond, pressing a thumb to your clit and rubbing in time with everything else. You implode, pulling Arthur down to catch the scream you’re about to wake everybody up with. It has never felt so intense, and with every thrust Arthur fucks into you it only grows and grows, shattering you to pieces for Arthur to fix back together again.

When you return, a rhythmic thudding in your ears, the first thing you see is Arthur, of course. His jaw is fluttering madly, a bead of sweat clinging to his forehead but the candlelight makes him look ethereal. You still can’t believe he’s here, alive.

Tears start to glisten in your eyes. You’ve never cried during sex before, not for anything positive, at least, but somehow this doesn’t feel wrong. Arthur slows again, watching you, and you spot an extra shine to his own jade orbs. He knows. He feels it too.

He’s right there with you. As he always is.

He brushes a piece of hair stuck to your forehead away, and the gesture is enough to send the tears falling down the same worn path on your cheeks as before.

“I love you, Mr. Morgan…” “I love you, Mrs. Morgan…”

It seems to become too much for Arthur to stay still, and you’re glad for it. You’re desperate for the friction, already flying towards another orgasm. He’s really fucking into you this time, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in. He’s groaning and growling and you decide in that moment that it’s your favourite sound in all the world.

“I… I ain’t gonna last much longer, baby…”

“C-Cum in me…” “Huh?” He slows, shuddering at the exertion required to control his movements, “I-”

But you’re not listening to his protests, your nails digging into the skin of his back and ass and anywhere else you can reach to urge him forwards again.

“Please Arthur, I-I need you… I need you to cum with me, I need you with me…” you plead with him, not truly understanding your need but honouring it. You’ve been without him for so long, you deserve him with you now.

He appears to consider you for just a moment, before diving down to lock your lips with his. His tongue delves into your mouth, tasting every bit of you and he starts to pump into you unreservedly. His body grinds against yours and the friction is perfect and you’re so fucking full and before you can even try to hold back, you’re cumming again, stars scattering your vision, heart pounding out of your chest to find release from it’s mortal, physical cage. Your inner walls twitch around Arthur’s length and this time, he doesn’t hold back either.

His eyes fly open and lock onto yours as you both climax together. It’s vulnerable and strange, but perhaps more connected than you ever thought possible for two people to be.

Arthur’s cock twitches inside you, pumping out his spend as he groans viscerally, completely losing control of his rhythm as he thrusts into you one last time, harsh and deep. You’ve never experienced this before, with Arthur or any other man, normally erring on the side of caution when it came to such matters, but even as you come down you can’t bring yourself to regret it. Whatever you and Arthur just experienced together felt spiritual, and worth much more than a little risk.

Arthur collapses, even as depleted as he is still considerate enough to collapse onto his elbows and not crush you. He slides out of you, earning a little wince, and rolls to the side so you can rest your head on his chest. It’s like a locket that’s been ripped apart, finally fixed together with the most satisfying click.

═══════☆═══════

Two months later, life has returned to its equilibrium. You and Arthur are perhaps clingier, still in a sort of second honeymoon phase where you just can’t seem to keep your hands off each other, more so than usual. It’s a side effect of prolonged solitude, you’re sure.

The first time it happens, you blame Pearson and think nothing of it. It’s pretty early in the morning and you’re sitting with Tilly and Abigail, peeling potatoes for the stew tonight. Abigail is venting her frustrations about when John did this and John said that, and everything feels so normal. Pearson arrives, throwing a rather large, rather dead fish onto the table you’re leaning against and you feel the thud from the weight of it vibrate against your back.

It isn’t until the smell invades your senses that everything starts to feel off. It smells exactly like all the other fish Pearson has ever slammed onto that poor table, which doesn’t explain why you immediately lurch forwards, grabbing an empty bucket and throwing up your breakfast. The fish stench is suffocating and all you can do is get the hell away from it, not noticing when Abigail’s brows knit together almost… knowingly?

You skip the stew that night.

―

The second time it happens, you try not to think about it. You’re riding Diesel and almost don’t make it off him in time. There is nothing to set you off, no horse shit or rotting animal at the side of the road, and yet in an instant your stomach feels like it has been flipped upside down.

The sheer volume of your retching catches Arthur’s attention and he tugs on the leather reins in his hands to steady his mare.

“Darlin’? Y’alright?”

His concern is evident in his tone and in the tight line between his brows, which deepens when he finds you unable to respond in anything but a frantic nod. He dismounts, spurs clicking against the dusty ground when he approaches you.

“Oh, sweetheart… that’s it, easy, easy… you’re okay…”

You feel gentle circles rubbed into the tense muscles of your back as you try to get through this again. It’s not lost on you that Arthur is speaking to you like a spooked horse, but it actually really does help. (You decide to prioritise peace of mind and not psychoanalyse why that is). Eventually, it relents and you regain your composure, albeit somewhat less gracefully than you’d have liked.

“Sorry… I don’t know what’s gotten into me, maybe I ate somethin’.”

Your apology for something you can’t help earns you a sad smile from your husband, who places a loving kiss on the top of your head before reaching for your discarded hat and putting it back on for you.

“Y’don’t gotta apologise. I gotcha, darlin’.”

You know he does.

He always does.

―

The third time it happens, the luxury of denial is stolen from you. It’s early enough that your view while you sit with Abigail drinking coffee involves glorious hues of orange and pink scattered around the rising sun. It’s peaceful, tranquil. The warmth of the little metal mug in your hands and Arthur’s jacket around your shoulders is enough to ward off the fresh morning chill in the air.

There is absolutely no warning when it hits, when it happens again. You’re so goddamn sick (no pun intended) of hurling. Your eyes water and your throat hurts a little and you curse under your breath when it’s over. Abi is beside you, rubbing your back in an attempt to soothe you. She waits until it’s over before speaking hesitantly.

“Uh, can I ask you somethin’?”

You nod, eyes still red and glistening as you swirl coffee around your mouth to take away from the awful, acidic taste lingering.

“When did you last bleed?”

“What, like an injury? Uh, I cut my hand couple days back, but I don’t see what-“

… Oh fuck.

═══════☆═══════

The anxiety bounces around your body and you decide that you’ve become far too acquainted with the concept of nausea. You can actually tell the difference between nerves twisting your stomach and… well, let’s say it as it is: morning sickness. This is the former, you deduce, spinning both your engagement and wedding ring around your finger to give your hands something better to do than carve fingernail-shaped moons into your palm. He should be home any minute now. Any minute now and it will all change forever.

It’s quite late, but the poker game Arthur was scoping out for potential jobs is known to last a while. You’re the only one still awake, poking the embers of the campfire to keep yourself as comfortable as possible.

You hear hooves hitting dry dirt first, and it seems to trigger your fight or flight response. God, you’d love to run away from this, but that is pretty much impossible, so fight it is. It’ll be the greatest fight of your life, you’ll soon learn, one you’re privileged to be a part of. But right now, it feels like an all-consuming unknown.

Arthur can tell something is wrong the second he sees you. You’re terrible at hiding things, especially from him. He always reads you as though you have a poster advertising your feelings printed on your forehead. Arthur dismounts, kissing you tenderly on the temple and wrapping his arms around you.

“What’re you still doin’ up, darlin’? Is everything alright?” You can feel his worry vibrating in his chest as you nuzzle into his embrace.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I just… Can we talk? I kept the fire goin’.” You say it into his shirt, reluctant to move from this hold.

“Of course…” there’s something in his voice, a tense apprehension that really doesn’t help the knot contorting itself in your gut.

While you’re more than capable of keeping a fire going, Arthur is an expert, and has it healthily burning within seconds of you sitting down on the overturned log the gang has fashioned into a bench. You’re back to spinning your beautiful gold bands around your finger, trying to remember to breathe in and out every so often.

“What’s goin’ on, sweetheart?” His voice is so soft, so kind that it makes you want to cry. But you promised yourself you wouldn’t until you’d told him, because this might just be the most important conversation you’ve ever had, and you definitely won’t get through it if you’re a blubbering mess.

“I, uh… I… somethin’s happened.”

You hear his breath hitch in his throat and Arthur leans towards you, completely enveloping your hands in his. They’re sandwiched in now and you can’t fiddle with your rings anymore.

“What? What happened? Was it Micah? If he’s said somethin’ to you, I’ll kill him, the rat bastard-”

“No, no, it’s… as much as I’d love to see that, it’s not him.”

The tension releases. Just a little bit.

“I’m pregnant.”

Oh wait, there it is.

The silence is deafening, even though you’re almost certain it isn’t actually silent out here right now. There's a fire going and crickets are just metres away, you’re just shutting down with nerves.

The normally so often tense, fluttering jaw of Arthur Morgan is slack, his eyes wide and gaping at you, occasionally flicking down to your so far bump-less belly. (You should know- you’ve been obsessively looking in a mirror any chance you get for some sort of sign that this is really happening).

Say something. Please say something. Please don’t be angry. Oh, God please don’t hate me.

“I-I… You’re pregnant?” He repeats, reassuring you that you haven’t actually gone deaf, though his tone holds no indication of anything but shock. That’s probably fair…

You nod, hands instinctively reaching over your belly. It feels… weird. Holding your hands over your baby. Yours and Arthur’s baby.

“It happened a couple months back, when you got back from The Grizzlies, I think… I-I’m sorry, Arthur. I shoulda’ been more careful and-and…” You’re rambling, filling a silence that probably should just be allowed to be a silence.

“There… There’s gonna be a baby?”

There. Right there, adorning Arthur’s beautiful features, is the pull of a smile. It chokes you up instantly, so far deep in nightmares of arguments and unhappiness that you hadn’t even considered the good. You start to nod, a little bit of your fringe falling in your face.

“Yeah… There’s gonna be a baby. Our baby…”

“Our baby…” He repeats, his arm raising to brush the hair away from your eyes in such a natural manner it feels like it’s just his instinct to care for you. It is his instinct to care for you, Arthur has shown you that in every minute of every day of your marriage, and suddenly you’re not sure why you’ve been so scared.

“I’m gonna be a dad?” He still seems in disbelief, but that’s normal. It’s taken you a few days to come to terms with it, and even then the fingernail marks in your palms are still red raw.

“You’re gonna be a dad.”

It hits him. Really hits him and he all but throws himself into you, scooping you up and spinning you around as he laughs unreservedly.

“Well goddamn, I’m gonna be a Daddy!”

You laugh with him, worries and anxiety a distant memory as your feet swing around in the air. You’re probably waking the camp up, but you don’t care all that much. Right now, you’re the happiest girl in the world.

A baby. There’s gonna be a baby. Arthur’s baby.

Really, it’s the greatest gift a cowgirl could ask for.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan x f!reader #arthur morgan x y/n #rdr2 fanfiction #red dead redepmtion 2 #arthur morgan rdr #rdr2 arthur #rdr valentines change

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earthtoharlow · 7 months

Note

Teach Me Concept: Jack teaching Jayla how to drive... or attempt to that is lol

main series masterlist

Jack had been dreading this day for weeks. Today he was going to teach Jayla how to drive. He paced back and forth in the living room, mentally calculating the cost of potential fender benders.

When Jayla finally came down the stairs he gave her a once over. “Why the fancy outfit for driving lessons?” Jayla flashed him a grin and shrugged nonchalantly. “If I’m going to be learning how to drive then I might as well do it in style.”

Jack could only laugh, “Ok, fair point. Now let’s go before it gets dark.”

He had decided that they were going to start driving around an empty parking lot first. He didn’t trust her just yet with other cars around. Jack’s hands started shaking as he tried to explain parallel parking as if he was about to perform brain surgery instead of sitting in the passenger seat of his car. “Okay, Jay, just…just gently press the gas pedal not too hard…not too soft…just right.”

Jayla sensing his unease, couldn’t help but smirk as she adjusted the rearview mirror for the umpteenth time. “Dad, relax! It’s just driving, not defusing a bomb.”

Nothing could calm Jack’s nerves, every time Jayla made a sharp turn in the parking lot he gripped the door handle tightly, his hands turning whiter than usual. “Watch out for that squirrel!” he yelped, causing Jayla to bump the curb with a gentle thud. “Oops!” Jayla said, looking out her window as she stopped the car to see if she broke anything.

“Oh my god! My car!” Jack exclaimed, jumping out the car to inspect it himself. Jayla couldn’t help but burst into laughter at her father’s melodramatic reaction. “Dad, relax! It’s just a little curb tap. Mom does it all the time, remember?”

There was no scratch on the car, but Jack still frowned. “It must run in the family.” He mumbled under his breath.

Jayla began feeling defeated. “I think I was just meant to be a passenger princess,” she sighed, resting her head on the steering wheel in frustration.

The loud, blaring noise as her head accidentally hit the horn, caused Jack to jump in surprise from outside the car.

“Fuck!” Jack exclaimed at the unexpected horn blast.

Jayla’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment as she sheepishly explained. “Sorry, dad, my head just had a minor collision with the horn!”

“I’m ready to go home!” Jack immediately nodded in agreement. Recognizing that it was probably best to call it a day before any more curbs were harmed. “You know what, sweetie? I think you’re right. Let’s pack it in for today and head home.”

She let out a relieved sigh, grateful for the opportunity to take a break. As they switched sides to make their way home, Jayla vowed to never have her father teach her to drive again– at least until he completed a rigorous course in stress management.

#jack harlow #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x y/n #jack harlow reader #teach me #teach me concepts #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow concepts

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amalgamateofficial · 8 months

Note

hi! sorry i hope this isn’t annoying but are there any more updates on the chapter? I’m not trying to push i was just wondering since the last update said end of the month

OMG no, asking for updates on Amalgamate is never annoying at all, I promise!!! I was actually just logging on to Tumblr to give an update, so the timing is perfect :)

I got a bit delayed by a few unexpected occurrences (like me breaking a couple teeth, oops), but the goal is next week 100%. And as early as possible. I've been rereading and editing chapter 20 nonstop during my downtime the past few days, and also the A/N is not only written, I've also gathered all the art and links and all that good stuff. As in, everything is ready now. So, these next few days should be the absolute end of the editing process. Tbh I'm at the point where I'd post the new chapter from the beneath wreckage of a burning building if I had to. It NEEDS to get posted. So yeah, next week, 100%, as early as I can, I promise! <3

#amalgamate #amalgamate danganronpa #danganronpa amalgamate #danganronpa v3 #drv3 #danganronpa #drv3 fanfic #amalgamate drv3 #kokichi ouma #ouma kokichi #kaito momota #momota kaito #oumota #i was cosplaying mangle from fnaf when my teeth snapped #idk what that means tho #did i bite too many brains?#anyway the teeth got fixed TODAY so now i'm chilling by rereading chapter 20 with a fine tooth comb

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lelianasbong · 1 year

Text

YES OKAY I listened to Father Figure by George Michael over and over and over again while writing this. But @hiriaeth..... your post crawled into my brain matter!! accessed only the horniest and most Sopping Wet Sad parts!! and this happened oops.

nsfw wyllstarion fic with feelings beneath the cut :)

He's floating, now. It's not their first time, nor their fifth. Weeks after soft confessions full of hard truths, the indisputable realities of their lives made more and less complicated by their unexpected camaraderie, it is comfortable. It is familiar.

It is novel still.

"Eager," Astarion hisses into the fabric of Wyll's trousers, above the pulse-point in his thigh. Only it's more of a whisper, equal parts hunger and reverence for what lies beneath.

Beneath his haphazardly discarded clothing there is the solid weight of a rod within him - smooth stone, phallic and flared at the base, enchanted with warming runes that tingle pleasantly on contact. And there is a lot of contact. Lines of nascent fire run parallel on either side of the device, pulled further into his clenching heat by the harried, desperate movements of his hips as Astarion sits astride him, casual as can be. His lover strokes his own cock, grinding slowly, unhurried as he bears witness to Wyll's pleasure.

He feels. He feels.

"One little stone cock and you're this undone?" he tuts, one hand idly palming his balls now. "Your other lovers haven't been doing their job." He looks... not displeased - at least not with Wyll - and removes his hands from their work, crossing his arms over his pale chest. His brow is furrowed in consternation.

Wyll laughs, exalted in surrender and so turned on he wants to... wants to do something. Chew through his own flesh maybe, or Astarion's. "What other lovers?" he manages at last, panting through his pleasure and aching for- Astarion huffs out an answering laugh before he can complete the thought, breath soft on his skin.

Wyll's been asked to stay still - asked, only, it wasn't a request. Not really. There's a tilt in his lover's unusually sharp smile, a playful gleam in his eye. "You'll want to heed me," he says, promising nothing. His words are flint but his face is honey-sweet, like Wyll knew he'd be. Hoped he'd be, his soul whispers, and for once in his life he was rewarded for his faith.

Isn't that how it's always been between them?

Astarion merely stares into Wyll's good eye, placid as a lake. Wyll wonders if he's satisfied with what he sees there, but before he can ask the other man is grinding his hips into his own again, victorious as Wyll stutters on words he wasn't going to say.

The weight of expectations and the song of yearning deep within his heart, the hot blood throbbing in his cock, his composure warring against the perilous realization that he wants. That he needs. He cries out as his unfettered ego breaks against the rocky shores of the unknown.

Deft fingers are unbuckling his belt, drawing his trousers down and out of the way. Revealing the mess in his smallclothes - oil and precum and the thick unforgiving stone of that damnable disembodied cock, hours in him now, hours.

Astarion's tongue is a fine instrument. Not least for all its charm or its propensity towards vexatiousness. He knows what to do with it, how to drive Wyll to madness, surely he knows-

His lips - a little cold, a little dry, but soft as satin and sure as the sun make their way from Wyll's chest down to the waistline of his undergarments. Damp as they are with slick and arousal and sweat, they leave little to the imagination. Astarion licks a horizontal line above them - a demarcation of intent - before nuzzling his face into the fabric covering Wyll's package and he cannot hope to contain the throaty noise that escapes his mouth, hips juttering forward, betraying his excitement wholesale if his moaning hadn't already given him away. The stone cock within him shifts sweetly in response to his movements and he chokes on the sensation.

Astarion looks half mad, half affectionate. His normally well-coiffed hair is a mess, owing to their earlier activities more than these before them but his sole focus is on Wyll now. He pets Wyll's face, tenderly. Smiles meanly and sing-songs,

"Young, dumb, and full of cu-"

Wyll groans, half ecstasy and half exasperation at Astarion's insistence on being completely insufferable at every inopportune moment.

"Do not finish that sentence," he grinds out. His teeth are clenched and it's hard to focus on chastising him. It is rather difficult to speak in general when his attention's so divided between the cock in his arse and the one on display before him.

"Or what?" Astarion scoffs, reaching down between Wyll's legs, stopping momentarily to gently roll his balls in his hand before drifting lower still, until he's fingering the base of the stone phallus. Those clever fingers circle his twitching, swollen hole and Wyll tries to remember what words are. His body is too hot. He wonders if this is what Karlach feels like all the time - vitality and scorched earth bound impossibly to one's own living form.

Astarion continues, words blithe, seemingly disaffected. "You are young, and dumb..." He pushes the phallus in, alternating between shallow, quick thrusts and slow and deep, and Wyll gasps like he expects that magical stone cock to come up through his throat. His want is beading at the tip of his cock, fluid pearlescent in the fading light. "And full of come, my sweet," he whispers, torturous tongue applying delicate kitten-licks to the head of his cock which drive him mad but aren't enough.

His horns - 'not the only one,' he had teased some nights ago, the absolute cad - slam against the pillow behind him as his hips cant up, up into that sweet cool mouth only to be overwhelmed by the presence of implacable stone pressing hot and hard into his prostate. It's sweet, it's so sweet and he wants to scream. He twists desperately, Astarion's weight upon him a cornerstone of comfort amidst the ache, and the moan that escapes him is gutteral and involuntary.

It's torturous and too good.

And for a moment, he can't help the fear that washes over him. Not of his lover, of course, nor their current activities, but of his devilish patron Mizora. Of the last time he had attempted... not this, but an approximation of this, with an almost-lover who was many years removed from Wyll's present. Still. The joy Mizora had taken in denying him the respite, this most fundamental of intimacies. It ached then and the threat of it aches now.

Astarion - perhaps via their tadpole, or perhaps Wyll's feelings are more naked on his face than he'd initially thought - takes Wyll's chin in his fine-fingered hands and says, "If she wants to watch, I'll give her a show." No coyness in his voice - well, none more than usual - but... defiant. Protective. It rises in Wyll's heart like an echo, a mirror he didn't know he had - there's a hot swelling in his chest and behind his eyes that has little to do with his throbbing cock. It's been so long since someone cared what he wanted.

Since someone had looked after him.

"See, Mizora?" Astarion's lips, his eyes, his flesh say in tandem. There is mirth and fury in his voice. "There's no room for you here." Bony fingers dig indelicately, indulgently into the sharpest part of Wyll's hips, centering him. Steady. He stares into Wyll's sending stone eye as if he expects her to be staring back. But there is only Wyll, his eyelashes fluttering delicately under the scrutiny.

He's a <good boy> one of them thinks, and between the hot flush of arousal that takes him then and the tadpole-fueled psionic power they're imbued with he cannot tell if it's Astarion or himself that thinks it. That feels it. It makes him cry out regardless.

Astarion, who surely must've heard it - or thought it - only smiles wider and grinds his bare arse against Wyll's leaking cock once more, the pressure of his body weight pushing the warm, pulsating stone phallus deeper still into Wyll, and he cries out, feeling wrecked- feeling-

Faster, he's moving. Wyll can only hold on, torn between wanting to grind down into the fullness or up into Astarion, who is reaching back down and pushing his thumb into Wyll's perineum, staring at Wyll through his lashes, his sweaty brow - their minds brush as their bodies brush, and he hears-feels 'My good, sweet boy' and all at once he is launched off the precipice of pleasure and to his completion.

When he comes to his senses, gasping for air still, heart hammering inside his chest - never one to linger in his own afterglow, as attentive in bed as he is on the battlefield - it's to find Astarion furiously stroking himself, head thrown back as he chases his own climax. Wyll surges up to- help, perhaps. Encourage, at least. But Astarion puts one hand to his chest and shoves him back down, gently but insistently. In seconds Wyll's chest - old scars, new ridges, all parts him - is striped with his lover's spend, evidence of his satisfaction.

They are still for long moments. Astarion rests his head against Wyll's chest - and Wyll knows him well enough to know he's enjoying the thundering of his heart beneath his ribcage, the sound of blood coursing through his overheated body - before groaning and wearily trying to flip them over. This time, he lets Wyll help.

The enchanted stone cock slips out of him with a wet noise that he can't bring himself to be embarrassed about. The whole of him is exposed, laid plain here in this quiet place. His body moves like molasses and feels just as sticky as he rolls over and nuzzles into Astarion's too-cold chest, offsetting some of the unbearable heat.

Astarion holds him as he cards careful, knowing fingers through Wyll's hair, over his horns, tracing the transmogrified points of his ears with a kind of intention that's kind and intentional.

They lay together in the fading light, and it is more than enough.

#good evening wyllstarion nation 😘#take my p*rn offering homiesexuals #baldur's gate 3 #wyll ravengard #astarion ancunin #wyllstarion #bloodpact #fanfiction

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chilling-seavey · 10 days

Note

🎂 🎤 📝 🍐 🍓 💌 🖇️ 💔 🌹 🌊 🍀

I think that’s enough 🤣🤣🤣 (ps. ILY AND YOU’RE THE BESTEST 🥹)

(NO YOURE THE BEST!! ILYYY)

🎂 when is your birthday? ↳ Sept 28th! Hence why my birthday week preparations are in full swing wooo!

🎤 have you been to a concert ↳ Yes! Quite a few! Most recent was Niall Horan (my first love hehe)

📝 last thing you wrote ↳ You mirrored his smile with appreciation, albeit a touch of shyness ghosting over your features, this entire situation completely unexpected, “Alright; lead the way then. I’m curious to see what kind of hotel room warrants a double payment.” Oop Enchante Pt 2 spoiler!!!!

🍐 if you could make one character real, who would it be ↳ TWIG George because I want him obsessed with me and begging to put babies in me frrrrr

🍓 favorite food ↳ I loveeee a good filet mignon with roasted zucchini and garlic mashed potatoes and a glass of champagne oh my wordddd i can't wait until i can afford my true lifestyle

💌 why did you start this blog? ↳ It was the grand ol' year of 2012, One Direction was at their prime, and all my friends had tumblr blogs to read fanfics so I made one too. Back then my URL was niallpizzaandcheesecake ... so cool, I know

🖇️ what are your favorite asks to answer ↳ Any!!! Although I love when people send me little things they see that makes them think of something I wrote/one of my universes :)

💔 is there a fic you wish you didn’t write ↳ Nope! Even my work I may hate, everything I write made me who I am today and helped me develop my skills to learn and grow...even the cringey stuff from the pre-teen years where my characters would randomly break into song

🌹 favorite kinks to write for ↳ BREEDING KINK sorry was that my outside voice I'm actually so normal so idk why I was yelling-

🌊 a kink you would like to write but you think you’d be judged ↳ Hmmmm...definitely the extent I can take my breeding kink interest and the fact that I like to lace in some patriarchy kink stuff in there... I dabbled a bit in TWIG but I'm scared that I'll put yall off if I go all out 😂 ↳ I have also dabbled in sacrilegious things (pastor's son vibes) and I have wanted to try writing running a train-

🍀 what is your comfort show/series and why is it your comfort show? How has it helped you? ↳ I'm not much of a 'watcher'...I basically only watch tv for as long as it takes me to eat and then I pause the episode to pick up next time I eat LOL. So there's no show that's 'helped me' in any way, just some I enjoy more than others. The Marvelous Mrs Maisel is a fave. This Is Us makes me cry every episode and I don't cry easily at shows. Outer Banks is always a fave too...I loveeee some JJ

#ask games!

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chichirichick · 9 months

Text

Santa's a Little Late, but...

I had the honor of getting my wife from another life @anxietybard for the @sesecretsanta this year! Read the SoMa pining below or on AO3.

Title: Taking a Leap

Pairing: SoMa, background hints of Marie/Stein, Kid/Star

Rating: T

This wasn’t how I wanted to spend the start of my weekend, but that perfect little girl scout of a meister of mine just had to rope me into another one of her half-baked plans. “You know she has the combined genetic make-up of a dissection-happy scientist and a woman who breaks toilets.”

“A toilet,” Maka corrected as if that made it any better. “And that was just a rumor.” Her prim little sashay ended at the mouth of the walkway. She turned on her heels, planted her fists on her hips, and that bottom lip popped into a pout before she seemed to think better of it. With as flat a line to her lips as possible, Maka griped, “I don’t know why you bothered to come if all you’re going to do is complain.”

This should not be my circus– should not be my monkeys– but staying home alone on a Friday night? I could count the number of Fridays—let's not mention other days of the week—I’d spent without Maka on one hand.

Way to make it sound like you’re a couple, loser.

Ah, and there was the spiral, right on cue. Not that this was anything new, but a few recent weird life events had sent me on more than one mental tailspin: this year, that idiot Star and our often emotionally stunted boss Kid had jumped an unexpected hurdle into each others’ beds.

To my fucking surprise, this ignited a shit-ton of issues for me– no, no, I have no problem with two dudes shacking up, even though thinking about either of those two having sex isn’t high on my list of joyful thoughts. It was just this goddamn hazy, dreamy truth that I’d always tried to hold on to: weapons always ended up with their meisters. I mean, there was no chance in hell that Liz or Patty could withstand more than a partnership with Kid, and Tsubaki already had the patience of a saint just being Star’s weapon, but… I don’t know. Just the idea that the sorta unbreakable bond weapon and meister have–

“Soul.”

Oops. I blinked as my brain scrambled back out of that catastrophic corkscrew to face the one I was in now. “Maka, are you serious?” I slapped on a slick grin for good measure. “I watched you make flashcards all week– I want to make sure Shelley has some fun.”

She rolled her eyes before spinning back to her original trajectory.

Mission accomplished– for now. I followed a few steps behind her, sorta mesmerized by the wave of her hair as she left it untied. That’s been happening more often… wonder if she’s tryin’ a new style or somethin’.

Wow, creeper.

My shoulders crumpled a little further as I sighed. Sometimes that little demon was a real piece of shit.

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Soul being there shouldn’t have irked me, and I honestly don’t even know why I complained. Why I was pouting. Why I was unable to even laugh at his—well deserved—joke about the myriad of activities I had planned.

It’s just…

This was a test. A pivotal, life-altering test.

I hear it: Soul being here for a momentous decision? Of course– or really, it should be of course– but there was a giant roadblock. One that, if you asked me straight to my face, I’d deny even if you were threatening to pull fingernails. In my head, though… the moment played back perfectly in my mind:

Marie, someone who had filled at least a quarter of the empty spot my mother had left behind, wheeled behind curtains to give birth to her long-awaited bundle of joy.

Soul, taking my hand and squeezing as he gently chided: “Don’t worry– she’ll be fine.”

Me, frozen, watching the fabric flutter before my voice—so alien, so far away—croaked from my throat: “I won’t ever be a mother.”

Any flashback to it still sets my teeth on edge, especially as the moment fades out on Soul’s shocked face. I captured each one of those syllables and squashed it down, all while hoping that Soul wouldn’t let it die. I wanted him to question me– to challenge with some Soul-icism that was a comforting mix of mocking and mollification. Because I know why I said it, but I’m all too sure he doesn’t.

And there it was: a giant roadblock.

Well, as if not being in a relationship wasn’t enough of a roadblock.

Sometimes Soul’s not the only one with that dark little voice in his head.

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This was a disaster, and I hate to say I told her so, but I told her so. Okay, and yeah, I don’t actually hate proving Little-Miss-Can’t-Be-Wrong wrong. I’m not above smug satisfaction at being right, but watching Maka struggling against the will of a four-year-old had soured it just a bit.

“I think it’s time for dinner,” Maka mumbled as the last of her confidence deflated.

“Actually–” Man, was I risking my entire life by grabbing her wrist and turning those tear brimmed eyes back to me. I was at a total loss as to why the hell she was taking it so personally, but I couldn’t let her drown in her own saltwater. “Shelley’s gonna make dinner. I’ll supervise.” You would have thought I’d dog-eared the page of her favorite book since the look I got was nothing but a bubbling cauldron of rage with a fine shimmering top of terror. What the fuck’s gotten into you?

“F-fine.” She fumbled over the word before forcing herself out of my grip. Without another peep, Maka disappeared into the archway to the living room, leaving me to feed a sigh to the ceiling.

“Do I really get to make dinner?” The hopeful little chirp sent my eyes back down to Marie’s mini-me. “Really, Soul?”

“Yup”—I ruffled a hand through her hair—“and just to warn you, I’m lazy. So you’re doin’ most of the work.” I made a show of drooping in the doorway, enjoying the way it made Shelley erupt into giggles.

“C’mon, Soul, c’mon!” There was plenty of tugging, dragging, and laughing involved before we made it into the kitchen.

“Alright, show me the pots.” Not a second of confusion crossed that little face– Shelley instantly jumping into action and proving my point almost instantly.

Well, my point if I had made a point with Maka, but Death knows she wouldn’t hear it. The irony? Kids this age are willful little know-it-alls who want to do, not be told, and least of all, be coddled.

Sound like anyone we know?

Since I had kept all that in mind, I was living the ideal: water boiling, sauce in a pot, and a very determined kiddo stirring with her big-girl spoon while I chopped. Shelley was practically preening while she inhaled the tomatoey steam. “Can we save some for Mama and Papa?”

“‘Course.” I couldn’t stop the laugh that followed as she wiggled with delight. Okay, so maybe the homicidal doctor gene didn’t pass down.

“Soul?”

I was busy trying to keep all my fingers intact so all I could do was hum out: “Hm?”

“Is Miss Maka always so mean?”

My knife slowed, half because Shelley deserved careful consideration to her question and half because I needed to glance back at the door. No, there were no jade eyes scowling at me from the frame, but… ah, fuck it. “Not sure I’d call it mean. I know she doesn’t mean it that way, but–”

“Then why does Miss Maka keep trying to tell me what to do?” she complained.

“I know it sounds like she’s tellin’ you what to do,” I murmured, “but it’s more tryin’ to protect you.” I shrugged to buy time. What was her problem, anyway? What was the helicopter parent act that she had going on tonight?

“But I’m a big girl!”

Boy, did I want to snort out a laugh. There was too much irony again, and a part of me wanted Maka to be listening. “Yeah, you are, but when someone cares about you, sometimes they go a little haywire. Sorta wanna just wrap you up in their love to keep you from anythin’ bad.” Okay, so, maybe it wasn’t just Maka who should be listening. I stared down at my hands with a sigh, feeling the sting of that insight trying to needle into my brain. My heart didn’t want to budge, but… “Think you could take it as a sign she really cares, and we’ll work on it from there?”

Oh? And when are you gonna work on that yourself?

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I wasn’t sure if it was my ego or my heart that was more bruised, especially as elation followed the pair into the dining room. Shelley was precariously balancing a bowl of salad—is she old enough to do that?—while Soul steadily carried a pot beside her. The objections were on my tongue when Soul’s stole everything away:

Let her do it, he mouthed.

Oh, yes, definitely a strike to my ego. It yelped along with a myriad of annoyed petulant pleas: How does he know what’s best? Since when is he a child whisperer? How does he know what’s right and I–

I flattened a hand over my mouth as if the words were going to flee from behind my teeth. It was all so dark, so ugly, and it was getting me nowhere. My eyes burned as Shelley joined me at the table. Soul was quick to turn back and retrieve the pasta before sliding into his seat. I honestly wanted to disappear. This was all a failed experiment because every ticking moment was proving me right: I was only capable of needing mothering, not giving it and–

Soul’s hand tightened around mine, making me jump. For a moment, I was sure I’d see heads bowed and “Grace” starting on Shelley’s lips, but Soul was just watching Shelley serve herself. The little girl was in the throes of victory—even though some of the tablecloth had suffered casualties—while Soul ran a gentle thumb over my knuckles.

Holding hands wasn’t anything exactly new, but this… I risked another glance at his face, and while the turn of his smirk spoke “cool as a cucumber,” the light pink of his ears was that well-honed hint that he was nervous. About what? Nervous that I was– yes, Maka, duh. Soul could be dense about certain things, but I had to admit that he wasn’t about people’s feelings. He could read a room just as easily as sheet music.

I let my stare linger from that peony stain to the strong set of his jaw before rising to scarlet eyes that were now focused on me. “You ready to eat?”

I squeezed his hand, watching as that made the corner of his mouth twitch. Whether tonight was a losing battle or not, one thing was clear: I had Soul with me. That was always enough. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

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Fuck, I was starting to think I was insane. Suddenly, Maka wasn’t Maka anymore. Or, I dunno, maybe she was more Maka than she was before? Again, fuck. Because whatever funk she’d been in at the beginning of the night had suddenly lifted as soon as dinner was over. I’d seen the girl hangry before, but…?

Or your lame little hand-holding actually worked.

As if that’d ever be enough.

It was Maka’s turn since we’d hit the toiletries stage of the bedtime routine. That means—again, what the fuck—she’d settled back into the observer role. No more bossing– no more worrying over whether or not an activity was gonna leave toes and fingers intact. Just an enigmatic smile and eyes that wouldn’t quit following me around the room. I couldn’t tell if I hated it or liked it– again, just insane.

“Soul!”

I jolted at the call before steadying myself for the mosey down the hall. Shelley was tucked to her chin, Maka sitting there with a book poised. I watched the scene, a smirk on my lips. “Whatdya need me for?”

“You have to do the bear voice,” Shelley instructed.

“Apparently my voice isn’t deep enough,” Maka added with one of the only self-deprecating smiles I’d ever seen on her. I didn’t like it.

That sent me striding, moving to plop on the other side of the bed. “Lemme see.” Maka angled the book my way. I glanced at Shelley, seeing that childlike expectant smile. Next was Maka, and… well, there was some sorta expectation there too that I couldn’t exactly get a fix on. I didn’t have time for that thought; my little Goldilocks wouldn’t wait.

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I’d made some lame excuse to stand in the kitchen. Well, popcorn was a fitting one at least since we had time to kill before Stein and Marie got home. Each pop! had my nerves tingling– little beats of gunfire to rip little holes in my heart. I guess it was all the melancholy of letting my dream die.

I wasn’t so stupid as to create white-picket fences. Mantles with family photos in neat little rows. The sing-song voice of children playing in the yard.

We were, at best, soldiers. In my mind, only pieces of that would even be possible, and even then…

Roadblocks.

Unrequited love. My neediness. My stubbornness. My… well, everything since tonight had shown me the obvious truth: I’m not made to be a mother.

Because that was the core covered in the mud of those words I had said to Soul. I had watched Marie in her sacrifice and knew—so deeply that it wrenched my heart from its place between my ribs—that my mother had never done the same for me. Sure, there was the actual birth, but the unconditional love that came after? And obviously that hadn’t been passed down. My patience today—or utter lack thereof—had been the final nail in the coffin. I was too stubbornly myself, and the self that I was most certainly didn’t fit the motherly mold.

“Yo.”

I just about jumped for the counter, spinning quickly to catch Soul with an eyebrow raised as he stood in the doorway. “What?”

“Are you coming in this century, or am I starting this movie by myself?”

“I’m just trying to make sure all the kernels are popped,” I grumbled as I turned back to the bag circling in the microwave.

“Alright, little miss perfect,” he teased before his footsteps got lost in the hush of the carpet. “Don’t blame me when you hate the flick.”

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Maka was fidgeting even though I was sure I’d picked a total winner of a film– some stupid puzzle of a thriller that she could use that big brain to tear apart for two hours. Instead, it was me she was tearing apart, and not being a bit sly about it. Her finger was toying with the power button and after a few more circles she finally took the plunge. I was stuck staring at a black screen.

“How did you know?”

“Know what?” I could be a little proud of the nonchalant, bullshitting tone I’d actually managed to put into that. I still couldn’t fix the arms that protectively crossed my chest or the bit of a grimace that was tainting the side of my smirk.

“You don’t have to be modest,” she pressed, green eyes starting an inquisition. “I want to know why–how you’re so good with kids.”

I shrugged, but the stone in her features told me I wasn’t off the hook. “Sorta– yeah, I had cousins and stuff.”

“And stuff.”

Woo-boy, I was toeing a line, but… there was Solomon Evans, and then there was Soul Eater. I’d never been too sure about burdening Maka with the old me, and this was sure it. Still, I dipped that toe: “Before my grandma died–”

The start of that brought her eyes wider, sweetness– softness coming to her eyes.

“–there used to be a mob of us. Mom’s got three brothers and a sister and each of ‘em wasn’t shy about having kids. Wes and I are the only pair.” I swallowed the old urge to button my lips because she was hanging off each word with a death-grip. “But they were all younger. Mostly babies and toddlers, so I got used to that kinda kid.”

She just nodded.

I cleared my throat. “But when Grandma died, our idiot parents just fell into fighting about inheritance and all that stopped.” I suddenly realized that secret had been a rock in my gut, and while it still scratched me raw coming up, its absence was a weight I didn’t fucking miss. “Got used to it, so I missed it.”

“I’m sorry.”

Sure, she could be apologizing for the shit my parents did, but I knew there was more to it. Her eyes were a little too shiny, and that button of her nose was turning a light pink. Maybe my sense had been lost along with that burden, since I couldn’t stop the whisper: “Why’d you ask Marie to do this?”

She flinched and her lips buttoned tight.

“Maka,” I pushed.

Her reply was a sigh, her fingers flexing on the channel changer and threatening to undo the silence. I grabbed them, ruining her chance for escape. “How do you know I asked?”

“‘Cause,” I muttered back.

“Don’t you think I’m responsible enough for Marie to just ask me?” Any playfulness in that was erased by her eyes falling away from me.

“Bookworm”—my throat burned with the love I couldn’t hide—“I know you. Doin’ somethin’ like this… what were you tryin’ to prove?”

She blinked, the liquid no longer just a shine in her eyes but small rivers down her cheeks. “It doesn’t matter. I failed anyway.”

Her arms tensed, trying to pull back her hands but I slipped into a firm hold on her wrists. I wasn’t gonna let her get away, not if it meant she was gonna break somewhere on her own. “Failed at what?”

“I was no good at this,” she whispered as that horrible, un-Maka-ly smile plastered on her lips again.

I wanted to roll my eyes. “Maka–”

“No,” she decimated that even with her softened voice. “I told you, right? I’m just– I won’t ever be a mother.”

Oh. There it was. Definitely not something I had forgotten, but we were sixteen. I fucking barely knew my own feelings let alone how to navigate hers. What I did know though? This was a deep hurt, and I most likely had this one chance to get it right. “The first time I held my cousin, I dropped him.”

Maka blinked, brows furrowing. “What?”

I produced at least half of a laugh thanks to the memory floating over my brain. “Not dropped-dropped, but yeah, he was nuts as a toddler and just threw himself everywhere, and since I didn’t know and hadn’t tried before, I made the mistake of trying to lift him when he was having one of those tantrums and pow!”

“But–”

“But nothin’,” I spat. “You can’t just throw yourself into something and expect it to be second nature. Even meistering—you know, that thing that’s literally in your blood—didn’t come to you without practice.” I gave her wrists a shake for good measure since I could see the argument forming on her lips. “You think four hours with a bossy preschooler means you couldn’t manage a kid of your own?”

“Nothing I did was right,” she hissed.

“That ain’t exactly true,” I pressed. “You tried. That was the rightest thing you could do.”

The pause that came after had me just about ready to tear out my hair. It wasn’t until she fidgeted, sighed, and tossed her chin back towards me that she spoke again. “Rightest isn’t a word,” Maka corrected softly as her eyes finally met mine. Her smile was dull, but at least it wasn’t fake anymore. “And I don’t know about trying, but… Soul, this isn’t just you– ‘wrapping me up to keep me from somethin’ bad?’”

My stomach dropped. Of course she’d been listening—of fucking course—but did she get the insinuation there? Love. I had said love. Wrapping someone in love. And I–

Well, no shit, Eater, she’s sure you love her in that lame weapon way. Don’t get ahead of yourself.

“I’m sorry– I eavesdropped.” For once, she did look a little guilty, but I missed out on it completely. I was staring at my hands, hoping that if the heat I was feeling was a blush, then at least the tilt of my head would hide part of it. “Thanks for standing up for me.”

“Like I said– you were tryin’,” I mumbled.

The tangle of our hands was suddenly in the forefront of my mind, but as soon as I started to loosen my hold on her wrists, she slid her palms back into mine. “But you’re not messing with me, right?”

“Nah.” One syllable– that’s all I fucking had. She was holding my hands too tightly. I was suffering through slick palms. I was sure at least my ears were pink. I was–

“I’m glad you came.”

Okay, no more at least. If my whole face wasn’t a tomato, then Clapton wasn’t a guitar god.

“It’s funny…” The breathlessness of her laugh drew my eyes back to her face. I had seen that look on her face only a few times before: she was scared, but that elated kind of afraid like she was about to jump off some cliff. “I wanted to do this by myself, but I realized that it always ends up alright if I have you with me.”

Floor, say hello to stomach. Tongue, lose every last control over your muscles. Brain, bluescreen. Here was where that dark, oily voice would usually pop in to ground me again, but even that didn’t have the strength to overcome my hopes at that moment.

It’s not like I imagined white-picket fences. No stupid Macy’s photos in tacky frames. No kids clamoring around the backyard.

We were tools, right? Usually just means to an end, but…

If there was one thing I did envision, it was having her with me. And sometimes, just sometimes, it was all the happy stuff that could come along with that.

“Soul?”

“Ah,” I tried, but my mouth was still full of cotton.

“I just wanted you to know that, okay?” Her fingers were slipping away. The fucking moment was slipping away, and I knew it, and–

“You’d be good at it,” I blurted.

Trajectory was momentarily paused, her hands hovering between us. “What?”

“Being a mom,” I stammered through, knowing that for once I had no plan. “Maybe it doesn’t feel like it now, but I know you. I know you’d learn, and I know you’d be good at it.”

I had hoped the crying was over with, but new tears blossomed in her eyes. “Oh.”

“And that’s– that’s not me keepin’ you from somethin’ bad,” I murmured.

She nodded, brought her hands back to her face, and did her best to clear the mess. Death, Maka might have been all blotchy and tear-stained, but I couldn’t help but think she was probably the most beautiful I’d ever seen. She was vulnerable, and for once, we’d actually talked about it. I couldn’t help but want that moment to last forever.

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I wanted to imagine that moment as another thread woven into our connection, and I wish that I… well, all that I could urge myself to do at that point was to plant my head on his shoulder and turn the movie back on as if it were any other night. My bravery does have its limits.

At first, his heart galloped like we’d just finished a practice fight with Star, but after comfortably melding together over an hour, any thumping was replaced by his gentle snore. I laughed at the predictability: Soul always had a post-stress coma.

I lifted my head to examine the tilt of his chin, the way his unfussed bangs slightly fell over his eyes. Soul’s mouth was slack, grumbles starting on each inhale. Gently, I tested his cheek with my finger, waiting to see if he was truly dead to the world. He was motionless besides the temporary creation of a dimple.

Wise Soul-isms that I had waited years for danced across my mind:

You can’t just throw yourself into something and expect it to be second nature.

That was the rightest thing you could do.

I know you’d learn, and I know you’d be good at it.

I was unable to deny the burn that brought to my eyes, and I let it engulf me again. A short, sweet deluge bubbled over my cheeks, rinsing away the last of the bitterness that I’d held onto that night. My other fingers joined in– not to poke, but to slide until I had cupped his cheek.

“Thank you for… being you, Soul.”

I leaned, and my lips brushed against his other cheek.

“Maybe, someday, I’ll know the right words for you, too.”

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Weird. Yeah, that was the only way to describe it. The feeling like you’re sure you left your wallet at home, but it’s in your damn pocket. Just something off and my brain was sending a muddled report. I tried to blame it on the disturbed sleep– Marie and Stein came home just an hour after I hit the true depth of my snooze.

Either way, gone was the storm-cloud Maka and here was the sunshine, her step light as we made our way back to the apartment. She was a few steps ahead of me, but somehow my little grumble was enough for her to turn a head over her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Dunno,” I griped. “Wonderin’ if maybe Stein had the chance to poke around in my sleep.”

For once, Maka didn’t roll her eyes as expected. “Why would you think that?” Her attention faltered, the security door to the building pulling her in.

As I listened to the soft beep of the keypad, I let that marinate. Well, I dunno, Maka, you and I had a pretty heavy talk and then suddenly we weren’t. Yeah, okay, maybe that was the unevenness. Either way, I finally felt like I gained an inch tonight, so I wasn’t about to take a mile. “Y’know, just guts rearranged. Like somebody maybe had their fun while I was snoozin’.”

“Hm?” Her pitch faltered, climbing towards the roof.

Now, I had been joking—not that Stein wouldn’t take advantage of a free exploratory surgery—but that was definitely too much of a panicked frequency from her. “Maka Albarn–”

“I have to–”

Those lithe legs of hers were motoring up the stairs, already up to the next landing. Thankfully we weren’t teens anymore, and with my last growth spurt, she wasn’t leaving me in the dust. “Did that maniac–”

“He only ever did that to Papa, and–”

“Maka Albarn!” The final shout came with the slam of our door, pinning us in the quiet of the apartment after our cat-and-mouse chase.

Her shoulders were tense, back to me as she murmured, “It wasn’t Stein.”

“Uh…” was all I could manage. I didn’t think I was getting an affirmative, and my hands reflexively went to my gut to check my organs.

She pivoted quickly, eyes shining with determination. “It was me.”

“Uh…”

A few steps and she was back in front of me, face now just two inches from mine as she challenged me: “And all it was was this.”

Her lips—fucking Death, her lips!—were right there, an inch from mine. It didn’t matter that they planted on my cheek, I was still sent. Out of order. Gone.

Maka tried to maintain her bravado, but the next still came with a little of a warble: “Now, is that all that bad?”

“N-no,” I stammered. Since all my sense was gone, and my hands moved of their own volition, grabbing her by the shoulders. “No, I– I–” Her face flushed pink, sending me partially into a panic. This was a misstep– not what she wanted, and I–

“You what?” There was an ultimatum in that question, and the shining clarity in her eyes had me knowing she had already decided something and it was just time for me to catch up.

“Normally don’t people do that sorta thing when someone’s awake?” That murmur ached in my chest with all sorts of want. “Y’know, s-so the other person has the chance to…”

“To?”

To panic– to overload– to– I swallowed that all and leaned in, lips just stopping a centimeter from hers. “To ask for more.”

Oh, thank Death she giggled softly. Maka worried her fingers in the sides of my T-shirt for a second before she tilted on tiptoes. A kiss. A real fucking kiss. Not just weapon and meister. Not friends. Not roommates living in limbo.

I felt her smile spread before she let go, giving me unnecessary space. Jade eyes shined up at me. “I should have known my actions always speak louder than my words.”

I sighed– this one full of contentment instead of the urge to tear out my hair. This time when I leaned, just our foreheads met, enjoying that closeness just as much. “And I’m always here to catch you when you jump.”

#soul eater #soul x maka #maka albarn #soul eater evans #soma #se secret santa #for my besties

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alpydk · 5 months

Text

Eclipse (Part 1)

A 5 minute conversation turned into 2 chapters today. Oops. So here is part 1...

Gale x OC (F) - Some angst, hopefully comfort

As Gale travels the Sword Coast in search of a cure for the tadpole he starts to receive unexpected sending messages from an unknown source. As he begins to question these he finds his memories as not as accurate as he once believed them to be.

Ao3 Link

“I miss you. I love you. I’m sorry. Please come back to me.”

Gale had spent some time pondering over the sending spell that he’d accidentally intercepted whilst channelling the weave. He didn’t recognise the person’s voice or have any memory of someone back home in Waterdeep who might have been missing his attention, especially someone declaring love to him , and yet somehow, he had ended up receiving the message, disrupting the delicate moment with a friend. During the moment he had believed it was simply the interference of the tadpole, or that Mystra was being somewhat coy; that was until the next day when similar words spoke out into his mind.

“I know you can’t reply. But know that I love you. Do you remember that day we sat and watched the clouds?”

He lay in his tent going over the details of the spell. He wanted to reply and yet with no knowledge of whom he was speaking to, he worried that it was an effect of his condition or possibly a trick of some kind . Looking at the clouds. He hadn’t taken the time to do that since he was a young boy, instead choosing to stay indoors amongst the tomes and scrolls he’d grown to love. There had been very few friends aside from Tara and the mephit, and he couldn’t note any moments of lying on the grass with any other person, let alone someone with some sort of infatuation with him.

Days passed in silence as he trekked with his travelling companions. He’d tried to bring up the topic with Wyll only for him to question his sanity at hearing voices that weren’t those of other tadpole-occupied minds. Gale had tried channelling the weave alone from his tent in the hopes of triggering another message, only to have been unsuccessful; this little puzzle taking up far more of his thoughts than was necessary, and yet it was certainly better than the alternative of the orb or ceremorphosis which had plagued him earlier.

Maybe it was that he was simply losing his mind from the tadpole or from the orb that caused his body to ache day in, and day out. Maybe too many magic items had finally taken their toll on his body, and this was the beginning of his mind breaking apart. He’d decided he would just monitor the issue. For now, at least, he was still in control of his senses , his skills in combat were improving after a year of barely casting even the simplest cantrip, and little by little he was even starting to make friends; A feat he was not too willing to be proud of.

***

The group walked in silence under the shade of the weeping willows that basked over the river. He could hear the croaking of a nearby frog and watched as it hopped onto a lily pad. Stop licking the damn thing! The same voice he had heard a week previously and yet different, younger than it was before. He laughed at the fractured image of himself holding a small pink frog in his hand, his tongue at the ready, the voice adamantly telling him not to do it. Details of the markings on the frog’s back, the small white splotches and the way its yellow eyes bulged ever so slightly stood out so vividly to him and he could almost feel the weight of it in his hands, so much detail for something that he could not recollect. He tried but could not seem to envisage the face of the speaker though , nothing but a distorted shadow standing in front of him, and yet the voice was still as clear as the frog in his hands.

Astarion swung his head around in Gale’s direction. “Going to share the joke, darling?”

Gale bit his tongue and lowered his head, hiding the smirk. “Oh, it was nothing. Just a stray memory.” A memory he couldn’t trace back to. Who was the person yelling? When had this moment even happened?

***

“Lúthien got admitted to Blackstaff. Figured you would want to know. You’d be proud of how well she is doing. We love you. Miss you.”

If only the fight with the hag hadn’t lasted as long. As Gale had received the message, he’d also been hit by a spell leaving him winded. By the time he had gotten around to responding, too much time had passed, and the effects of the sending spell had fizzled out, leaving the words as only a new memory to him.

He had no recollection of anyone with the name Lúthien who was close to him, but still, he thought over it considerably. He sat by the campsite, going over the identities of colleagues and their possible children that he’d yet to find time to meet, but he only drew up blanks. Maybe it was someone his mother had mentioned at some point as she had gossiped about local women, trying to set him up with a partner. She’d respected his choices during his studying days, young men and women wooed in various ways, but Morena always wanted him to have someone more permanent , she’d certainly not been too pleased when that permanent choice had turned out to be Mystra herself.

I really wish I could cash a Hold spell on you. Again, that voice, only this time with a small laugh as his fingers ran through their hair and he tenderly kissed the soft skin of their neck, as he slowly removed their shirt with his free hand. He chased the memory, trying to see the face , trying to solve the mystery that yet again presented itself in front of him. The memory faded in front of him, and he was left disappointed and confused, only the cracking of the fire taunting him.

***

“Shadowheart, may I ask you a rather personal question?” Gale hadn’t wanted to do this until he had exhausted all other options. He’d tried to trace the spell back but was unable to due to the time constraints; he’d repeatedly tried to ask Mystra for assistance only to be ignored as expected, but it was with his memory now coming into question that he felt it was time to ask for help more locally.

Shadowheart shuffled uncomfortably near her tent, preparing herself for what was to come. “That depends on how personal it is, Gale.”

He smirked. “It is nothing untoward , I can assure you of that. It’s in regard to your memory dilemma.”

She relaxed her shoulders. “It’s not so much a dilemma as it is my life, but what would you like to know?”

“Do you ever find yourself remembering occurrences that had once been removed ? The voice of a friend, a tender moment, perhaps?” He let his voice trail off and the question lingered for a moment to give her time to think on what an appropriate answer would be .

“No. No, I can’t say I do. My memories are completely lost to me as you already know. Why do you ask?”

Gale’s disappointment with her reply was buried under his usual positive demeanour. So, it was completely possible that he was just going mad, the orb destroying his senses with each passing day or the tadpole chewing at his frontal lobe. “Ah, just a fleeting curiosity is all. Pay it no mind.”

She shot him a sceptical look but let the issue die. “Very well. If that’s how it is.”

***

“Darling, you look a tad pale.” Astarion stroked the side of Gale’s face with the delicate pad of his fingertip. “Maybe tonight we should hold off on any activities.”

Gale sighed. He’d somehow fallen into this routine with Astarion of late-night soirees, sharing wine and not really speaking much before eventually ending up in the forest or more comfortably one of their tents together . Tonight had been no different. It was only as he had removed his robe that Astarion had chosen to hold back for once and begun to ask questions. “I’ve just had a considerable amount on my mind recently.”

“Haven’t we all, but isn’t that why we have been cavorting in the shadows?” Astarion ran his tongue down the faint markings on Gale’s neck. He’d never bite. Not after the incident last time but the way he heard Gale’s heart rate increase let him know that Gale enjoyed this walk along the precipice and so he’d continue to threaten it.

Gale leaned into the subtle touch, allowing his eyes to close , his mind drifting to earlier nights of similar sensations . Such an undignified position to find oneself in. Gale was kissing their abdomen, suckling at their flesh beneath him as they spoke. That same voice was haunting him even now. He tried to bring himself back to Astarion’s touch, to the cold hands that moved further down his body and yet he still felt disconnected from it all .

“Love, what is going on with you tonight?” Astarion’s sudden move away brought him back to reality.

Gale pulled at his robe, sitting up and covering his body. “I apologise. Maybe you’re right and tonight is not on the cards for us.”

“We could always do something else.” Astarion lay down on the bedroll trying to coerce Gale over to him, not happy with how the evening had been going.

“ Hey, I really wish you were here right now… Things have just been tough without you. I love you. Miss you.”

Gale heard the message in his head and instantly began to leave the tent knowing now was his only chance to reply. He could hear the confused yell of Astarion behind him along with a few choice words in Elvish. None of was important at this moment though as he climbed into his tent and focussed on the spell that had been sent to him. It was now or never if he wanted answers. He thought over what he wanted to say, the words he should speak knowing whatever answer he gave would inevitably invite this stranger further into his life, but he needed to know. “ Who is this? Why do you keep on contacting me? Am I meant to know you?”

***

Despite the day’s requirement for his attention, he had found his mind wandering constantly back to the messages , to the memories. He’d tried to apologise to Astarion but received nothing but a disinterested remark and a comment on how their nights together were over, something that surprisingly Gale wasn’t as bothered about as he’d initially believed he would be. Right now, it was the memories he’d been having that had been provoking more of a reaction within him. He didn’t know what would cause them to suddenly flash before his eyes, only that he longed to have more of them, to feel the connection with that other person more than the touch of anyone else around him.

Dawn turned to dusk, and he sat alone waiting for the now familiar voice to speak to him . Doubts had begun to creep in more and more as the hours had passed by and he’d started to question again if maybe he had just been losing his mind. As he lay his head down, his eyes grew heavy and he let sleep take him, wishing he could hear them once again.

The night was full of unrest, moments he couldn’t piece together merging with events of the recent days, laughter and wine shared in rooms he did not recognise, and the touch of a soft hand upon his chest. Rook to queen six. I do believe that means I’ve won. Had he ever lost a game of lanceboard? Not that he could recall and yet these words made him smile, a subtle familiarity of the time stirring something within him.

“ Gale? Is that really you? You’re alive?”

The sending spell interrupted his sleep, but he was unable to tell where his dreams ended and reality began, his body not allowing his mind much further than the partial acknowledgement of the voice speaking to him.

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